Get a Grip... on Your Phone AND Your Faith!

When your phone is the only such device in the house, it matters where you place it. Setting it down carelessly can lead to trouble, as there is no one else about the place to call your number and let the ring or vibration buzz alert you to its location. All you have to assist you are your own two eyes… and sometimes finding a phone in the mass of objects in your house can be as difficult as spotting Waldo’s red-and-white striped likeness on a page of the famous children’s puzzle books. Retracing your steps and rethinking where you were headed last become the only recourses available to you, and when they are not enough, you are in trouble indeed.

Nothing induces panic in my chest like the thought of losing my phone, as it is simply my lifeline to the outside world. All my contacts, my sources of help… in fact, all the numbers and letters that in combination unlock the details of my life are contained inside of that flat, rectangular wonder. No wonder I freak out when it can’t be found! I don’t know how I’d function without it anymore!

Sometimes the same happens on a spiritual level. We set our Source of help and hope carelessly aside as we go about our days… and then when we suddenly need it, it’s nowhere to be found. And the consequences of that loss are so much harder to recover from than merely purchasing a replacement item at a local electronics store, however inconvenient the restoration process may be.

A life without hope is miserable indeed. Trying to live without something to look forward to, a purpose to pursue, a future event to strive for is like setting a plant in a dark place where it can’t receive the sunlight and water it needs to live, let alone thrive. It eventually leads to the plant’s death. Sadly, a loss of hope can lead to an untimely end to a human life in the same way.

There’s a difference, however. While I’m keenly aware that I live alone, and if I lose my phone, finding it is up to me, the truth of the matter is that we are never truly alone; God is always present, whether we acknowledge His existence or not. He is like the air we breathe, invisible yet indispensable. And just the mere mention of His Name, even an inaudible cry from the heart, summons His ability and resources to whatever need is prompting the call.

I remind myself often when looking for something that nothing is ever truly lost; it is only temporarily misplaced. The same is true with my relationship with God. Even if I’ve set it aside somewhere along my life’s journey, my faith is voice activated; I call and God answers. Always! It’s a promise in the Word. And it works.

Of course, the best course of action is not to lose it in the first place. The older I get the more I realize that I have to live my life consciously rather than on auto-pilot.  I have to think about what I’m doing… where I place things, what I’m looking for, what I need to do next. And the same is true of my spiritual life. I have to stay conscious of God and His Presence within me, His ways, His words, His directions. And when I do that, I never lose track of that which I hold most dear… my relationship with Him.

Perhaps author Ann Voskamp has said it best: “Maybe the most important question to ask your soul every day is simply where will you set your hope today so you don’t lose it?”

Here’s your answer: “So now wrap your heart tightly around the hope that lives within us, knowing that God always keeps His promises!” (Hebrews 10:23 TPT)

It's a Switchback, Not a Setback

She’d been battling late-stage breast cancer for a couple of years when my friend was finally told that there was just one little spot left on her lung and that things were looking good. She went off with friends on a jaunt to the Bahamas, only to come home and hear that the latest scan showed the one spot was growing and there was now cancer in new areas of her body. She was forced to take more time off work to battle this new wave of the disease, and I can only assume that her usually upbeat attitude was now plummeting towards depression and discouragement.

Perhaps you’ve likewise hit a detour on your journey to total healing and restoration in some area of your life, and you need to read these three words: Don’t lose heart.

 

I came across a quote that stuck with me this morning:

“Trust in the slow work of God.” (-Teilhard de Chardin)

 

Waiting is not our strong suit, and yet we are forced to do it again and again. I’m reminded that in my struggle with dieting I have to wait to see weight loss… and as a writer, I have to wait for words to come. As a mother, I’ve had to wait for turnaround in the heart of an angry son. Come to think of it, I had to wait (four years!) for my husband to consider producing those sons! We have to wait for vacations to get here, wait for that check in the mail, wait for food to cook… and in the dark moments of our personal struggles, we have to wait for the Son to rise and bring the Light we’ve been longing for. Hope rises with the dawn, but sometimes the night seems very, very long.

 

I graduated from college with a degree in forestry and worked for a private timber company in the late 1970’s and early 80’s. I remember that in my days as a field forester in the woods I was often overwhelmed by the physical challenges of the job. I worked in steep and hilly terrain, and many were the times I stood in a streambed and looked up at a landing at the top of the hill that I had to climb and thought, “There is just no way.” Looking up, all I could see was how steep the ground was, the rocky outcroppings in the way, and the slippery nature of the rocky soil to be traversed. The only way I could make it was to go sideways up the hill in a series of switchbacks, first to the right, then to the left… back and forth till I reached the top. It seemed to take forever, but I always eventually got to the top. And so will you.

