The Mothering Chronices 7: Preparing the Way

People often think of my mom as a saint.  Her smile is very big, and she rarely gets worked up.  She has no idea how to cuss properly, how to get mad, or even how to think a mean thought let alone speak one.  A single mom, she raised five precious-tender-hearted-never-get-into-a-fight-and-kick-the-door-in-or-come-home-smelling-of-Camels-or-listen-to-Bon-Jovi-way-too-loud girls. Our budget was tighter than my britches after Christmas, and she was lucky if at the end of the month she could afford to rent one VHS from Video Unlimited.  Dresses she stitched while we toddled and tumbled over her treadle sewing machine hung for years on misshapen wire hangers because she couldn't afford to buy something new.  She was and still is one of those people. (The kind I wish I could emulate, but somehow always come up short.)  Now mind you, she's not perfect.  If you wanna see her get worked up suggest a "bring your own picnic" day at Vogel for Mother's Day.  Wrong words.  Let.Me.Tell.You.  She likes her food (Read: she eats a five course breakfast every single day, and don't you dare get in the way of her tea!) and she's sure not making her own picnic on Mother's Day.

A few weeks ago, when the air turned up its temperature and the flowers started stretching their necks above the ground, she danced for Palm Sunday at church.  Something happens when Mom dances--everyone notices it.  The men and the ladies, the dresses and the ties, the earrings and the perfume, they all disappear.  She smiles this smile that you'll never see in any of her adult photographs.  But if you dig out the old albums--the ones with cock-eyed black and white photos stuck on parched pages--you'll find the same smile.  It's the one she used before life came and took, before life came and gave, before her father died too young and her mother lost to cancer, before a husband came and left, and five daughters pulled and took and pushed and needed, the smile she used when she was an innocent child. It's a girl dancing before her Father.  And just seeing that, I know how she made it through.  Because He loved her.  HE.


And she drank from His Living Water.

Every.
Single.
Day.

I remember one line from the song she danced to--

Prepare ye the way of the Lord.

And there's this image etched like carvings in a piece of maple that marks my heart.  It's of mom dancing on the Sunday we celebrate the people laying palm branches down for the coming Messiah, and I think how she would have been there with all those crowds of curious people on that day.  She would have waved spring-green palms and placed them on the earth before he crossed her path. 

And two-thousand years later, she did the same thing.  Prepared the way.  Prepared the way of the Lord.  That was her crowning achievement as a mother.  She prepared the way of the Lord for us girls.  She is the one who did that for us.  Did that by drinking from His Living Water.  Did that by clinging to Him as her hope.  Did that by depending on Him alone.  Did that by never quitting God when by all physical evidence it would have seemed (if I'm being honest) like He might have quit her. 
She couldn't come to every tennis match.  She worked.  Sometimes multiple jobs.  She scrubbed other people's toilets so I could eat her homemade lentil soup, and she worked nights at the Golden Pantry when old stinky men with cigarettes lodged in their mouths would want to talk to the pretty raven haired single lady, so we could get a new outfit for back-to-school.  She missed some things, it's true.  But when I wanted to talk at three in the morning, and she hadn't slept, she talked.  She propped herself up on pillows and prepared the way while I sat Indian style on the green afghan that footed her bed. And maybe it was an angel that held her eyelids open because now that I'm a mom, I know what it means to be dog-tired, and I am sure she was far beyond that kind of tired.

And isn't this the great crux of the mothering we do?  That we would prepare the way of the Lord for our children?  Isn't this the thing they most need?  And when Mary chose the more excellent thing, the thing that was needful, was it not that she just made a way for Jesus in her life? 

Because sometimes life--that old great giver and terrible taker--sometimes he just brings us to our knees.  Sometimes he demands so much, and we are left dizzy and uncertain what to do next.  Us moms.  We get left that way sometimes, don't we?  I remember once, when I was a senior in high school, we had a pep-rally game called Dizzy Bat.  I was selected to represent my class.  My instructions were simple, and honestly, I thought I was rocking them out. 

Hold the bat touching the floor.
Put your head on the top of the bat.
Spin around.
Ten times.
Fast.  (That's the part I was rocking out.)
Run.
In a straight line to the other side of the gym.
In front of the entire high school.

I ran.
One step.
Then I fell, flat on my back.
Entire high school.

Dizzy.
Life gets you the way, doesn' it?

