A Heart 4 Heaven

Conversations from the Heart

2012-02-06T03:32:00.000-08:00

“Let’s see, on Monday we can eat the lasagna…,” the woman began, trying to engage her distracted husband in menu planning for the coming week as they unloaded the groceries from their cart onto the belt in my checkout lane. He was more interested in getting something to eat now, as he stopped her twice to ask if she wanted first a pop from the cooler at the end of the aisle and then a candy bar from the racks beside them. After the second interruption she responded resignedly, “That’s okay. I’ll talk to you about this later…”, and she and I shared a laugh about his clear lack of focus on the topic at hand.

We all know from experience how frustrating it can be to try to talk to someone whose mind is absorbed by something else, be it a game on the television screen, an article in a newspaper spread out before them, or a pressing problem on the job. To be 50% involved in a conversation is to be 100% rude, and yet we’ve all been on the wrong side of that equation before, myself included. It’s bad enough when we act that way with a spouse or a friend, but all too often we’re likewise distracted in our conversations with God.

I’ve noticed it myself recently in my morning devotional times. Rarely does God come to the table without a topic at hand that He’s ready to discuss. And while I may listen attentively at first, soon I’m thinking about what happened yesterday at work, what I want to write on the open journal page before me, or the list of things I want to accomplish that morning before heading out the door. In short, while I’m physically present, my mind and heart are clearly not connected to the conversation that God desires to have with me.

At times when I’m the one trying to communicate a thought with my distracted spouse, I know that he hears me talking, but I‘m painfully aware that he‘s not listening. So I’ve eventually stopped speaking, just to see how long it will be before he notices. I’ve noticed that sometimes God does the same. It’s a move that never fails to get my attention, for sure. While my verbal inactivity might be a welcome respite to my husband’s overworked ears, I need to hear God’s thoughts on everything that pertains to me, and His silence is simply more than I can bear.

These thoughts come to me just weeks before Valentine’s Day, when the promotional display at the front of the grocery store is laden with little boxes of Sweethearts candy, those little bits of heart-shaped sugar, each of which has a sweet sentiment printed on top in one or two words. A nearby sign proclaims them to be the official candy of love. All I know is that they are incredibly addicting, and that having sampled one or two, I return for handfuls of the same until the little box lies empty and crumpled in a nearby trash receptacle. I simply can’t resist them.

Neither can I resist the love of God, who uses the exact same method to bring my attention back to Him. He speaks His love to me a word at a time, knowing that those few syllables will never satisfy me and I’ll return to Him again and again to hear more of what He has to say on the subject at hand until I’ve finally understood the message in its entirety. It’s when I listen with my heart, not just my ears, that the conversation can have life-changing results.

That’s why this subject is important to God. It’s not just our lives that He’s trying to change. If we’re not hearing from Him, we likewise have nothing of real value to pass on to those around us who listen to us on a regular basis. Composer Nico Muhly once said about his work, “The first thing I ask myself with every piece: Is it preferable to silence?” And perhaps that’s a question we should ask ourselves before we open our mouths, our laptops, or the message app on our phones to “speak“, as well.

Much as the shopper in my line at the store was trying to discuss what they were to eat each day, God likewise has a daily meal plan to nourish us spiritually, conversations from His heart to ours that come to us through our ears rather than our mouths. Maybe it’s time we truly listened to what He has to say.

“He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” (Matthew 11:15 MKJV)

Sunday Selah

2012-01-24T03:33:00.000-08:00

The dog already straining eagerly on the leash, I held him back long enough for me to pull the front door closed behind me and make it safely down the front steps before giving him the go ahead to run to the top of the driveway to fetch the morning newspaper, dragging me along behind. But when my feet hit the grass I stopped a minute longer, held spellbound by the splendor in the sky. The rising sun had painted the thin cloud cover a glorious shade of pink, breathtaking in its beauty. Suddenly I was as eager as the dog to get to the road for a less obstructed view and raced alongside him, not wanting to miss a moment of the surprisingly beautiful sunrise. Once there I simply stood and stared, soaking in the sight for so long that even the dog got bored, having sniffed every rock and blade of grass within a leash-length of where I stood; so long that the heavy Sunday paper finally broke through the thin plastic sleeve encasing it and spilled all over the gravel at my feet. The spell likewise broken, I bent to pick up the scattered sections and headed back to the house, a satisfied smile on my face and incredible peace in my heart. There’s simply no better way to start a day.

There’s a word for a moment like that. I find it sprinkled all through the book of Psalms in my Bible. Every couple of verses or so it’s there in italics, perhaps to give it emphasis. Selah. Somewhere I read that it means, “Pause. Think about Me.” I printed the word and it’s definition inside the front cover of my journal the last couple of years to remind me what my morning devotional time is all about. It’s those moments (illustrated by my first actions with the dog this morning) in which I pull the door closed on the events of the day before and prepare to step safely into the new dawn - I hold the hounds at bay for a moment and look up to God for love, comfort, companionship, guidance, direction, or any combination thereof. Delighted with the glimpse I get there, I run in His direction for a better view, a fuller understanding of what He might have to show me, soaking in His glory while time stops still until my heart is so filled with peace that nothing I might face that day can possibly take it away. Now I simply won’t start my day any other way.

Of course, not every sunrise is as spectacular as the one I saw today. Some days there are no puffs of vapor in the sky to be lit up with the approaching rays. The sun simply comes up over the horizon, (we are grateful!) and we go on with our day. On other mornings the clouds hang so thick and low that we never catch a glimpse of the golden orb rising or setting, and we just go on in the knowledge that it’s up there somewhere whether we can see it or not, doing its job out of our view. And likewise not always are my morning devotional times filled with mind-blowing revelation or an overwhelming sense of the nearness of God. Many are the days I drink my coffee, read my Bible and speak to Him the words that have gathered in my heart without hearing a response write-worthy of the open journal pages before me. But even on those occasions when my troubles hang so darkly around me that God is hard to see, I am comforted by my conviction that He’s still actively working on my behalf to bless and prosper me in all areas of my life and in every moment of my day. The important thing is that I’ve stopped the ever-ticking time clock long enough to look in His direction.

Selah. Pause, and think about Me.

What’s important on a daily basis is perhaps equally so on a weekly one. We are instructed in the Bible to set apart one day as holy unto God, a day to cease from our regular activities and worship Him. And yet sometimes we find that difficult to do. Our lives are so pressure-packed that taking the time to gather with other believers in unity of purpose seems impossible. We mistakenly think we need those hours to accomplish all that needs to be done, and as we give in to that deception, we lose so much more than we gain in that time we should have set aside; we lose the peace of God’s presence and the power that is found in an ongoing relationship with Him. We simply need our Sunday Selahs to refocus our minds and thoughts, to reset our priorities and to connect with the like-minded individuals God has deliberately placed around us to encourage and inspire us.

But there’s another reason the Sunday Selah is important to God. When I had made it back to the house this morning, set the dog free of the leash and dumped the disheveled paper on the kitchen table, the first thing I did was grab my phone and wonder who else might be awake, so anxious was I to share the experience with somebody. While browsing on facebook a little while later I saw that a coworker had likewise seen the sunrise on her way in for an early shift and had posted a picture and a word about how the sight made going in to a difficult work situation a little more bearable. I smiled as I read the cyber stream of conversation that was quickly developing about the event.

I’ve seen the same thing happen when people make time for God on a Sunday morning and are impacted dramatically by a word in the pastor’s message, a song in the worship service or a simple thought expressed in a video or drama presentation. Sometimes just sitting in the presence of God affects them so deeply that we read all about it in facebook posts later in the day and hear it in conversations around us all the following week. The resultant chatter must surely make God smile, as word gets out that He has a whole lot to offer, both in this life and the next, if we’ll simply stop our running long enough to take a look.

Selah. Pause, and think about Me. And then go tell somebody about what you see.

“…And let us rejoice and exult in our hope of experiencing and enjoying the glory of God.” (Romans 5:2 AMP)

"Nice" Thoughts

2012-01-10T17:03:00.000-08:00

I carefully wrapped the ornament in Christmas paper and slipped it into the gift bag I was filling with surprises for my sister. This particular decoration was actually just the word “nice” spelled out in heavy silver metal letters. I smiled at the thought that even without checking it twice I knew on which side of Santa’s list her name could be found!

And there it would be in good company, surrounded by a lot of other people who bless my life on a regular basis. There’s my teenage bagger friend who hails my arrival at work each day and hugs me when I leave. What about the girl working the drive-thru window at McDonald’s, who told me as she handed me my sausage biscuit and peppermint mocha that she looks for me each Sunday morning? Face after face popped in my mind that morning as I sat wrapping Christmas presents, my smile growing broader and my heart growing larger by the thought of all the gifts I’m given each day by people, many of whom don’t know my name yet love on me just the same. If I couldn’t do much else, I could at least let them know that their lives make a positive difference in mine, and I am grateful. I vowed in that moment to go back to the store where I found it, buy up every such ornament they had, and then start handing them out left and right, as fast as I could, in response.

Unfortunately, I waited too long. December is synonymous with busyness, and it was a week or two before I could get back to that particular place of business. When I did finally walk through the door, it was to find that they had sold out of that particular item. They still had other word ornaments for sale, but somehow “chuckle”, “frosty” and “hoho” just didn’t say what I wanted to convey.

The opportunity to bless those people that way was lost, but a lesson remained. Much like Christmas, we, too, are only here for a season and likewise have a limited time in which to express to others what we feel in our hearts. Many times they are words of blessing, but occasionally it’s a word of correction or direction that they need to hear. It’s important then that we choose our words carefully and see that the opportunity to speak them isn’t lost in the shuffle or sold out to the busyness of life.

My idea of gifting people with a word ornament was not an original idea. So many Christmases ago, God gave us not just any word, but the Word…the only One that could truly make a difference in our lives…one Who was born to be hung on a tree for our sins, that through His actions we might all get safely Home. And now He looks to us to give that Word away to all who will receive it.

Our time here will pass but our words will last. Say what you need to say. Do it today.

“But I would strengthen and encourage you with [the words of] my mouth, and the consolation of my lips would soothe your suffering.”
(Job 16:5 AMP)

Glow Gone

2012-01-01T18:26:00.000-08:00

The little lapel pin lay nestled in a small basket filled with more of the same, tiny metal circles that bore messages spelled out in groupings of individual words, much like the Magnetic Poetry fridge game I’ve seen for sale in stores but haven’t ever been brave enough to buy and try. Deep down I’m afraid I might not be smart enough to put the words I’m given together in a meaningful way, and who needs that kind of negative input, especially during the holidays? But as I stirred those button-sized beacons with my fingers, one truly captivated me; a picture of a radiating red heart, on top of which was the lone word “glow”.

It summed up completely the instruction I’d been hearing from God repeatedly since Thanksgiving weekend, so I grabbed it and dumped it on the counter with the rest of my fantastic finds as I tried to make my way out of the store. I considered it the best buck I’d spent all season.

Later I dug it out of the bag and set it on the windowsill over the kitchen sink, likely the place in the house I visit the most, where surely each viewing would remind me how I was to live that day. It took some time to position it correctly, tilted upward at just the right angle for the message to be visible and readable on a round object that had a tendency to roll away. When I finally had it just so, I smiled, checked to make sure the kitchen was ready for the big Christmas dinner my sons were to cook with their friends that afternoon, and headed out the door to work.

It was probably a good thing I wasn’t there to witness the meal preparation itself, but I’ve been around my sons and their friends long enough to picture the event pretty accurately. Yet somehow in all the dishtowel whacking, back slapping, elbow jabbing and food flinging, a glorious feast was prepared and served up with style. By the time I had returned home the guests had moved to the living room for what sounded like a hilarious gift exchange, so I sat at the deserted table and surveyed the damage as I downed a plate of ham and mashed potatoes. Knowing they’d object if I started the clean-up, I added my own plate and fork to the pile in the sink and told myself I’d finish what they didn’t get done in the morning, and prepared to go to bed. Lifting my eyes for one last look at my little pin, I stared in horror at the now-empty spot it had occupied on the sill.

At some point in the boisterous preparations that afternoon, it must’ve been knocked off it’s precarious perch into the sink below. Quickly I dug through the plates piled in front of me, feeling with my fingers around the pots and pans piled nearby and even sticking my hand into the muck of the garbage disposal, hoping I could rescue it before the whirling blades did their duty the next time it was turned on. All to no avail; the little treasure had simply disappeared. I consoled myself with the thoughts that it might yet reappear and that its message remained even in its absence, and went on to bed.

Perhaps the scenario hit home because the same thing had happened to me spiritually just the night before. Determined to make this last month of the year the spiritual season it was meant to be instead of just a mad dash to the December 25th finish line, I had set some goals before me to guide my behavior each day. I looked at them regularly and accomplished them as best I could, and found this Christmas season to be much more satisfying than previous ones as a result. But just the night before I had allowed myself to get caught up in the rat race once more, and soon weariness, unrealistic expectations and self-pity overtook and passed me, leaving my joy and hope stumbling along somewhere in the dust behind them. My behavior modeled my resultant mood and I was anything but the spiritual light I had hoped to be. I did look for what I’d lost, feeling around the corners of the events of the day that had knocked me off track, even reaching deep into the muck of the pressure-filled moments into which my mood had fallen,, but its presence eluded me and I headed off to bed that night feeling like a failure instead of a dedicated follower of Christ.

The good news is that I got my “glow” back. The morning after the boys’ party I went to the sink and turned on the tap to get the morning coffee flowing, and there, lying next to the bottle of dish soap, was my little pin! It was in such an obvious spot that I surely had looked there a million times the night of its disappearance, and yet there it lay, waiting for me to simply pick it up and put it back in its spot once more.

Similarly the brightness of my mood returned as well. God’s Word promises that His mercies are new every morning, that the events of the day before can be forgiven and forgotten while only the lessons learned from them remain. What He whispered to me that morning was that He chooses perseverance over perfection, that He is actually more pleased when I pick up the day’s grace that He lays before me to give it a go once more than if I’d done everything right the first time. Perhaps that’s because He knows that perfection is impossible, but resurgent effort is often a sacrificial choice on our parts that pleases Him greatly.

I think back to that basket of pins in the store that morning, and realize that there were dozens of messages available to choose from. And likewise in life we are bombarded by attitudes and anthems that we sometimes pick up and wear for awhile before discarding when the newness wears off. Perhaps God is looking for some consistency from us; urging us to make our choice based on what we hear in His voice and then pin it on daily until it simply becomes a part of who we are and what we’re all about. That’s a resolution for a new life rather than just a new year, and it doesn‘t get any “happier“ than that!

“Let the word [spoken by] Christ (the Messiah) have its home [in your hearts and minds] and dwell in you in [all its] richness…” (Colossians 3:16 AMP)

Happy Holy Days

2011-12-15T00:46:00.000-08:00

It was the day before Thanksgiving, but the customer before me was feeling anything but thankful. He groused and grumbled and snarled and complained about commercialism having taken over the holiday season, muttering about how things weren‘t like they were when he was young. His plan was to hole up in his house with his beer and his buddy and ignore it all as best he could. He walked under such a dark cloud of negativity and unhappiness that I absolutely couldn‘t wait for him to head out the door, so anxious was I to shake the dust of my contact with him off my spirit before it settled in and made me as unhappy as he.

His complaint is a common one, however, and truly our holidays have lost much of the holiness that made them special in the first place. Surely God is as anxious as we that we get back to the Reason behind the seasons of celebration, but I wonder if our constant griping and sermonizing about the situation is as repugnant to Him as my customer’s words were to me.

That’s a sobering thought. What bothered me about the shopper’s attitude was that he was doing nothing to change the situation himself. Complaining about something is easy; making a positive difference requires effort that many of us aren’t willing to expend. I think God would remind us that if we’re going to bring holiness back into the Christmas holiday it has to begin on a personal level. He isn’t nearly as interested in what is going on with the world as a whole as He is with what’s happening in each of our hearts. Perhaps He would ask us to consider what we can do individually to make this a season of reverence, worship and spiritual joy while still enjoying the secular sights and sounds that surround us as well.

I thought back to my disappointment of a week earlier when I’d missed an opportunity to participate in the annual “Light Up Hamilton” evening, that night each year in which the switch is flipped and the Christmas lights come on downtown, Santa makes his first visit to our hometown, and businesses up and down Main Street open their doors and invite the public in to enjoy food and musical venues of one type or another. I’d been asked by the owner of one such establishment to play Christmas carol violin duets with her that night, and eagerly looked forward to the event. As I waited for her to call and schedule a practice session I was mentally rosining up my bow, rounding up my music and requesting the night off from work so I could join in the fun. The only trouble was that her call never came. The day of the event rolled around and I called her place of business, wondering if she was just expecting me to show up and wing it with her as best we could. I thus found out that she’d been so sick she hadn’t been able to put any thought into the night’s activities and would have to cancel, hoping to try and do it later in the season instead.

I told myself that an unscheduled evening in such a busy season was a gift, and funneled my enthusiasm into some other necessary task. While there was nothing to stop me from joining the crowds in town anyway, somehow attending the event as an observer rather than a participant didn’t have the same appeal. Yet a lot of us are willing to do exactly that during this holy season of the year. We go through it passively instead of getting totally involved in the task of spreading a whole lot of hope and love and joy around. God showed me that my possible involvement with “Light Up Hamilton” had nothing to do with a musical opportunity at all. Rather He was extending to me a spiritual invitation to light up the lives of the people I run into this holiday season in as many different ways as I can, in the hope that somewhere in the Christmas chaos, He suddenly is the Light that they see.

The thought has turned this advent season has into an absolute spiritual adventure, and the wonder of it is that I don’t have to wait on anybody else to begin. I remembered the advent calendars we used to hang about the place when the kids were little that had tiny flaps that were lifted or doors that were opened to reveal a prize of some kind as the days were counted down to Christmas. They kept the focus on the holiday and the excitement running high as the days passed by.

God is likewise teaching me to “number my days” this December as He daily opens doors of opportunity for me to be a blessing to somebody else and somehow make Him known to those who are looking for some Light to shine in the dark of their unbelief.

So, like Santa I suppose, I’m making a list and checking it twice, once in the morning as I plan out my day and again at night as look back on what was accomplished during the hours of daylight. Hidden away in the back of my journal, it’s not for anybody but God and me to see, but I’ve found I have to be deliberate in my actions or the best of intentions gets lost in the busyness of the season. I simply don’t want the days of December to pass by without purpose or praise to His Name.

I’ve heard it said that doing something repetitively for thirty days turns the action into a habit. Thus our efforts to make this Christmas season merry for somebody else could turn the coming year into a happy new way of living, as well.

Much like that customer standing before me, one day we’ll stand before God and have a conversation as well about the state of the world and the part we played in changing it. How wonderful it would be to have the review light up His face and bring joy to His heart because our lives did the same to the people around us. As long as we wake in the morning with breath in our bodies we have a chance to make a difference. No time to delay; let‘s start today!

“Be mindful to be a blessing…” (Galatians 6:10)

Suddenly Silent

2011-11-24T17:33:00.000-08:00

My cold left as quickly as it had come, but it took my voice along with it in passing. It’s been a long time since my vocal chords have been that silent. Try as I might, I could produce only the smallest of sounds; a mere whisper that failed repeatedly to express my thoughts, my needs, and my increasing frustration over the situation. Obviously unable to call off work over the telephone, I dressed and showed up for duty, leaving it to management to decide if I could fulfill the requirements of my job in total silence. But common sense warned me that when you work in a grocery store and it’s just ten days before Thanksgiving, as long as there is breath in your body and you can stand and scan groceries, there is no going home for something as inconsequential as a bad case of laryngitis. Behind the register I stayed.

Throughout the long day I thought a lot about the situation that was a mere inconvenience for me, but for many is a way of life. There are multitudes of people around us who have no voice in society because they are too young or too old or too sick or too poor to capture its ear. In their frustration over their failure to make themselves heard they instead make choices that we condemn or commit acts of violence against themselves or others that leave us wondering what went wrong and where we failed to provide the help and the hope that was so desperately lacking in their lives. Surely God wants us to stand up for those who cannot speak for themselves, to right the wrongs we see and have the power to do something about when He tells us to do justly, love mercy and walk humbly before Him. (Micah 6:8)

We are all born with something to say and an entirely unique way of expressing our message, one that is refined when we are born again with a purpose to declare the works of the Lord through the gifts and talents He gives us to do so. Yet we have an enemy who works to steal away our voice and silence the message that God would have us bring forth. His attacks may be physical in nature, through sickness and disease, hoping that we become too weak and ill to pursue our callings. Some of us are defeated by discouragement over the effort it takes to get across what we are trying to say, causing us to simply give up. Or he may enter through a chink in our spiritual armor, a weakness in our faith that leads to sin and a fall from grace. Over and over again of late we’ve seen on the political stage, in the sports arena, and in celebrity circles how a wrong choice somewhere down the line resulted in a ruined reputation, a career brought to an abrupt close, and opportunities to influence brought to an end. While a tragedy on an individual level itself, there is a domino effect on those who might have been helped or touched in some way by our lives had our voices not been silenced and our opportunities to speak not been squandered by the mistakes we made.

Thankfully we serve a God of second chances. As I found out today, you can get your voice back. Mine has returned slowly but brings with it a new appreciation of an ability I previously took for granted and gratitude towards the people who helped me in its absence; those who made calls for me on the intercom, encouraged me to rest it when I had the chance and passed me water or cough drops. God used my minor physical affliction to remind me that in the kingdom realm we speak in many ways other than just those that involve vocal chords, not the least of which is the emotional, financial or spiritual support we offer to God’s actual mouthpieces. We see in God’s Word that the spoils of war go to all who took part in the victory, not just those fighting on the front lines.

My Day of Total Silence ended on a humorous note. A male customer brought his groceries through my line and was tickled to discover that I couldn’t verbally respond to him, saying, “How can you be a woman if you can’t talk?” I let his comment pass with a (silent!) laugh but was reminded on a spiritual level that I can’t be all that God created me to be without my ability to speak on His behalf.

A spiritual voice is truly a gift to be treasured. Use it, don’t abuse it, and be very careful not to lose it.

“You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.”
(Matthew 5:13)

Be Keepers

2011-11-12T03:49:00.000-08:00

God can sometimes speak a message using no more than two letters placed side by side.

The first such combination to get my attention was one that most church-going Christians are familiar with…the P.K.‘s, or Preacher’s Kids, among us, a segment of society with unique characteristics and traits based on their experiences while growing up in a minister’s home. But in the 1990’s the P.K.’s I heard about all the time changed to the Promise Keepers, a movement aimed at encouraging men to be true to their promises to God, their wives, and their families. Then my kids turned into teenagers, and one in particular spoke nothing but the language of B.K., or Burger King…and it was in that period of my life that I very nearly became addicted to the Whopper Jr. with cheese. Maybe it was the promise that I could have it my way that drew me back again and again. But lately the King has been drawing me with another message using the letters B.K., one that has little to do with burgers and fries. Instead it centers on the importance of living life His way, specifically in the area of being my brother’s keeper.

It’s first in Genesis that the question of our responsibilities to our siblings arises, when God questions Cain concerning the whereabouts of his brother Able, and he responds with the query, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” It’s a question God is still answering in the affirmative today.

To tell the truth, the past thirty days have been pretty rough on many of my spiritual siblings, those likewise born into the family of God who are walking the road of faith beside me. Day after day has brought little but bad news in hospital rooms, doctor’s offices, emails on my computer and text messages on my phone.

Clearly there are some things God expects of us in response. To start with, He desires that we keep an eye on our brother, to know where he’s at, spiritually rather than physically. That means, of course, that we watch our brother’s heart, not so much his comings and goings. This can only happen if we communicate regularly and have built a relationship between us, so that we are able to talk freely and honestly about the difficulties we’re having and the struggles we face without fear of being judged or condemned.

The second expectation then is that we keep our brother’s confidences to ourselves, to be people who can be trusted not to divulge that which has been shared in private conversations and counseling sessions. We’re to help keep our brother on track, steering him back on course when he gets distracted or knocked about by the cares of this world. It might be up to us to just keep him moving, to pick him up and help him along when he feels like dropping out of the race or giving up on the Christian life completely. In order to do that, of course, we have to be keepers of our own spiritual lives, that we continually have something of value to share. All of the above can be summed up in Christ’s command that we simply keep loving one another as He has loved us.

In fact, the only way we can do as God expects is to keep our eye on the one Brother who taught us how to live a life of loving others. Just as He said He did nothing except that which He saw His Father doing, so should we keep our eyes focused on the Jesus we see in the Bible constantly loving, lifting, and leading others, and who now lives in our hearts to spur us on to lives of the same.

God’s purpose in this is two-fold. He wants us all to make it to the spiritual finish line, of course. But His heart is moved by those who have yet to even enter the race. It’s His hope that they will see Him in the love we have for one another (John 13:35) and be drawn by His Light on their own dark days.

Finally, God expects us to keep our brother in prayer. A lot of the people I love are in difficult places right now, and I approached my devotional time this morning with a heavy burden on my spirit as a result. Not surprisingly, God had the solution ready and waiting for me. He told me to list those whom I was most concerned about on the open page of my prayer journal. Obediently I wrote the names of four people whose needs were foremost on my heart, acknowledging again my complete inability to alter the life situations of any of them. On a post-it note I then was told to write out the words of my favorite verse: Be anxious for nothing, but in all things, through prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6,7) Next I was instructed to tape the note paper on top of the names I’d written moments earlier. When I did so, I noticed that I was unable to see the problems I’d put down earlier, covered as they were by God’s promise of peace through the simple acts of prayer and thanksgiving.

A couple of hours later, I stopped at the local Starbucks, noting that it was shortly before noon. I was surprised to see the store nearly empty, so used am I to the long lines of the early morning hours when people are looking for a hot pick-me-up on their way to work or school. But I believe that it’s never too late for a latte, especially when pumpkin spice is on the menu, and as I placed my order I soon realized that fewer people in line meant more time to chat with the brew master behind the counter. Nodding my acceptance to his offer of an extra shot of espresso, I asked how his day was going.

“Well, I’m standing up. And I know where I am. So I guess it’s a pretty good day,” came his somewhat surprising reply. My heart, so recently released from the weight of its worry about others, suddenly laughed in response. My “brothers” and I, despite the situations we’re facing together, are likewise still standing. And it doesn’t matter where we are, because we know Whose we are. Truly that makes all the difference, and any day, no matter how difficult, a good one indeed.

“…I am yours…“ (Psalm 119:94 NIV)

Positively Powerful

2011-10-28T01:48:00.000-07:00

I resolutely pulled the bookmark out of volume, opened the cabinet door that hid the trash can and unceremoniously dumped the book in. I was done. Resolutely I put aside my desire to be pulled into a story so artistically told by an author I love that I have no choice but to flip page after captivating page. This time I simply couldn’t get past the negativity of what I’d read so far; foul language, angry people in destructive relationships deliberately hurting one another. On a mini-vacation myself, I’d picked up the story hoping for a brief escape from that which surrounds me on a daily basis; I didn’t need it to follow me even into what was supposed to be pleasure reading. What surprised me was that I waited so long before giving up. I kept hoping the tale would take a happier tone, but as the plot continued its downward spiral I made the choice not to follow it any longer. There are too many people and situations in my life that need my positive input for me to fill my mind with thoughts from the other end of the emotional spectrum. The same is true for you.

Our outlook on life is our choice, but it is fed by other decisions we make on a daily basis that often seem unrelated: how much we sleep, what we eat, who we hang out with, what we listen to and what we allow our eyes to see. Surprisingly, one of the most important influences is what we allow ourselves to think. I’ve spent the recent months considering how that last item on the list is linked to the first, in other words, the importance of what we think just before we fall asleep.