 

The dictionary app on my phone defines switchbacks as a zigzag track arrangement for climbing a steep grade… a “roller coaster” (ain’t that the truth?!)… and as a highway, as in a mountainous area, having many hairpin curves.

 

Maybe you feel like you’ve been thrown a curve with the latest news from your doctor, therapist or financial advisor. But perhaps there’s another way to look at it. You’re still on your way up, you’re just making a turn and heading in the opposite direction for a bit till you take the next turn… and then the next… back and forth until you reach the top.

 

You’ll get there. Keep climbing,

 

“Therefore we do not lose heart...” (2 Corinthians 4:16 NIV)

 

The Evil Intent of Envy

I entered the little shop, welcomed by the bells that banged on the door even before the cheery greetings of the people inside reached my ears. It was the first meeting of a new knitting group that was to come together weekly for a couple of hours to knit winter wear for homeless kids. Eager to join in a worthy cause as well as enjoy the company of people with a similar passion, I was excited to begin.

 

The first step was to select a pattern from the pile of samples on the table and then pick a yarn to knit with. And that’s where the trouble began.

 

I don’t make decisions easily. Ask my kids, and they will laugh and say, I don’t make decisions, period. I leave that task to an app on my phone, the Random Number Generator. I list the options to be decided between alphabetically in my mind, and then make the selection based on which numbered item on the list was the app’s choice. My rule is that if I ask the app to make the decision for me, then there is no second guessing the outcome. the decision is final.

 

The rule doesn’t say anything about second wishing, however. I do that all the time. Maybe even every time.

 

You see, I never travel anywhere alone. Everywhere I go, an uninvited guest accompanies me. His name is Envy, and for the most part, he is a silent companion. His eyes are his most distinguishing feature, not for their beauty but rather for their roving. They are never focused on what’s in front of me, but instead on that which is in front of my neighbor, whether it be at a table in a restaurant, in the bag of a friend on a shopping excursion, or in the hands of the knitter beside me. He never speaks until I have committed to a choice. And then he simply points at that which is in front of another, nudges me, and whispers, “Don’t you wish you had picked that?” Smiling, his duty now done, he leaves me alone and now dissatisfied, discontent having eroded my earlier joy.

 

Such was the situation I found myself in yesterday. Amazingly I had been able to pick a pattern from the stack in front of me. I chose a pair of fingerless mitts with an interesting stitch pattern worked into the body of the work. I would need to pick a solid color of yarn so the design would be visible in the knitted garment, and picked a bright shade of teal, one of my favorites. I eagerly bought a new circular needle I’d been advised to try and began casting on the required number of stitches, full of happy expectation.

 

Until the nudge that caused me to look at the two ladies seated next to me… and then I gasped in dismay. They had each chosen a simple ribbed hat pattern and were working with variegated yarns of the most beautiful rainbow colors. I felt the nudge of Envy and heard his whisper in my ear, Why hadn’t I chosen to do that?! Suddenly the joy in my current project vanished, and all I could think of was hurrying up and finishing it so I could work on what they were doing instead.

 

Thankfully I was able to eventually shake it off, and I did enjoy a couple of hours knitting new friendships with my heart rather than what I held in my hands, the form, fashion and color of which I eventually realized mattered not at all. The end result of the day was satisfaction with having spent those hours well, regardless of what project I would eventually finish and dump into the donation bin at the end of our time together.

 

My eyes were suddenly open to the purpose behind Envy’s, which is to distract me from what’s really important in whatever activity I’m engaged in by trying to focus my attention on insignificant details associated with the event. The realization that that what I’m doing with my heart is ever so much more important than what I’m doing with my hands at any given time sandbags my joy against the flood of discontent that Envy hopes to send my way.

 

 "Let your conduct be without covetousness; be content with such things as you have..."

(Hebrews 13:5 NKJV)

The Ticktock of the Retirement Clock

The clock is still ticking.

 

I didn’t expect that. I was pretty sure that when I clocked out for the last time on my last day of work that my fight for time was over. Days stretched out endlessly before me, free of schedules, obligations, and claims upon the twenty-four hours I was granted each day. And truly I rejoiced in that, especially in the first weeks after the holiday celebrations were over and it was time to start a new year, a new kind of life… a new way of living.

