Not Big on Bugs

“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

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

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

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

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)

Eyeing the Storm

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)

Love Letters

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

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)

Hot Spot

“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)

Royalty Returns

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

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

"Take comfort in rituals."

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

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)