As a simple example, the local baseball team this summer seemed to display an uncanny ability to suddenly lose a nighttime ball game after leading with two outs in the bottom of the 9th inning. Disgusted and disappointed, a look at the clock tells me it’s time to turn out the lights on more than just the game and go to bed. But is that a good idea? My summertime study said absolutely not, that it would be so much better for me to turn on Conan O’Brien’s late night talk show and laugh for fifteen minutes first, maybe read a chapter in a good book (The Book, perhaps?!) or think about something else that makes me happy before closing my eyes on the day.

It’s important to end each day on a positive note. The Bible tells us not to let the sun go down on our anger, a verse we mistakenly limit to marital disharmony, a warning not to go to sleep without making up first after a fight with our spouse. But there is much more to the verse than just that. Our minds dwell on that which we were concentrating when we fall asleep. If we’re upset when we go to bed, our agitated state can give us a restless night, causing us to start the new day tired and grumpy instead of alert and refreshed. But what if the opposite were true, and we closed our eyes deliberately considering the blessings of God which fill our days, or reflecting on the goodness of some person, the beauty of a place, or the happiness associated with an event that just occurred? Surely then our morning cup of coffee would be met with a grin instead of being the necessary prelude to producing one.

The idea expanded. What if we put our interactions with people to rest the same way? Mother Teresa said, “Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness; kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile, kindness in your warm greeting.“

Can you imagine how different our relationships with others would be if we made a deliberate attempt to end each conversation on a positive note, either with a laugh or a smile, an encouraging word, or an expression of love? The key word in that sentence is deliberate. It’s not something that comes naturally to a lot of people, especially when our own lives are troubled with trials and distress. But it can become natural when we put it into practice again and again. And what better way to fight back against the woes of the world than by lightening the load, even momentarily, for somebody else? When our minds are consumed with making others feel better we often find that we do, too, despite our unchanged circumstances. And it could be that an improvement in our mental attitude is the first step in altering the life situations which challenge us.

Finally, it’s important to enter our final rest on a positive note, as well. That can only happen if we’ve settled the issue of where we’ll spend eternity, for surely that is also our choice. Either we accept God’s offer of forgiveness through His Son, Jesus Christ, and live the rest of our lives in the peaceful assurance of salvation that it brings, or we reject the concept of our need of a savior and spend our final days in fear and dread of what lies ahead.

A woman coming through my check-out lane at the grocery store the other day had among her many groceries a copy of the wonderful best-seller, Heaven is For Real, in which author Todd Burpo shares his young son’s description of a visit to Heaven he experienced while undergoing surgery. She told me that a copy of the book was given to her mother while she was in hospice just before she died, and at that time she had responded angrily over the gift, asking her mother, “Why’d she give you that book? You’re not going anywhere!”

Yet the truth is that we’re all dying. God spends a good portion of the Bible talking about death and encouraging us not to fear it. Perhaps that’s because when our hearts are at peace about the end of our lives, we can take our focus off of our dying and put it on our living, where it belongs. Then dying is just something that happens in the midst of our living out God’s plans for our lives with fervor, joy and love for whatever time we have left.

If you find at any time of the day or night that your thoughts are being pulled in a negative direction, remember that they don’t have to stay there. I like Graham Cooke’s assertion in a sermon I heard one time that you can have a better thought. Trash the old, and simply think again.

“My son, preserve sound judgment and discernment… when you lie down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet… for the Lord will be your confidence…” (Proverbs 3:21,24,26 NIV)

Away Above

2011-10-12T13:02:00.000-07:00

The kids struggled down the narrow aisle of the plane, their backpacks bumping the seatbacks on either side of the walkway. We were headed to Orlando, after all, home of Mickey Mouse and friends, but I guiltily sighed in relief as they headed towards the seats in the back. I needed to sleep on this flight, my rest disturbed the past couple of nights by worry and stress and simply too much to do. When I realized that I’d even left my book in the front pocket of my suitcase, now checked at the foot of the walkway, I decided that even God must be affirming my need for a nap. Trying to forestall the grump rising within me, I vowed to spend the next two hours in peaceful slumber. And I came ever so close. I settled back in my seat, closed my eyes and began thanking God for the many ways He’d shown up in my life the day before. I was just…drifting…off…

“Oh, MOMMY! Look at the clouds! It looks like Heaven!” came the child’s voice from two rows or so behind me. My eyes flew open and I was immediately gazing out the window at the orange glow on the horizon, heralding the sun’s soon arrival over the purple-gray cotton-candy carpeting of Heaven’s endless floor. Suddenly I was ever so thankful for the wonder of the child behind me that (literally!) woke the same in me. He continued his discussion with his mother over what Heaven must be like, his little voice the only sound breaking the silence of that early morning flight. Slowly peace filled my soul as I soaked in the beauty of the scene stretched out before me, and tears filled my eyes at the thought of the nearness of Heaven and eternity.

God knew that my spirit needed rest more than my body needed sleep. He wanted my thoughts to fly “over the rainbow,” as the song goes, where “worries melt like lemon drops away above the chimney tops”, far and above the troubles of the world below. God’s Word promises that they can do that. The rainbow in the sky is proof of it, given to Noah as a sign that God would never again destroy the world in a deluge of water. We need to hear that promise again when our own worlds are flooded with problems and difficulties that threaten to destroy us. Perhaps when He hung that bow in the sky it was to remind us to hang our worries on the Cross and our hope on the promises found in His Word.

The days and weeks ahead of us may very well prove to be enormously difficult. Each of us have our individual battles to wage and problems to face. For many, storm clouds are hanging low on the horizon and the thought of the dark and dreary struggles ahead make us want to climb back in bed and pull the covers up over our heads. It’s in those moments that He sends the child-like faith of one seated near us on our journey to awaken us to thoughts about the beauty on the other side of those clouds and the Love that waits for us there.

We don’t have to wait till we get there, however, to experience the presence of God in our lives and the hope and help that He brings. The Bible promises us that the Word is near to each of us, in our hearts and on our lips (Deuteronomy 30:14)… and sometimes spoken out of the pure and simple faith of a child like the one I was blessed to have seated just two rows behind me.

“Fear not: for I have redeemed you, I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” (Isaiah 43:1-2 NIV)

Impact's Importance

2011-09-30T03:48:00.000-07:00

Thump.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and finishing up my devotional time when the latter was interrupted by a sudden noise out on the back deck. Thinking that it had to be something more than just the black walnut shells the squirrels have been dropping out of the tree like crazy of late, I looked out the glass door and was shocked to see a baby squirrel lying motionless on the wooden planks…again! The shock of the moment was doubled by the realization that the same thing happened almost to the day last year, as a subsequent journal entry later proved!

Last year when the disaster occurred, the baby almost immediately started moving around and hollering for help. Home alone at the time, I was eventually able to push it into a hole high up in the tree (see Extra Effort Required, September 21, 2010). This time, however, the infant appeared to be toast. Although still breathing, it lay motionless for so long that I figured it must be mortally wounded in some way. I decided to give it some time, and finished what I was doing. But nothing changed in the squirrel’s condition. Other adult squirrels actually ran past it without paying it the least attention as they made their way to dig in the planters on the deck railing or feast on the bird seed in the feeders. Deciding it was past rescue, I resolved to move it to the woods on the other side of the fence where nature could take its course without my dogs getting to it and ripping it to shreds. But when I emerged from the garage, broom and shovel in hand, I was amazed to see that the baby had suddenly rolled over onto its feet and was moving around drunkenly, all the while crying piteously! Apparently rescue was still an option on the table. This time I was not home alone, and while I waited for my husband to be available to help, sat back down to see what would happen next.

Looking out the window and up in the tree, I finally saw Squirrel Mama looking anxiously down at her baby. In doing some research after the fact last year I learned that a mother squirrel will eventually come and get her displaced young if given a chance. So I moved out of sight and began to pray fervently that the feat would be accomplished.

Sure enough, the mother squirrel s-l-o-w-l-y came down the tree, and then ever so cautiously made her way to the infant, which she then began rolling around and around, as if looking for a place on which to get a grip with her mouth. The youngster became more agitated with its mother nearby so the process took a bit of time. Finally she got a good hold on him, and then with amazing ease, bounded on to and up the tree! I held my breath for a minute, half expecting them both to come crashing back down, then raced to another window that afforded a better view. Both squirrels were long gone. I rejoiced at the “happily ever after” ending to a story that I had thought was (literally!) dead and done long before.

Amazingly, I’d been thinking about a name on my prayer list when the whole squirrel episode dropped from the tree and physically illustrated what God had been speaking to me moments before. I had come home from a church conference a year and a half ago with what is known as an Impact List, a wallet sized card on which to record the names of people to impact in some way spiritually, to somehow love into the Kingdom of God through prayer, fellowship or ministry of one type or another. High on my list was an individual who was likewise desperately in need of rescue, physically as well as spiritually. Out of a job for close to two years, he was now rapidly running out of options and hope. I’d been praying for him month after month with little visible results. Frankly, I was growing a little discouraged myself in the process, my hope for him beginning to look a lot like the motionless squirrel spread-eagled on the wooden planks of my back deck.

But God wouldn’t let me give up. I am amazed at the number of ways He spoke that message to me. I laughed when I looked on my fridge and found posted there the Italian phrase-of-the-week I had picked at random (or so I thought) out of a year’s worth of the same: Non arrenderti mai, which means “Never give up.”! I opened the newspaper only to see a story about a high school football player who was too short to be taken seriously by the college scouts, despite his great work ethic and many physical skills. On his upper arm was tattooed his motto: Never give up. And I was shocked when at work one day a coworker ended a random conversation with me with the comment, “Never give up, Elaine! Never give up!” Surely he must’ve wondered at the look I gave him, so startled was I to hear God’s words coming out of his mouth! And so I continued to pray.

And then suddenly one night there came a phone call from that very prayer project, who told me that he had been offered a good job and was heading back to work immediately! Even as we rejoiced together, I knew that the rescue was yet incomplete, however, I was thrilled to know it was underway! While salvation remained the ultimate goal, his immediate need was to be picked up from the floor of despair into which he’d fallen and had been lying unresponsive for so long. Just as the mother squirrel spun her baby around in her paws, looking for a place to get a grip, perhaps God does the same, allowing our life situations to roll us around awhile until just the right spot in our hearts is exposed, contact is made, and He can carry us Home.

It was the impact of the squirrel hitting the deck that got my attention that morning when I was busy doing something else. And perhaps that explains the same name of my prayer list, that the persistent petitioning on behalf of the people on it gets God’s attention, and moves His heart to respond.

I recall that several other squirrels ran past the baby during its moments of distress without paying it the least bit of attention. The rodent rescue was clearly the responsibility of the one that had the connection to it. And similarly there may be people in our circle of relationships whose names are not found on anybody else’s prayer list, making our dedication to the same of eternal importance.

Finally, it was amazing to me that the situation occurred in the same manner, two years running. Obviously I didn’t get the whole message the first time around. Last year when a squirrel fell from the sky in front of me the point was made that extra effort would be required to get those people whom life has dropped by the wayside back to where they need to be. This year I learned that the main focus of that effort has to be prayer.

When I came home from that church conference two years ago with my prayer list in my pocket, it became almost a point of honor among those of us who attended the event to be able to whip out our cards on a moment’s notice if asked. Yet no impact is made if all we do is write a bunch of names down on a slip of paper and then carry it around. Rescue happens when we drop to our knees with those names on our lips and truly begin to pray.

“Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.” (Galatians 6:9 NIV)

Morning Sonshine

2011-09-19T16:46:00.000-07:00

I like my eggs sunny-side up. I like the people in my life the same way; cheerful, happy, grinning broadly at me. But sadly we don’t live in a world that‘s eggs-actly the way we like it. There will be days when our spouse feels a little hard-boiled, our friends’ emotions are fried, or our loved-ones’ lives are totally scrambled. Some people can’t even seem to make it out of bed without cracking and spilling their guts out all over the place. Smiling brightly in those moments is often the last thing on their minds. And much as we hate to admit it, there are days when we feel exactly the same way.

So how do we keep our relationships intact when the people involved seem to be falling apart? One key feature in maintaining their longevity seems to be developing the ability to swallow; to accept what is served up to us with grace.

Not everything is meant to be ingested (raw oysters come strongly to mind), and parents of small children will tell you that they seem to spend half their lives pulling things out of the mouths of their toddlers and babies that should never be put in there in the first place. Likewise in relationships there are deal-breakers; infidelities of one type or another or abuse of various kinds. Perhaps we each have our own list of things we can’t tolerate based on our own experiences or our history with the person involved. When one of those is put on a plate we sometimes find we are simply unable to get past it, and perhaps the days of dining happily together are over. But when it comes to most day-to-day minor irritations, we’d do well to learn to simply swallow them down.

Getting them past the tongue is the hard part. There are usually so many things we are tempted to say. Many times our words are justified; sometimes they’re absolutely essential. But more often than not we’d be better off to just close our eyes, plug our nose and let the incident slide quietly down our throats.

Sometimes we find that almost impossible to do. Many people suffer from a very real condition called dysphasia, the medical term for the sometimes life-threatening difficulties in swallowing that are caused by a variety of factors. Thankfully, help is available. Some of the easiest of the many treatment options involve avoiding certain dietary components, changing posture when eating, removing distractions, and simply taking smaller bites. Swallowing therapy is also sometimes a viable option. Not surprisingly, we can employ similar techniques to help us get along with people we find it difficult to deal with on an emotional level. For example, we might have better success if we would avoid words that we know will trigger emotional reactions, reposition our hearts in a more positive direction, remove any personal agendas that would hinder open communication, and simply handle our differences one issue at a time rather than en masse. Professional counseling might also help us develop necessary communication skills that we didn’t possess before.

When my youngest son was very little, he had a trigger gag reflex. Forcing him to swallow what was put before him often resulted in very messy eruptions from the depths of his inner being. And some of us react in the same manner when expected to swallow a less-than-appetizing situation that is placed on our plate. Thankfully it was a condition my son eventually outgrew; now I’m amazed at his ability to swallow anything and everything, usually in mass quantities. And if given the chance, God can work the same change in us. He states in His Word that His grace is sufficient for us, meaning that in His strength we can accomplish what in our own power we cannot do. As we mature spiritually we will find increasingly that His promise is true.

While grace in this instance means the God-given ability to handle that which is set before us, the word can also mean a prayer that is spoken before a meal. And when it comes to dealing with difficult people, it could be that the two definitions are inextricably linked.

My family understands the importance of saying grace before chowing down, given the extent of my cooking abilities. We routinely claim the promise of Mark 16:18 that believers can swallow even deadly poison and it will not harm them! Perhaps prayer before starting the day would have the same effect in our dealings with others, and no poisonous words or actions on their part would provoke a negative response in us. Too often we wait till the day’s difficulties are well underway before we think to do so, and as a result we react to problematic people in any number of unprofitable ways. We pester them, plead with them, and preach at them. Praying for them as well as for our own reactions is often a last-ditch resort when it should be our first action before ever picking up the knife and fork.

The upside of it all is that if we put a little more Sonshine into our mornings, our relationships might be a whole lot sunnier, as well.

“But He said to me, My grace (My favor and loving-kindness and mercy) is enough for you [sufficient against any danger and enables you to bear the trouble manfully]; for My strength and power are made perfect (fulfilled and completed) and show themselves most effective in [your] weakness…”
(II Corinthians 12:9 AMP)

Not Big on Bugs

2011-08-30T08:00:00.000-07:00

“There’s a moth flying around down there,” my husband warned, pointing to the floorboard on my side of the vehicle. Concentrating on the text I was sending and picturing a tiny bug fluttering about my feet, I said, “If I don’t see it I’ll be fine. I’m not worried,” and continued tapping the screen and pushing buttons.

“Okay, I just thought I should warn you.”

Finished at last, I reached down to slip my phone in my purse, only to find a HUGE winged creature perched on the top of the front cloth panel, the size of a small bat it seemed to me, it’s black, beady eyes staring straight at me as if daring me to push the phone past it.

I didn’t scream, but I hollered good and loud. Repeatedly.

“It’s just a moth! I tried to tell you…”

“You didn’t say it was the size of an airplane!” I held my phone in my tightly clenched hands and scrunched as far away from my purse and The Creature as possible without diving into the backseat, hoping that if I didn’t look at it wouldn’t advance any more in my direction. We were headed to a wedding, and so I concentrated on whether I could make it through the ceremony without the essentials of life packed in my bag. I surely wasn’t going to touch the latter until that bug was long gone. I could envision us now, seated in the pew, watching the wedding party come down the aisle and thinking thoughts of something old, something new, something borrowed…when suddenly something flew out of my tote and scared the living daylights out of me all over again. It just wasn’t going to happen.

Have I mentioned that my husband is a hero? He pulled into the parking lot of a farm market we were driving by, got out of the car, came around to my side of the vehicle and opened the passenger side door to where I was still sitting frozen against the gearshift. Realizing I was never going to hand him my purse, he reached in and got it, set it on the trunk and began his search for the winged invader. Having apparently been scared itself as badly as it had frightened me, it had taken a tumble into the depths inside.

“I don’t see it,” Jim said.

“You’re going to have to pull everything out. It’s in there somewhere,” I said with certainty, having by this time unlocked my legs and gotten out of the car, checking the floorboard area as I did so to make sure the thing wasn’t still in the vehicle.

Resolutely he began removing items and setting them on the lid of the trunk. I carry a big bag that it’s easy to stuff a lot into, and much had been thrown in there during the activities of our busy summer, most of which were soon on display on the hot metal surface. Out came the umbrella, the water bottle, the notebook and the wallet, followed by a few unmentionables that I normally wouldn’t have brought out for public viewing. But this was an emergency.

“There he is!” my husband spoke at last, grabbing the still fluttering monster with his bare hands (ugh!) and letting it loose on the gravel parking lot. Much relieved, I packed the items back in my purse, got back in the car and quickly slammed the door shut before it could fly back inside, and we continued on our way into town.

I write the words above to give you the understanding that I’m not big on bugs of any kind. But because God is relentless in His attempts to get a point across, I found myself a couple of days later face to face with a grasshopper sitting on top of the microwave in my kitchen. I recognized it, of course. I’d seen it in a corner of the living room a day or so earlier and had done nothing to remove it, figuring it wasn’t hurting anything, nibbling on my husband’s houseplants, at worst. Surely the cat or the dog or the long-suffering spouse would take care of it eventually. Now perched on top of the appliance, it didn’t look particularly scary, but the problem with most bugs is that they don’t stay in one place. Even as that thought crossed my mind, the grasshopper launched itself over my head, causing me to duck wildly, my heart stopping momentarily in panic, and my coffee very nearly spilling all over the kitchen floor.

“I give,” I said to God a short time later. Sounding much like the plague-besieged Pharaoh of Biblical fame I pleaded, “No more bugs, evil butterfly-cousins, or insects of any kind. Just tell me what You want me to hear, and I’ll listen and act upon it.” He had definitely gotten my attention.

Not surprisingly, He brought up the subject of my reluctance to deal with things that scare me. I avoid confrontation, not just with bugs, or people who bug me, but problems and painful situations of any kind, choosing rather to run away from them than figure out a way to deal with them. It’s as if I believe they can’t bother me if I don‘t look at them, and yet in my heart I know that they’re still about the place…somewhere. And so my daily activities are hampered as I go about life with a wary eye and a tentative step, always wondering what might jump out at me from around the corner. God simply wants a better life for me than that, and frankly, He can’t use me if I’m a frightened follower rather than the fearless forerunner He created me to be.

A recent situation at work came up as an example. I love my job, except for one assignment I’m occasionally given that makes me incredibly uneasy for a variety of reasons. Yet my personal preferences carry no weight with my supervisor, who simply expects me to do and go as I’m told. My joy in my job began to disappear completely, swallowed up by the nagging fear concerning my possible job assignment each day when I clocked in at the start of my shift.

When I wondered why God didn’t deliver me out of this situation, His response was that in Him I am a victor, not a victim, and as such I didn’t need rescuing. What I needed instead was a strategy to help me overcome the problem, which He was perfectly willing to give upon request. The instructions He subsequently gave me became the stones in my sling to use against the Goliath that stood in the way of my once again enjoying my workday. When I ran at the giant instead of away from him, my fear fell dead at my feet.

Several years ago a friend of mine and her family lived in an old farmhouse they rented in a rural area of Ohio. When the weather turned cold, a couple of harmless but horrible-looking black rat snakes went up inside the walls of the house to over winter in the relative warmth of the attic. When spring came around again the reptiles were once again on the move. One day my friend and her loved ones were gathered around the table enjoying a meal when a snake suddenly dropped through the roof through the light fixture and hung above the table, dangling mere inches in front of their faces! They screamed, dropped their forks and knives and raced out the door. Only after their hearts quit pounding and they had caught their collective breath did they realize that while they were all safe and sound outside, the snake was still inside…somewhere. They had no choice but to go back in and look for it, but apparently it had pulled itself back up through the hole it had dropped through. For days after that they tiptoed around the house, opening drawers and cupboards slowly for fear of finding a snake coiled up on their underwear or towels, and examining light fixtures carefully before walking underneath them. But they just couldn’t live like that. So with the help of their landlord they went on the attack, eventually capturing and removing the snakes and blocking up the places where they had gained entry.

We simply need to do the same. Every day God spreads a banqueting table of incredible life experiences out before us, inviting us to come and partake. Yet when we least expect it, the enemy of our soul drops into our lives in the form of that which we fear most, causing us to flee from what is rightfully ours, that which has been purchased for us on the Cross and provided for our enjoyment. Because he has no place at the table and no portion in the bounty spread before us, his desire is to keep us from enjoying it, as well. Eventually we come to a place where we’re just not willing to let him get away with it any longer.

Unfortunately, the physical and spiritual insect plagues in my life have not stopped, no do I even expect them to do so any more. But neither do I fear them like I used to. Through them God has taught me that if I‘ll turn to Him for advice and assistance, I’ll find that He is still very much in the business of setting His people free.

“You shall tread upon the lion and adder;
the young lion and the serpent shall you trample underfoot.”
(Psalm 91:13 AMP)

Water Woes

2011-08-12T07:11:00.000-07:00

I stepped out onto the back deck with my first cup of coffee of the morning and immediately sensed that something was wrong. I heard a strange noise I couldn’t identify but that sounded vaguely like running water. Looking up to see if a sudden shower was perhaps splashing raindrops on the leaves of the trees overhead before reaching the wooden planks I was standing on, I saw only sunlight and clear skies above me. Drawn by the sound to the left edge of the deck, I looked over the railing and was surprised to see that the stream which borders the yard was running like crazy, the water rushing down it’s path into the woods behind the house. The spring storms were long gone, and the summer had turned hot and dry. The local crops and ground were desperate for rain that had been withheld for weeks. Surely I would have been awakened by a storm of the severity to produce as much runoff as was flowing past the house, yet there was no sign that the surrounding property had received any relief from the deepening drought. Something besides rain was sending the water downstream. Resolutely setting my coffee cup down, I decided I’d better go take a look.

I hiked upstream to the top of the property, veering left around the fence to walk up the road, assuming the water was running down the ditch from somewhere up the hill. The brushy fence line along the side of the pavement blocked my view of anything beyond it, but the farther I went, the less clearly I could hear the water, till I gathered that I was going to have to stick to the streambed itself if I was to find the source of the flow. My feet sunk in the muck of the waterlogged footpath that crossed the stream to the neighboring lot, and I noticed water pooling around the culvert that emptied out from the other side of the road. Yet the water wasn’t coming out of the pipe, but forming a large puddle in front of it. Suddenly I noticed a spot where water was bubbling up from the ground itself. A broken water line was surely the culprit! Soon the water company was notified and before long a repair crew was said to be on their way.

Hours after the pipe had been replaced and the workmen had pulled their trucks off the property, I sat thinking about how my attention had been alerted to the problem in the first place. It was the sight of something unusual in my everyday surroundings - water flowing where none should have been - that caught my interest and led me to investigate further. And surely God uses the same tactic in drawing people to Himself. They see one of His followers exhibiting behavior inconsistent with what one would expect in the circumstances surrounding him, such as fearlessness in the face of a terminal illness, strength in time of overwhelming sorrow, or great calm in the midst of a calamity of some sort. Such responses lead the observers to look deeper into the life and beliefs of that one whose reaction is out of the ordinary. They track what they see to its Source, and oftentimes their lives and futures are forever changed as a result.

I know that the words written above are true, because they describe a similar situation that happened to me. Decades ago now, when I was first dating the man I would eventually marry, I had fallen in with a group of people who worked hard all week, partied hard every Friday and Saturday night, and then recuperated on Sunday to do it all over again the next week. I was surprised when I met Jim to learn that he didn’t live the way I and everybody else I knew was living. Rather, he found his joy in his relationship with God and the fellowship of people who knew Him. He talked about the church service that week and his Bible study group meeting with as much excitement as he did the latest softball game he’d played in, and it amazed me. I’d gone to church my entire life and believed in God, but the idea of being friends with Him and having fun in His presence was foreign to me. Intrigued, I eventually followed my boyfriend’s happiness and contentment to it’s source in a relationship with Jesus, and found that joy, peace and love can bubble out of a soul the same way that water bubbled out of the once-dry ground in my yard.

When the work crew first arrived on the scene that day, they told my husband that the extremely wet spring we’d had, followed by a hot and dry summer, was causing the ground to compact and break the pipes. The same thing has happened to some of us. A once-thriving relationship with God may have given way to a dry season in life. The increasing pressure surrounding us finally broke our hearts and brought us back to the love relationship we once knew with God and the Living Water that flows out of the same.

The repairmen went on to tell us that there were a dozen or more such leaks all over the city, and they were having trouble keeping up with the calls for assistance because of a shortage of help. And isn’t that God’s problem, as well? He says that the fields are ripe unto harvest, but the workers are few.

The truth of the matter is that people are at the breaking point all around us, and we don’t have to be on a church payroll somewhere to offer assistance. All that God asks is that we first let Christ flow freely out of our lives, and then that we be ready to point others in His direction when that running stream in a desert place draws the people around us in for a closer look.

“…Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have…”
(1 Peter 3:15 NIV)

Bunny Business

2011-08-01T00:31:00.000-07:00

I might as well change my name from Bridge to McGregor, as I seem to have spent the summer chasing bunnies, much like the gardener by that name in Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit. I don’t have a garden, and I rather like the sight of the cotton-tailed creatures hopping about the yard. The problem lies with my son’s beagle, who has an inherent hatred for rabbits, squirrels, and even low-flying geese. Especially rabbits. The minute he spots one through the living room window he’s mentally on the attack, barking incessantly and at very high volume until the intruder is removed from his sight.

But bunnies are not intimidated by a dog barking inside the house. Rather, they sit frozen in place, the one eye on the side facing the trouble watching warily and waiting for further alarms. So the barking won’t stop and the noise level doesn’t’ drop until for the sake of the still-sleeping family members I slip my feet in my flip-flops and head outdoors to chase the trespassers away.

You may wonder why I don’t just open the door and let the dog do the duty himself. But the property is not completely fenced, and he would chase the animal not just out of the yard but probably out of the county and very possibly out of the state, as well. While I don’t care if I ever see the rabbit again, I am partial to this particular puppy, noisy though he may be, and try to keep him close to home. So I take care of the problem myself.

Few things are as harmless as a bunny in the yard. Yet when Mr. McGregor spotted Peter Rabbit in his garden, he called him a thief, eating what didn’t belong to him. And this summer my spiritual life has been full of seemingly harmless thoughts that have nibbled their way into my subconscious and likewise stolen away much of my peace and joy. They are worry over life situations over which I have no control and have previously committed to God, yet they sneak back into my thought life when I’m not looking and consume too much of my time and thought life. Thankfully the Holy Spirit is my watchdog who alerts me to their presence again and forces me to run them off once more.