 

I had been preparing for these moments from the start of the previous year. Having finally made the decision to retire, I wanted to make sure that I didn’t waste the freedom I would so soon attain by letting the days go by unscheduled. I knew from experience that free time without pre-planning can fly by in no time and turn into lost time …leaving only feelings of regret instead of joy or accomplishment. So to avert that tragedy, I started making a list of ways to occupy my time, once I had time to spare. And I found that the more I pondered the subject, the more projects I came up with. Not by accident, I’m sure, people came alongside me occasionally who would unknowingly feed my enthusiasm for an idea or steer me in a direction I’m sure God intended for me to head. As the list lengthened, so did my excitement for the ideas it contained. Some were simple, even silly suggestions that just struck my fancy, while others had a more meaningful purpose behind them, meant to benefit me or others in a particular way.

 

Three weeks have now passed, and I’m feeling a little retrospective. It’s early times yet, but I’m proud of having jumped in and pushed myself to start on the first  of the goals that I wanted to focus on in the first month of the year. It is a constant battle, I’m beginning to realize, to keep moving forward, aware as I am that there are forces working against me, much as gravity slows and eventually stops a rolling stone. I want to keep the momentum going.  So I’m praying that the wind of the Spirit blows continuously to fill my sails and propel me forward.

 

I did think that once free of the forty-hour work week, I’d have plenty of time for whatever took my fancy. And yet, surprisingly, I’m still feeling time pressure. The time clock is no longer my master, but Father Time is still controlling my life. The scheduling of the hours allotted to me is now mine to choose, but the length of time I have in which to accomplish it all has a finite end. And I feel a bit like I’m racing the clock to fit all that I want to do in the time that I have left. The urgency I feel thus tends to rob each day and its activities of their joy, which was the pursuit of the projects in the first place. 

 

One of the items on my list was to get back to playing the piano for pleasure. Anxious to keep my mind busy with learning new things, I ordered a book of sheet music for simple melodies written by a pianist I discovered online. I vowed to learn new selections from the book on a regular basis, even as I played again pieces I’d learned and loved in my younger years. Anxious to get the timing right while practicing, I downloaded a metronome app to my phone to issue a steady beat that I would play along to. But because I couldn’t figure out how to use the app properly, the beat never changed, no matter how I tried to change the speed in the settings. All that it did was set the dogs in the house to barking furiously, and if that wasn’t enough, the steady tick-tick-tick soon started to drive me a little crazy, as well. Scrambling to fit all the notes between the ticks of each measure  turned my practice period into a chore rather than a joy. The beauty of the song was lost in the process of trying to play it too perfectly. Plus, the app was expensive in terms of cell phone battery life. I was soon done with it and deleted it off my phone.

 

And so today I’m doing the same with the way I’ve been hitting my lists… deleting the need to cram everything in the measure of days I have left before I reach the end of my song. I’m in danger of losing the beautiful melody retirement was supposed to be by controlling it too rigidly. Instead, I plan to take life just one measure at a time, seek the Lord’s direction for it, and simply play it well, to the best of my ability, rejoicing in the music that comes out of each day.

 

 “Lord, make me to know my end, and what is the measure of my days…” (Psalm 39:4 KJV)

Delighting in a Day-dream

 

One hundred movies in a year, selected off a scratch-off poster that now hangs on my bedroom wall – another retirement activity, selected off the list of things to keep me occupied and engaged rather than bored and idle in my newly gained freedom from schedules and obligations. Eagerly I'd begun, and thus I soon found myself settled in and ready to watch Movie #2 of the year: The Sixth Sense. Never a fan of the horror/thriller genre, it was an odd choice for me, but it was a movie I'd have to watch sometime if I were to accomplish my goal. And so it began...

Surprisingly, I loved the movie. Oh, I jumped and gasped my way through many scenes, but I was mostly taken by the incredible acting of the young star, a boy of just 11 years old. One frequently-quoted line from the film stayed with me, as apparently it has with others...

“I see dead people.”

Surprised that I was still thinking of those words a few days later, I wondered why. It was then I realized that it's because I have several friends who do the same... and perhaps I am a little jealous that I don't.

Repeatedly on Facebook I scroll across posts detailing people's nocturnal visits with departed loved ones in their dreams. The clarity with which they describe those encounters, the laughter they enjoyed, and the peace and happiness they experience upon awakening inspires a little envy in the heart of this one whose nighttime slumber is devoid of any such interactions that I l can later remember and recount.