And when you get done spinning and think you're ready to run, you have no clue which way you are going.
Mothers.
We have one direction with our kids.
One focal point.
One way to run.
Jesus.
Prepare the way for them to love Jesus, to know Him, to trust Him, to count on Him, to seek Him, to abide in Him.

In Him is fullness of life.

In Him.

And I get this backwards.  I spin in circles chasing American Dreams because I have spent thirty-five years steeping, like dehydrated mint leaves in steaming water, in a culture that insists there is a right way to raise a child. 

Educate them well.
So we do.  We send them to pre-school and then relocate our family to a town with the best school systems.  We spend hours making sure their third grade camouflage salt dough and vinegar volcano is The.Coolest.One.Ever.

Give them opportunities.
So we do.  Piano.  Soccer.  Football. Art lessons.  Gymnastics.  Horse Camp.
And we work more jobs to afford more opportunities.
And we hire a house cleaner to clean our toilets because we aren't home and don't have time to do it ourselves. Since we aren't home, we probably haven't peed in them anyway, so it's kind of an exercise in futility, but we do it anyway.

Keep them entertained so they stay out of trouble.
So we do.  Sleepovers every weekend.  Trips to the movies.  To the skating rink.  To the park.  More play dates.  Big vacations.

Don't let them want for anything.
So we don't.  (God knows this one taunts me.)  Because I remember not having when others did.  And please God, I don't ever want my children to know that ache. So we buy the name brand.  We do.  As if a name brand can save a soul, can heal a hurt, can carry a child into a lifetime of happiness. 

Take them to church.
So we do.  And to all the activities the church offers because surely they need to know about Jesus and the tired Sunday School teacher can reach them in ways we can't or don't know how to.
Or are too tired to even attempt because we've been busy.
Busy spinning.

And though there isn't anything wrong with any of these things, somehow we abdicate our one single shot to do the preparing.  We divvy out our chance, our stewardship, our few, finite years with these beautiful beings to name brands and complete strangers when God hand picked us for the preparing. 
And some of us do have to work, and some of us can't homeschool, and some of us don't work and do homeschool, and still we sacrifice this one precious act--the preparing act--because we're too busy on facebook and texting.  And I'm talking to myself here, so just ignore my ranting. 

This really is the question.  What precious moments do we have, and what are we doing with them?

Because the needful thing is to prepare the way.
Not for a great college,
not for a great job,
not for success in this life.
The needful thing is to prepare their hearts for The Way,
for The Truth,
for The Life,
for His Kingdom,
for success in their eternal life,
for fullness of life.
For Jesus.


And if you are like me, and you get to spinning so fast that when you finally stop you have no idea which way is up or down or left or right, then perhaps you could sit with me and watch Mom dance.
Watch her move before the God that carried her through all the good--the births of beautiful brown eyed babies, the walks through fields of daisies in spring, and lazy summer days at the lake in the heat of summer.  Watch her make famous the name of the God who gripped her with relentless strength when the angst of life swallowed her marriage, her parents, her siblings, her dreams.  She's still just preparing the way for Him.

If we live to give things or opportunities to our children, we will miss it.
Miss the needful thing.
Miss the chance to prepare.

Our goal as parents, my goal as a momma of sweet, wild, wonderful boys is just this:
To make the name of my God so famous before my children that they know He is the source of life.

In Him is abundance.
In Him is fullness of joy.
In Him is hope.
In Him is peace.
In Him is healing.
In Him is satisfaction.

Mother's Day is declaring her arrival on a one inch square in my May Calendar.  Every year she insists I stop and pause long enough to ask, Am I worthy of the spoiling I know I'll get?  Do I deserve the honoring, the loving that my men will wash over me?

So often, I'm not.
I'm not a saint like my own momma.
I fall so short.
I fall.
Often.
Period.

And I question God. 
Why, God, did you give them to me?  There are a thousand better mommas.  A thousand who never raise their voice, who never space out and fail to hear their son calling out, a thousand who smile more, who play more, who . . .

But He chose me.
He chose you.
"Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them." (Psalm 127:3-5)
And heritages and rewards and blessings are not randomly tossed from heaven to land like dandelion seeds where they may.  They are selected sovereignly by God for specific recipients.
Recipients like you.
Recipients like me.
And isn't He able to keep us from falling?

And isn't preparing the way partly about teaching a child, modeling for a child the ability to humble oneself and admit we are sinners, admit we too mess up, admit we need Jesus, need His forgiveness.  Isn't that the greatest ushering of a child into the presence of God that we could ever do?