Perhaps your problems are much more intimidating than the bunny-sized ones that I seem to be dealing with. Yet the size of our problems is not the issue, as dealing with them is God’s job, nor ours, once we’ve committed them to Him. There’s simply nothing too large for Him to handle. But dealing with the worry over the same He leaves to us. He tells us so in no uncertain terms: “…Do not let your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. [Stop allowing yourselves to be agitated and disturbed, and do not permit yourselves to be fearful and intimidated and cowardly and unsettled.” (John 14:27 AMP, emphasis mine). In other words, “Get off your duff and chase that bit of fluff out of the yard!”

I’ve found that it’s not enough to merely chase the rabbits out of the dog’s sight, as they soon hop back to where they were feeding before. Rather I have to chase them completely off the property, pursuing them till their white bouncing backsides wiggle through an opening in the fenced boundary of the yard.

I notice that my gardener friend of storybook fame didn’t enter the bunny battle unarmed. Rather, he brandished the tool he had at hand as he ran after the intruder. And it’s surely no coincidence that the rabbit feeding times at my house seem to coincide with my devotional times, both morning and evening. It‘s as if God wanted to remind me that I likewise have my weapon of choice, the Word of God and the promises it contains, always close at hand - in my heart and on my lips, as is promised in Deuteronomy 30:14. Clearly it’s there to be used.

So the next time you are feeling disturbed or unsettled, let the Holy Spirit nudge you as He does so often to me, to look through the windows of your soul and see if there are any worries nibbling away at your peace and contentment. If you find some there, don’t just bark at them in vain, but in your best Mr. McGregor imitation, pick up your “rake” and chase those intruders all the way back under the garden gate.

“Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”
(Philippians 4:6-7 NKJV)

Bottomless Bucket

2011-07-16T19:59:00.000-07:00

The mother and daughter laughed excitedly as they tried to corral the avocados rolling in opposite directions on the conveyor belt that bore them relentlessly to the cash register. “We’re making guacamole,” the mom explained. “It’s on our summer bucket list.” Suddenly they remembered they hadn’t bought the makings for dinner, but I reminded them that after eating a whole bag of corn chips with the sure-to-succeed experiment, they wouldn’t be hungry for it anymore anyway. Still laughing they headed off to cross off another item on their vacation to-do list, leaving me to realize that with the summer one-third gone I hadn’t even taken the time to write any such items down.

Maybe their words caught my attention because I had a week’s vacation coming up, seven days as yet unplanned. I didn’t want to waste them. Yet I knew that if I left them to chance, they’d fly away like dandelion seeds in the wind, uncatchable, irreclaimable…unremarkable. I wanted to make them count.

And so I got a mental paper and pen and got ready to write. The first draft looked a lot like most of the “bucket lists” I’ve looked at online – things I wanted to see or experience before I ran out of time. In this case it was my week-long vacation time, but the same principle applies to our individual summertimes, and especially to our lifetimes. The emphasis was heavy on the word my. My wish list, for my life and my time.

Suddenly it occurred to me that I could take those seven days and donate them, that I could plan each day around doing something for somebody else instead of concentrating only on what I wanted to do myself. Of course, college students have been doing exactly that for years, spending their spring breaks on mission trips or building houses for homeless people. Without having seen the movie The Bucket List myself, I read a synopsis of the plot and learned that two terminally ill men who started off as complete strangers ended up as friends who helped each other cross items off their lists. Even the popular TV show The Buried Life about a group of friends on a mission to accomplish items on their bucket lists includes a segment each week of how they helped a complete stranger realize a particular dream of his own.

Suddenly I understood why God has been nudging my heart about this topic of late. It’s because my life is not my own anymore. It belongs to Him. And so perhaps my determination to make my time on this earth count for something should lead me straight to His “bucket list”, the purposes and plans He has for the people He loves, while there’s still time to accomplish them.

All this talk about buckets got me to thinking of one in particular I’ve seen at the entrance to the lodge at Hueston Woods State Park. It hangs under a faucet that delivers a slow yet steady stream of water, gradually filling until the weight of the water inside tips it over and dumps the contents into a basin below. Then the empty bucket swings back into an upright position and the running water starts to fill it once more. The process repeats itself over and over again.

I smile at the thought that maybe God’s “list” has just one item on it! Perhaps His sole desire is that before we “kick the bucket“, as the saying goes, we position our own in such a way that our lives become so filled with His goodness that they can’t help but spill it all out on the people around us, over and over again.

“…Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, ‘If a man is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.’” (John 7:37-38 NIV)

A Pot of Petunias

2011-07-04T17:52:00.000-07:00

I planted a pot of petunias today. Just one. I’ve learned that that’s all I can handle.

Death and destruction have pretty much followed my gardening attempts in years past. One year I enthusiastically planted flowers along the fence of our Texas home, dreaming of bright blooms bobbing their heads at me whenever I looked out the window. When the weeds grew bigger than the desired plants I resolutely began the process of pulling them, only to be chased inside by the bite of the fire ants, the persistence of the bees and the suffocating summer heat. I decided the flowers would simply have to fend for themselves. When they did not, and what was supposed to be a fence line eye-catcher became a backyard eyesore, my husband mercifully employed the lawn mower to erase my mistake. Since then I’ve left any outdoor gardening to his more capable hands.

I likewise have a long history of killing houseplants. In my single days I was determined to have greenery of some sort in my apartment, yet soon noted that I was buying a plant a week to replace one that had died in the preceding seven days. My budget couldn’t stand the strain. More recently I’ve been banned from indoor watering chores because of a tendency to either water too heavily or withhold the same till the brown and brittle foliage indicated that a once-thirsty plant had gasped its last. I was beginning to believe that the “green thumb” I thought I was born with was instead as black as could be.

That all changed quite by accident some years ago. A son’s graduation party coincided with Memorial Day weekend that year, and my mother-in-law bought a pot of red, white and blue-ish petunias to help decorate our back deck. It looked fabulous…until that first round of blooms faded. There was no second round of flowers to follow. Our back deck was overshadowed by the trees on the property and the plants simply didn’t receive enough light to thrive in that location. On a whim I set the pot on the front step which was normally bathed in afternoon sunshine. The flowers returned in abundance.

And suddenly I remembered how I had always wanted flowers on the front step, that it was something I noticed about the town when we first visited it with the thought of moving here so many years ago now. While my husband had pondered the practical considerations of driving distances to work, locations of freeways, churches and restaurants, all I seemed to see were white plaster flowerpots on porches all over town. The place seemed to be thick with them. I vowed that if we moved here we’d have flowers on our front step, too.

That idea got lost in the busyness of moving and working and raising a family. My husband was content with flowers in the ground under the front window and in various places around the yard. He didn’t see a need for a pot on the porch, particularly. And I eventually forgot about it, as well. Yet amazingly, God didn’t forget! How incredible that our Father loves us so much that He doesn’t forget the unspoken desires of our hearts, even those that matter so little in the grand scheme of things. Yet because we matter to Him, He makes them a reality in our lives in a way that draws our hearts to His more closely than perhaps if the wish had been granted when first expressed.

I’ve had flowers on my front step in one form or another every year since then. Their bright beauty does more than merely welcome me home from wherever I’ve been each day. They’re a reminder of my search to find the spot in God’s Kingdom where I was meant to bloom. We each have one, you know - a place of service where the gifts and talents God’s placed within us function at their best to accomplish His purposes. Finding that perfect spot, however, is the challenge, and too many of us give up before we do. I remember how frustrating my own search was, the many ministry opportunities I experimented with, only to seemingly discover one position after another that was not where I was meant to be. Then one day a simple request by a program director opened a door to an option I had never before considered, and suddenly joy and peace bloomed in abundance. I quickly cleared my plate of other commitments so I could concentrate my efforts on that which I finally realized I’d been called to do. When I looked back I realized that I had carried the makings of my ministry from birth. I hadn’t considered before that I was created to enjoy certain things that God later intended to use in His employ!

Once we’re born again there’s a longing in each of our hearts to serve God in some capacity. Too often we listen to the whispers of the enemy who says we’re not qualified to do so because of what’s in our past, our seeming lack of ability or time in the present, and our doubts about our commitment in the future. What changed things for me spiritually was illustrated for me physically. I simply moved my potted plant from the shady backyard to the front step where the sun shines. We likewise need to find that spot in our lives on which the Son is shining, and center our efforts on what is blossoming there.

“The desert and the parched land will be glad, the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like he crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy...”

(Isaiah 35:1-2 NIV)

Picture Perfect

2011-06-19T14:44:00.000-07:00

Anxious to sightsee and spend a little time together while at a family reunion of sorts, a group of us took a trip to a vineyard in the rolling hills near Cedar Rapids, Iowa. While some tasted the wares inside, others of us enjoyed the beautiful day by wandering around on the outside acreage, weaving our way between tables of people enjoying wine and cheese on the stone patio to walk around the large banquet facility set on a hilltop overlooking acres of carefully tended grapevines. Even inside the wine tasting room there was much to look at as well. We studied the history of the place documented in large photographs hung on one wall, as well as browsed among the many bottle-filled cubbyholes of wine and related items on display for sale. But my attention was soon captured by something totally unrelated to the fruit of the vine; it was the way the name of the place was displayed on the wall behind the bar.

A series of small photographs positioned together in two long rows spelled out Cedar Ridge Vineyard in a way I’d never seen before. Each photo was of some ordinary object whose form resembled one of the letters of the alphabet. The images were then grouped together to spell out words. Such was my introduction to the incredible world of alphabet photography.

It’s not an original idea. God was spelling out messages in pictures long before the first camera was invented through the physical world He created. And He says that we are without excuse if we haven’t yet understood what He’s been trying to say.

But it’s not always an easy thing to see something different in what we’ve always viewed one way. I found this out first hand a day or so later as we began the long drive home. To pass the time on the road I challenged myself to play a different version of the “alphabet game” that parents and children have long used to while away tedious hours on the road. Instead of looking for words on signs or buildings that began with a certain letter, I looked to see the shape of each letter in some other ordinary object. For example, I found an “A” in the metal crossbars of a huge bridge that spanned the Mississippi. The windows above the door of a passing truck formed a “B” that caught my eye, and I eventually saw the letter “C” in the curve of a road.

I found after a while that there was a certain knack to it, that I had to train my eye to see a letter in an ordinary object. The effort caused me to look at the passing scenery more intently and from a completely different perspective than I was used to viewing what passed outside my window. And maybe I even saw God smile at the fact that I was finally getting the idea.

You see, we are apt to complain that we don’t hear from Him as much as we’d like, and yet it’s a certainty that He is speaking to us all the time. He just doesn’t necessarily print His messages out on billboards for us to read nor speak them plainly into our ears. Perhaps He wants us to have to seek them out, not to be deliberately difficult, but because His words and thoughts are precious, and we tend to value more what we have to work somewhat to attain. Therefore He often spells His thoughts on a subject in a series of seemingly random life events, trusting that in His perfect timing we’ll eventually put them together and get His point. The individual alphabet photos had no meaning until placed in the proper order to spell out the name of the vineyard. God signs His Name to His messages in much the same way. When we finally get the parts together correctly suddenly He is visible and we experience that blissful moment of understanding and connection to His mind and heart.

Too often we give up before we reach that point. I found that I grew weary of looking at the passing scenery so intently. It required a lot more effort than to just sit back and let the world fly by. So I decided to give up on the game, to just relax and enjoy the ride. But then I was even more intrigued by that fact that I couldn’t stop! My eyes relentlessly looked for the unseen in that which was visible before me.

Such can be our spiritual experience, as well. Perhaps Jesus knew when He said, “I am the vine…”, that having tasted His wares we wouldn’t be able to resist coming back for more. As I wandered around the acreage that day, camera in hand, I suddenly realized that the phrase “getting the picture” involves a whole lot more than looking at what first meets the eye.

“Since we consider and look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen; for the things that are visible are temporal (brief and fleeting) but the things that are invisible are deathless and everlasting.”
(2 Corinthians 4:18 AMP)

Eyeing the Storm

2011-05-31T19:59:00.000-07:00

A young girl walks along a sidewalk when a police officer suddenly flies into her from behind, knocking her off her feet with such force that she slams into the wall beside her and falls to the ground. Stunned or perhaps momentarily unconscious, she lies there motionless while he quickly handcuffs her arms behind her back.

That video clip on the morning news was a lead-in to a discussion on possible excessive force used by the police department. I didn’t wait to hear the details but turned off the TV, aware that I’d seen the clip in response to a question I’d been asking God about a coworker of mine.

“How are you today?” he mutters, his face and voice directed at the floor rather than toward the customers he is required to address. Needless to say, they often don’t even hear him speak. Unsure if the question is directed to them when they do, they fail to answer. Met with only silence in response, he asks the question again but in the same way, netting the same silence in return. When he poses the question a third time I want to break the awkward silence by telling him to simply look up at the person he’s speaking to.

But that’s the issue. He won’t look anyone in the eye. Raising his arm to cover his face from view, he peers under it to analyze the groceries coming down the belt towards him, mentally grouping the items that should be bagged together before they reach him. He bags them with his head down and answers any questions the same way. When forced to speak, he lifts the neck of his shirt to cover his mouth. Everything about him indicates a desire to be invisible. It’s an obvious struggle for him to fulfill the requirements of a job that forces him to deal with the public on a daily basis.

His attitude frustrates coworkers and confuses the shoppers. Some mock him, but most people just look at him in bewilderment and then grant him the solitude he craves. Others try to speak to him kindly and draw him out, but he keeps himself hidden behind doors he has shut to his inner being. I’ve noticed that his supervisors are unusually patient with him and am surprised that they tolerate his many quirks. But perhaps it’s because they know his history that they cut him a little extra slack.

I’ve heard that he hasn’t always been this way. Apparently he is very bright, went to college and excelled in his studies. But just as his future was opening before him, an altercation with a family member (or so the story goes) knocked him down emotionally and severely damaged him, handcuffing his ability to function normally. Now even an entry-level position in a grocery store is frequently more than his fragile psyche can handle.

Some of us have likewise been blindsided in life by circumstances that have knocked us completely off course. While recovering and moving on as best we can, we remain handicapped by that incident and live lives far below the level that God intended. Those around us become confused and then frustrated at our inability to overcome the trial and begin to abandon us, accelerating our descent into isolation and despair.

What we need is an intervention, and thankfully God has provided One. Thinking about this coworker one day at work as he bagged groceries at the end of my lane, I pictured Jesus walking up to him, pulling that arm down from across his face, lifting his head up with his finger and gently turning his head with his hand, forcing him to look Him in the eye. There he would find the love and acceptance he so desperately needed, as well as freedom from his shackles, the regaining of the hope he lost, and the opening once more of the future that was taken from him.

For some of us the pain is compounded by the fact that it is the religious system itself that has failed and wounded us, making us reluctant to trust spiritual advisors of any kind. Yet we err when we confuse the fallible institutions of man with the unerring love of a merciful and loving God. How it must frustrate the heart of God when such situations keep us away from the help, healing and wholeness that are found in a true relationship with Him!

We need to lift our eyes off the situations that are dragging us down and direct our gaze onto the face of the One who has defeated the very things we fear. Truly Jesus is the eye of the storm so to speak, the place of calm in the midst of chaotic events swirling around us. In Him we find the peace and strength we need to confront the situations that threaten us and the key that unlocks the handcuffs holding us back from the future awaiting us. Once we are settled in Him, we can look our storms in the eye and speak His word of victory over our situations, even as the wind blows around us and the rain pelts us in the face.

Elizabeth Smart did just that recently. You may remember her as the young girl who was kidnapped several years ago and held captive for nine months by a criminal who was just recently sentenced to life in prison. When given the opportunity to face him in court and to speak her mind, she spoke of the beautiful life she has now and told him that he no longer has the power to affect her existence in any way.

It’s important to remember that “we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places” (Ephesians 6:12). We, too, need to face our adversary and speak our confidence that his influence over our lives has been defeated by the power, grace and glory of Jesus Christ, who rules and reigns in us.

When we look to Jesus in our storms, we find the courage to look our accuser in the face… and the love and confidence within us to look others in the eye, as well.

“…He got up and rebuked the wind and the raging waters; the storm subsided, and all was calm.” (Luke 8:24 NIV)

Fighting Form

2011-05-25T07:26:00.000-07:00

Standing at the self-checkout booth, talking to a customer, I suddenly felt an arm slip around my neck and realized I was being embraced from behind. Turning around to investigate I found one of my beloved “Kroger Kids” who had left his part-time employment at the store to go away to school. Delighted to see him again, I gave him a proper hug and demanded that he fill me in on the details of his first year in college. He smiled ruefully as he explained that in true freshman form there had been a little too much partying and too little studying. He had passed all his classes but was embarrassed that his grades had not reflected his usual academic excellence. He realized that next semester he was going to have to buckle down and get to work. I asked about his family and his plans for the summer, inquiring whether or not he was going to move back home. His quick and emphatic response in the negative was softened by the explanation that he simply loved living on his own and didn’t want to live under his parents’ roof again where he’d have to submit once more to his restrictive rules. He listed some employment opportunities he was pursuing, hugged me again with the promise to visit again soon, and turned to leave the store. Waving goodbye at the door, he was joined by a smiling girl pushing a shopping cart loaded with bags of groceries.

As he walked away with his lady friend I couldn’t help but notice that he had gained a lot of weight. Once a muscular baseball player, he had exchanged his rigorous physical training schedule for a much more sedentary life of school and social activity, and the lack of exercise was evident in the pounds that had been added to his already large frame. Physically as well as mentally he had a lot of work ahead of him to get back into fighting form.

As I watched him exit the building I reflected that many of us have likewise spent a time apart spiritually, pursuing dreams and purposes in life and having a fun time while doing so. But for some of us that season has ended, and with its conclusion comes the realization that its time to get serious about what we’ve been called to do. We’ve returned Home with a new determination to be about the Father’s business, but we realize that we’ve lost spiritual muscle tone during our time of relative inactivity. It’s going to take some effort on our parts to get us back into spiritual shape. Strenuous workouts are needed to strip us of excess weight, strengthen our frame, and get us fit for duty once more.

More than just exercise is needed to accomplish this goal, however. However diligently we may try to avoid “F”s in school I find that there are three that we need to pursue to excel in this particular course of study. The first is found in focus. We simply have to remember what we’re fighting for; the reason we need to get in shape in the first place. When I was about to leave home for college, now decades ago, I remember that I came across a photo in a magazine that epitomized where I wanted to end up in four year‘s time. Stretched across two pages was a shot of forested mountainsides bathed in sunshine, just begging me to step into the scene, the gentle strains of John Denver’s Sunshine on my Shoulders sounding softly in the back of my mind each time I looked at it. I couldn’t wait to get there. So I taped that picture on the wall directly above my desk, and every time I got lost in the horrors of calculus or chemistry homework I’d lift my eyes to the picture and be motivated to push on towards my forestry degree once more. I had to endure what was before me to get to where I eventually wanted to be. Similarly when we struggle to gain ground spiritually we need to lift our eyes to the heavens and be reminded of where we’re headed and the calling that we’re pursuing. If we’re exercising for no reason but to gain spiritual muscle tone we can lose interest early on, but when we put our purpose in our sights there’s a goal that keeps our nose to the grindstone and our feet stepping forward on the path before us.

Such action requires a fearlessness that most of us don’t possess on our own. It’s put in our hearts by God when He calls us to do something that requires more than we can muster to get the job done. He gives the grace and giftings to accomplish what He asks; our job is simply to believe and receive, two words that are easier to type in a paragraph sometimes than live out in real life. He simply requires that we step out into that which He asks of us, trusting Him to supply what we need. Martin Luther King Jr. expressed this idea beautifully: “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.”

And finally we need the fire to carry us through. We can lay the groundwork for a successful career or ministry, much as one lays the wood in a fireplace in such a way that it will catch and burn well once it‘s lit. But nothing is accomplished without a spark! God holds the match that lights the fire within us. The flame should catch and spread the deeper into the calling we go. Surely if we don’t have a passion for what we’re working towards we’re in the wrong business altogether and need to reassess our situation once more.

One of my sons and a friend of his recently embarked on the P90X (Power 90 Extreme) exercise program, a strenuous workout system that improves fitness dramatically in the span of three months. He’s commented on the daily time commitment involved, thankful that he currently has the room in his schedule to accommodate the workout regimen. And he mentioned the need to push through the pain of sore muscles to continue with the program as planned. But he’s starting to see results, which surely must encourage him to continue with what he began some weeks ago.

Similarly in the spiritual realm it’s not always an easy go when we decide to get serious in our pursuit of a deeper relationship with God. It may require time that we previously devoted to other purposes. And the process is sometimes painful in ways that we don’t expect as we deal with attitudes and behaviors that God targets as needing extra attention. But perseverance is rewarded with signs of progress that encourage us to go perhaps farther and deeper with God than we’ve ever ventured before.

I saw my former co-worker again just a couple of weeks ago, about a year to the day from his previous visit, as apparently he comes to town just to visit his mom on Mother’s Day! All I know is that it did his Kroger “mom” good to see again those piercing blues eyes, receive his warm hug and hear his easy laughter once more. But even better was it to hear the satisfaction in his voice as he spoke of a successful second year of school, a new position with an old employer, and a life back on track. I noted that in more ways than one he’d successfully lost the extra weight of the previous year and was in fighting form once more, eagerly anticipating whatever the future has in store.

Similarly, it‘s never too late to get into spiritual shape. By Father’s Day we could be well on our way to giving our spiritual dad the same satisfaction.

“Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread, and your earnings for what does not satisfy? Hearken diligently to Me, and eat what is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness [the profuseness of spiritual joy].”
(Isaiah 55:2 AMP, emphasis mine)

(Photo courtesy of David Zuckerman and Kevin Bridge)

Love Letters

2011-05-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

I’d finally reached the end of a late-night shift made even longer by the need to do my own grocery shopping at the end of it, and headed out to the far corner of the parking lot where I’d left my car many hours earlier. Wearily I popped open the trunk and loaded the grocery bags into the back of the vehicle, slamming the lid down when I was through. My eyes lifted to the back window of the car and then I literally jumped in surprise! The words “Love you” were written across the glass in white shoe polish! Alone in the dark with nobody but God to see or hear me, I suddenly smiled and even laughed out loud as the midnight sunlight of a friend’s thoughtfulness broke through the gloomy fog surrounding me. Happy once more, I began texting my thanks to her almost before even closing the car door.

It got me to thinking about what messages we spell out with the letters we’ve been given.

Just days earlier my son had purchased a Samsung Galaxy Tab and invited me to play the Words With Friends application, which is the game of Scrabble in tablet form. I was to start the game off and waited expectantly for the seven letters I would be given to work with to pop up on the screen. When they did so my eyebrows rose in surprise, as spelled out perfectly in the middle of the group of tiles was a four-letter word that I wouldn’t let come out of my mouth, much less set down on a game board!

I wish I could say that I didn’t first tally up the points I could’ve accumulated from using it before discarding the notion completely. And suddenly it occurred to me that we do the exactly the same thing in life. Almost unconsciously we weigh our options in delivering our messages. Too often we exaggerate the details slightly to make a better story, lower our standards slightly to raise our standing in someone‘s sight… in short, ignore our convictions somewhat in order to score a little higher in the game of life. There’s a ten-letter word for that, and it’s spelled compromise. God would so much rather that we choose to play well than that we come out on top.

Choices matter in the area of communication because we carry the words we’ve been given around with us. They have the power to bless us or curse us for years after they’ve been delivered. I was grateful that the rain had stopped long enough for me to see message on my car before it got washed away, and I carefully parked it in the garage when I got home to preserve its presence for as long as I could. The next day as I drove around town I would smile all over again each time I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw love beaming back at me from the back window. I’ve tucked similar messages in the pages of my journal to bless me all over again when I look back on them at some later date. But too often we carry the destructive messages that have been communicated to us around with us as well, reliving the hurt of those moments each time we look back in time.

It’s amazing to consider that we can make a difference in this world, one word at a time. So it’s important what words we choose to use. As I was considering my options in the opening word of my game with my son, I realized that I held another letter in my hand that would change the four-letter word I wouldn’t say into a five-letter word that I could play. One letter made the unacceptable suddenly acceptable.

One sacrifice did the same for me spiritually. And now the life that Jesus gave on my behalf influences the choices I make towards others…especially in the area of verbal communication. I have received love; surely now I ought to give love away. Suddenly the message on my car that was originally just a kind thought from a friend became a directive from God.

Yet surely we can go beyond simply being verbally kind to one another. There’s no greater way to spell out a message of blessing than to tell somebody about the love of God that has made hope and help and Heaven available to them once more.

My friend told me later that she almost changed her mind about writing on my car because she thought I might be angry. And sometimes we are hesitant to share what’s in our hearts for that very reason. We fear rejection. Yet we never know who may desperately need to receive a “love you” message from God at any moment in time.

One letter. One Life. One Love.
Pass it on.

“’Woe to me!’ I cried. ‘I am ruined! For I am man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.’ Then one of the seraphs flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar. With it he touched my mouth and said, ‘See, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin atoned for.’”
(Isaiah 6:5-6 NIV)

Lost in Life

2011-04-28T13:34:00.000-07:00

My years as a field forester spanned three geographical states (from California to Oregon to Washington), two marital states (from single to married), and on one particular day, two physical states (from lost to found).

For four years every workday began largely the same way. I’d load my boots, my vest, and my hardhat into the company truck, stop at the office for a co-worker, my paperwork, a cup of coffee and a donut if I was lucky, and then head out for whatever corner of the company’s land holdings I was to work in on that particular day. At the end of the day everything went back into the truck for the drive home and a run-through of the events of the morning in reverse. The duties of each day varied depending on my job title, office location, and the season of the year. Some days I found difficult, such as the one on which a “controlled” burn lost that status when it jumped the fire lines and turned into a raging forest fire. I hated working in the bone-numbing cold of snow and hiking on terrain so steep that I had to hang on to the brush I was pushing through to keep from catapulting down the hillside. But there were many more moments I loved, such as coming over a ridge onto the heart-stopping beauty of tree-covered hillsides stretched out before me, the heart-dropping thrill of helicopter rides with herbicide applicators who needed to be shown boundary lines, and the depths of friendships that developed between coworkers who got through all the moments together somehow. Yet few days stand out in my mind as forcibly as the day I got lost in the woods.

It began like so many others. Armed with the tools of our trade, my coworker and I headed out to find the stand of trees we were supposed to work in that day. The morning seemed to go smoothly, but at some point in the early afternoon we noticed that our maps weren’t lining up well with what we were seeing on the ground. The more we tried to get back on track the worse the situation became until suddenly we realized we were hopelessly turned around; in short, lost. For hours after that we trudged in one direction through thick brush and open tree stands, up one hill and down another, hoping to intersect with a road of some type that would give us a clue as to our whereabouts.

I remember the heat and physical exhaustion of the trek and our overwhelming disappointment each time we reached the top of a ridge only to see more hills and valleys before us with no logging trail or access road in sight. But mostly I remember my incredible thirst. Our water supplies emptied hours earlier, we looked in vain for refreshment in dry streambeds on a warm end-of-summer day. Weary, soaked in sweat, and incredibly cotton mouthed, I can’t describe our relief when we finally stumbled across a road, determined our location, retrieved our truck and were headed home at last.

It was a humiliating experience at best, one that required multiple explanations over the days that followed to an inquisitive boss, interested friends, and (supposedly) sympathetic spouses. Mine just thought it was funny, and the longevity of our marriage is due in part to the fact that he quickly learned to quit bringing up the subject for laughs in social gatherings of one sort or another. The people around me focused on the fact that I got lost. Yet what made it memorable to me was the absolute joy of being found – the relief of finally coming across a road, the gratitude for the directions we were given, and the satisfaction of finally drinking my fill.

Shortly after this incident occurred I discovered that I was as lost in life as I had been in the woods that day. My job had been going along fine until a transfer to a new city left me lonely and vulnerable. A few missteps in the wrong direction knocked me seriously off course until I gradually came to realize how desperately I longed for a way to get myself back on track. I was tired of waking up each morning to more of the same questions, problems and difficulties, the answers I sought having eluded me once again. I didn’t realize how spiritually thirsty I had become. Desperate to find a way out of my situation, I sought help from a fellow traveler who answered my questions and pointed me in the right direction, a path that led to the foot of the cross.