I, too, have departed loved ones I would so love to see and spend time with again. I wonder if perhaps the issue is that I sleep too deeply, seemingly never getting enough hours of the same, to enter and play in the realms where dreams abound.

Surprisingly, science seems to support that thought. A study suggests that “while we dream all throughout the night, it's easier for us to remember dreams that occurred during the REM stage of sleep. And people may miss out on REM sleep by cutting sleep short.” However in the few weeks since I left the working world, the hours I devote to sleep have become luxuriously lengthy. Still no change in the dream pattern; maybe I just need to give it more time.

 

The dream study went on to say that day-dreaming is much like the nighttime version of the same in terms of activity in the brain. Goodness knows, I'm good at that... maybe I'm “dreaming” more than I realize. And suddenly an instance occurred that seemed to prove the point.

I was sitting in church last Sunday morning, and something suddenly triggered thoughts of my late husband. I don't know exactly what it was... perhaps the song selection, one we both liked, that took me back to the times we used to worship together in the years before cancer stole so much. Gone three years now, my memories of Jim have been stuck in the last three months of his life when life itself suddenly became so difficult... adjusting to the changes we had to make because of his illness, to simply making it through each day and long night just to get to the next one and do the same. The struggling version of my husband was the only one I seemed able to pull up in my memories with any regularity, perhaps because that was the last one I saw.

Until that morning. Suddenly the laughing, smiling, joke-telling version of the man I loved was back. For just a few moments I was able to see him again as he once was... and it was wonderful. Perhaps the best part of the episode is that it has remained with me. The healthy version of my husband is now the last one I've seen... and I seem at last to be able to hold on to that vision. How incredible that in just a few moments one can receive such a powerful gift!

Apparently I was wrong in my earlier assumption. I do see dead people... or maybe just the one I needed to the most... and I am ever so grateful.

“And when that which is mortal puts on immortality, and what now decays is exchanged for what will never decay, then the Scripture will be fulfilled that says: Death is swallowed up by a triumphant victory! So death, tell me, where is your victory? Tell me death, where is your sting?”

(1 Corinthians 15:54-55 TPT)

Gold Medal Lifestyle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have a Purr-fectly Happy Thanksgiving This Year

Oh, how I love to hear my cats purr.

A purr is a spontaneous gift, an expression of contentment that comes rumbling out of their inner being. By nature a voluntary offering, it is all the more precious because it is not produced on demand. Freely given, it is freely received by this one who simply rejoices that her cats are happy in that moment and are simply letting her know.

Have you ever wondered if God loves the same, and how His ears must tickle at an unsolicited expression of happiness and gratitude? How long has it been since God heard you purr?

Perhaps your communication with Him of late has been more along the lines of loud meows when you're hungry or in need of something, a cry to get his attention, perhaps, or a howl of complaint about some situation that is not to your liking. Truly God hears and responds to these as He promised to do when He took you in as His child.

When God meets any need in our lives we are rightly trained to say thanks. We regularly set aside certain hours of the day or week to offer the same individually or corporately with our local body of believers. Thanking God can be a pre-planned and scheduled event in our lives.

But what about those times when it's not? What about the times when you suddenly realize how incredibly happy you are in a particular moment... perhaps even for no specific reason... and you simply stop at that juncture, lift your eyes or your hands but always your heart... to share the joy in that instant with Him? That's a purr... and it delights God's heart like no other.

My morning meeting with God is made all the sweeter when I suddenly notice the black cat spreadeagled across my open journals, purring her happiness at simply spending that morning time with me as I slowly sip my first cup of coffee of the day. It never fails to bring a smile to my face and move my hand to stroke her gently on her head a couple of times, the only physical contact she ever allows. (Sometimes we, too, are guilty of restricting the amount of love we will receive from above – but that's a story for a different time.)

My feline youngster on the other hand, an eight-month old grey tabby, purrs loudly as he kneads his paws into a squishy blanket, jumps on my lap for a quick visit, or cuddles under my neck while I'm lying in bed. He loves to be stroked in return, repeatedly, endlessly...until my hand stills in that action as we fall asleep together in blissful peace.

This month of Thanksgiving we are all rightly focused on gratitude. But what if we became more catlike in our responses to God in the next three weeks, and express our thanks in unsolicited, unexpected, and maybe even unspoken ways... a sudden rumbling in our spirits that He can't help but hear and delight in... and perhaps respond to in unexpected ways Himself.

Let God hear you purr.

“Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; His love endures forever.”