It's never too late to begin afresh.
Never to late to begin the dance before our Father.
The dance that will mesmerize the minds of our children,
will captivate their attention,
will make God famous in their hearts.

May your Mother's Day be of the dancing kind.
With love,
S

The Great Gain

The wind sucked and swished my hair around like a vacuum first then a twister.  "35 miles per hour winds, Sarah," my neighbor admonished.  "Should we cover our plants?  The temperature's gonna drop."  It did drop.  And soccer practice went long on the one night when the temperature plummeted, and the wind raged her fury.  I was cold.  We walked--my son, his friend and I--to keep warm.  Nate shared his too-small-for-me black fuzzy gloves, and I gladly accepted the woolen warmth of his giving heart.

Still chilled in our bones with the kind of cold that doesn't give you goose bumps, but leaves  you stiff, corpsish even, we elbowed our way through the entrance to our home.  Our 70 degree home.  The temperature was set.  I had keyed in 70 degrees earlier in the day thinking what was the use in freezing to death when I didn't have to.  I have that choice.

I thought of pouring a steaming bubble bath and using some of my 9 year old green-tea bath salts my sister gave me after Cort was born.  I hoard them for special moments because they smell like spring and heaven and grass and rivers, and I want to have them for as long as I live.  We keep our thermostat for hot water set HOT.  I like hot water.  Tepid water doesn't clean, doesn't warm, doesn't refresh.  I have that choice.

Taking the red kettle mom gave me for my birthday, I filled it with a steady stream of water from our tap.  I turned the storm-grey knob on our gas stove and watched as flames licked the belly of the kettle.  A mug of clear, hot water blanketed me from the inside out.  I had that choice.

Dinner hour had long since slipped away.  Suppertime too had slipped beyond the grasp of our busy Monday schedule.  We were all hungry.  We'd agreed ahead of time on the menu for the week.  All of us had said we were in, but when the moment came . . . we may have regretted our zeal.  Beans and rice.  One small scoop of each at supper.  For the week.  It's true, chicken, sausage, beef roast, ground chuck, fish, hot dogs, pork chops, bacon, and a myriad of other choices clogged my cavernous freezer.  We had that choice.

I told the boys to chew slowly.  Don't rush, there are no seconds tonight.  And I looked in my eldest's eyes.  Disappointment.  He knew he wouldn't be full.  I knew he wouldn't be full.  You don't have to do this; you know I know your heart.  I don't expect this from you.  He wanted to.  But his face showed what his lips refused to speak:  shock at the reality of hunger.  The first night in his life he will have gone to bed hungry.  He had that choice.

But not everyone does.  Have that choice.  Have a home with temperature set just so.  Have clean water to drink much less pour lavishly into an antique claw-foot tub.  Even have beans.  Even have rice.  Not everyone has that choice.
My first month of SEVEN is winding down.  I've chosen to focus this month on food in an attempt to wrap my senses around world hunger, around the reality that 18,000 people die every day just from hunger, and that's not including those who die from lack of clean drinking water.  Some will call me crazy, and I'm okay with that.  What I can't seem to be okay with, though, is the reality that while I've cushioned my backside with a pantry three feet deep and then gone out and bought bigger pants to contain my greed, children were dying every five seconds.  I needed a radical realignment.  This month has been a good beginning.  A good beginning.

Not having my usual comfortable foods has forced me to remember the faces of children I've never met--children who have never had a single comfort.  It's caused me to think of the anguish that must swallow their mothers' and fathers' hearts in single gulps when they look into hungry, pained eyes and can do nothing to help them.  I want to be a part of their hope.

"For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in . . .I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' "  Matthew 25:3,40