It likewise was a humbling experience. When that particular morning began I was a 24-year-old college graduate just killing time in the back of a classroom, looking forward to my plans for the rest of the day while my boyfriend fulfilled his weekly spiritual obligation of teaching a Sunday School class to a handful of sixth grade girls. People later laughed to hear that I needed the lesson he taught more than the kids I was with. But I remember the absolute joy of walking out of the room much as I walked out of the woods that day, having moved from Lost to Found, a huge smile framing my face.

One more detail from our Bad-Day-in-the-Woods. When we finally found a road and had made a decision which way to head on it, we soon came upon a small house. My coworker knocked on the door to get directions, but I spied something I needed more. A hose was curled up underneath a faucet on the side of the building. Without waiting to ask permission, I ran to it, turned the spigot, and got the drink I so desperately needed. I drank and I drank and I drank.

Once you’ve discovered how lost and thirsty you are, you don’t necessarily need to wait for the next available church service or to pray with a pastor to ask for a drink of Living Water, good though it is to get direction in those places. You can go straight to the Source and get what you need.

In my case, I found the Road, slacked my thirst, and have been happily heading Home ever since. The same can be true for you.

“The poor and needy search for water, but there is none; their tongues are parched with thirst. But I, the Lord will answer them; I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them. I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys. I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs.”

(Isaiah 41:17,18 NIV)

Tired Trekkers

2011-04-16T16:24:00.000-07:00

We are a weary bunch of earth-walkers these days.

From my post behind the cash register at the grocery store I see worn-out people coming through my line every day. Many answer my how-are-you greeting with the blatant admission, “I’m tired.” Others don’t even need to speak - I can read exhaustion on their faces. But it was the heart weariness of a fellow traveler that hit me the hardest the other day; that of a middle-aged man who routinely shops with his mother. The two of them gradually became my friends after years of passing through my line, always together. One day the mother pulled me aside to tell me that she was going to start treatments for cancer. The son drove her to those, too, of course. Soon he was shopping by himself while she waited for him in the car, too weak for the wearisome task of filling up a shopping cart even while her son pushed it. My queries eventually changed from “Where’s Mom?” to “How’s Mom?” Finally came the day he told me she’d been in the hospital since the previous weekend. “I’ve been there all day,” he said in a strained voice, “but I needed to come get some food.” And now I look for his mother’s face, not in the aisles of the store any longer, but in the obituary pages of the newspaper, the doctors having told him that it is only a matter of time before she passes away.

It was the weariness in his words, “I’ve been there” that got to me. I read the same in a message from an old college friend who found me recently on Facebook. In recounting the years since we lost contact he told me of his decision to stay in his marriage despite the unraveling of his relationship with his wife. Having grown up in a fatherless home he wanted a different experience for his own children. The words he didn’t type but that I read in the paragraphs he wrote were, “I’ve been there…”, at sporting events, leading their youth groups, piloting them through all the drama of high school, beaming at their eventual graduations, then driving them back and forth to their distant colleges each term.

And what pastor can stand before his congregation, looking at the families seated before him and not remember the weddings he conducted, the births he attended, hospital visits he made, counseling sessions he moderated and coffins he stood beside? "I’ve been there…" doesn‘t begin to tell the story of the investment of time and love he’s made on their behalf. Yet the devotion in stories such as these comes at a price. Apparently faithfulness and fatigue have more to do with one another than just their proximity on dictionary pages would suggest.

Does God know how tired we are? And does He care? The answer to both those questions is an emphatic yes. He sent me a picture to illustrate the point.

There was a break in the flow of customers through my checkout line at the grocery store the other day, giving me a chance to walk to the end of the lane and look about. In the cereal aisle a short distance away I saw a family shopping together. Actually, only the mother in the group was shopping, while the father carried his sleeping daughter. No longer an infant snoozing on his shoulder nor even an older baby held tight against his chest, the little girl looked to be about three years old or so, and was carried flat in the man’s arms in front of him. At some point the little girl had wearied of the expedition and so the dad had lifted her up and held her in his arms until she succumbed to slumber. From the look of the cart and the depth of the child’s sleep, they’d been in the store for quite some time. Surely it was a beautiful picture of our Father’s love, He who lifts us out of the situations that weary us and carries our burdens Himself while we rest. He, too, can say, “I’ve been there…” in every storm we’ve faced, whether we’ve acknowledged His presence or not.

But there was more. Their shopping trip continued with agonizing slowness, the father continuing his silent carrying of the little girl he loved. No longer any room in the cart to lay her down, he simply held her in his outstretched arms up and down the aisles through which his wife wandered. The woman continued to stroll slowly through the store, picking up items seemingly at random, reading their labels and then setting the objects back down on the shelves or depositing them in the cart. Finally the father could take it no more, and at yet another stop he simply leaned over and rested his forearms on the frame of the cart to give his screaming muscles a moment of relief.

What struck me the most about the shopping scenario I witnessed was the mother’s oblivion to the father’s pain. Could she not see that he was suffering, or did she simply not care? Amazingly it is we -not God - who are blind and uncaring. The situation accurately portrays where some of us find ourselves spiritually - so focused on the daily duties of life that we’re oblivious to God’s pain over the separation between us and the sin that keeps us from the help we need.

When our weary backs are breaking from the dead weight of the responsibilities we carry, let us remember how God’s heart was breaking over the same till He could take it no more and laid the spiritual weight of the world’s sins on His own Son’s outstretched arms. Jesus willingly carried it all the way to the grave, so that now we can lean on Him and let Him carry us all the way Home.

“In all their distress he too was distressed… he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.” (Isaiah 63:9 NIV)

Hot Spot

2011-04-04T06:52:00.000-07:00

“Nice you could make it today, Part Time,” the bass player said to me as we both got our instruments ready for an early morning worship practice. He smiled as he said it and I laughed at the new nickname, then protested indignantly that it had been my work schedule and not any lack of desire on my part that had kept me from recent mid-week rehearsals. In fact, it was due to a change to full time status on my job that led me to become part time in my worship team attendance.

He wasn’t buying it. As a foreman on his construction job he works overtime trying to get all his paperwork done. Then he has a home to cake care of, a son to hug, and a girlfriend to charm. I often wonder how he manages to make it to church at all, much less be one that leads the way in the passionate pursuit of God.

I honestly don’t think my friend Chad’s use of the new moniker was a reflection of anything more than his desire to tease. Yet he is also one who understands how the Lord can take a casual comment and use it to effect life-changing results. God has a double interest in doing so. He wants to change our lives for the better, of course. But then He wants to use us to change the lives of those around us. And with time growing short He needs full-time employees to get the job done.

Some of us stir uneasily at the thought that God wants more of us than we feel we’re currently able to give. Stressed to the breaking point already with too much to do, we ask ourselves in frustration, what more does God want?

God answered that question for me through a story Chad shared in a recent church meeting. He’d had a long day at work only to find it could get worse when he got home. His roommate had been cooking his supper, leaving a burner turned on the stove and then inadvertently setting his work gloves down on the hot surface. In an attempt to put out the resultant flames he grabbed the fire extinguisher which splattered molten rubber all over the kitchen. Such was the mess that awaited my friend when he walked in his front door.

I thought the story was especially appropriate to Chad’s life, and not because he’s so “hot” that women melt at the sight of him, as he frequently claims. The truth of the matter is that he lives with all of his spiritual burners turned on high. You wouldn’t know it to look at him - a slow moving, slow talking kind of guy. But spend some time listening to him and you soon realize that he has various projects and ministry efforts simmering on all parts of his spiritual stove.

But if God is calling us to more and we feel we have no burners to spare for additional pots, how do we respond to His call? I looked at my stove and realized that one of the burners has a “part time” and “full time” status as well! I can turn the control so that only the inner ring gets hot, or move it the other way so that the outer ring will light up as well, expanding the effective cooking area on that portion of the stove. Perhaps God is not asking us to put in more hours, but to put more passion and power in the hours we’re already dedicating to His service, making a more productive use of our time.

What is accomplished so easily with the turn of a dial on a stove takes a little more effort in our spiritual lives. A little while later I was randomly reading blogs on the internet when I came across one that addressed a similar problem. A writer was detailing her difficulty with concentration during the hours she had allotted herself to write, realizing that she was only actually putting words in her computer for about one third of the scheduled time. The rest of those precious moments were wasted on distractions such as music she listened to as she typed, the playfulness of her cat, the pull of the internet, and the conversation of her spouse, among other things. It was a wonder she got anything done at all. To combat the problem she found a free application for her computer called a “focus booster”, which was a visual timer that allowed her to be constantly aware of how much time she had left to work and thus kept her on task until her next scheduled break.

Maybe an awareness of the passage of time is God’s solution to the spiritual dilemma we face, as well. The first step to getting more out of the hours we devote to the Lord is to realize that we haven’t much time left to accomplish what needs to be done. And far from needing a downloadable app to focus my attention, I simply can’t escape the visual images on my computer, my television screen, and in the pages of my newspaper to know that spiritual seasons are moving rapidly along, and we need to be fully on task at all times. My practice sessions with the band have taught me that if I can only be part time in attendance I need to be full time in attention while I’m there. The same is true in any effort put forth on God’s behalf.

Unlike a stove, however, our spiritual lives shouldn’t have an on/off notch on our mental dials. Instead of giving two hours here and there to operate in our callings, it could be that God is calling us to a different type of worship “practice“, that of actively experiencing His presence in our lives all day long and on into the night. He is always on task, and amazingly I am discovering that I can be, as well, letting my spirit sing worship songs in the back of my mind while I’m busy with other things, my heart praying constantly without my lips actually shaping the words, and my tongue rehearsing his love and goodness in the words that do come out of my mouth.

The worship team’s sole purpose is to connect with hearts in the congregation so they will be receptive to the message from the pastor when he stands up to preach. Individually our goal is the same, to strike a chord with somebody in the mass of people who pass through our lives so they’ll be ready to listen when the Master comes knocking and begins to speak.

“Speak, O Lord, for Your servant is listening”

(1 Samuel 3:10 NIV)

Nail-studded Faith

2011-03-21T17:26:00.000-07:00

My prize possession in life when I was a 24-year-old single adult was a pair of cork boots.

"How sad," you mutter, thinking of all the things that a woman in her early twenties might surround herself with - friends, fashion, or home furnishings, to name a few. And while I enjoyed those things as much as the next person, they weren't necessities in my life so much as pleasant extras. I had to have my boots.

They weren't your ordinary, off-the-rack kind of foot gear. They'd been ordered for me on my first day on the job as a forester trainee with a private paper company in western Oregon. Even more, they'd been made for me personally from a tracing of my feet that we sent to the manufacturer. They fit me perfectly because they'd been made individually and specifically for me.

On the surface they looked much like any other pair of black high-top men's work boots. But their nail-studded soles grabbed hold of wet wood and held my feet steady as I clambered over fallen logs in the usually damp Oregon woods. I could scramble over brush with ease instead of struggling with exact foot placement, as I'd had to do before. They gave me mobility in the most treacherous terrain.

I didn't realize that at first. When I initially took them out of the box I was more struck with their appearance than with their function. But that changed soon after I stuck my feet in them and tried them out for the first time. I suddenly realized the power available to me, and from that moment on I rarely ventured out in the woods without lacing my leather treasures securely about my lower legs and feet.

The Bible says that when I entered into God’s employ I likewise was issued a pair of spiritual boots – a measure of faith, sufficient to handle whatever God had in store for me, and tailor-made to fit my needs and desires in the spiritual realm. But at that time in my life, my faith was a lot like my corks – new and untested. Like my footwear, it needed a little breaking in. I had to prove to myself that it was strong enough to dig in and hold me when the going got rough or the path before me turned slippery in the storms of life. I needed to learn to trust it to carry me safely over any obstacle in my way so that I could accomplish all that God had planned for me to do.

Now many years later, I’ve come to realize that my relationship with God is so much more to me than just a valuable asset. My faith and I have a shared history now - experiences we've been through together that have bonded us in such a way that we're difficult to separate from one another anymore. My faith in God has become my identity, my reason for living, and that which I simply can't do without in order to cover ground in the spiritual realm.

When I left the woods I took my boots with me; I just didn't use them anymore. I set them on shelves in closets or packed them in boxes that followed me as I moved through the subsequent stages of my life. And a funny thing happened to them. They became so stiff and dry that I couldn't get my feet into them anymore. While still precious to me, their value now lay in what they were to me in days gone by, rather than in what they could do for me today. It would take a lot of time and effort treating the tough cowhide with oil for them to ever be useful again, were it possible at all.

Yet we sometimes treat our most precious spiritual treasure just as casually. As the seasons in our lives change we sometimes pack our faith away, only to find that when we need it again it has become stiff and unresponsive - useless to us in its present state. Only much time spent in the ministry of the oil of the Spirit can restore it to a condition in which it can be of use to us…and others…once more.

After I'd worked in the woods for a while I took the nails in the soles of my boots for granted, until I happened now and again to step on my own toes. The resultant sharp pain was a reminder of what gave the boots their value. And I can likewise wear my faith too casually, until God steps on my toes and reminds me that it's only when my faith has some teeth to it that it's the treasure He intended it to be.

The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” He replied, “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it will obey you.”
(Luke 17:5,6 NIV)

Royalty Returns

2011-03-07T18:09:00.000-08:00

The Boss is back in town.

Not Springsteen; think store manager back from a week’s vacation. Frankly, I missed her. Far from brown-nosing, that statement is rather an admission of weakness on my part - I simply need to know there’s someone in charge. While I doubt I’ve ever said more than a sentence or two to the lady in passing, I like the fact that I see her frequently during my shifts as she walks the store, straightening stock, talking to department heads, and pushing before her a cart of trash and misplaced goods she’s pulled off the shelves. The fact that I do a better job when she’s around stems less from the fear of a poor performance review than a sense of relief in knowing that there’s a hand on the wheel, someone visibly steering the ship.

So now the store boss is back and the church boss is gone. Again my heart sank when we were reminded at a recent meeting that it was time for his annual family vacation. Never would I begrudge my hard-working spiritual leaders a minute of their well-deserved rest, and surely they never leave town without covering every detail of their absence with people who will wonderfully fill their shoes for a couple of days. Truly my pastor’s heart never leaves, even if his body craves those “times of refreshing” to be found in a boat on a lake with a fishing pole stuck in his hand. And willingly have he and his wife at times cut short their time away to stand by the side of those who have lost a loved one or to visit the bedside of someone who is critically ill. But it’s said that nothing calms an anxious bunch of sheep like the sight of the shepherd walking among them, and you know you’ve got a good one when your fleece-covered heart feels that same kind of peace at your pastors’ return.

So how much more do we miss Jesus, the Shepherd of our souls, in His absence? Not that He’s really gone, of course, as His Spirit dwells lovingly and powerfully in the hearts of His followers. But 2000 years is a long time to be physically absent from the planet. Surprisingly, His promised return and the timing of that event have been much in the conversations surrounding me in recent weeks. There’s a stirring in the spiritual realm that is quickening the hearts of believers, turning our spiritual eyes to the skies. But it’s provoking a response in unbelievers, as well.

The subject came up between two customers in my checkout lane at the grocery store last week, a conversation that ended with one man angrily declaring that he didn’t believe Jesus was ever going to return. He’d been hearing such talk all his life and had yet to see any evidence of the fact. He was done with the whole subject. Yet there were others involved in similar conversations who had a very different reaction, one which prompted them to ask more questions of other people and make life-changing decisions based on the answers they received.

I heard my supervisor at work ask one of the assistant managers yesterday if there was anything else we needed to do to prepare for the store manager’s return. And it’s a question we should be asking ourselves, spiritually, as well. Is it just a coincidence that the news these days is full of people in one country after another choosing who will have the rule over them, as long-held dictatorships and national powers are threatened or overturned? Could it be a warning, perhaps, or at the very least, a reminder that on a personal level we each face the same choice today?

The store manager is back today, my pastor’s coming back next week… and Jesus? We simply don’t know, but all signs point to His returning soon. While I’m quick to welcome back a company executive or a spiritual guide, Jesus is coming back as King.

Be ready when He comes.

“…choose ye this day whom ye will serve…as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
(Joshua 24:15 KJV, emphasis mine)

Busted on the Bottom

2011-02-17T13:42:00.000-08:00

I failed a “mystery shop” on the job last week.

The company routinely sends “secret shoppers” throughout the store to ensure that all employees are doing their jobs in the prescribed manner, and as part of that procedure a shopper came through my checkout lane to have her order processed. Apparently I failed to ask a required question, offering my assistance with any items on the bottom of the bascart.

It wasn’t just a personal failure; it affected the score for the entire store. Although they were all very nice about it, several superiors, including the store manager herself, mentioned it to me. Conscientious though I am about asking the question, I clearly didn’t do so this one time that counted, and so had to sign a write up for the incident, indicating that I understood the requirement was that I ask the BOB question every time a shopper comes through my line. Simple though my job is, I enjoy it tremendously and it’s important to me that I do it well. I was crushed.

My boss had mentioned that I’d been working with a particular bagger at the time, one who is a special friend and with whom I’ve received great ratings in the past. When I told her later what had happened this time around, her eyes widened in surprise and she said, “I remember that order! Don’t you?! You said, ‘I forgot to ask that lady the bottom-of-the-bascart question. She’s probably the mystery shopper.’”!

Suddenly I did remember saying those very words, and could’ve kicked myself for speaking the situation out of my own mouth! Perhaps you’re thinking that the shopper in question would’ve been the examiner whether I’d verbally declared her to be so or not, and while that’s very likely the case, the irony of the situation made me laugh, which at least made me feel better about things as I went on with my day.

For some reason, failures are easier to bear when they have a lesson attached to them in some way, and I found that the value in this episode had nothing to do with the grocery store at all. It was the activity of my tongue which was in question. Words of wisdom found in Proverbs 18:21 came quickly to mind: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue…” Simply put, our words matter, and what we verbally declare over our loved ones, our lives, and ourselves affects our future more than we can possibly imagine.

Discouragement followed that thought, as I felt unable to watch every word that comes out of my mouth, so often do they come out almost without conscious thought. Clearly that is what God wants to change. Just as quickly did I realize that I am unable to right the situation on my own; He simply has to help me. I pray daily that God would place a guard over what comes out of my mouth; perhaps opening my eyes to the problem in such a creative way is the first step in that very process.

But it’s not always the words that come out of my mouth that are the problem; as in the shopping scenario described above, often it’s the words that don’t. There are many times apart from when I’m behind a cash register that I think of questions I should but don’t ask. For example, I sometimes avoid asking, “What’s going on?” to a person I’m afraid might just tell me when I’m short on time or interest. I might leave out the necessary, “Can I pray for you?” at the end of some such recitals, for fear of attracting too much attention or embarrassing the confidant. And my reluctance sometimes to ask, “Do you know Jesus?” makes me wonder at times if I really do, either. And yet I know that life is found in the power of the tongue that leads people into a relationship with God.

The paragraphs above were already typed into the computer when God penned a special postscript to them a few days later. Once again I was at work and had just thanked a family for shopping with us when I saw them head to the customer service desk instead of out the door. I hoped it was only my imagination when I heard my name mentioned, but my heart sank when I saw an assistant store manager approach my check lane a short time later to pull me aside and speak to me privately.

“A complaint has been filed against you,” he began, “but before we talk about it I just want to say thank you.” Thoroughly confused, I could only look at him for an explanation. Thankfully, this time I had remembered to ask the shoppers about the bottom of their cart (whew!), but the question had offended them. They thought I was insinuating that they were trying to steal something and wanted to assure the management that they’d never stolen anything before and didn’t plan to start now. Quickly it was explained to them that asking the question is company policy in an attempt to stem the flow of unpurchased stock left unnoticed on the bottom of the carts, a loss due more to simple employee inattention than suspected customer theft.

Similarly there are times when people will react negatively to questions God wants us to ask. Their response does not negate the need to ask the question; it only indicates a lack of understanding of God’s purposes and a misjudgment on the intent of His heart. He wants the door to communication with Him to be opened, whether the subjects choose to walk through it or slam it shut. My job is simply to open the conversation.

My bagger friend was bothered to find that the failure with the BOB question was still on my mind a few days after the fact. We both know that there will be many more mystery shops and ample opportunities to ask all the right questions. But that is not necessarily the case with people whom God brings across my path on a day-to-day basis. Only He knows what their future holds, what they might be contemplating or what might happen to them the minute they walk again out of my life. My silence in that scenario might have consequences far more serious than a simple write up in my file.

How like God that He got my attention on a matter He wanted to discuss by weaving it into something that is very important to me - the pride and joy I take in my job. He reminds me that He did so only because it concerns something that is very important to Him - the pride and joy He takes in me.

“ …‘My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son.’”

(Hebrews 12: 5-6 NIV)

Caffeinated Comfort

2011-02-02T19:34:00.000-08:00

That simple message on the door to the local Starbucks coffee outlet stopped me for a minute before I smiled to myself and pushed it open to do just that. Picking up a coffee treat and maybe even a baked snack to take with me on my monthly visit to the nearby state park is a ritual I’ve found comfort in for more years than I care to count. And far from getting bored with the routine, I find myself enjoying it more and more as the months and years I indulge in it continue to mount.

Many in my circle of family and friends believe that my life is dominated by “rules” I’ve made for myself that dictate my activities and supposedly limit my freedom to live life as I please. But I consider them merely guidelines I follow for healthy and happy living, and include among them some time-tested experiences that have brought me enough joy in days gone by to be repeated on a regular basis. And it seems to me that I accumulate more of them all the time. I’ve come to realize that an unfortunate number of them center around food (high on the list are coffee treats on my days off and breakfast-with-a-friend at any and every opportunity) and are a big part of the reason I find it difficult to diet. But just as many are simply activities I engage in regularly to break the monotony of daily living and ensure that I‘m adding some zest and joy of life to my existence on a regular basis. They are as necessary to my mental and physical health as any of my various doctor appointments, and I find that I keep them with greater regularity and determination. In fact, I have to purposely schedule the less-pleasant duties of life into the hours of my day or I’d simply spend all my free time having fun.

I sometimes wonder if the items on my list are nothing more than selfish indulgences I allow myself, or if there is really something more to them than that. The word comfort in the message on the door is what caught my attention earlier in the day. Take comfort in rituals, it read. Perhaps the reason I’m increasingly devoted to my “rituals” is that my heart needs more comforting now than in days gone by.

It was as I was settling back in my car that morning, my coffee steaming in the cup holder beside me and a slice of lemon pound cake carefully wrapped in a white bag by my side, that I spotted a frail and sickly-looking woman heading for the coffee bar I’d just exited. Her head wrapped in a turban that seemed to indicate the absence of hair, I imagined her to be in the midst of cancer treatments of some sort. My eyes followed her painfully slow progress across the street and I could feel in my own arms the effort it cost her to push open the door, but with purpose and determination she made her way inside. I was struck by her commitment to a caffeine-related ritual she was clearly taking comfort in…an act of defiance perhaps against this disease that was threatening her, or an attempt to bring some sense of normalcy to a life spinning rapidly out of control. I hoped she’d find pleasure in her action despite possibly drug-disordered taste buds and uncertain stomach stability. Perhaps of all the treatments she was enduring, this devotion to her routine was the most beneficial of all. Inspired by her courage I continued with the morning I’d planned and appreciated it all the more.

We live in desperate times of economic uncertainty, worldwide unrest and the threat of terror on every level of our lives. We deal with everything from day to day details that are disrupted by minor disturbances, to adjusting to more momentous life changes, to coping with life-threatening health scares or natural disasters of one type or another. Is it any wonder our hearts reach for comfort whenever and wherever they can find it?

Perhaps that’s why Jesus advised us to take comfort in some simple practices that were to be repeated on a regular basis…rituals if you will… that He knew we’d not only take pleasure in when our lives were going well, but that would be especially helpful to our hurting hearts when times were tough. They range from the simple but overwhelmingly powerful practice of prayer, talking to God about everything from joys to sorrows, worries to wonders, questions to complaints…to reading His Word and finding peace in the sound of His voice… to gathering together for encouragement and inspiration on at least a weekly basis. Perhaps it’s my attraction to food that draws me to one other ritual in particular, that of sharing communion with one another in remembrance of Him. What greater comfort can there be than to partake of the bread and fruit of the grape together, remembering what Jesus has done for us in the past and His promise of an eternity of fellowship with Him in the future? In a way it’s a reminder to include Him in every activity, to be aware of His presence in our hearts now and to remember that we are never alone in any of the circumstances we find ourselves, whatever their nature. There is no greater peace than that found in the presence of our Shepherd and King.

So devote yourself wholeheartedly to whatever life celebrations you’ve established…just remember to invite your Savior to savor them with you. And if you haven’t yet developed any special rituals of your own, perhaps it’s time to begin.

Starbucks is simply a great place to start.

“And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.’”

(Luke 22:19)

Frozen Futures

2011-01-22T18:55:00.000-08:00

Baby, it’s cold outside!

More than just the last line to a song I heard multiple times this past holiday season, those words describe a December hailed by the local news media as the third coldest/snowiest on record for our area. I didn’t need to hear it from the weatherman, however, to know it was true. And while I was at work one particularly bitter cold night, I felt winter’s icy blast each time the grocery store doors opened to let shivering customers in, some of whom were still shaking with cold and visibly chattering teeth when they left again a few minutes later.

I saw the frost heavy on my car even as I approached it at the end of my shift, and couldn’t wait to get inside and turn the heat on high. But I was stymied by a problem I’d never encountered before. I slid the key in the lock, but it refused to turn and open the I door! Fighting the overwhelming cold and my mounting confusion, I repeated the process again and again without any luck. The door lock was simply frozen shut.

My remote control had been lost in a sledding adventure a week or so earlier, so the only way to get inside the vehicle was by direct key entry on the driver’s side door. The trunk opened fine, and I briefly considered trying to wiggle through the crawl space between the trunk and back seat. A quick test showed that even that had to opened from the inside. It was time to holler for help.

Called for advice and assistance, my husband suggested heating the key with a lighter. A non-smoker myself, I hurried back into the store to purchase one and ran the flame over the key repeatedly before inserting it again into the lock. Despite repeated attempts, there was no change in my situation; I was still denied entry.

Surely there was some kind of door-lock de-icer on the shelves of the grocery store I’d just exited for the second time, but back inside once more I looked in vain for any such item. Out of luck and hope and very near tears, there was nothing else to do but call my husband for a ride home and wait there for the spring thaw. His favorite football team was in the fourth quarter of a playoff bid; the last thing he’d want to do is get in the car to come and get me. I clutched the key tightly in my right hand as I walked back to the car, holding the phone to my ear with my left. As I delivered the bad news I stuck it in the lock one final time, tried to turn it…and finally it moved! Holding the key in the palm of my hand must’ve warmed it sufficiently to unfreeze the lock when it was stuck in the slot. The button popped up, the door opened, and my long-suffering spouse was hard put to say which pleased him more, that his team had just won their game or that his rescue mission was cancelled. I hurried on home.

I’m reminded that we as people are locked out of a lot more than just cars. The world is a cold place in these days of economic struggle and emotional discouragement. We find ourselves unable to open doors that seem to be locked to employment we need, to relationships we long for with family members or would-be lovers, to success as defined in as many different ways as there are people to populate the planet. In our distress we look to external avenues of help…people we can lean on, products we can buy to assist us, or plans and advice from others outside the situation. Heaven knows we might even turn to prayer, hopefully as a first resort, but possibly even a last. And when we do so, perhaps it’s then we’ll realize as I eventually did that I really didn’t need to engage in any of the earlier options. The key to solving my problem was already in my hand. I just hadn’t yet realized that fact or the power it contained.

