See You in September

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

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

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

"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

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)

People - Problem or Purpose?

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

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)

Glove Lost, Purpose Found

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

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

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

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)

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)

"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

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?

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)

Package Deal

Many years ago when my husband, Jim, and I were newly married and living in Washington state, we worked in separate divisions of the same company, he as a computer analyst, and me as a field forester who spent her days in the woods. Then one day came the announcement that the computer department was going to relocate to the company’s central office headquarters in Dallas, and Jim was asked to make the move. Excited as he was about the new opportunities that awaited him there, he realized that the job possibilities for foresters in that busy metropolis were slim at best. Our company had no land holdings in the area, hence no need for timber management professionals. Jim told those in charge of the relocation that he could not transfer unless they provided a job for his wife in the company office, as well. We were a package deal. So, because they needed Jim’s computer ability and management experience, I soon found myself behind a desk in a nice office, learning how all the field data that I used to spend my days collecting fit into the company’s forestry computer models. While it was nothing I’d ever done before, the work was interesting and good experience for whatever would come next for me in my career.

In the middle of our four-year stay in Dallas, Jim switched jobs and went to work for another paper company in the area. Soon came the news that he was again to be transferred, this time to Ohio. Once again he instituted the “package deal” concept in his employment negotiations, insisting that a job would have to be provided for his wife, as well, before he could agree to relocate. Amazingly, the company complied and I soon found myself employed as a computer programmer of forestry systems.

Gratified as I was by my new employer’s generosity, there was yet one huge problem in this scenario, that being my complete lack of training in computer science! My once programming class in college was little help as it wasn’t even a computer language the company was using. It was one thing to plug numbers into a computer model that was already written, as I did in Dallas, and another thing entirely to write the computer program behind the model. I felt absolutely lost at sea and managed to keep the job only with the help of a crash course in programming, fervent prayer, and a total reliance on God to supply the wisdom I lacked. Again and again He came through for me until I was eventually laid off when the economy forced widespread cutbacks in the paper industry.

Lately the enemy’s been reminding me of the days when I was part of a package deal in Jim’s job situations, highlighting the fact that I brought little to lay on the table myself in those scenarios, and was hired only so that the companies involved could acquire my husband’s computer expertise. What the devil mocks in my job situations he likewise scorns in my ministry efforts for the Lord, whispering that I only have the opportunities to serve that I do because I’m a “package deal” with my more spiritually effective husband.

I’m not alone in receiving his accusations. In recent years I’ve met many spouses in ministry teams who, while never verbalizing their thoughts, have believed him when he’s intimated that they hold the positions they do solely on the basis of who they are yoked to in marriage. We feel unqualified, unappreciated, and , worse yet, unnecessary to the work of the Lord.

And we couldn’t be more wrong. God wonders why we listen to such lies, when He’s written in His Word repeatedly that we all have received a measure of faith, (Romans 12:3), that we all have gifts and callings (Romans 12:6, 1 Corinthians 12:7), and that in the latter days He will pour His spirit out on all flesh (Joel 2:28). Each of us has a work that we were specifically created and anointed to do, and God will hold us personally accountable if we allow the devil’s lies to keep us inactive and unfruitful.

Getting what you need on the basis of somebody else’s qualifications is not always a bad thing. Just as I found myself without the resources I needed to accomplish the programming tasks I was assigned, I’m even more unqualified to work my way into Heaven. I simply haven’t got the sinless life and absolute purity that God requires in His Word. Once again the solution to my predicament is found in prayer. Jesus comes alongside me in response to my request for help and provides what I cannot - a perfect sacrifice in payment for my sins. And He makes me a promise… that someday when we stand together at Heaven’s Gate, the door will be opened and a welcome provided… only because He smiles with His arm around me and proclaims, “We’re a package deal.”

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast.”
(Ephesians 2:8,9 NKJV)