Did it for Him.  The nameless children of hundreds of destitute regions are not just someones children.  They're God's creation, His masterpieces.  He formed them in their mother's wombs, knows the number of hairs on their sweet heads, and you know what?  Forget the number of hairs on their heads.  He numbers the ones that flitter and flutter to the ground as their scalps bald from malnourishment.  They're His babies, and he planned for them to be a part of this wonderful world He worded into existence.  When I withhold, hoard, keep for myself, I keep from Him.  And when I open palms and purse, release plans and purpose, I do it unto Him.  And wasn't it He who specifically said, "Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God."  (II Corinthians 10:31)  All of it. For His glory?
And while Marie Antoinette cries out, "Let them have cake . . ."  am I just the same as she?  A Christian bellowing in holy tones, "Let them have Jesus."  Let me not insist all they need is Jesus and ignore their bellies bulging with starvation and mud cookies made with oil and water. Jesus himself did not ignore the physical needs of the people He loved.  What of manna, and fish and loaves multiplied?  He made us physical beings.  Dare I ignore His sacred creation's needs under the shiny-cellophane packaging of "purely sharing the gospel and leaving their physical needs to some other organization?"  We are that organization.  We.  The Church.  Me.  I'm broken, undone by that reality.  I'm just one person; we're just one small family.  Could we actually make any difference?  A dent in all this suffering?
In the early moments of day's breaking, before school lessons and ringing phones, emails and music lessons,  I read from I Timothy 6.  "But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. ^"
If we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. With just that? 
Are you, Sarah?
Am I, God?

Because godliness with contentment is great gain, and the Greek meaning of this word gain is the best thing you can procure for yourself.  It must be important. 

I hear of people's investments yielding great gains, but what if we have missed it?  What if while we build our fortunes and pad our retirement funds we have missed The Great Gain?  Is it possible in our haste to be financially responsible citizens, in our hurry to build comfortable, seeker friendly churches with pleasing, paved parking lots, in our fervor to give our children every opportunity, we have somehow missed our purpose?  What if our comfort costs someone else's life? 

What if The Great Gain is discovering the sufficient nature of a God who promised to supply all our NEEDS according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus, and realizing He Is Enough?

And if the best thing I can get in this life is godliness with contentment, then this, THIS is The Great Gain:  That we cease to search for the next best high and realize The High lives within us.  We have all we need pertaining to life, to godliness.  We have HIM.  In HIM is life.  In HIM is satisfaction.  In HIM is contentment.  "And God is able to bless you abundantly, so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work." (II Corinthians 9:8)

And when we gain this contentment it is for a purpose--so that in all things at all times, having all that you need, you will abound in every good work.  We are not blessed to spend on ourselves but to abound in every good work.  Every.  In all things.  At all times.
I can't help but think about Timothy's words again.  Content with food and clothing.  Is that how you define Paul's words, having all that you need?

Just food?  Just clothing?
Which food? Rice and beans?  Every day?  Surely not.  We've been given all things to enjoy.  Haven't we?  Where is the cap?  Where do we stop?  When do we say we have given enough?  Can we really ever say, "This much is for you God, and no more.  The rest is for me."?  Can we?  Do we all go out and buy 1990's-hunter-green-water-proof-Ozark-Trail tents from Walmart, sell our homes and find a field to squat in, giving the rest to Haiti or Africa?  Is this what we do? 

These are the questions that wash ashore in my mind like waves on the Atlantic coastline.  They've repeated themselves a thousand times a day this month, and I don't yet have answers.  This I know, Jesus said the path is narrow and few will choose it.  Speaking of sacrifice doesn't sit well with me.  I'd like to cut a check for ten percent and call it a day.  The rest I can find plenty of good uses for.  I've got a bucket list, plans for a fifteenth wedding anniversary romantic getaway.  And could I say, if I dared, that perhaps we who call ourselves Christians have created some form of Jesus-following that doesn't really follow Him at all?  Are we not really just white-washed, sweet-speaking selfish hearts?  Some of us?  Me?  (I don't dare say it.  Sorry I  mentioned it.)
Too though, I know this.  Jesus came to freely give us that thing we lost in Eden--that abundant life.  That walking in the garden with God in the cool of the evenings.  That unlimited access to all the splendor of His creation without fear, without sickness, without pain.  In Him we get that abundance.  I haven't suffered this month.  Not once.  Giving up coffee had to be like losing my right arm--maybe even both arms.  And sugar?  On dear Lord, please restore to my the joy of my sugar . . . I mean salvation. (Ps. 51.  It's in there.)  What I have seen is that I miss the abundance of God because I'm too busy feeding myself.  And not just with food do I fill.  It's television, computer, people, activities, events, projects, things . . . oh dear things.  So many possessions.  And this filling creates a numbness.  I don't feel my great need of God, nor do I feel my great blessings of God.  I miss The Abundance.  The Great Gain. 
It is a beautiful journey--this walking with God--and I'm too distracted by the choices I have to notice it.
Tonight at bedtime, my eldest prayed, "Lord, thank you that we can feel what it is like for the starving children.  Please help the ones in Haiti and Africa . . ."  Thank you for hunger?  Yes, I too am thankful.  Somehow the hunger awakens my sleeping senses to the heart of God.  I'm still searching for answers.  We're ambling, embarking, seeking, learning, and stumbling through.  But for now, at least we are glimpsing some of The Great Gain.