Our lives seem to run smoothly along on autopilot most of the time until we hit a roadblock of some kind, and in our distress we forget that in most cases we already possess what we need to succeed. The Bible is full of stories of the same. Again and again God solved the problems of His people by directing them to look at what they held in their hands. A quick review shows that He placed everything from ministry tools to miracles to the makings of the same within their grasp. And once their attention was focused in that direction, they found victory there also.

We can do the same. The next time we run into a door that won’t open we can take a minute to really evaluate the options before us and the giftings within us. Many times we’ll find that God has already given us a word on the situation that we haven’t acted upon, placed a talent within us that we haven’t yet developed, or given us the resources to meet a need in a form we hadn’t previously considered. Above all else we can rely on faith, hope, trust, and love - small words that move mountains so much more stubborn and frozen in place than any locking mechanism I might find on my car.

One final thought about the lock that wouldn’t budge. When I first inserted the key into the slot and found that it wouldn’t move, I couldn’t remember which way it was supposed to turn. I was afraid to force it in either direction for fear the key would snap, just like my emotions were about to. Likewise in life when we’re confused about which way to go and are reluctant to move at all for fear of worsening the situation, perhaps what we need most is to remember that we’re held in the palm of God’s hand, and looking to Him for help is always a turn in the right direction.

“For he is our God, and we are the people of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand. O that today you would hearken to his voice!”

(Psalm 95:7 RSV)

Fast Food Freebie

2010-12-31T20:18:00.000-08:00

Ali’s eyes went wide with surprise once again as she told me what had happened to her the night before. She pulled up to the window to pay for her supper at the local McDonald’s only to be told that the bill had been covered by a lady in the other drive-thru lane, a woman who merely wanted to wish her a Merry Christmas and give her a small card bearing the name of a local church.

It took her a minute or two to gather herself before she was able to grab her bag of food and move on out of the way. Genuinely shocked but pleasantly surprised, she immediately called her boyfriend to tell him about the blessing she’d received. She told him it was only seven dollars, but honestly, who does that kind of thing in December, with the economy bad, money tight, and everybody hanging on to the few dollar bills they’ve got to bless their own families with at Christmas? The impact of that simple gesture was still clearly visible as she told me about the incident at work the next day.

I smiled as I listened, excited to hear the story of a woman who had discovered the secret to living above her means. That last four-word phrase bears a negative connotation in the worldly economics of our everyday lives. In that frame of reference it means living in a style beyond what one can afford financially, and generally ends in financial ruin and heartbreak. Yet in Kingdom economics it has a totally different meaning and outcome, a description of living in the abundance, blessing and favor of God, a place we all long to be. Ali’s benefactor left us some clues as to how to get there.

It begins, of course with a relationship with God. While there are many people who make their fortunes on their own, we can’t live in the blessings of God without first believing that He exists and then understanding that He loves each of us individually and longs to fill our lives with His gifts and the good plans that He has for us. A true indication that a divine connection has been made is the change in our hearts and mental attitudes, a shift from thinking only about ourselves to suddenly focusing on the needs and welfare of others. Money then is no longer a treasure to be hoarded but rather a tool to use in helping those around us discover the wonder of God’s love, as well.

Secondly, we reap what we sow. We can’t gather in a harvest without first planting seed. God’s ways are not our ways and so His Kingdom principles often make no sense to our carnal minds, yet in God’s economy we gain by giving what we have away. If we want financial blessings to follow us, we have to first be obedient to what He says to do in the area of tithing and sowing financially into the lives of others. Yet the principle works far beyond our finances into all other areas of our lives as well. Whatever we need becomes ours when we first sow a seed for the same in the life of somebody else.

Thirdly, the woman expected results from her actions. She didn’t necessarily expect to see them herself, but she knew they were the inevitable outcome of the action she took. The whole reason I’m writing this today is that I saw the impact of her gesture in three areas in the life of my friend. The first was that a testimony was shared. Ali was so impacted by the gesture that she couldn’t stop talking about it, even twenty-four hours after the fact. It brought inspiration to those who heard it, creating in them a desire to repeat the action themselves, thus multiplying the effect of the original gift. And lastly, it led to a spiritual connection with God. While not a regular church-goer herself, Ali told me that it made her want to visit the church named on the card, if only to look for the woman and thank her. Yet who knows what might happen in her own spiritual life as a result of walking through those church doors? Perhaps the price of a soul might be that seven-dollar fast food freebie, transforming the original generosity into a truly priceless gift.

I can’t remember now if it was something I saw on a magazine page I flipped in passing or on a website I visited, but somewhere this past holiday season I came across four words that stuck with me because their meaning when used together changes depending on which word is accented in the phrase. It’s simply this: Pass on the gift. And the whole point of the ponderings above boils down to a simple choice we make multiple times every day. You see, all of us have received so much to be thankful for, and daily God gives us the opportunity to return the favor, to bless others as we have been blessed. Most of us will never receive a free meal at a restaurant, but the Christmas season just past reminds us that we’ve each been given a Gift that more than any Happy Meal will reveal to us the joy to be found in the love of God. And now we’re faced with a choice. We can pass on that Gift - simply ignore Him or openly reject Him. Or, having eagerly accepted the love and salvation that He brings, we can pass the Gift on in ways that are as unique as we are, following the leadings of the Father who loves us and the Holy Spirit who directs us.

In my mind’s eye I picture Ali at the fast food restaurant as a smile suddenly lights up her face, her hand closes on the bag of free food and then grabs her cell phone to begin spreading the good news. And therein lies a three-point prescription for making 2011 a truly happy new year: believe, receive, and then simply pass it on.

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given…”

(Isaiah 9:6 KJV)

Priceless Present

2010-12-28T03:48:00.000-08:00

Her groceries bagged and back in her cart already, the customer noticed that there were no other shoppers in line behind her and stole a minute to chat. Eagerly she reached into her purse and pulled out a photo of herself and her then hours-old husband on Christmas Day nine years earlier.

Washed all over again with new-bride excitement, she told me that she hadn’t been looking for a spouse when they started dating. He’d never been married, but she had been there and was done with that, a painful divorce having left her with negative feelings on the subject. They just wanted to have some fun together. But one thing led to another, and eventually when he asked her to marry him, she said yes. Still in no hurry to run to the altar, they began making plans slowly and methodically for a wedding at some future date.

Or so she thought. Apparently he’d been thinking about the matter more than she, and after a day of shopping together two days before Christmas, their laughter still fresh on their lips, he suddenly suggested they just run off and get married the next day. Instead of this endless searching for just the right present, why not just be their Christmas gift to each other that year? Thinking he was still joking around, she joined in the game, told him to show up at noon the next day and they’d do it. They laughed some more, kissed goodbye, and she went to bed that night without giving the idea another thought.

A pounding on her door more insistent than any alarm clock woke her the next day. Half awake, she opened it to find him standing there, flowers in his hand and a huge grin on his face. “I’m taking you at your word,” he said, reminding her of the promise she’d made the day before. He rushed her to get ready, saying they had a marriage license to pick up, a preacher on standby, and little time to spare. Her head in a daze, she did as she was bid and changed her status from “single” to “spouse” that very day. In the photo she held out to me I saw two wide-eyed newlyweds, still a little breathless from the events of the day before, holding each other tightly as they stood on her mother’s doorstep and announced “We’re married!” at the family Christmas celebration the next day.

Don’t you know we’re standing in her shoes? Many of us likewise weren’t looking for the love of a lifetime when suddenly it burst upon us. Jesus entered our everyday lives and wooed us with His love and kindness, His faithfulness, forgiveness, and the joy of the time we spent together. Eventually we took Him up on His proposal to enter into an eternal commitment to Him, to become the future Bride of Christ. He promised to return for us and went to make His preparations for what we assumed was a very distant date. Amazingly we likewise have fallen asleep, forgetting that He said He’d surprise us like a thief in the night to take us at our word that we’d be ready and waiting whenever He chose to come. And now time is knocking at our door, reminding us of His soon arrival to claim His promised Bride.

I looked at the photo one more time before handing it back to her, and then watched as she tucked it carefully back in her purse. She carried it with her because she was looking for a frame to place it in so she could give it to her husband on Christmas as a reminder of the day they promised to be each other’s gift.

Can’t we do the same? Let us likewise carry the love we have for Jesus in our hearts and actively look for ways to frame it in deeds of kindness, generosity and mercy toward others this holiday season as a way to be the gift to Him that no amount of money can buy. As we prepare our hearts for the arrival of the Christ child this Christmas let us remember that our Groom is likewise on His way.

Be ready when He comes.

“While the bridegroom tarried, the all slumbered and slept. And at midnight there was a cry made, Behold, the bridegroom comes!… And they who were ready went in with him to the marriage, and the door was shut… Therefore watch, for you do not know either the day or the hour in which the Son of man comes.”
(Matthew 25:5,6,10,13 MKJV)

A Slot For Your Soul

2010-12-06T19:55:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving was not about turkey, taking naps, or touchdowns on the tube for me this year, wonderful though all of those things were. Rather, my driveway was full and so was my heart, and for that I gave thanks.

The gravel entrance to our home has a large extension on the side, a turn-around area so that cars parked in the garage can be backed out and pointed towards the road before heading that way. As each of our sons started driving and eventually acquired a car of his own, the space was widened so that their three vehicles could fit at the end of it side by side.

The driveway thus became a barometer of how things stood in the house whenever I came home from wherever I’d been. One glance to the left as I pulled into the garage gave me a good idea of who I might find lounging on the couch inside or foraging in the fridge for food. I especially loved the sense of satisfaction that came over me when I arrived home from a late shift at work and watched my headlights bounce off of three shiny bumpers in turn, indicating that my boys were all safely home. But soon their bedtimes outdistanced mine, and I came to realize that cars in the drive merely meant they hadn’t left yet for the night’s activities. Instead of counting heads in beds in the mornings I’d just peek out the window and count cars in parking spots to reassure myself that all was still well in my world.

So it was difficult for me when the silver Civic and the black truck took off this fall, bearing portions of my heart to distant states for months at a time. The remaining Accord looked a little lost and lonely in that vast expanse of gravel, but the empty spots inside and out of the house were indeed occasionally filled with the noise and laughter of visiting friends who rejoiced that at long last they didn’t have to park on the grass! Still, the change made us look to a Thanksgiving reunion with special anticipation. While the many holiday photos posted online pictured feasts on tables, friends in the kitchen and at least a few family members snoring away on living room couches, so my simple snapshot of three cars in the driveway spoke of a grateful heart filled to overflowing once more.

Early on in the holiday planning it had seemed impractical for my youngest son who now lives in Florida to drive such a long way for just a short holiday, and so he planned to stay and celebrate with family friends in the area. But his brother couldn’t bear the thought of his not being home and offered to buy him an airline ticket himself, despite his own limited resources. In the end his father paid the price to bring his son home.

Surely we shouldn’t let Thanksgiving go by without remembering that our spiritual Brother and Father have done the same. So desperately did Jesus desire that we all gather at the table for the future Feast that He willingly gave all He had to make a way for us to get there. In the end God Himself paid our travel expenses with the life of his Son. And now He wants you to know that there’s a parking spot in Heaven with your name on it, a place reserved just for you…a slot for your soul. And more anxiously than any earthly parent waits for their child to arrive is your heavenly Father looking and longing for you to fill it.

Make it safely Home.

“…I go to prepare a place for you…so that where I am, you may be also.”

(John 14:2-3 MKJV)

Reasons for Seasons

2010-11-22T13:13:00.000-08:00

The food pantry patrons filed into the church sanctuary and settled into chairs to wait for their turn to shop the shelves in the basement below. As their initial greetings and early morning conversations died down, the music coming from the small radio in the corner was finally audible. Soon it was lost again in the loud protests coming from the workers and the waiting alike.

“Christmas music? Really?” Most of us agreed it seemed out of place to hear carols on the day before children dress as ghosts and goblins and grab candy from outstretched hands.

I understand the motive behind the retail industry’s desire to jump into the each holiday merchandising program months before the season itself actually arrives. But in many of us there’s something that cringes at the sight of Christmas displays on shelves that seemed to hold school supplies just a day or two earlier! And I still recall the horror of walking into a store on New Year’s Day only to find Cadbury Easter Eggs for sale by the registers! I hadn’t yet watched the Super Bowl, received a Valentine, or dressed in green on March seventeenth, and yet the Easter bunny was already hopping in my direction! And on the particular fall day described above I felt sure I wasn’t going to get a minute to enjoy my pumpkin pie before being passed a plate of fruitcake!

I’m not a grinch. Born on December 25^th, I’m a lover of all things Christmas. You might think it’s because I associate the yuletide season with aging that I’m not in a hurry to rush into the holidays each year. But I think there’s more to it than that.

Despite what we do with our holiday celebrations, we can’t rush the physical seasons of the year. Flowers and shrubs bloom in sequence as we flip the calendar pages, and all the wishing in the world won’t change the order of their appearance or speed the opening of their petals. Perhaps God planned it that way to teach us to drink every drop from the cup of the current season, be it bitter or sweet, before tasting what the next has to offer. Some stages of life are so enjoyable that we are reluctant to leave them, but perhaps it’s the boundaries on either end of them that make them precious, the knowledge that change is inevitable and our todays have to be embraced before they’re swallowed by our tomorrows and lost to us except in our memories. And yet it’s those same boundaries that make difficult days bearable, the knowledge that there will be an end to them as we pass through a particularly dark period into brighter days soon to come.

In the instant gratification of today’s society we have lost something valuable – the wonder of waiting. Due to technological advancements and the fast pace of life today we are intolerant of delay of any type, be it on the highway, the internet, the news, or the speed at which our food is prepared. Yet even fast food comes at a price that can’t be measured in dollars and cents. There’s something to be said for a meal prepared in a slow cooker that fills the house with its aroma and the family with anticipation as it simmers slowly away throughout the day.

Similarly, part of the joy of every holiday is the waiting period for it beforehand, remembering the fun of seasons past as we look ahead with excitement to what lies ahead. In fact, the Advent season itself is a time of waiting and preparation for the arrival of the promised Christ child, not just physically in a manger in Bethlehem long ago, but born anew in our hearts today, as well.

A tour through the produce section of the local grocery store proves that we don’t even want to wait for our fruit to ripen! Due to advancements in science and the speed at which goods are transported today, items which used to be available in only certain months are now available year round, simply flown in from other hemispheres where foods ripen at different times of the year.

At first delighted, my enthusiasm soon waned. The grapefruit I ate with joy in December I was tired of by March and April. When lured by their brilliant orange color into buying Minneola tangelos for sale in summer that I usually expect to eat only in late winter, I found that they just didn’t taste the same. Something was missing. I found that I’d lost the anticipation of their arrival. The same thing happens with the holidays we celebrate, when we remove seasonal boundaries and try to enjoy them all at the same time.

So how do we get that anticipation back? Personally, I’m putting myself back on schedule, waiting to enjoy seasonal foods in the months they normally appear here as a reminder to put all the energy and enjoyment I can muster into my current season while I wait with excitement for the joy of whatever lies just ahead.

As for Christmas? Everybody celebrates the holidays in their own particular way, and that’s fine. But you can bet I’m going to set my Thanksgiving drumstick down before I invite the Little Drummer Boy to pick his up and begin to play.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…”

(Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV)

The Middle Matters

2010-11-03T14:14:00.000-07:00

Acronyms abound in our high-speed society that has little time or patience for full word phrasing. Caught up as I am in the whirlwind pace of life in today’s world, I’ve succumbed to inventing several of my own to use when communicating with those I love. Thus most messages to my sons end with the four-letter “YMLY”, which stands for Your Mother Loves You and is a fitting end to anything I happen to say.

Lately I’ve noticed that this habit has caught on with other family members, and its use is continually expanding. Messages written on the white board in the kitchen now end with a series of capital letters that identify the author, and more attention is usually given to deciphering the code at the end of the note than is directed to the message itself. A recent posting to my son was written in handwriting that clearly belonged to my husband, Jim. But did the “YFPFF” sign-off at the end stand for Your Forgetful Parent Feels Foolish?… Yesterday’s Frisbee Players Fling Farther?… or maybe Young Freeloaders must Pay For Food? Wrong on all counts, it was eventually translated into Your Father Plays Fantasy Football…with a healthy “DUH!” at the end for emphasis. It’s simply become a game we play amongst ourselves to add a little laughter to the day.

But communication is not always a laughing matter, especially when the message comes from God. Suddenly it’s important that we get it right. God is the Beginning and the End, the First and the Last… and suddenly I remembered an email that circulated on the internet a few years ago that claimed that words with rearranged spelling were legible as long as the first and the last letters were in the correct position. It read as follows:

Aoccdrnig to rescheearch at an Elingsh uinervtisy, it deosn’t mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, olny taht the frist and lsat ltteres are at the rghit pclae. The rset can be a toatl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae we do not raed ervey lteter by ilstef, but the wrod as a wlohe.

(Do you smell smoke? The spell-checker on this computer just went into overdrive!)

There are some who would suggest that the same is true of our spiritual experience in this world, that if we have a beginning with God somewhere in life (our salvation experience) and end our physical existence here on earth in a right relationship with Him, that the intervening years are of little importance in the grand scope of things. Yet I’m a firm believer that the middle of our spiritual lives matters to God.

It’s in those middle years that God speaks through us and our testimony is written on His behalf. Therefore we need to live our lives in those years in a way that leaves no doubt about God’s message of love, salvation, and His desire to walk with us hand in hand. How exactly that message is spelled out will vary with the individual, according to the gifts and talents each has been given, but it’s imperative that we don’t leave its meaning to chance or confuse those reading it with actions that inconsistent with the thoughts we are trying to convey. We don’t want people to have to guess at what God is trying to say.

It’s interesting that further analysis of the way we interpret misspelled words revealed that people had a more difficult time recognizing a word when letters were moved several positions out of place, instead of just one or two. Multi-syllable words were harder to read with misspellings than shorter ones and readers were slower to get the meaning of a sentence under these conditions.

Isn’t it interesting that the same can be said of us? The farther we move away from our spiritual center, the more difficult it is for others to read our message. Likewise we risk losing it altogether when we make it too complicated. The love of God is easiest to understand when simply expressed and underlined with a consistent lifestyle.

My messages to my kids always end with my signature sign-off, but it turns out that God’s messages to His could be signed in a 4-letter acronym, as well…simply “LOVE“.

It doesn’t get any easier to understand that that.

“For this is the message that you heard from the beginning, that we should love one another,”

(1 John 3:11 NKJV)

Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Hudek

Sweet Treats

2010-10-18T08:11:00.001-07:00

I cried this morning, over a commercial I saw on TV. I caught the tail end of one I’ve seen many times before in which a mom has taken her son to his fist day of middle school and is quizzing him about whether he remembers the location of his first classroom, if he brought his lunch…until the boy in desperation says, “I’ve got this Mom! I can walk from here.” The mother takes a step back, physically and emotionally, and the boy heads into the school building, reaches to open his locker, only to find that the combination has totally slipped his mind. Frustrated and upset, he sticks his hands into his jacket pockets…and there finds a packaged Rice Krispie Treat that his mom had stuck in there with his locker combination written across the front. And suddenly I felt the tears well up.

I know. What does it say about a person’s emotional state when a commercial for a prepackaged snack makes them cry? I even braved the wonders of technology and used the rewind feature on our Direct TV remote for the first time ever (see that, boys?!) to watch the thing again. Sure enough, after the second viewing, the tears fell in earnest.

I recognized the trigger, of course. It was the look on the mom’s face at the son’s rebuke. Like all moms eventually must do, she took a step back and simply waved goodbye.

I can identify with her difficulty in letting go and allowing her children to make their own way in school as well as in life. Fast forward ten years in that boy’s life and that’s where I’m at today – having dropped two of my kids off at distant colleges to deal with the details of their lives on their own. I’m adjusting well for the most part (although my actions this morning may cause some to question that declaration), so could there have been something more to the commercial than just a lure to parents to buy the treats for lunches and snacks, now that school is back in session?

There’s always more to the life situations around us than what we see with our eyes and hear with our ears. In this case the answer was found in the closing thought of the commercial: They’re never too big for a little something sweet.

We forget that occasionally. We think now that we’re grown up…older…more mature…that we’re too big for some of the things that brought us joy in our younger years. Too often we use age-related excuses to sit on the sidelines of life. We don’t avoid just physical activities, but emotional, financial and spiritual ones, as well. And perhaps we really have stopped living and started dying when we convince ourselves that it’s too late in life to do something new. Too late to go back to school…to start a new business…to try God.

In God’s view it’s never too late for any of the above, especially the latter. The Bible tells us that God’s grace and forgiveness are available to anyone who comes to Him with a repentant heart, at any stage in their life journey.

But what if you had a relationship with God at one point and lost it for one reason or another? Maybe life circumstances conspired to convince you that God wasn’t Who He claimed to be. Or perhaps you just lost your focus, distracted by the pressures and busyness of life, only to eventually find yourself off track and seemingly alone once more. Maybe you just got tired of the fight to do what’s right and gave in to sensual pleasures of one type or another, and now believe that you’ve gone too far to ever be accepted back into the fold. Whatever your situation, God wants you to know that the welcome mat still lies outside Heaven’s gates, the porch light is still on, and there’s a Father’s embrace just waiting for you when you’re finally ready to come Home.

I fell for the television ad completely this morning, even with my kids grown and largely gone. As I wiped my face and blew my nose I vowed to make Rice Krispie treats from scratch for the family members still at home, and thought about buying boxes of the packaged kind to send to the loved ones away, with my own “I love you” messages scripted on the front – not locker combinations of course, but information pertinent to their current situations, such as Rent is due on the 1^st, Colors in cold, whites in warm or hot, or Cook the lasagna, covered, one hour at 350 degrees!

Hopefully I got the less verbalized message from Heaven, as well. God said He loved us when He sent His Son to die for us, and now that message is echoed in His longing to fill our time on this earth with timely assistance and blessings far greater than a few prepackaged treats stuck in our pockets or mailboxes. No matter what our age or station in life, we are simply never too big to begin again with Him.

Sweet.

“Count yourself lucky, how happy you must be –

you get a fresh start, your slate’s wiped clean.”

(Psalm 32:11 MSG)

Baby Face

2010-10-05T18:58:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the front of his parents’ shopping cart, he was still hidden from my view behind the tall candy racks that separated our checkout lanes. And yet he was making his presence known.

“E-WAYNE!” he hollered at the top of his lungs. Again and again he bellowed his precious toddler mispronunciation of my name, as if there was some correlation between his decibel level and the speed at which I would appear. And desperately did I want to rush over and greet my favorite shopper. Not many customers come through the door calling for you by name, laughing at the sight of you and blowing kisses when they leave. But it’s this one that does that makes my job a joy.

It hasn’t happened without a lot of effort. Friends with his parents (my former favorite shoppers!) for many years, I’ve known him from belly to birth to big-boy-sitting-up-in-the-shopping-cart. At each stage his parents have extended their shopping trips to allow me a few minutes’ visit with their little man. I’m sure they must talk me up before entering the store so that he’s primed and ready when I finally spy him coming down an aisle. Even so, he becomes suddenly shy when we meet, hiding his face in his daddy’s shirt until the focus shifts away from him and our talk turns to other topics. A sudden giggle on his part at an expression on my face, and soon he‘s laughing and we’re buddies once more, blowing kisses unashamedly as he heads out the door.

The smile on that baby’s face could melt a heart of stone. All I know is that it’s surely worked its magic on mine. And so now I make a habit of smiling at babies in shopping carts. Getting them to smile back; that’s the challenge. Some I have to smile at long and hard, but in the end, perseverance is almost always rewarded with a grin in return. And I’ve found that I’m not alone in this fascination. I’ve watched the most sophisticated of coworkers throw all pride aside and practically jump through hoops to earn a sudden sunbeam from a little one passing by.

And isn’t that God’s desire, as well? He smiles at us, His children, from the moment of birth on, hoping that at some point in our existence we finally see His face in the love and blessings He pours out into our lives, knowing that once we do, we will never be the same again. From that time on we beam our response back to God, filling His heart with joy and the days we spend together in relationship a delight.

I remember the day it happened to me. Not only did I smile back at God, but I was also conscious that I couldn’t stop smiling at everybody else! My heart had been changed in a glorious moment of breakthrough, and it wasn’t a fact that I was able or wanted to hide.

And that’s part of God’s plan, as well. When a baby in a shopping cart finally cracks a grin in response to mine, the relative pushing the cart invariably turns to see what the baby is looking at. And so it is that when we respond in a positive way to God’s blessing on our lives, those around us will likewise turn to see what caused our reaction, perhaps eventually partaking in the joy themselves. No action on God’s part is wasted, but rather produces a domino effect on those we spend time with and love the most. Face it, if a yawn is contagious, how much more so is a smile! And there are those around us who would gladly trade a boring existence for the life of overflowing abundance that God promises to those who smile at Him in return.

Of course, a smile isn’t limited to an upturn of the lips. Any generous, kind or loving action on our part, even if it’s simply treating people with the decency and respect with which we’d like to be treated ourselves, qualifies as a physical grin that may provoke a positive response in the other person.

I haven’t been able to get a smile from every baby I greet, to be sure. And neither will everybody respond to God’s love. Sadly, some of those who do will eventually lose interest on down the road or become distracted by other lures in life. But never should we let the rejections of a few keep us from reaching out openly to those who may yet be desperate to experience God’s love.

As if in illustration of that last point, I realized recently that while my little buddy may still be my favorite, I’m no longer his. I’ve been replaced in his affections by a blonde beauty who carries him off to find stickers and free balloons while his parents chat with their many friends. But the other day his mother came into the store without the male half of the family, her baby daughter having made the transition from carseat-in-the-cart to front-of-the-bascart, sitting up proudly and looking around her inquisitively. And all of a sudden I smiled, knowing the joy in store for me as I embark on a mission to get her to do the same!

“…the kindness of God leads you to repentance” (Romans 2:4 LITV)

Extra Effort Required

2010-09-21T07:35:00.000-07:00

The squirrel leaped from branch to branch, sampling multiple nuts in succession until finally making a selection. A black walnut now securely in its mouth, it scampered off, and I watched to see if it was just looking for a more secure perch on which to eat it, or if it was off to store it somewhere in preparation for the coming winter. His progress through the trees never stopped, and so I assumed the latter. Truly it seems that September starts the season for gathering. Squirrels gather nuts, rakes gather leaves, farmers gather crops…and pastors gather their flocks in church buildings once more.

I smiled at that last phrase. With summer ending and school starting, our preachers hope that with our more predictable routines we’ll make regular church attendance the priority in our lives it was before summer sunshine distracted our attention. And surely it’s only on their hearts because it’s likewise on God’s. Perhaps He knows that more than just a season of the year is drawing to a close. If there’s an urgency to their message, it’s likely God-inspired. After a few more minutes of reflection on the subject in the morning peace, I heard my to-do list calling and went inside.

A few minutes later I was sitting at the kitchen table when I heard a loud “PLOP” outside the glass patio doors. I looked up to see that a baby squirrel had fallen out of the nearest tree and landed with a splat on the wooden boards of our back deck. Stunned, it lay there for a few seconds before it began pulling its limbs in towards its body, its high-pitched squeals signaling its distress.

Thankful that our inquisitive dogs were still locked inside, I waited a moment, wondering what would happen next. Too young to do anything but cry for help, the helpless baby just lay there awaiting rescue. Cautiously I opened the door and peeked outside, hoping to see a mama squirrel looking down in horror at the baby she must’ve dropped in transit. I was momentarily diverted by the thought that apparently even squirrel moms occasionally suffer from the Delinquent Mother Syndrome that I experience from time to time. But no squirrel mother seemed to be anywhere about. Perhaps the baby had simply crawled out of a nest in the tree trunk itself, one that we knew had housed a squirrel brood earlier in the year. However it came to be spread-eagled on my back deck, it was beginning to look like its rescue was up to me.