(Psalm 107:1 NIV)

 

Needing a Holy Spirit Hearing Aid

 

After arriving home from work in the wee hours of the morning, my son Kevin blissfully slept in in the comfort of his bed while his fiance Alexandria was in her home office, teaching English to schoolkids in China online. Suddenly their cat Iniko came bursting through the dog door with a still-alive bird in her mouth, which unexpectedly got free and started flying around the house in a panic, shedding feathers like rain! Poor Alex was able to grab the cat, then she burst into the bedroom and threw it onto sleeping Kevin, who woke up with a start and in his sleep-numbed state thought she said, “Entertain her for me while I teach the class!”

Obligingly, Kevin tried to get the cat to cuddle in bed with him, to no avail... or to play with its toys (not interested), his shoestrings (nope)... anything other than scratching and howling at the door to get back out! He couldn't figure out why the cat was so crazy to hang with Alex that morning, but did his best to “entertain” her for his beloved so she could teach her class. Finally after an hour he gave up, and texted Alex to say, “I can't do this. The cat just wants to be with you.”

By this time Alex's class was over and she explained to him what had happened. What she had said to him when dumping the cat in the room was not "Entertain the cat", but “Come help me catch this bird”!!! She must've been so confused, wondering why he stayed locked up in the room with the cat while she was trying to catch the bird and teach her class at the same time! She did finally manage to grab the latter and throw it back outside, leaving the house littered in feathers!! At least the Chinese students must've been vastly entertained; I'm sure they think we Americans live pretty crazy lives!

This story intrigued me for more than its entertainment purposes; I've lived it!... albeit not with cats and captured birds. But perhaps there has been a time in your life, as well, when you thought you had received certain instructions, worked diligently if unsuccessfully at following them... only to find out later that what you were doing was not what was intended at all. In my attempts to find my purpose in the Kingdom of God I have mistakenly thought He wanted me to be in charge of the nursery at one church, assume the financial duties of treasurer in another ministry, and later lead a women's fellowship group after the current president retired from the job. I did my best in each of these attempts, yet ended each with a plea to God to release me, saying as Kevin did, “I can't do this.”

God knew that, of course. He had never intended for me to take on any of those positions, because He knew I hadn't the giftings to succeed in any of those situations. I was right in pursuing His direction, right in my willingness to serve... but wrong in what I thought I heard Him say. It became apparent to me that I was serving out of a mistaken sense of duty. Each of the jobs I had taken on needed filling, and in my attempt to serve the Lord I loved, I thought it was my Christian obligation to fill those spots... whether I liked what I was doing, or not. And I did not. My willingness was all I brought to those positions... and it wasn't enough.

Finally I told the Lord that I found myself resenting the latest job I had taken on because it took time away from what I really wanted to do, which was to write... that there was a joy in that activity that I didn't find in any other area of service. And suddenly I understood that that was what He had intended for me to do all along. I found joy in scribing words because He had given me the ability to put them together well... for His purposes. I simply hadn't heard His leadings in that direction because I was operating from a more conventional list of service options.

The relief and excitement that followed that revelation was indescribable. I resigned from my leadership position immediately, and just as quickly received a new assignment in the area of my joy, confirmed independently of each other by two people I trusted as followers of Christ to know the sound of the Shepherd's voice. And I have simply never looked back.

I still struggle at times when the pastor speaks of needs in the church that are waiting for volunteers, and truly we all bear a measure of responsibility in doing whatever needs to be done. But I listen a little more closely now to the Voice I follow... so that I'm not spending all my energy calming the cat when I'm supposed to be catching the bird.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”

(Proverbs 3:5-6 NKJV)

Rainbows are for Real

It was my daughter-in-law Sarah who suggested it. Realizing we were coming up on my husband's birthday a year-and-a-half after his death, she thought it would be fun to remember him by dressing in support of his favorite baseball team and going out to eat his favorite food. The men in the family were all busy with another activity that night; it was up to us girls to celebrate on our own. We donned our best Cincinnati Reds baseball gear and were in the car driving to a nearby barbecue joint, when I suddenly noticed the look of the sky. It had been on and off cloudy all day, but a just-passed thunderstorm left dark clouds in front of us but sunshine now spilling all around us.