Pray with me:  Jesus, you are life.  YOU are life.  Teach me to seek fullness in YOU.  Align me to your heart.  I'm sorry I miss the way when it is YOU who IS the way.  Help me to see YOU are the GAIN.  Help me to hunger not for more stuff, more food, more places to go, more mountains to conquer, but for the person of YOU.  Fill me.  Amen.

To Make Him Heavy

"Does your life make others desire God?"  Meant for the Converse and skinny-jean wearing teenagers, it was a question posed by the man who pastors the youth of our church--my eldest included.  But God meant it for me.  At first listen, the seven words were not unique, not something I couldn't have read in some learn-how-to-be-a-better-Christian kind of book.  But, The Still, Small Voice repeated them, droned them over and over, until my soul ached with their sound.
Does MY life make others desire God?
Does it?
Well?
And when honesty finally out-wrestled pride, I could admit the truth:  probably not. At least not all the time. I'm too busy, too quick tempered, too impatient, too proud.  Paul complained of one thorn in the flesh, and surely, when God fashioned me, he rolled me out first in some blackberry patch with a thousand thorns.  And though I know I am indeed a new creature, with a new heart, those thorns prick still.
Does my life make others desire God?
Hmmph.
Isaiah told us why we were created:  for God's glory. (Isaiah 43:7)
For HIS glory.
God--the great artist's--intent when He molded this frame that would stretch and grow to 68 inches high with brown eyes, brown hair, and a cackle for a laugh, was singular. I am made for His glory, that's it.  But that word, glory, has always bugged me.  People throw it around too much--give the glory to God, honor and glorify God--and I'm left feeling the meaning is like weak depression tea. 
The Hebrew root word surprised me, confused me a bit at first.  A verb, its root means to make heavy.  To make heavy.
Other times in scripture, the same word is translated splendor or precious, and I think of gold.  Gold is heavy.  The more pure it is, the more dense it is, and the heavier it is.  That's what makes it precious--it's purity.  And that too, is what makes it heavy.  And this same root goes with my purpose--to glorify God--to make Him heavy. 
Earthly air stung my lungs some thirty-five years ago for a single reason--to make God heavy.  Somehow, I think I understand that.  When weight is placed on my value, I am to see that value's source and return it there. God.  Making Him the heavy one.  Making me light and Him heavy.  James knew where to place the weight of things when he wrote, "Every good and perfect gift is from above..." (James 1:17) All that is good, then, about me, came from the hands of a good and perfect God.  This must be the way to bring glory to Him--recognizing Him as the source, the giver of all that is good.
Paul himself counseled the Romans with these words,"  For by the grace given (It is all given, isn't it?  Even grace.) to me I say to every one of you not to think more highly of yourself than you ought to think, but to think with sober discernment, as God has distributed to each of you a measure of faith."  (Romans 12:3)  God distributes.  I just receive.
Somewhere, though, deeply rooted in North American culture, there is this sense that we are self-made men and women.  If we work hard.  If we study hard.  If we try hard.  We can do anything.  We.  But there are those words in John and Philippians--apart from ME you can do nothing, and WITH GOD all things are possible. 
In his book, Radical, David Platt adds, "God delights in using ordinary Christians who come to the end of themselves and choose to trust in his extraordinary provision.  He stands ready to allocate his power to all who are radically dependent on him and radically devoted to making much of him."
Making much of him.  Making him heavy.  But when I think of placing the weight on God, I see I'm dancing near a precipice--a cliff, that stepping off of, may prove the greatest abandoning of my personal ambitions I've ever known.  What of His desires?  Do I place more weight on them, than my own?  Because let's just be honest, most of us are more interested in picket fences than going to Africa to share His love.  And there are the haunting words of James, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world."  And just how much weight will I place on God's clearly displayed heart?  Love your neighbor.  Turn the other cheek.  Give him your cloak.  Forgive seventy times seven.  Present your bodies as a sacrifice--alive, holy and pleasing.  God, grant me strength, grant me courage to trust that stepping from this precipice is not a foolish free fall, but a forage of faith.
 If I am about this business--if this is the motivation behind my living, then how could anyone not desire God?  Not because of something they see in me, but because in everything about me, there is God.  God is the forgiver and healer of the thorny places.  And there are many.  But look!  God's mercy is greater than those places.  He is the source of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, and self-control.  When they are evident in my life, they come from Him.  And when they are absent, forgiveness comes from Him.  Much of him, less of me.  John said it too, "He must increase, but I must decrease." (John 3:30)
In America, we are obsessed with losing weight, but what of losing spiritual weight and placing it all--the good and the bad--on God?  This, I believe is the key to a life that somehow, despite our humanity, causes people to say, "If it is God she has, I want Him."
Does my life cause people to desire God?
The answer lies in where I place the weight of my life.