Reflecting that getting lost baby animals back to where they needed to be was apparently becoming a way of life for me (see Revival’s Arrival and Mission Unmasked), I called a friend who had taken another baby squirrel to an animal rehabilitator in the area earlier in the year. Before I could even get the number, however, I noticed that it was beginning to rain outside, and all the mothering instincts within me refused to allow the confused and frightened animal to be drenched, as well. So I carefully lifted the now dish-towel wrapped infant into a box and prepared to put it in the garage out of the weather until I figured out what to do with it. Looking up again I at last spotted Squirrel Mama watching closely from a tree limb high above me.

“So she is around!”, I muttered to myself. That changed the game plan significantly. I remembered a hole some 15-20 feet up the same tree frequently used as a raccoon refuge when our dogs chased them away from the birdfeeders. If I could somehow get the baby into that hole, surely that would provide the best possibility for a squirrel family reunion. But, oh, it was so high up!

I heard a voice in my head reminding me of the huge ladder in the garage and knew I was supposed to give it a try. “God, you are really stretching me!” I grumbled. Last week it was a 20-foot truck I needed to drive, and now I was expected to get a baby squirrel some 20 feet up a tree. Knowing that trouble usually comes in threes, I gulped nervously at what he might have in store for me next.

Ladder finally in place, I began my ascent. Rickety at best, the wooden structure swayed from side to side with each step up. Sadly there was nobody home to help hold the thing or I would surely have delegated this opportunity for bravery away. Perched on the top step while the ladder rocked alarmingly beneath me, I hugged the tree tightly with one arm, reached as high as I could with the other, and was just…able…to…push the little squirrel into the opening, towel and all. Minutes later and with my feet securely on the deck flooring once more, I looked up and noted with satisfaction that Squirrel Mama had watched the heroics from up above and knew exactly where to reunite with her young. Mission accomplished, I put the ladder away and peeked hopefully out from the kitchen window from time to time the rest of the day to see if I could spot any further action around the hole.

In our conversations of late God seems stuck on this concept of getting those out of place in their current surroundings back to where they need to be. And He’s not limiting our discussions to just baby animals in my backyard, either. In all areas of my life I’m surrounded by human hearts that are just as desperately in need of rescue. Most of us at one time or another likewise found ourselves wandering into dangerous territory or taking a wrong step despite warnings we may have received, falling flat on our faces as a result. We’ve needed somebody to go an extra mile on our behalf to get us back to where we need to be.

It’s that extra mile God asks of us that’s the kicker. The situations I’ve found myself in in recent days and weeks that were difficult for me are laughable, used by God simply to get my attention or to illustrate a point. But He’s likewise surrounded me with real heroes who find themselves in circumstances that are anything but funny and who He asks on a daily basis to do more than they ever thought they could possibly do. He’s led me to foster parents who love and care for the children whose biological parents for whatever reasons could not. I’ve watched several friends sacrifice their todays for loved ones with too few tomorrows left to them. Parents send the children who are the light of their lives around the world to be a light in missionary or military service. And the bravest among us endure tours or duty in war-torn countries, sometimes again and again and again.

God’s Word promises that He won’t put more on us than we can bear. Thus we know that we are able to do what He asks of us, however reluctant we may be to attempt it. But when we risk discomfort, perhaps even death, expending ourselves on behalf of another, the Kingdom of God expands as well, and so does our Christian experience.

In the season of gathering its important to note that nothing happens by chance. Nuts fall to the ground, not naturally into nests in trees. Leaves don’t normally fall into neat piles to be burned or bagged. Neither do crops jump out of the fields and into storage bins or stomachs by themselves. Yet somehow we expect God’s lost children to find their way to Heaven on their own. Some do, of course, but God knows that the vast majority will need some help to get from where they’ve fallen to where they need to be. From the time of the first disciples on He’s sent harvesters in the form of preachers, pastors, teachers…and everyday people like you and me… to help them find their way back Home.

Almost everything gathered in September eventually disappears. Nuts are eaten, leaves are burned or disintegrate on their own, and crops are eventually consumed. Only the souls gathered for God live on in an eternity of peace and joy. Sadly, those that are left in the fields likewise have an eternal future, one that’s as bleak as the initial outlook of that baby squirrel on my back deck. The Bible tells us that soon even the harvesters will be called away. Our extra effort today could mean that fewer loved ones will be left where they lay and be lost.

“Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.”
(John 5:13 NIV)

Stairway to Servanthood

2010-09-08T10:35:00.000-07:00

Slowly I inched the truck backwards, my eyes glued on my son’s beckoning arm in the massive side mirror until he raised his hands, signaling me to stop. Turning off the ignition, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. We’d made it!

I had doubted my ability to drive the rental rig with the ten-foot bed from the get-go. Despite my husband’s assurances that it would drive easily, it’s mere size intimidated me, and it was only the need to get Kevin’s newly-bought furniture from the store to his apartment that caused me to agree to the idea in the first place. But when the customer service lady behind the counter told me that she was going to give me a twenty-foot truck for the same price because the smaller vehicle had mechanical problems, my Goliath suddenly grew another ten feet, and I quailed at the sight of the idling monster. Only the steady stream of encouragement pouring forth out of the mouth of the son standing beside me convinced me to open the cab and climb aboard the waiting vehicle. “You can do this, Mom.” “Piece of cake.” “Only a couple of turns and we’re there.”

Knowing that he could’ve driven the truck with his eyes closed, I mentally blasted the driver age restriction on rented vehicles, slid behind the wheel and set off. Minutes later, having mercifully run over only curbs and not people, I pulled into the apartment complex and backed the rig into position for unloading.

While I breathed sighs of relief and voiced my thanks to God for getting us there, Kevin looked at the dripping skies and knew our real problems were only just beginning. He could easily muscle most of the contents of the truck up the stairs and into the apartment single-handedly. Only the queen-size sleeper sofa, a notoriously heavy article of furniture, would pose a problem. Earlier we had joked about bribing some passing college student into helping us by flashing a few greenbacks, but with the steadily falling rain there were few people out and about. I assured Kevin that together we could get it up the stairs, even if we had to heave it up one step at a time. But the muscle-bound Popeye beside me took one look at my Olive-Oyl-like arms and knew we needed more help than a positive attitude and a couple of cans of spinach could provide. He quietly asked God to send us some assistance, then lifted the door at the back of the truck and began the unloading.

Minutes later his help arrived. An elderly Hispanic man who lived in the apartment below came walking through the nearby pool area, saw the open truck, and immediately shouldered an end of the sofa, ready to help hustle it up the stairs. Soon it was manhandled through the apartment door and settled on the living room floor. Our attempts to then communicate our thanks were laughable. The man spoke no English and we knew no Spanish, so smiles and handshakes had to suffice. Later in the day we saw him again, and he came over to the car to try to talk to us once more. Sadly, no amount of goodwill or hand gestures could get us past the language barrier, and with a few shoulder shrugs, shakes of the head and more smiles, we parted once more.

Somehow, however, he managed to get a message across. I saw it first in the actions of my son. Together we had been consumed with the need to get his apartment furnished and himself situated before I left for home in just a couple of days. Each day we had a multitude of tasks that needed to be completed, and we dedicated ourselves to accomplishing them. But after our encounter with his neighbor, my son’s focus suddenly changed from our own to-do lists to looking for other people to help! College kids were moving into apartment complexes all around us, and every time he saw a U-haul truck or a pick-up loaded with furniture, he looked to see if the rear door panel was up or a tailgate was down, indicating that somebody might be in need of the same help we’d just received.

Shouldn’t we be living the same way? A toothless old man with leathery skin browned by years in the Florida sun reminded me with his actions that Christ came to shoulder a burden that wasn’t his own and get us to a place we couldn’t get to alone. And all He asks is that now we do the same for someone else. Too often we let our inability to relate to others and the life situations they may be going through to stop us from reaching out to lend a helping hand. But a lifestyle of service to others speaks a message that hearts understand when our words fail to communicate our thoughts.

It’s not like God asks us to do it alone. The Holy Spirit is our constant companion, empowering us when we’re scared and weak with words of hope and encouragement, constantly leading and guiding us with His direction and counsel.

On the last day of my stay in Florida, my son and I high-fived when the last of our tasks was completed. All we had left to do was pass a few hours until it was time to head to the airport so I could catch my flight home.

Spiritually speaking, too many of us are doing exactly the same thing. Instead of killing time let’s use the time we have left to help others, knowing that every step we take to lift another up leads both of us closer to Home.

“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”
(Galatians 6:2 RSV)

Mission Unmasked

2010-08-22T19:47:00.000-07:00

At the sound of a sudden downpour I turned from where I was ironing my husband’s work clothes to glance out the glass patio doors. To my surprise I saw a baby raccoon out in the yard, wet and wandering around seemingly aimlessly - no mama or siblings in sight. Curious that it seemed to have no destination in mind, I moved to the window to watch it more closely.

Surely raccoons should have been asleep in the treetops by this hour of the morning. I wondered what this one was doing up so far past its daylight bedtime. Ever so slowly it moved towards the house, perhaps to catch a break from the rain under the eaves. Mindful of the beagle upstairs that would soon be let out into the same backyard for his morning run, I stepped outside, hoping to hurry the creature along. Seemingly oblivious to my presence, it continued to mosey around, nose to the ground. When it started turning circles and cuddling close to a large drainpipe, as if to settle in for a nap, I decided it was time for an intervention and went upstairs to fetch the broom. Then began the difficult process of gently moving the animal towards the break in the fence where it connected to the gate, an escape route used regularly by the squirrels when chased by the canine occupants of the same grassy enclosure.

Surprisingly, the little raccoon fought me and the broom every step of the way. Rolling and tumbling and biting the straw bristles with his very pointed baby teeth, he was inexorably herded to the hole, despite his best efforts to run around me and get back to the house. Finally when his back was to the fence I was able to turn him around and push him through. Relieved by the thought that he would now surely climb a tree or escape deep into the surrounding woods, I headed back to the house, a sweaty, rain-soaked mess myself by this time.

Before I could start the clean-up process to get ready for church, I had morning chores to attend to. The dogs accompanied me outside as I filled water basins, food bowls, and birdfeeders, and for a while, all was well. Then all of a sudden the sharp-nosed beagle got a whiff of the fresh raccoon scent, and he was off. In seconds he had wiggled under the chain-link fencing, and, baying at the top of his lungs, he had not only found but was nipping at the hind quarters of the raccoon baby that had only managed to get a couple of feet up a nearby tree. The sound was deafening in the morning quiet, and once more I found myself rushing to the raccoon’s rescue, dog leash in hand. Total chaos enveloped the three of us as I tried to get close enough to the dog to snap the leash on his collar while at the same time staying between him and his enraged prey. Hissing and spitting and baring its teeth, it alternated between climbing the tree, falling back off and rushing its attacker in an amazing show of bravery, instead of simply running away as I fervently wished it would do.

The over-excited dog was determined to elude me as well, and in desperation I cried out loud, “God, please send somebody to help me!”, wondering how anybody in the house could still be asleep with all the racket going on outside. Suddenly my husband was beside me and miraculously was able to snap the leash on the dog as together we dragged him away back to the house. You would’ve thought that surely this time the (grateful?) raccoon would’ve rushed to safety…but no. This was one baby that desperately needed its mother (or a brain transplant), as it climbed not a tree, but the fence, and settled in to stay there for a while, in full view of the dog that was deprived of its raccoon stew breakfast and was still plenty mad about it. From one window to another he raced, still barking crazily…perhaps God’s way of ensuring that nobody in the house used the excuse of oversleeping for missing the morning services at church. When we left the house he was still at his post, watching and waiting at the window for the raccoon’s next move.

“What’s with all the baby animals?” I asked God sometime later that morning. Clearly we’d been seeing more than our usual share of wildlife young this year, from fawns and squirrel babies to now this immature raccoon. Perhaps it was nothing more than the time of year, when animals born in the spring would now be old enough to be moving around and thus be more visible. But instead I felt God saying that He, too, has children who are wandering through this world as aimlessly as that young raccoon moved through my backyard, likewise oblivious to the presence of an enemy that seeks to devour them. And so He uses the tools at His disposal to move them to safety, people and circumstances that they fight against as strenuously as the little animal fought the action of the broom. Yet God is relentless in His mission, constantly working us towards the route of escape, the redemption He provided through His Son, Jesus Christ.

God has workers in His Kingdom who are struggling valiantly to herd the lost in the direction of the cross, standing between them and the enemy who at least nips at the corners of their lives if not launching a full-force frontal assault. But they need help. It’s a battle they can’t win alone. So they cry for assistance as instructed to do in the Bible, where Jesus told His followers that the fields were white unto harvest and to pray that the Lord of the Harvest would send workers to help gather in the crops (Matthew 9:37-38).

I believe that God has answered that prayer, just as He answered mine in the form of my husband who suddenly appeared out of nowhere beside me and had the ability to control the dog that I lacked. Surely He has provided an army of people with the talents and giftings needed to accomplish the spiritual task at hand. It could be just that some of those who possess them are missing the call to action.

I, for one, miss a lot of messages on my cell phone. The beeps that announce their arrival are often drowned out by the volume of the life I lead, and it’s frequently not till hours later when I take the time to deliberately check the device that I notice that somebody was trying to contact me. Perhaps it’s time that we as the people of God take a moment to deliberately check in and see if perhaps He has a message He’s trying to get across to us about a task to be tackled, a purpose to be pursued, or a mission to be manned.

When I think of that little raccoon, clinging to the top of a chain link fence, with nowhere to go and no other options to turn to, I remember that somebody’s life may likewise be hanging in the balance, and realize that it’s time for me to arise from my slumber and get to whatever form of church “service” I’m called to while there’s yet still time.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”
(John 10:10 NIV)

See You in September

2010-08-05T18:14:00.000-07:00

My heart is tender these days; I can cry at the drop of a hat. Questioning the cause, I consider the onslaught of menopausal hormones… a spiritual awakening that’s happening at church… or maybe just a mother’s natural sorrow at the thought of her children leaving home.

The truth is that my sons are starting to scatter. The middle one will be the first to be dropped off at his college destination, and my youngest son and I are on tap to help him deposit his belongings in his new home. Imagining our parting, I recently pictured it happening something like this: I smile brightly, hug him tightly, and then hurry to the car to begin the long trip back home without him. I wonder at what mile marker the boys will forego all warnings about texting while driving and have the following non-verbal communication with each other:

> How’s Mom?
> Not sure; she can’t talk. Sobbing uncontrollably.
> What should I do?
> Abort life plan completely. Return to Ohio as soon as possible. Live out your life in the basement bedroom of your childhood home.

Ridiculous, of course. God has good plans for my sons, and the last thing I want is to hinder those plans in any way by my reluctance to let go of the hands I’ve held on to so tightly for so long. For years I’ve asked God to bless my boys abundantly, expand their boundaries and enlarge their territories, as in the prayer of Jabez (1 Chronicles 4:10). And surely I can’t expect God to answer that prayer without them outgrowing their current surroundings. To stay is to stagnate; to go is to grow.

And yet I reject the concept of the empty nest, as if it had never been blessed with the joy and the mess of masses of boys about the place. No, their exuberance and laughter is woven into the fabric of our family, ever to remain. They are simply a part of who we are. I prefer to think of mine as an overflowing nest, one which can no longer contain the life and love inside it but simply has to spill the overflow into other cities, other states, or (gulp!) other countries, without diminishing the quality of the original quantity in the least.

My mind understands this theory, it’s my heart that gets in the way of its implementation. And so I’ve devised a game plan to keep me from becoming the woebegone woman described above. I’ve worked diligently at keeping a positive mental attitude as I face the upcoming event. My emails to my sister have become daily pep talks to myself about entering my sons’ excitement as they head off on their own. I’ve tried to fully participate in the process of finding apartments and household furnishings, bedding and necessities. I’ve concentrated on enjoying every moment of our family outings this summer, culminating in a week-long celebration /family reunion in a glorious rented home on the Oregon coast.

For the most part the plan has worked well and I’ve kept my emotions at bay. But recently I’ve started to wonder if suppressing all sadness is really the best idea…if it might not lead to greater issues and problems on down the line Perhaps it would be better to face down this giant in the time and place of my choosing, a little at a time, so I’m not overwhelmed by an onslaught of grief at some later date when I’m least prepared to deal with it.

And so now by day I busy myself with sending security deposits to hold apartments, establishing bank accounts, and preparing vehicles for long drives to distant climes. But on the late night drives home from my second-shift job I let myself think about just how much I’ll miss the tousled heads sticking out from swaths of blankets on the living room couches, tripping over shoes left abandoned in hallways, and the pounding of feet down basement stairs in the early-morning hours that lets me know the last of my night-owl sons has returned safely home once more. In the silent darkness of those moments I let my heart run unhindered. If my nest is truly overflowing, it’s to be expected that my eyes will occasionally, as well, and I let the tears go as freely as I desire to do my sons, trusting that God puts the world on hold for a few minutes while He sits with me and lovingly counts and collects each one (Psalm 56:8 CEV).

I studied this morning how Jesus prepared His disciples for His upcoming departure. In John 16 we read that He reminded them of His love for them, explained that his going was for their ultimate good, and promised that they’d be together again one day. Although we all long ago made our eternal futures secure, I’m glad that my earthly goodbyes to my boys are just temporary in nature. A family friend’s wedding in early fall will bring us all together once more. Frankly, wild horses couldn’t keep me from attending that event. And it’s likewise the upcoming wedding of another Bridgegroom to His Bride that will call us all from our earthly occupations to our eternal destination. May we be just as desperate to hasten that day.

I posted the engagement picture of the prospective bride and groom on my fridge to help me get through the difficult days of this August, a reminder of a happy reunion soon to come. God knew we would need a spiritual version of the same to get us through all of the trials and tribulations we face in this world, so he penned it in the pages of the Bible. Because Jesus did so first with His, I can truly smile brightly as I hug my boys tightly…the whispered “See you in September!” in their ears a reminder to us all that sooner than we can imagine we will be in a place where the sight of His face will erase every thought of our tears.

“And ye now therefore have sorrow: but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man taketh from you.”
(John 16:22 KJV)

Photo courtesy of Elizabeth Hudek

Risky Revelation

2010-08-01T05:52:00.001-07:00

I’d been following its progress for months. My friend had faithfully relayed to me the latest details of her blossoming romance after each visit with her new boyfriend. Successive dates revealed new aspects of his personality that delighted her and she found herself liking him more and more. In our last conversation she whispered that she was beginning to realize that she loved him… and was now in a quandary as to whether or not to tell him so. I was somewhat surprised at her reluctance to voice her feelings.

“I’ve never said it first,” she said in explanation. In all her previous relationships it was always the guy who first declared his love. I understood without her saying so that there was a lot at risk. Sure of her feelings, she was less so of his. Perhaps such an honest expression would scare him away, indicating a depth of feeling that he might not share. There was the possibility that after having laid her heart bare she would once again find herself wounded and alone. “Once burned, twice shy,” as the old proverb goes, suggesting that it might be wiser to keep one’s feelings under wraps and let the other person take the plunge.

To me it was obvious that he was in love with her, too. Throughout the course of their relationship he had been careful almost to a fault not to do or say anything that might jeopardize their relationship. Yet he clearly was facing the same fear. I urged her to say what she was feeling, but at the right moment and in a place where she could see his face in response. I was sure she’d be pleased with what she’d see.

A few days later I was shopping when I came across a bracelet that caught my eye. A simple silver heart was strung between a couple of small beads on two elastic bands that met and tied in a knot in the back. A sucker for hearts anywhere I see them, I soon walked out of the store with the bracelet in a bag.

As I looked at it often on my arm that afternoon I began to ask myself what it meant to me, as I knew it was more than just a pretty bangle. Perhaps it was nothing but a simple reminder that Jesus loves me. If so, I can never have too many of those. Or maybe it would prompt thoughts about loving God by loving His people, as well. Maybe the fact that I wore it with the heart pointed outwards was symbolic of the need to give His love away. But some time later it came to me that God was simply telling me to wear my heart on my sleeve… to risk love, and to love genuinely and openly, without concern about how that love is received.

Perhaps we are reluctant to do so because loving in such a manner makes us vulnerable to hurt or heartache. It means pulling our hearts from the layers of protection we’ve placed around them and putting them out there where they can easily be broken by the careless or deliberate actions of others. But there’s a reason that God would have us to do so, and that is that it makes His love visible to those who may have been looking for it all their lives. And in so doing we make ourselves available to be His instruments of help or healing in whatever situations they may be going through, to point them to the One whose love never fails and who has all the answers to the questions they ask.

At the store that day I tried on all the bracelets on the rack before eventually purchasing the one I did. I wanted to be sure I bought the one that was the right size and the right color for me. Similarly there’s no one way to wear love or to love other people. Each of us will express God’s love differently, but the important thing is that we do. And when you find that right moment to say what’s on God’s heart to someone in need, you’ll find that you’re finally in a place where you can see His face…and you can be sure you’re going to like what you see.

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear…”
(1 John 4:18 NIV)

Heart-WRENching Worship

2010-07-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

My first act of worship on a recent Sunday morning was to take a cup of coffee out on my back deck and sit in the quiet and relative coolness of the early morning hour. Peace beyond measure surrounded me, and I basked in it as a nearby wren poured its heart out in song, over and over again. Its countless repetitions intrigued me to the point that I began timing its bursts of beauty, and soon realized that it was sounding at the rate of fifteen times per minute, or once every four seconds! At that rate surely it was filling its lungs only to exhale in song.

I laughed as I looked down at the design on the old t-shirt I had pulled on that morning.On a white background was a picture of a coffee cup surrounded by the words from Psalm 5:3, "Morning by morning, You hear my voice." Clearly the wren was illustrating what God desired from me that day.

In the many years that I've sat on my back deck, I've learned to identify various bird species by their characteristic birdcalls. But the wren attracts my attention like none other. While other birds may call, when the wren opens its beak there's an explosion of sound too big to possibly emanate from the little bird that releases it. The bird seems to pour out its joy of living into that one long burst of melody, and then repeats it again and again as if incessantly prompted by a heart of gratitude and love.

Oh that God would hear that from me on such a regular basis! Morning by morning, he hears my voice alright... but it's not always such a delight to listen to. Sometimes I squawk my complaints or cry over an injustice or simply call for help to arrive in a hurry. On other mornings my prayers are as silent as the quiet grunts of the nuthatch that scrambles up and down the tree trunks in search of a few seeds spilled from the feeders. And God does want us to come to Him with whatever is on our hearts each day. But how it must please Him to hear something other than a whine or a plea of some kind on occasion! What if my mornings were filled with fewer birdcalls and more bird song... if I worshipped more than I asked for a change?

Not coincidentally I happened to pull a Casting Crowns CD from the storage compartment in my car this week and smiled as the lyrics to Lifesong joined with these thoughts floating around in my head, about living life in such a way that our words and actions sing a song that pleases the Father. Although I don't get to watch much evening television, I recently caught an episode of "America's Got Talent" that featured two girls out of a family of four siblings, all of whom suffer from cystic fibrosis, an inherited chronic disease that among other things clogs the lungs with mucous and makes it hard to breathe, let alone sing. Yet that's what these two girls love to do. They know that even with recent medical advances the life expectancy for people with this disease is in the 30's , and yet they've vowed to use what time they have to inspire others to pursue their dreams despite the obstacles they face and to live life to the fullest as long as they possibly can. And so they sing. And their absolute joy in doing so combined with the simple beauty of their voices moved me to tears, the audience to its feet, and the judges to vote them on to the next round in the competition.

Coffee finished, I moved on with my morning that Sunday. I walked up the driveway to get the newspaper and heard the wren still singing away. I filled the birdfeeders accompanied by its song. I laughingly wondered to myself how that bird would have time to do all its budgie duties - catching bugs, building nests and raising its young. And suddenly I realized that singing its joy was its duty, and that it simply sang all day long as it lived out the life it's been given. Too often we think of "worship" as just the music portion of a church service. God doesn't. To Him the worship portion of our day never ends - our lives are singing something to Him as we pursue all of our daily activities.

The TV show title is right - we've all got talent of one type or another, because the Bible says that we've all been given giftings unique to our personalities, callings, and life situations. May we resolve to use them out of our love for God in such a way that makes a difference in the lives of others, moves the heart of the Judge, and sends us rejoicing into the next "Round"!

"Oh, bless our God, you peoples! And make the voice of His praise to be heard. "
(Psalm 66:8 NKJV)

Your Father's Day

2010-07-04T14:04:00.000-07:00

"We need your list," I said to my husband as Father's Day approached, hoping he'd do his duty of providing a wish-list of gift ideas for his sons to choose from while they still had a little cash in their pockets to spend. His response surprised me, however, as it turned out he was more interested in the time on their hands than the bills in their wallets. He gave them a list of chores he needed done so he could take the weekend off.

As Father's Day rolls around again perhaps you, like me, spend time thinking about your spiritual Father and wondering what you could do to make this earthly holiday a happy one for Him, as well. It turns out that He, too, has a list for each of us, not of items to buy nor tasks to be completed...but simply of people to love.

A list of people to love. The thought stayed with me as my husband and I browsed through the mall the other day and I came across a wall clock that had slots at each hour position for a picture insert. Set out on the clearance table and marked down to half price, it was a good buy as a possible gift idea for someone. I picked it up in passing, as I still needed a Father's Day gift idea for Jim's dad, but set it down again quickly as I laughingly remembered that I have absolutely drowned this poor man in pictures of his grandkids since they first arrived on the scene. Each year the Hallmark store seems to come up with a new way to display their images, from coasters with photo inserts to wooden ladders with frames hung between each rung. I've bought and gited him with them all. I set the clock back on the table and moved on.

But good fathers have a passion for their progeny and delight in seeing their faces about them. God is no exception. He took me back in thought to that clock this morning and reminded me that time is ticking away, and that He has children who are still lost, faces that are dear to Him that are not yet in His fold. He's given me a list of people to love into His Kingdom, and surely He must wonder what I'm doing with it.

Unrelenting in His urgency to get this message across to me, He found me browsing on Facebook a little while later, reading random posts from people about what they were doing and what their friends had to say about it. As I scrolled down the page, my attention was caught by a photo of two young women who were smiling at a camera, their hands clasped and arms arranged in such a way that they formed a perfect heart shape between them.

I stopped and smiled, fascinated at the love between them that was captured so perfectly for all to see. Although I didn't know the girls in the shot, the picture pulled me in and absolutely captivated me. I tried to scroll on down the page, but I found myself returning to the photo again and again. Finally I hit the print button and filed the resultant paper with the photo on it in a folder until I understood why God was drawing me to is so strongly.

Today I get it. It's not really a picture of two people at all, but of God. Despite mankind's begging through ages past, nobody has actually seen God, although Moses was once given a glimpse of His backside when He passed by. And yet God's answered our plea repeatedly, if we only had eyes to see His face in the love we have for each other. The Bible says that God is love (1 John 4:8). When we love one another, He suddenly becomes visible, and then those who have yet to experience that love can be drawn into a love relationship with Him of their own.

A list of people to love. Each of us has been given one, people that God has or will put in our path for the purpose of making Him known. It might be a long-standing relationship or an encounter so brief that you don't even have a chance to catch the other person's name. But God knows it, and He is blessed any time we put His desires above our own priorities in life and spend a little time loving on His kids in some way, be it with a smile and a kind word, a hug, a moment of prayer, or another activity of some kind.

The latter is important because love is more than a feeling. It has to be expressed in some way, as it was symbolically in that photo. What makes God visible is when we go to the effort of reaching out, grabbing the other person by some action on our part and drawing them into a heart-shaped relationship of some kind that has God at its core. That's easy to do with those who are easy to love, but so much more powerful (and visible) when we reach out to those who aren't...when the effort costs us something in terms of pride, patience, pain or time...when it's a sacrifice in some way. The the effort becomes visible to God, and suddenly it's a picture that He can't get past, but goes to again and again with a smile in His eyes and joy in His heart.