“It's a rainbow sky!”, I said with some excitement, noting that conditions were just right at that moment for the appearance of a beautiful bow. “Everybody keep an eye out for rainbows, and holler if you see one!” Just as I said that, I looked to my left and spotted a multi-colored arch outside my driver's side window! “THERE'S ONE!” I fairly shouted, and we all ooh-ed and aah-ed over it as we drove. A minute later it was suddenly gone with the shifting light and cloud formations, and we talked about how easy it is to miss them completely. Almost to the restaurant, though, we suddenly saw another. “Two in one day!” I exulted. “That's amazing!” We got to the restaurant and were enjoying our meal together, when suddenly a customer at another table spotted yet another rainbow out the front windows of the building. It was so pretty, bold and distinct, that dinner patrons left their tables and headed outside to take a picture of it. My granddaughter Chloe was sent to do the same. There was even a fainter secondary rainbow outside the first, making this third vision the most extraordinary yet.

Three in one day! My heart overflowed and a smile split my face every time I thought about it. And yet I still didn't get it...until while again marveling over the sightings on our way home, Sarah said, “You know, that was Jim... saying hi.” Suddenly it hit me. Of course that's what it was! And then I burst out laughing at the thought of how frustrated my husband would be at having to send THREE rainbows before we got the message! I could just picture him seated next to the Almighty and saying helplessly, “They're just not getting it, God! We're running out of daylight here! What are we going to do?” And so they sent the double whammy, hoping we'd finally get the point. And when we did, the laughter... so like my husband to always leave me with a smile on my face and a laugh in my heart.

Jim didn't send any more rainbows that day... he didn't need to; we finally got the message. But God simply never stops... and I wonder if He doesn't likewise get a little frustrated when we repeatedly miss the messages of His love that He lays before us in a million different ways as we go about our days. He placed the first bow in the sky as an act of love and a promise that He would never again let floods destroy us. No wonder on stormy days in life we still lift our eyes to the skies and look for a sign of His presence and His love. Rainbow skies just mean that God's eyes are on you... you are loved more than you can imagine, and safe in the shelter of His grace.

“I have set my rainbow in the clouds, and it will be the sign of the covenant between me and the earth...Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life.”

(Genesis 9:13,15 NIV)

 

He Knows You By Name

The woman stood in front of the self-scan booth unsteadily, eyes closed, and body swaying slightly as if it was trying to remain upright. She held a pie in her hand that she apparently was attempting to ring out.

“Can I help you?” I asked as I came up beside her.

“Oh.” Her eyes opened again, and she said, “I'm just trying to get my head together. I've got it.” Yet she stood there, rocking forward and back, pie still in hand, as if unable to process what to do next.

An older lady came up behind her with a loaded cart. Apparently they were shopping together; I assumed she was the first lady's mother. Together we helped the younger woman scan the pie, navigate her payment and bag the item. Then they turned to scan the cart full of groceries. It soon became apparent that the daughter was physically unable to proceed. She whispered something in her mother's ear, and headed out the door. Left alone, the older lady labored through the task of ringing up her groceries. Hooked to a tank that fed oxygen through her nose, which was also covered with the mandatory face mask, she struggled along until she finally pulled the latter down and gasped, “I can't. I just can't do this. She was supposed to help me, but she's been drinking. I thought I could do it myself, but I can't breathe. Could you please just cash out what I've done so far, and I'll go through a check-out lane for the rest?”

It was Easter weekend, and the checkout lines in the store were horrific; I assumed that was what prompted her to go through self-check in the first place. Sending her to go stand and wait in her oxygen-deprived state was unthinkable.

“I'll finish it for you,” I said, praying that none of the people at the other five booths I was responsible for would need assistance for the next few minutes. Quickly I worked through her remaining items, then put the bags back in the cart while she paid the bill.

“Thank you,” she said, and headed out to join her daughter. Relieved that we had made it through the episode unscathed, I put it out of my mind and went back to helping other patrons.

But moments later, she was back, still struggling while pushing the cart loaded with the bagged items. “I can't find my daughter. She was going to go sit in the van, but the van isn't where we parked it. People are telling me to call the police, but I don't want to call the police on her. I have to go look for her, but I can't push this cart while doing so. Can I just leave it here till I find her?”

“Of course!,” I said. “Tell me your name, and I'll mark it as paid so they don't do anything with it.”

“My name's Elaine,” she answered.

That stopped me short. My eyes bugged out a little as I showed her my name tag and said, “Mine, too!” With worries on her heart she had little time for seeming coincidences and hurried out the door. But I stood there a minute longer, knowing instantly that the seemingly random exchange was more than just that. Mine is not a common name. I knew it was spoken deliberately because it was meant to catch my attention. But duty called, and soon I was summoned by somebody else who needed help. I was likewise engaged with another customer when she came back in sometime later and retrieved her cart. I desperately wanted to know the end of the story, but apparently I had heard all I needed to hear. I pushed it aside and went back to work.