Talk about making your Father's day.

"Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God..."
(1 John 4:7 MKJV)

Growing Old, Gaining Gold

2010-06-29T07:16:00.000-07:00

I was sitting in a bathroom stall at a funeral home when it happened. With nothing better to do I happened to look down at my feet...and gasped in horror at what I saw! One foot sported a navy blue shoe, while the other was clearly wearing black,! And as if it wasn't bad enough that the colors didn't match, worse yet was the fact that one shoe was square-toed while the other was pointed! Perhaps the color mis-match could be blamed on aging eyesight and a dimly lit closet, but surely I should still be able to see well enough to discern shapes! Embarrassed beyond belief, I seriously considered abandoning my shoes altogether and returning to face the public in just my pantyhosed toes. With a birthday coming the next week I laughed at the thought that at least the digits in my age would match, even if the shoes on my feet did not.

I squirmed uneasily at the thought of other signs of advancing age. I recently acquired a magnifying mirror, as I thought it was important to at least be able to see my face before applying makeup to it. The idea was prompted by the sight of an elderly lady who came through my line in the grocery store, dressed to the hilt but with her lipstick everywhere on her face but on her mouth. Then my hairdresser told me about a client who came into her shop with a whisker on her chin seemingly inches long that everybody in the world could see but her. That day I decided to get the mirror...before my beautician has to ask if I want a haircut or a shave!

"Old" seems to have become an adjective to be avoided at all costs. I wonder if we're born with that idea or if it's programmed into our psyches by the beauty that's splashed on television screens, magazine covers and advertisements of all shapes and sizes. Youthful good looks, health and vitality reign supreme in our minds and hearts and we dread the onset of wrinkles, infirmity, loneliness and poverty that we so often associate with a person's latter years. We note that old is rightfully found in the word mold - a fuzzy green substance that grows on food that's been left too long in the fridge. To the young it describes a person who's been left too long on the planet. It's simply become a word we associate with something that needs to be thrown away.

And so, like the rest of the world, I do my best to keep up at least an appearance of youth, but there are days when there's no hiding the signs of advancing age. I'm reminded of it each time I mount the stairs leading up to the break room at work. Creaky knees and arthritic joints make this a much slower process than in days gone by. Sounding much like an old plow horse, I lift a leg and drop it to the step, lift the other and do the same, lift and drop, lift and drop, plop, plop, lift and drop...hauling myself up by the handrail as I go. Breathing heavily at the top I'm suddenly caught up in the whoosh of a teenager's flying ascent, and I sigh. My "old" is showing.

When family genetics made my hair go prematurely gray in my twenties, I was unprepared emotionally to be shoved to the back of the fridge, and so began a lifetime expenditure of time and money to keep my hair the color it was supposed to be. But sometimes on a blustery day the wind blows my carefully coiffed hair, lifting the curls to reveal a halo of white roots about my face. The look of surprise in the eyes of my companions brings another sigh. Again, my "old" is showing.

While technologically challenged in many respects, I pride myself on the fact that I do send text messages on my cell phone. Yet the teens in my life laugh at my lack of speed and the fact that I have to look at the keys as I push them (thankful that I can still see them), making it impossible for me to hide the forbidden activity from the prying eyes of teachers or work supervisors by texting on a phone that's hidden under a counter, behind a back, or in a pocket, as they do. Again, I sigh. My "old" is showing once more.

Somehow we miss the fact that old is also found in the word gold, a treasured substance, sought after for its great value and beauty. I'm reminded that longevity is likewise something we try to attain, as our endless diets, trips to the gym and visits to the doctors' offices attest. We all want to reach old age; we just don't want to look like we've arrived.

But I've noticed lately that my husband and I now answer each other's questions before they're even fully formed, and that a simple look between us communicates as much as a lengthy spoken conversation used to. Thirty years after our wedding my jewelry may look a little worn, but my marriage shines as brightly as my ring did the day it was first placed on my finger. I smile at the thought. My "gold" is showing.

Now that my children are all legal adults I marvel at how they've morphed from chubby toddlers making messes about the place into responsible young men about to make a mark on their world. As I watch their lives develop and listen to them make their plans I can't help but smile to myself. Again, my "gold" is showing.

Perhaps nothing in my life shows its age more than my Bible. I don't have to look at it too closely to realize anew that it's in pretty bad shape. The binding is torn and flaps loose, while the brown color of the cover is worn off in the spots where my fingers have gripped it tightly for so long. And yet as the physical appearance of the book has deteriorated, the spiritual life inside of me that it has nourished has flourished When I look at the joy in my heart and rejoice at my peace of mind, I smile. My "gold" is showing once more.

Perhaps the reason the proverbial pot of gold lies at the end of the rainbow is to remind us that there's treasure to be found at the downside of a lengthy but well-lived life. As we look at the steps we're taking today may we remember that form and speed are not nearly as important as that our feet walk a path that will lead us to the streets of gold that line our heavenly Home.

"But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Matthew 6:20-21 NIV)

Fridge Food for Thought

2010-06-07T07:45:00.000-07:00

If the kitchen is the heart of the home, the fridge is its aorta, pumping life into all the family members who live there. Too often mine becomes a clogged, heartstopping mess. At the moment the inside needs a good cleaning, even though I do fairly well at disposing of old leftovers and outdated food (although opening the vegetable drawer is always a little scary). Although I spend too much time standing in front of the thing with the door open, inspecting the insides for something to eat, today I'm more interested in the outside of the appliance...and I find plenty to consume there, as well. Little did I realize that the exterior of my fridge has a function all its own.

When I looked at it this morning I thought maybe I should tidy things up a little. Perhaps it was time to remove the Parents Prayer Calendar that has been posted there for longer than I can remember. Developed by local author and preacher Bob Hostetler, it suggests a character trait that praying parents can work to instill in their children's lives each day. I long since expanded its use to benefit not just the children in the household, but the adults, as well. I've been using it for so long now, though, that I can name the character trait associated with each date without even looking at the paper anymore. And, after all, my kids aren't little any longer. All now legal adults, they will soon be leaving the shelter of our roof and setting up homes of their own. So maybe it's time to remove it and place it in my prayer journal where it will still be available for reference but won't take up so much fridge space.

Quickly I discarded the idea. I want my kids to know that however old they are and however far away they may roam, spiritually as well as physically, their parents will never stop praying for them and believing God to lead them in paths of character and integrity. On the fridge it stays.

Just above it is a relatively new addition to our fridge collection. My husband picked up a small whiteboard at an office supply store sale and installed it there so we could leave messages to one another, such as The meatloaf is in the fridge, or Dentist at 2 o'clock, or the all-important Don't forget to mow the lawn!

So far that kind of communication hasn't happened. Oh, there have been messages galore written on the thing, but with three rowdy boys in the house, few have been of the uplifting or encouraging kind, however funny they may have seemed at the time. Then one day an aspiring artist in my sons' circle of friends took to drawing pictures on the space, and that was a definite improvement. But this morning I felt compelled to wipe everything off of it completely. Then I wrote "A clean slate..." across the top, along with the corresponding Bible reference, Acts 3:19, an Easter-related message God has been speaking to me of late. And suddenly it came to me that that's why the board is there! God has messages for each of us, reminders to be about His business, to look for Him to show up in our lives in some way, or simply to revel in His love. I look forward to seeing more of the same as God prompts various family members to post a note on His behalf on any given day.

There are also the usual reminders posted in haphazard fashion as space permits - various appointments, school schedules, and details of an upcoming conference I plan on attending. Littered among them are recent pictures of pets and people we care about, reminders of the ever-present love of family and friends. Surely some of the posed studio prints of my three boys taken together at various stages of their lives could come off... but, no... I want them to remember that "a threefold cord is not quickly broken" (Ecclesiastes 4:12 MKJV) and that their brothers are gifts from God to love and support them all the days of their lives. Posted prominently is the phrase in Italian I'm studying this week (see New Year, New Language) ...but if I don't see it regularly, I won't learn it, either, so it has to stay. Likewise remains the weekly Scripture verse that's pinned up beside it for the same reason.

And so I ended up leaving things exactly the way there were when I started, but came away feeling very differently about what I found there. Surprisingly, there's as much to eat on the fridge as in the fridge. You see, I discovered that while the inside keeps food cold to fill our stomachs, the outside keeps our spirits warm and fills our hearts with thoughts of Home.

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

Revival's Arrival

2010-05-14T07:59:00.000-07:00

I've been to some squirrelly weddings before, but this one took the cake...almost literally.

The story began some six months ago with a promise to my friends Tom and Amanda that I would play the violin at their wedding. Last Saturday I did so, serenading the lighting of the unity candle to the tune of Kenny G's Wedding Song. Soon they'd voiced their vows, kissed each other's lips and waltzed one another out the church door and on their way to their new life as man and wife. Duty done, I headed to the hallway that led to the pastor's office to retrieve the violin case I'd stashed out of sight there a little while earlier.

As I pushed open the door to the corridor, a slight bit of movement caught my eye. Something gray and bushy was moving around on the floor! Looking more closely I realized suddenly that it was a squirrel... a baby squirrel... one that was eyeing me as closely as I was examining it. I was amazed that it didn't seem to be the least bit afraid of me, but merely curious, looking at me with a slight tilt to its head and an inquiring expression on its face that reminded me forcefully of the little bird in P.D. Eastman's classic children's book, Are You My Mother? Apparently the squirrel's question was the same, and it started rushing towards me, as if to run up my leg and perhaps look for its nest in my hair! Unnerved by its unexpected advance, I shrieked and jumped ot the side, but my evasive efforts seemed to only increase its determination to bond with me. Again and again it ran at me as I hopped around in circles in the cramped hallway, lifting first one leg away from it and then the other, trying my best to escape my determined pursuer. Perplexed, it finally stopped to stare at me some more.

In those brief minutes of inactivity I wondered where it could have come from. The church building was old; perhaps there was a squirrel nest in the attic. Or maybe it had run into the building from the tree-laden neighborhood outside when someone was carrying wedding decorations in and out hours earlier. But was was I to do with it? While I didn't want to touch it, neither could I leave a live squirrel to wander around the church at will. I looked around and found that I had few resources to work with, a new cleaning lady having decluttered the place thoroughly a few weeks earlier. My eyes finally landed on an empty box left sitting on a side table. I grabbed it, thinking that if the little guy would just...stay...still...There! I toppled the box on top of him, hoping fervently that he hadn't scooted away unseen at the last second. Since I couldn't see him anywhere else, I decided to believe he was under the box.

It was at that moment that I heard footsteps heading towards the door and knew that the pastor was headed at last to his office. Clinging to the hope that my prey was as truly captured as I supposed him to be, I explained the existence of the overturned box in the hallway by saying as nonchalantly as possible, "Be careful - there's a squirrel under that carton." As if in testimony to the number of crazy things he's witnessed in years of ministry in that building, the pastor didn't even break stride, but merely said, "I think we should let it go."

I agreed with him and then removed myself from the situation by suggesting that since I had single-handedly accomplished the very difficult task of catching the squirrel, perhaps it was up to him to let it go. Once again his years of pastoral experience rose to the fore, as he quickly delegated the job to his animal-friendly son. "Tom!" he yelled, and I left the building as his partner in ministry came to dispose of the misplaced rodent.

A short while later at the wedding reception I found myself seated at a table next to the pastor and his family. Curious, I leaned over and asked Tom what he had done with the animal. "Oh, it's here!" he responded. "It's in that box under the table."

"Here?" I squeaked. I quickly glanced around at the linen tablecloths, the cloth napkins folded around place settings of silver, water-filled goblets and party favors in front of every place and wondered what could possibly have possessed him to bring the squirrel to the party along with him! I glanced at the bride and groom embracing each other on the dance floor and thought how mercifully unaware they were that an uninvited guest was surely just minutes away from wreaking havoc on the evening they had planned so carefully for so long.

As it turned out, no such disaster occurred. Later I learned that Tom had turned the responsibility for the creature over to an animal-loving member of our church who was willing to care for it over the weekend. She did a magnificent job, feeding it kitten formula and safeguarding it in a donated hamster cage from the interested advances of her cats and dogs at home. She even made sure it attended church with her again the following morning, where it sat on her shoulder and happily supervised the operation of the computer in the sound booth before being safely deposited with an animal rehabilitator in the area the next day.

And so the story ended there, I supposed. But I couldn't help but wonder if that was all there was to it. Was it really just a random occurrence in the midst of an everyday event? I thought so...until I heard that the squirrel had been given a name... Revival...prompted in part by a recent posting of Ray Stevens' Mississippi Squirrel Revival on its foster mother's Facebook page.

Revival... a word that's been on our lips and in our prayers for some time at our church, looked for, longed for, and spoken of often with an ache in our hearts. I smiled at the number of similarities between the squirrel's visit and a visitation of God upon a body of believers. A revival generally starts small and grows. Its appearance is often unanticipated and it sometimes comes in a form we're not expecting. It evokes fear in some and curiosity in others who eagerly reach in for all God has for them, holding it close and nurturing it, even if it's just there for a season in their lives. Too often we try to put it in a box because we're afraid of where it might go and what it might do. It's sometimes a little messy, and often attracts criticism of the way that it's handled. But once it comes into your life, you simply take it with you wherever you go.

The squirrel's temporary caretaker insisted that this animal wasn't a pet, but rather an animal that needed to be rehabilitated and released, reminding me of our mission with the people God brings our way. They don't belong to us, either, but rather to God, and we are merely to give/get them the help they need and then release them into the destiny He has for them, remembering that many of us were a little on the wild side, as well, when we first came through those church doors.

So was the unexpected visit of this furry mammal simply a matter of chance, or was it perhaps a message from God? Suddenly I reflected on the events of the rest of the weekend. Our pastor, his wife and a few members of his leadership team had just returned from a powerful conference in Kentucky where their hearts had all been strangely stirred. Spiritual fire rekindled, our pastor preached with power and passion the Sunday immediately following his return and the squirrel's unexpected arrival at our church. And estimated twenty people made a decision that morning to turn their lives around and follow Christ.

Coincidence? You decide. But it certainly sounds like revival's in the house to me.

"Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere..."
(Psalm 84:10 NIV)

People - Problem or Purpose?

2010-04-26T07:28:00.000-07:00

My first visit to the woods for the year was a time of great rejoicing, so ready was I to be done with winter and celebrate the warmer months of the year once more. With one of the snowiest Februarys on record now behind me, my trip had a purpose beyond merely searching for violets in bloom and wandering the woodland trails once more. I had come specifically to return my leaf to God.

As the trees were shedding their foliage last fall, making a golden carpet beneath my feet, I was mourning the end of pleasant weather and dreading the onset of the snowy season of the year. That morning God dropped a leaf from a nearby tree directly into my hands, whispering His promise that He would always be near me in the dark times of my life and to carry this simple token of His presence with me through the dreary winter days to come, marking their eventual end by returning it to Him once I'd made it through another winter and was celebrating that fact once more (see Woodland Wonder). And so, folded inside a slip of wax paper, it traveled with me though the pages of my journal as I documented the details of God's presence in my days. Now I was ready to welcome spring by bringing it back at last.

The leaf seemed as excited as I was, anxious to break free, the springtime breezes threatening to blow it away before I could lay it down at God's feet. Once done, however, the action made me wonder what other things God had given me that He perhaps desired me to return to Him. Love, for sure. Talents and giftings, most definitely. Time. Money. Fellowship. I rapidly scribbled the list in my journal as the ideas came to me, finally setting it aside when the flow stopped, knowing it to be still somehow incomplete.

Hungry for some "alone" time, I was distracted by the noise around me, my usual sanctuary a busy place that morning as fishermen returned in droves to the banks of the lake I sat beside, drawn as I was by warm temperatures and brilliant sunshine. Too near me to be ignored, a group of them discussed in loud detail everything from what fish were biting to which bait was best to where to find a cheap motorboat to what one might cost. Just as their conversation ended when the group with the boat finally put out from shore, another man accosted me, asking if I'd seen anybody resembling his fishing buddies, whom he then described in great detail. I looked up from my again interrupted quiet time in some irritation, yet tried hard to listen to him. I think I may even have smiled. But inside I was a seething bundle of nerves, all of which were trembling with the desire to scream at them all to please just leave me be!

Desperate for some solitude, I got up to go for a walk in the woods. I rejoiced in the early wildflowers and the sight of a passing butterfly, when particular birdcall near me caused me to wonder if the majestic pileated woodpecker was nearby. Just as that thought occurred to me, one did fly by, passing incredibly close to me before landing on a nearby tree. Fascinated, I stopped and watched him work his way up towards the sky, his brilliant red crest visible fist on one side of the trunk, then the other, until he was high in the treetop. Suddenly startled, he flew to another tree nearby and then deep into the woods where he was quickly out of sight. That's when I saw a couple heading towards me on the path. Although we greeted each other in a friendly enough manner, it was clear that each of us was a little peeved with the other, silently blaming them for scaring away the bird we'd both been watching as we continued hiking in opposite directions down the trail. I laughed to myself that people were clearly posing a problem for me that day, anxious as I was to simply get away from them all and concentrate on God.

And that's when it hit me that it was the people I'd been so busy running away from all morning that I was actually there to see! "People" was the missing entry on my list of things to be returned to God!

Fascinated, I turned the thought over in my mind a little more. Jesus had seemed to be as desperate for some "alone" time as I was. Over and over in the Bible he withdrew from the crowds to a solitary place (Matthew 14:13) or headed up into the hills to pray (Matthew 14:23). And yet again and again He was interrupted by people coming to Him for help with their needs. But Jesus never looked at dealing with people as a problem. Rather, spending time with them was simply the joy of his life, the passion of His heart, His sole (soul!) reason for coming in the first place. He simply loved them and wanted to be with them, both now and forever.

Perhaps the singular purpose of His attempted "alone" times was to give Him the resources He needed to deal with them more effectively. In one of His last times with His disciples before His arrest and eventual death, He talked to His Father about this mission he was about to complete, saying that He had made the Father known to the people God had given to Him, and that none had been lost except the "one doomed to destruction so that Scripture would be fulfilled" (John 17:12 NIV). In short, He was returning a full roster to the One Who had sent Him to rescue mankind from their sin.

We've been given a similar agenda. God has surrounded each of us with people - family, friends, neighbors and coworkers...even total strangers who cross our paths seemingly by chance, but who are actually strategically placed by God to be ministered to in some way by contact with us. Our alone times are meant not to escape from these people but to equip us to help them in whatever ways we can, to make the Father known to them and introduce them to a relationship with His Son, that they might one day be returned to Him and live in eternal glory.

While we can't make their choices for them, we are able to have a positive impact on their lives during our short stay on this planet. And if for whatever reasons we're finding that difficult to do, we truly need to ask God to touch us anew with His love for the people He sends our way every day.

"I have revealed you to those whom you gave me out of the world..."
(John 17:6 NIV)

Sweet Slumber

2010-03-29T07:42:00.000-07:00

My sons pounded up the basement stairs and threw themselves down on the living room furniture just in time to catch SportsNation, one of their favorite sports talk shows on TV. Although the volume was turned to its usual high decibel level, I was able to tune out most of the chatter until I heard the start of a segment that airs at the show's end, called End of the Day. The lead-in to that portion features a quick flip through clips of various athletes and sports figures using the phrase at the end of the day in television interviews, one right after another. The rapid repetition of those six words in those opening moments burned them into my brain, causing me to sit up and listen more closely when they've passed my way again. And lately I've run into them wherever I've gone. I've heard them at church in my pastor's sermon, read them in stories in the newspaper, and passed people using them in everyday conversations as I've run my errands. Surely there's a reason they've come to my attention, as nothing in life happens by chance. Curiosity led me to the internet to google the phrase and see what I could come up with.

Figuratively, at the end of the day means when all things have been considered. It's usually the prelude to a conclusion an individual has drawn after all the relevant facts on a subject have been studied and weighed, and obviously follows some type of consideration, reflection, or contemplation. The literal translation of the phrase, however, refers to the time when one's work or waking hours are over. And that generally occurs when the daylight hours are over and we are ready to slip into slumber. Perhaps God doesn't want us to do so before giving the preceding hours some thought. As I wondered just what things He wanted me to think about, the following words came to mind:

Reflection. As Christians we no longer live our lives aimlessly or with selfish intent. Instead, at the intersection of our faith and our future we find the plans and purposes of God. We have general duties that we all should be about, such as living a life that glorifies our Father, sharing our faith with unbelievers, and helping those in need. But each of us also has daily specific assignments based on the individual gifts and callings God has put inside of us that we are to apply our time and attention towards accomplishing. And the end of the day is a good time to look back over the preceding hours and consider how well we applied ourselves to those tasks. Sometimes we sigh in satisfaction, knowing that we did what God asked of us that day. And many times we simply resolve to try harder the next.

Thanksgiving. Perhaps nothing benefits our lives more than the giving of thanks for blessings received. It changes our attitudes from the head to the heart, and as we engage in this practice we'll find that we recognize the hand of God at work in our lives in ways we never could have imagined before. We can't help but live happier lives as a result.

Supplication. The Bible tells us repeatedly to turn our troubles over to God instead of stewing over them ourselves, yet when we're in the midst of them that seems to be the last thing we think to do. Releasing them to the Father to deal with brings peace and rest to our troubled souls.

If God is concerned about how we end our day, He is even more interested in how we come to the end of our days, our spiritual condition at the conclusion of our lives. He warns us not to fall into our eternal sleep without likewise giving the matter some thought. Some wish to postpone that contemplation, yet the truth is that we never know which nighttime consideration will be our last. God's Word tells us that today is the day of salvation, and if you haven't already made your spiritual future secure, the time to do so is now. Reflect on your life and your need of a Savior, give thanks that One has been provided, and ask Him to forgive and cover your sins with the penalty He paid for them on the cross.

When I was a little girl, my mother's parting words to me as I headed off to bed each night were always, "Sleep sweet," her wish that I would have a restful repose free of nightmares or worries of any kind. Now it's not my mother but my Heavenly Father who reminds me that at the end of the day only one thing is important, that being my relationship with His Son. Daily I need to give that matter my attention, that at the end of my days, truly my (eternal) sleep will be sweet.

"The wise also will hear and increase in learning, and the person of understanding will acquire skill and attain to sound counsel [so that he may be able to steer his course rightly] - That people may understand a proverb and a figure of speech or an enigma with its interpretation, and the words of the wise and their dark sayings or riddles." (Proverbs 1:5-6 AMP)

Gold Medal Lifestyle

2010-03-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

The XXI Winter Olympic Games held many of us as spellbound as this just-ended February kept us snowbound indoors, watching the sports coverage on our TVs. Truly the American athletes performed magnificently, launching the United States to the top of the leader board in the medal count, standing on various levels of the medal podiums again and again. It became our habit to check the paper or the internet first thing each day to see where we stood in the medal race and if we'd added to our count in any of the events of the previous day.

The medal ceremonies themselves were likewise a favorite part of the television coverage. No matter what country stood on the top spot, we were drawn to our sets to look into the gold medal athlete's eyes as each watched their flag being raised and heard their nation's anthem played on their behalf. We wondered what this moment could possibly feel like, the culmination of years and years of effort, hard work and training.

We know, of course, that there's so much more to the Olympics than just the medals. Despite the "U-S-A! U-S-A!" chant that pounds incessantly in the back of our brains, we hear the old adage it's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game sounding in our hearts. Those words of wisdom tend to get lost, however, in the pressure to perform for our national pride and in the lure of monetary compensation from commercial endorsements that are at stake.

But every now and then an athlete comes along who gets our thinking back on track. Such was surely the case when Johannie Rochette skated her short program in the ladies figure skating competition just two days after her mother's sudden death. Surely at that moment there was nothing she felt less like doing than putting on her costume, lacing up her skates and pasting a smile on her pretty face for a watching world. The Olympics at that point mattered far less to her than mourning the loss of this woman who had so selflessly loved her, consistently cheered for her and faithfully financed her efforts through the years to make this very moment possible. And yet she did it simply because she knew her mother would be watching from somewhere up above, expecting her to take to the Olympic ice and skate the performance of her life...to simply give it her all despite the circumstances surrounding her...to give the world a glimpse of the champion she knew her to be on the inside.

We likewise have a Loved One in Heaven who sacrificed everything that we might also have a shot at glory...eternal glory. He watches us now as we head to jobs instead of a skating rink, deal with relationships in our homes and offices instead of in an Olympic Village, and are guided by the advice of our counselors, pastors and parents instead of that of coaches and trainers. And every day we face the choice of taking to our own piece of ice, wherever it may be, and giving the task at hand our all, regardless of the possible outcome or the situations opposing us, offering the world a glimpse of the overcomers God has called us to be.

Johannie Rochette did just that the night of her short program, bravely stepping out onto the ice and skating the performance of her life, only breaking down at the end when she was through. And although the competition was only halfway completed, the television coverage ended that night with yet another award ceremony, one in which no medals were given, but instead praise, cheers and tears, as the world cried along with her.

While two days later Johannie finished the competition in third place with a bronze medal hung around her neck, clearly no athlete performed with more heart, even when her own was breaking. May her performance inspire us to pursue our passions with similar Olympian effort, knowing that whatever the outcome of our endeavors or any accolades we may receive, we likewise performed with a heart of gold.

"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might..."
(Ecclesiastes 9:10 NIV)

Glove Lost, Purpose Found

2010-03-04T07:40:00.000-08:00

The automatic door opened and the wintry weather carried a host of shoppers into the store in its icy blast. Most hesitated a moment at the entrance, removing hats, stashing gloves in pockets, and unzipping coats before grabbing their shopping lists and heading down the aisles. The situation then reversed itself once their passage through the checkout lane was completed, as they donned their winter garb and prepared to head out into the cold once more.

The process seemed to take longer than usual for one elderly female shopper who came through my line on that recent winter's day. Her order processed without problem, I was surprised to see her lingering in my lane, fumbling in her pockets and looking about her with a worried look on her face. Eventually she asked if I'd seen her missing red glove. There was no sign of it at the register, so she reluctantly moved off in the direction of the exit door. People leave belongings behind on a regular basis, and I thought to myself that this missing item was likewise no big deal - she'd either find it somewhere or get herself another pair. But instead of leaving the building, the woman remained in sight, circling the checkout area, her face registering her concern. The next time I saw her she told me she had repeatedly walked the whole store, retracing her steps to see if she might have dropped it anywhere. Finally realizing that there was more to her troubled heart than just a lost item of clothing, I listened as she told me the gloves were a gift from her sister who had since passed on. In her view they were simply irreplaceable.

Suddenly there was a heart connection to her problem that got my attention, and I started looking for that glove almost as determinedly as she. I looked through her grocery bags in case she had accidentally dropped it in one, and gently urged her to check her coat pockets one more time. Then I circled my register a couple of times myself, my eyes scanning all the nooks and crannies on the floor where an item might have been dropped and inadvertently kicked out of sight. No luck. I urged her to leave her name and number at the front desk so the store could contact her if it was found and turned in. Despondent, she turned to go and I went back to work physically, although my mind stayed on that woman and her distress over the missing connection with her departed sis.

A short time later I found myself with a few minutes to spare while there was nobody in my line. And suddenly I realized that while I could do little else to help her, I could pray. In recent weeks God had been building my faith with many answered prayers, and I firmly believed He would show up in this situation, as well. So I lifted a simple request in faith, affirming my belief that He knew where the missing glove was and asking that He direct her to it. And then I smiled to myself as I realized it was just the sort of situation He specializes in, after all - finding that which is lost and healing broken hearts! I went looking for my next customer, thinking the case was closed.

Not so, for ten minutes or so later my white-haired friend was back, a huge grin splitting her face and her hand madly flapping a red glove in my direction!

"I found it! I found it!" she called. Apparently she'd decided to take one more tour around the store and found the glove at last, lying on the edge of the meat counter where someone must have put it after running across it. We rejoiced together and then I watched as she finally exited the store, her step lighter and her heart happy once more.

I expected God to find her lost glove, but as usual He did more than that. It turned out that more than just a glove was missing. I had clearly lost my focus on why I stand behind that register in the first place. Surely it isn't just to earn a paycheck, scan some groceries and pass the time of day with a host of friendly patrons. He reminded me that He places me in all the situations I find myself each day deliberately, simply to be a conduit through which His love flows to the people around me. But when I get my eyes too tied to the physical nature of my surroundings, I lose sight of the heart connection to people that God feels and my spiritual awareness vanishes completely. I was ready to hurry that woman out of the store, her problem less pressing than processing my next customer's order. Yet God stopped, His heart touched by the trouble in hers. Surely I'm not busier than He. I needed the reminder to be about my Father's business even in my place of business, as well as in my home, my car... and in all the hidden corners of my life where His desires might have been dropped and absently kicked out of sight by the seemingly more pressing problems of the day.

I worked the rest of that day with a totally different attitude after bumping into God's presence that morning. Who knows but that God sent that woman to the store not for groceries, but for me... to get my thought life back on track. I'm just sorry she had to circle the store as many times as she did before I got the message! She may have found her lost glove, but I found my missing purpose. It's hard to say which of us was happier with the end result.

"Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep."
(Romans 12:15 NKJV)

Banished to the Basement

2010-02-09T08:25:00.000-08:00

Her persistent scratching on the door at the top of the basement stairs informs me that my fluffy black cat, Fuzzy Lumpkins, is ready for her morning milk. I pour her treat into the little Pyrex dish and somehow make it safely down the stairs despite her racing in circles around my feet. After setting it down on the basement floor, I scratch her back as she sprawls before me on the cold concrete, tickling her belly and patting her on the head a couple of times before heading upstairs to my first cup of coffee and my morning routine.

Fuzzy spends most of her life in the lower half of our home. Early on she became the appointed companion of an older and infirm feline who could no longer function upstairs and needed the stability and quiet of a more secluded spot in the basement. She happily provided that support until the older cat passed away last summer. Her duty done, she was welcomed upstairs once more, only to retreat again to excape the attention of a very loud and bouncy beagle puppy. Already on the skittish side, the least sudden noise would send her dashing for cover, and a barking dog looking for a furry black playmate was simply too much for her. The basement became her home once more, this time by choice.

But it's a lonely existence for a cat that loves the attention of people. Although she still sneaks up the stairs when she knows the dogs are not about, looking for a lap to sit on or a quick belly rub, for the most part any overtures of friendship have to begin with me. I'm the feline fancier in a house full of dog devotees. So lately I've tried to make a point of spending some quality lap and face time with her downstairs on a daily basis.

It's interesting that it's while visiting with my cat that I simultaneously spend time with my God. Likewise looking for a quiet spot for my nighttime devotional reading, I chose the beat up brown couch (similarly banished to the basement) for our time together. I sip coffee and read, petting her absently while she sits on my lap, purring at full volume and looking adoringly into my eyes.

But like everyone else these days, I'm a busy person, my days filled from daylight to midnight most of the time. Sometimes I come home late from work, church or family activities, grab a quick bite to eat (funny that I always have time for that!) and then am ready to climb into bed. Just as I'm stumbling towards the bedroom the thought comes to me, "Fuzzy hasn't had any attention today." And I stop short. Fuzzy...my cat, my responsibility, and more than that, my friend. I'm reminded that she came to be a member of the family at my request and that she deserves better than to be totally ignored except for the regular visits to bring her food or change her litter box. So I sigh, grab my book and head down the stairs for a quick visit. No matter how late the hour, I find her waiting for me, eager to interact once more.

Who couldn't use a little devotion at the end of a long day? It turns out that Fuzzy and I ...and even God... have this desire in comon. In fact, it was on just one such evening visit that God spoke to me and stated the simple truth that too often, He, too, seems to have been banished to the basement of my list of priorities for the day. While it's not always the case, there are days when I breakfast with Him as briefly as it takes for me to bring my cat her morning milk, and then I dash into the day's activities without giving Him another thought until I'm ready to fall into bed that night. Suddenly the thought comes to me, "I haven't spent any time with God today." And since He came into my life at my request, lives within me by my choice, and developing my relationship with Him is largely my responsibility, I grab my Bible and spend a few minutes reading His Word and talking to Him before closing my eyes for the night.

While it's a good thing to have my last thought of the day centered on God, it's not so good if that's the only thought I spend on Him each day. God desires a relationship with each one of us, genuine time and conversation on a day-long basis that spring from a heart devoted to Him and desperate for more of Him. He wants so much more than just a quick kiss and a wink His way out of duty before I head to bed. Callling myself a Christian but never spending any time with the lover of my soul rings as false as saying I'm married because I have a ring on my finger but never spending any time with my spouse. Both situations fall far short of the glorious and joyous experiences they were meant to be.

So what to do about it? As far as my cat is concerned, I've started to leave the basement door open more often, inviting her to visit as she dares, when the dogs are sleeping or outside. And she's taking advantage of it. This morning she came and sat in my lap as I was sitting at the kitchen table, and together we watched the birds outside the window for a while. The more she does so, the more accustomed she'll become to the dogs' presence and the more time we'll be able to spend together.

Likewise I'm leaving the door to my heart open more regularly for God, inviting Him into all the parts of my day, and deliberately directing my thoughts in His direction no matter what I'm doing. It's an action that becomes habitual with practice and which improves the quality of my spiritual experience with Him a hundred fold.

As I was climbing the basement steps yesterday after a late night visit with Fuzzy and God, I stopped for a moment and looked back to see her at the base of the stairs, watching me ascend with love in her eyes. And I knew that God was doing the same. While it still may be from the depths of my basement that I tell the Lord that I love Him, I want the words to come from the bottom of my heart.

"and you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength."
(Mark 12:30 NKJV)

New Year, New Language

2010-02-02T10:15:00.000-08:00

One sentence. That's it. Six words, to be exact. That's all the Italian I can speak, despite being surrounded by people who spoke little else in my childhood years.

My father emigrated from Italy with his mother and older sister in the 1920's to be reunited with his father who arrived in America first, round work and then sent for his family. Sent to kindergarten before he could speak a word of English, my dad promptly ran away, only to be returned to his mother sitting proudly in front of a mounted policeman, or so the story goes. Apparently he did eventually go back to school and stayed there, and he and his sister quickly learned to communicate with those around them.Learning English was a much more difficult chore for his stay-at-home mother, so around the house, in bigger family gatherings, and even at the big holiday parties in the basement of my grandmother's San Francisco home, Italian flowed from lips as freely as the wine was poured and the huge platters of homemade ravioli and risotto were passed around the tables. Even my Canadian-born mother picked up enough of the language to be able to understand the conversation around her.

Not so her daughter. Oh, I picked up some words here and there. I can say prosciutto, salami, lasagna and rigatoni with the best of them! Speaking the names of Italian foods and consuming large quantities of the same have never been a problem for me. While I say it too rarely, I can mimic to perfection my grandmother's cry, "Basta! Basta!" ("Enough! Enough!") when pressed to take a third helping of some dish or another. And despite the many years that have passed since those days, the hearty, "Salute!" as wineglasses were raised in toast still echoes in my ears. The one sentence I actually remember and can say to this day was drilled into my head by my father, who was determined that each family member say a greeting and a word or two of introduction on a tape he was making to send to distant relatives back home. While I read an entire paragraph into the microphone that day, all I've retained is the first line.

For years I've talked about rectifying the situation and learning the language with the help of one of the many study aids that are now available. And yet I haven't taken a single step towards accomplishing that goal...until this year. While shopping with the family one day for after-Christmas deals, I stumbled upon a page-a-day calendar that promised to teach me 365 Italian phrases in the course of a year! While that's way too many for me (my goal is to learn one phrase a week), talk about a bargain! My discounted calendar will last me seven years!

I couldn't wait to start! Eagerly the first full week of January I flipped through the pages to find the perfect phrase with which to launch the New Year. When I came across, "I need a nap", I knew I'd found it, and the fact that it (literally) made me "laugh out loud" led me directly to that as the second phrase!

Silly, perhaps, but I'm having such fun with the idea that it's worth it just on that basis alone. Of course, I have nobody to speak my phrases to, and I wouldn't be able to understand their responses if I did. But I love the sound and feel of the words coming off my tongue and am quite content to go around my house babbling in Italian for nobody's benefit but my own. This may very well be the one New Year's resolutin that outlasts the first month of the year.

But it reminds me of another resolution that likewise has to do with the words that come out of my mouth. I entered the New Year tired of the hours, days, and weeks I've wasted on worry and fear in the past. Mentally dubbing this the "Year of No Fear", I set out on a course of action to live free of those pests that have plagued me and crippled my spiritual life for longer than I care to admit. It was not by accident that I received a copy of a favorite author's new book on the subject for Christmas, nor that my pastor preached a sermon on that very topic as the New Year began, as well. Rather, they were confirmations from God that this was a wise course of action for me to take.

I've found that it likewise involves the study of a whole new language, and that, as in the learning of Italian phrases, I have to think for a moment before I speak, making sure that what comes out of my mouth is not only biblically correct but pronounced with faith and accented with confidence, rather than spoken in the dialect of doubt and in the vernacular of my current circumstances and feelings. It's not as easy as I thought it would be. Health issues, money problems and relationship struggles all tend to tie up my tongue and tangle my faith talk. But I find that as I flip through the pages of my reference tool, the Bible, and repeatedly voice aloud the promises I find there, not only do the words flow more fluently off my tongue but they change the way I think and live my life, as well. Thankfully I'm surrounded by people who also communicate in the language of faith, and who speak it back to me with words I not only understand but that my spirit eagerly responds to.

My dad passed away many years ago now, long before the desire to learn his native tongue gained a foothold in me, but I know he'd get a kick out of my current interest. Yet I know that my heavenly Father is listening to the words I say every day, and so I don't want my spiritual vocabulary to be limited to just a few phrases or a handful of promises I learned as a child. May whatever language comes out of my mouth express the thoughts of my heart in words that will make Him smile.

"May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer." (Psalm 19:14 NIV)

Cardinals are Commonplace

2010-01-16T19:17:00.000-08:00

I woke to find my husband praying quietly in the bed beside me. Sinus congestion had kept him from a good night's sleep the past several nights and he'd decided to spend those hours of wakefulness in prayer, catching up on his rest with naps during the day. Not one wanting to be found sitting (or sleeping!) in another's prayer closet, I got up quickly and headed out to the kitchen to make the coffee, a little perturbed that I was forced to rise so early on a Saturday morning.

My mood improved instantly when I glanced out the window. An overnight snow had changed the dreary winter scenery into a world of white that sparkled brilliantly in the early morning sunlight. Rather than wait for the coffee pot, I made myself a quick mug of instant coffee, grabbed my camera and my jacket and headed out into the incredible beauty of the new day, hoping to capture pictures of birds against the backdrop of snow.

Brushing the snow off the seat of the wooden chair, I sat and gasped in wonder at the world around me. The birds were brightly colored balls of fluff that reminded me of beautiful ornaments on a flocked Christmas tree. Truly the snowy surprise was an incredible gift, and I was ever so glad I hadn't missed it all by sleeping in.

I picked up the camera but couldn't decide in which direction to point it. And suddenly I understood why. It occurred to me that as beautiful as any photograph of the morning would be, the pictures that always seem to mean the most to me are of subjects that nobody else would waste film on... two lawn chairs placed side by side at the garden's edge, symbolizing God's ever-present desire to meet with me... an unfinished wooden footstool, reminding me that through Christ's death on the cross my enemies are under my feet... a field of yellow flowers, representing the growth of my own faith and the power of that faith in combination with that of other believers... and other objects photographed not for their physical beauty but as a reminder of the message God spoke to my heart at one time or another concerning them. It's that moment in the Presence of God and the revelation that it brought to me that I want to capture on film and remember forever. I reminded myself that the beauty I marveled at outside this morning would be an everyday occurrence in Heaven. And yet even in Heaven, the unimaginable scenery would seem empty and meaningless without the presence of Christ. He puts the wonder in wonderful and then splashes it into a world that without it is only full of physical things.

My mother-in-law joined me on the back deck just then, her eyes wide and her mouth open in awe, just as mine had been mere minutes before. Her camera in her hand, her mission was likewise to photograph a blood-red cardinal against the sparkling white snow. Our presence was keeping the birds at bay, but I promised to fill the birdfeeders, an action certain to bring them to our backyard in large numbers. As I set about that task I smiled to myself at the lesson I'd just learned: Cardinals up close at my birdfeeders, however beautiful, are commonplace. It's those times when God comes near that truly set my days apart, marking moments I need to catch in my heart and treasure in this world, until I walk in them perpetually in the one to come.

"...in thy presence is fulness of joy; at thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." (Psalm 16:11 KJV)

2010-01-07T19:59:00.000-08:00

A PUR Heart

"It was like a shower on the inside," said my friend as she tried to describe what she felt when she obeyed God in a certain situation and felt His Presence wash over her in response.

It's a wonderful thing to jump into a shower stall first thing in the morning and let the spray of warm water wake and revive you, giving you a fresh start on a new day. Even more invigorating is it to do the same spiritually, to jump into a devotional time with the Lord and to allow His Holy Spirit to simply wash away the errors and failings of the day before and to embark upon a new chance to serve Him with all your mind and heart.

We all long to feel clean. When a recent windstorm knocked out the power in our part of town for days on end, I found that what I missed most of all (well, besides a hot cup of coffee) was a warm shower. I had simply taken the opportunity to wash myself whenever I felt like it for granted. But I know what it's like to need an inner cleansing, as well. When I was in my early twenties I worked for a company that transferred me from all that was familiar to me in a small town on the Oregon coast to a much larger city farther inland. Desperate for companionship, I was not careful about the friendships I developed and soon found myself spending time with people I had no business being with and willingly joining in with whatever entertainment they chose to engage in, whether it was wise for me to do so or not. But one day I met a guy who didn't live the way I was living. He lived a clean life, and I found in the course of my relationship with him that I was desperate to feel clean again myself. The end result was that one morning I took a spiritual shower that changed my life forever.

The freshness we feel after a morning bathing doesn't last long, however. The grime and sweat of our day's toil cling to us and we find that we have to go through the cleansing process repeatedly for the rest of our earthly existence. So, too, in the spiritual realm we need a regular soul cleansing that removes all trace of yesterday's sin to give us a clean start on today's walk with God.

King David of Bible fame knew the importance of standing clean before a holy god. Perhaps the very reason he had the royal moniker before his name was that he continually asked God for clean hands and a pure heart, as the Psalms attest. My spiritual shower times thus begin with the same plea. One morning while praying for purity I saw the word spelled differently in my spirit. "Pure" was replaced with "PUR", and an image of that water filtration system's logo appeared over my heart. I laughed it off that day, but the picture came again and again in the days that followed. I started seeing that logo everywhere I looked, from ads in magazines to even the travel coffee mug in my kitchen cabinet that promoted coffee made with water filtered by this famous system. Finally it dawned on me that God had a message to impart - that our personal purity likewise depends on our willingness to install a personal filtration system for our souls.

While God is the one who washes us clean initially and then repeatedly thereafter as we ask Him to, we ourselves also bear a measure of responsibility in keeping our hearts protected from outside influences. God has given us the Holy Spirit to filter what comes in to us through the various ports in our bodies. All of our senses, from sight, to touch, to hearing, to taste, to smell, carry messages to our hearts, and not all of them are beneficial. The Holy Spirit helps us filter out the impurities from our daily experiences and therefore controls how they affect our lives. But the system has to be installed and activated before it does us any good. A brand name water filtration system bought at a store but kept in a box on a closet shelf doesn't affect the drinking water in the home in the least. Likewise the gift of the Holy Spirit was bought and paid for by Christ's death on the cross, but it doesn't change our hearts nor impact our lives until we give it permission to operate and function as the Manufacturer designed. Installation is as easy as asking God to forgive us for our sins and to direct our paths from this point on. Once that's done the Holy Spirit comes within us and begins to actively work in our lives, directing our consciousness to thoughts, images, sounds and desires that need to be discarded before they damage that which we hold most dear.

There's an old saying that cleanliness is next to godliness. Frankly, I think the two are much more closely related than we think.

"Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me."
(Psalm 51:10 NIV)

2009-12-20T18:46:00.000-08:00

"Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store..." I typed the quote from the Christmas movie I'd watched over the weekend in to the computer and hit the "enter" button. Once the words appeared correctly at the top of the page I scrolled down the read the live feed of comments below. Facebook chatter that morning seemed to center on the difficulty of finding an outdoor nativity scene to display in the yard. Every other aspect of the holiday season, from blow-up snow globes to reindeer on roof tops was readily available for holiday decorating purposes, but a display depicting the birth of Christ was hard to find. Friends suggested various stores in the area that might have such an item and posted ideas on other ways to bring a more spiritual tone to the neighborhood light display in an effort to honor the holiness of the holiday.

I came to the end of the comment listing and sat before my computer lost in thought. My mind went back to the movie I'd watched days earlier. I could hear Cindy Lou Who singing, "Where are you, Christmas? Why can't I find you?", and I was reminded that people all around me are looking for meaning this time of year that they can't seem to find in shopping malls, holiday parties or the mad rush to cross every item off a too-lengthy to-do list. Suddenly God seemed to whisper, "If you can't find in in the store, you might just have to be it yourself."

My eyes popped open at the thought. The words "live nativity display" began to take on a whole new meaning. Truly our lives depict what Christmas means to us this time of year more than we think. I suddenly wondered what message I was offering to a watching world. I reviewed my actions of the last couple of days, and sadly didn't find much meaning in the red snowman purse I gleefully pulled off the top shelf of my bedroom closet, the dangling Christmas tree earrings I hung from my earlobes as I headed off to work, the Santa socks I slipped on my feet, or even my excitement over drinking my coffee from the Christmas mugs I use just one month a year. These trappings and traditions are fun and fine in their own way, and surely they have a place in our Christmas experience. For some people, this is all the Christmas they know, and for them it is enough. But others of us know that there is more to Chrsitmas than what can be bought with a credit card or conjured up by feel-good movies, holiday food, seasonal decorations, and nostalgic memories from days gone by. There is a Christmas for today that offers the warmth, hope, peace, and love that our souls are looking for.

Live nativity scenes are popular because they move the Christmas story from mere words on a page to our own flesh and blood experience. Suddenly the story comes alive and we can believe ourselves to be a part of the drama. And perhaps that's what God is getting at as He causes me to wonder what a "live nativity display" should look like in me. He wants people to know that a Baby can truly be born in a heart as well as in a bed of hay. The story of that event would be told by my changed actions better than angel song or any words I could say. There should be a Light in my life that welcomes wanderers to the One Who has the answers for the problems they face every day. And they should see me worhsipping that King with gifts that cost me in terms of love, time and effort as well as just a portion of my weekly pay.

But perhaps what God would most like them to see is the human connection that Christmas is really all about. God reached out of His world into ours, and perhaps now He's looking for us to do the same - to reach beyond our own thoughts and wants and wishes to concern ourselves with the life struggles of those around us. How that looks in your own life is between you and God. It could be something as simple as offering a smile or holding a door for a weary fellow shopper at the end of a long and exhausting day. Perhaps it's a hug from the heart to a seldom-seen friend you happen upon in your comings and goings. It could be moments of laughter and togetherness with those who need your love, stolen from your busy holiday schedule. Or it could be donations of time, money or help to someone who's just trying to make it through another day.

Christmas doesn't come from a store, and maybe God wants us to do more than just put it on display. If it lives in our hearts, we'll imitate His actions and look for ways to give His love away.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16 KJV)

Woodland Wonder

2009-12-08T04:38:00.000-08:00

Today I said goodbye to the woods for the year.

When we first moved to Ohio so long ago now, God planted us just a few miles away from one of His great treasures, Hueston Woods State Park. After four treeless years in a suburb of Dallas, I rejoiced to be living so close to forested acres once more. From the time the first wildflowers pop up in the spring till the last leaves drop off the trees in the fall, I go there on a regular basis to have my spirit refreshed and my soul restored, to sip coffee by the still waters of the lake and hike through my favorite stand of trees, conversing with God all the while. My enjoyment builds from the beauty of the wood violets early in the year to the refreshing green canopy overhead in the summer, till I’m exclaiming with wonder at the splendor in the treetops in the autumn months.

My route to the woods this morning began with a stop at the local Starbucks, where for some reason I was blessed with an extra shot of espresso in my pumpkin spice latte, perhaps just to celebrate the day. As I came to the stop sign that marks the park’s boundary, I looked down the road and saw that it was flooded with sunbeams streaming through the trees. Standing in the midst of them was a deer, grazing on the berm. The view held me spellbound until the doe bounded away at the sound of an oncoming car. I carried my donut and coffee treat to my favorite seat at the picnic table at the edge of the lake. The fish were jumping at this early hour, their scales reflecting the rays of the rising sun, resulting in flashes of light all over the body of water. Off in the distance a rainbow was captured in a patch of morning mist that lay over the lake. A loud squawk heralded the arrival of a great blue heron that flew lazily away in front of me, completing a scene of exceptional peace and beauty.

Coffee gone and donut consumed, it was time to hike in the woods. Leaves rained down upon me on a trail already invisible under a carpet of their yellow offerings. I never leave the woods on this last hike of the year until I’ve caught one in mid-air, a task usually much harder to accomplish than it sounds. So I was surprised when this morning it happened almost too easily and a leaf simply landed in my waiting hands. Normally I would’ve just dropped it when I got to my car and then driven on home. But this one seemed to have a message attached. I felt impressed to take it with me, and soon God told me why.

In recent years my “farewells to fall” are all the more poignant because I know what follows. I simply dread the onset of bitterly cold temperatures, the difficulties of navigation on roads made slick by ice and snow, and the constant worry about the weather. Even the joy of the holidays and the beauty of the season are diminished to some extent by my distaste of the dark and dreary days of December, January and February. I’m simply not a fan of the winter months.

The wonder that I found in the woods this morning was not the beauty of God’s creation surrounding me so much as the revelation that God is very much aware of the cares of my life, no matter how small or insignificant they may seem to others. In His plan to deal with my distaste for this coming time of year He told me to take the leaf home with me, keep it in the pages of my prayer journal and then bring it back with me to return to Him on my first visit back in the spring. As I move through winter I was likewise to move the leaf through the pages of this book I open daily, its passage reminding me of God’s presence in my dark times and His promise of an eventual end to them. It’s a visual reminder of other times when a specific word from God that I found in the leaves of another Book I likewise refer to daily carried me through the difficult days of my husband’s radiation treatments, the turmoil of my sons’ teenage years, and trouble in changing church relationships. Having that hope to hold on to is what made the difference each time in my getting through the difficulty to the joy and peace on the other side.

Surely God doesn’t need the leaf I would return to him, and likely it will be little more than a crumbling mass of cellulose by that time. But I need the promise of an end of the season to look forward to; hope that I can hold in my hands. Likewise many people struggle with situations so much more serious than a mere dislike of the colder months of the year. And they likewise need to know that God cares about what they’re going through, that He’s willing to walk through the dark days with them, His Word a hand they can hang on to each step of the way.

If you don’t have a forest outside your door as I do, know that God will come to your neck of the woods, wherever that may be. Whether you’re the caregiver of an aging parent who no longer remembers your relationship, a mother on a sleepless night watch with a colicky baby, or a lonely widow navigating the first days and weeks of life without your spouse, He’s no farther than the mention of His Name. God will drop hope into your heart as easily as that leaf fell into my waiting hands this morning. The trick, however, is to catch it… to wrap your belief system around it, tuck it away in your innermost being and then carry it with you until you reach your spiritual springtime on down the road. On the stormiest days in your struggle, pull it out and remind yourself that sooner than you think you will be rejoicing with me as we repeat the words of Solomon, “See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come…” (Song of Songs 2:11-12 NIV).

Fighting Flu, or Fear?

2009-11-13T19:14:00.000-08:00

I was shopping in my favorite aisle (think chips!) of my favorite grocery store (think Kroger!) when I saw her. An older coworker who was forced into retirement by unrelenting health issues, it had been months since I’d seen her last. Remembering the many times she had made me laugh, I now reached over to give her a hug, whispering “How are you?” into her ear as I did so. And it was only when we were in the middle of a tight embrace that she answered me with, “Honey, I’m sicker than a dog!”

“Great!” I thought to myself, releasing my hold on her immediately and backpedaling rapidly before I experienced a possible H1N1 download. While I’m quick to say that I’m not swine-flu-phobic, there is really no need to be hugging people who advertise that they are deathly ill! As it turned out, her symptoms resulted from severe pain from a strained back; she wasn’t contagious at all. And yet I still felt the urge to rush to the restroom to wash my hands, my face, and maybe take a shower!

I needn’t have been in a hurry. Clearly I was already showing symptoms, not of flu, but of fear. Our enemy is less concerned about whether we actually catch the virus than he is that we fear that we will. His goal is to plant dread so deeply in our beings that it accomplishes two purposes that work in his favor.

First, he is interested in our preoccupation. Nobody among us has time or thought to give to Kingdom living and saving the lost when we are spending every waking minute washing our hands, spraying disinfectant on everything within reach, walking the aisles in the pharmacy and searching the internet for the first available flu shot clinic.

The enemy’s second goal is separation. He knows that together we are so much more powerful than we are individually. The Bible promises that where two or three are gathered together in His Name, Christ is there in the midst of them (Matthew 18:20). And so he doesn’t want us meeting together, praying for one another or encouraging our fellow believers’ hearts in any way. Fear of catching a serious flu virus accomplishes that goal. The Bible instructs the sick to call for the elders of the church to pray for them, but suddenly we wonder if the elders will come, without at least having second thoughts about doing so. We question whether gathering together on a Sunday morning with all those possibly germy people is really such a good idea. He makes us think twice about hugging, kissing, even touching other people. And so we distance ourselves from the hope, help and encouragement that we find in one another, especially in times of need. The gifts God has placed inside of us go unused for fear that operating in them might put us out of circulation ourselves, perhaps for good.

The long-awaited flu vaccine is slow to make its way to this area. Daily the news programs detail the locations of flu clinics that are open to high-risk clients, and people flock to those sites and wait in long lines for the protection they seek. Yet we don’t have to wait for help to come in the form of a vapor mist or a flu shot. If we are at high-risk for fear of the flu there are steps we can take to inoculate ourselves against infection. The first is simply to enlarge our view of God. When we see Him in all His glory we magnify the greatness of His might and minimize the size of the enemy that we fight. The Bible gives us a clear view of Who God is and all that He longs to do for us.

A few weeks ago a lady in our church lost her husband just hours before the mid-week service was to begin. The pastor and his wife were obviously busy ministering to the family members, and the church service went on as usual without them. There was a heaviness in the hearts of the church family, however, an unease among us as we felt a burden for these loved ones as well as the weight of other needs in the congregation. At some time during the worship service, the door opened and the pastors came in and took their usual seats in the front row. There was an almost audible sigh of relief throughout the congregation as they did so. It’s said that the sight of the shepherd among his sheep will calm a nervous flock. And so it is with God’s people that our fears flee when we keep our Shepherd clearly in our sights.

Everywhere we turn these days we’re reminded of the simple hygiene tips we need to practice to slow the spread of sickness among us. They include washing our hands, covering our mouths when we cough or sneeze, and staying home when we’re sick. Perhaps the most relevant to us spiritually is the admonition to cover our mouths. We simply need to watch what we speak. Too often our words of fear become self-fulfilling prophecies over our lives. The more we fill our hearts, thoughts, and mouths with faith-building scriptures, the less room there is in our lives for doubt and dread. And they’re easy to find – just about anywhere we open the Bible, the words, “do not fear” are soon to appear, surrounded (as we are!) by the precious promises of God.

“Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth.”
(3 John 1:2 KJV)