Sometime later I put the pieces together. My daughter-in-law works in an assisted living facility and had recently asked me if I had any stories I could let her use for an Easter devotional with her residents. “And if you don't have any, could you please write one for me?” she'd asked. I laughed at the last question, as I know from experience that I can't produce a story on my own. Inspiration has to come from above, and, to be honest, had been in short supply of late... a combination of earlier work hours that had taken away my usual writing time and the drifting of my mind in other directions as a result. Thankfully I was able to find a devotion written by somebody else to send her.

And then God gave me a story anyway... about how He sees us in our struggles with sin and sickness, and life issues...even just our own indifference to spiritual things, knowing that we are simply unable to get through life on our own. So He stands by, anxiously waiting for the fight to break us down till we finally speak the words He needs to hear before He can step in and act... simply, “I can't.” When we finally admit that we need more help than we can muster on our own, He steps in and offers what only He can do. He says 'I'll finish it for you...”... and He did so with His last breath on the cross. And now that gift of salvation is paid for and waiting for you to come and claim... because He carries your name across His heart.

“But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

(Romans 5:8 NKJV)

The Lenten Loosening

I stepped on the scale in the predawn hours of the day, looked down at the result, and sighed.

“I may have to give up Extra-toasty Cheez-Its for Lent.”

I smiled at the memory of my days as a practicing Catholic and the annual practice of giving up something for the 40 days before Easter as a reminder of the suffering of Christ on the Cross and His sacrifice on our behalf. Its purpose was to loosen one's hold on the things of this world and focus attention instead on its Savior. Clearly the scale was telling me I needed to loosen my hold on my box of crackers, and I always need more of Jesus in my sights. Lent is meant to be a serious and reflective season rather than a particularly happy one, but the “Fish on Friday” result of abstaining from eating meat on that day of the week during the Lenten season was always my favorite Catholic tradition and are three words I have lived by with delight to this day. Looking forward to a fish sandwich of baked cod in a toasted bun for dinner that night made it easy to push thoughts of cheesy crackers aside. Eagerly I signed on and hoped that on Easter morning when I again stepped on the scale I would see positive physical results as well as spiritual ones.

Somewhere in the multiple decades of my life my pursuit of God changed from following a list of rules to forming a real relationship with the Creator of the world Himself. Now my life is governed by my love for Him that grew out of the realization of His love for me, and my actions are guided and motivated by that love. One result of our ever-growing friendship is that He leads me along the path I am to follow with challenges that are fun and motivational, rather than difficult or restrictive. He was fine with my “giving up” something that was cluttering my life and expanding my waistline, but suggested I put my focus on “giving out” every day of the period as well. I was to try to find ways to show His love every day in some way.

Perhaps it was not by accident that I was reading Max Lucado's book Begin Again at this same time, and that I came across his assertion that “the works of mercy are simple deeds.” God wasn't looking for me to pull off some grand feat of bravery or large monetary expense to prove my devotion so much as to simply put others before myself in some way as an offering of love. It's a devotion to small acts or kindness that are heroic in God's eyes and garner His attention.

In the hours that followed that day He gave me some examples. I was manning the self-scan booths at my grocery store when a lady signaled to me that she was ninety-three cents short on her bill and was going to run to her car to gather up some loose change. The man who was putting cash in the machine next to hers simply pulled a dollar bill out of his already open wallet and handed it to her with a smile. Another time later in the day I noticed that movement out the front door was slow because people were inviting others to exit ahead of them with a smile and a wave of the arm instead of shoving their way through in the usual hurry to get out and on with the day. There were others who stopped to help pick up items dropped by somebody else, unload a cart, or simply wait patiently with a smile when somebody in the line ahead of them required a little bit of extra time; all simple examples of actions that God sees and takes note of.

In his book, Max asserts that eventually each one of those actions will be recounted, remembered, and rewarded. So he encourages us to make a list while on earth that will take some time to get through in Heaven. No worries; you've got all eternity with Him to review what you did with the life and breath and love He gave you.

I like my Cheez-Its extra-toasty. But I love that God can use even the description on a box of crackers to challenge me to give a little extra to a world that needs the Love I tend to hold all to myself. How great to stand in heaven with empty hands because my heart was full and I gave all His Love away.

“And the King will answer and say to them, 'Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.'”

(Matthew 25:40 NKJV)

 

Hands-on Help for the Hurting

My fingers were all just so sore.

That was my thought as I lay down in bed the other night. Usually I have one or two troublesome digits at a time during the winter months; to have both hands so achy was unusual and a little overwhelming. I could work around a couple of sore spots with ease, but to have the fingers that were supposed to pick up the slack also in bad shape was a bit of a problem. Resolutely I grabbed the little pot of cream on my bedside table, took off the lid and sent the top of both hands inside for a dive. Then slowly and methodically the tips of those ten fingers worked that salve into each other's broken places... the finger cracks by the nails from the cold weather, the dry skin from pulling moisture-sucking grocery bags open all day at work, the burns from my carelessness with the wood stove. Up and down, in and around, rubbing and soothing till all the excess was gone. I got tickled to realize that as each finger worked cream into its neighbors' wounds, its buddies beside it were doing the same to its own lesions. It was a mutually beneficial action that would soon bring positive results. I flipped off the light and let the healing balm do its work during the sleep-filled hours of the night.

When I woke I realized that my fingers' actions the night before were a picture of the church.

“Church” has been on my mind of late, as my pastor has been preaching a sermon series exploring the reasons why we as believers attend. Of course, church attendance has changed in form during this last year of dealing with a pandemic; our options have expanded from merely walking through an open door to watching a service online to small-group Zoom meetings in the comfort of our homes, to name a few. But a weekly gathering of believers in some form is still a ritual we cling to. My pastor's opening question of why we do so troubled me more than I liked to admit. Was it just a matter of habit? One of those things I've done for so long that the action is no longer questioned? Or perhaps obedience? I went originally because my parents said so; now I go because God says the same? Or is it merely a social activity with people who have become my friends? The question lingered in my subconscious and surfaced repeatedly during the last couple of weeks to tease my mind.

In the process of delivering last week's sermon, almost as a side note, our preacher issued an invitation to his congregation. The ongoing construction of a new sanctuary on the church grounds is nearing completion, and church members were invited to come in socially-distanced times and ways to cover the bare floor with hand-written Scriptures and prayers before the carpeting was laid down in the coming week.

I smiled at a memory the words conjured up; a similar invitation issued many years ago when the church I was then attending had built a new platform for its growing worship team, and we likewise covered the bare wooden boards with the words and promises of God. It was a powerful and prophetic action that united us in purpose and praise for what God was allowing to be a part of in the lives of the people in that area. I was eager to participate again.

I had driven by that old church in recent weeks, and was saddened by the sight of the chain that now blocks the driveway, the building slowly falling into disrepair behind it after property disputes among former tenants forced it to close while lengthy legal battles sorted the mess out. To a casual observer it looks like the church is shut down, its days of serving the community now over. But those of us who used to attend there know differently. The building may be closed, but the church itself is alive and well, the flame of the Spirit that used to dwell there burning brightly still in the hearts of the believers who are now spread out into different houses of worship, setting dry spirits aflame with new hope wherever they go.

And suddenly I understood. The church gathering is just the pot of cream we dip our hearts into each week, a source of healing balm that we then use in our interactions with each other, rubbing it into our sore spots and open wounds...it is help for the hurting that we apply as we go and which heals our own hurts in the process. We come together for a joint encounter with God, Who promises that where two or three are gathered together in His Name, He is there in their midst. The worship releases and increases our love for Him, the preaching instructs and inspires us, and the social interactions give us an outlet for the gifts we've been given... so that we leave armed and ready to be a blessing in some way to those who will cross our paths. Just as I have three kinds of lotion or ointment on my nightstand that I choose between on any given night to give my fingers some relief, so do we have multiple options of church services to choose between depending on our personal preferences and needs. The important thing is that we find a source of help.

Perhaps when God warns us not to forsake “the assembling of ourselves together” (Hebrews 10:25), it's not because He wants to add another item to our over-loaded to-do lists, or to make us feel guilty for our failure in that area, nor because He is an overbearing father just giving commands because He is the Boss. He simply knows that none of us can make it through this life on our own... that we need each other to sooth the hurts and walk us through the broken places in our lives in this journey through a wounded and weary world. As always, He has a source of Help and Hope ready for our every need if we just make the effort to avail ourselves of it.

“Is there no balm in Gilead? Is there no physician there?

Why then is there no healing for the wound of my people?”

(Jeremiah 8:22 NIV)