Pray with me:
Father, teach me to make much of You.  Teach me to place the weight of my life on You.  When people see me, Father, let me just be an arrow that points to He Who is ALL, He Who is Good, He Who is Strong, He Who is Able, He Who Heals, He Who is LOVE, He Who is Enough, He Who is God.  Amen.

The Chreestmas Boys--When Less Becomes More

Little shades of brown in itchy blue oxfords wiggling, squirming, inching and us--almond milk skin, hair any shade we choose, and clothes any style that suits. We make small talk among ourselves and grin-gaze across the room at khaki pants and collars colored sky. We wait. Somebody's doing paperwork, and it seems like we're waiting an hour. They eye us cautiously, but familiar. They've done this before. We eye them, giddy. We're all thinking the same thoughts. Which one is ours? Which sweet thing do we get to take home and love on?

And maybe they were thinking too. Will I have a bed tonight or will I sleep on a pallet? Will I share or have my own? What will they feed me? Will the house be too worm? Will it be too cold? Are there dogs at the new home? I'm afraid of dogs. Will their children be nice to me? And it's me that finally asks because it doesn't seem natural for us to sit and stare--they're humans after all, not puppies. Can we talk to them?

Then there's an explosion of bodies, mixing, asking, helloing, and we're all on the floor with them--red and yellow, black and white. Hands shaking hands, ears straining to understand accents not native, and all of us smiling to tell them in the universal language that we are kind, we are safe, we will love them.

A few weeks prior, I asked him if we could host two boys from Children of the World. (http://www.worldhelp.net/cotw/) He's my husband; he knows my heart has rooms for a thousand more children. He knew it would impact us. It did. How can you invite two children from impoverished circumstances into your lives for a few days and NOT expect your hearts to be sliced just a little? We would give them the boys' beds; we would skip school on Monday, spend the day spoiling these little lives. We did that. We are still bleeding.

The man in charge enters the room, papers in fist--a list of rules--all of them designed for the children's comfort and protection.

Don't ask about their past.

But I want to know. I want to know just what it is they will return to. I want to know if they will make it into adulthood. I want to know if they have a mother waiting for them. Is she burying face in pillow at night crying out the raw loss of giving up her little boy for ten whole months? Is she praying he'll learn English well enough to give him a better chance in life? Is she wondering about him while I carry his suitcase--a Jenson containing everything he has in the entire world--to my hybrid? I look at night sky and tell her--heart speaking to heart--I'll be good to him. I understand he's precious cargo. And I long to hold her too, that sweet mother born in a world where her options were so few that separation from the child she grew within would be the sacrifice demanded of her.

Maybe it is me the rules are made to protect. Perhaps my heart would crush beneath the weight of the truth.

They travel the United States for the flipping of ten calendar pages and sing--a choir of needs and hopes in children's frames--to promote awareness, to get sponsors. They sing for their lives.

Water you turned into wine...

They sing these words--they that come from a world with no water, while mine flows freely from 7 different taps at any temperature I desire.

Open the Eyes of the blind.

And it is me that is blind--blind to the needs of the world. Blinded by my own wants, by a country whose God is their stomach, by a media that insists I need everything on sale on Black Friday and Cyber Monday, and my online shopping carts are filled. My stomach is engorged, and I am blind. Open my eyes.

They are hungry. They are thirsty, and they sing about the God who is greater, the God that turns water--that precious thing they walk three hours one way for--into wine for wedding feasts.

God, you are higher than any other.

They sing and I wonder if they understand.

But they do. They understand more than I do. It is I who will learn this week.

If our God is for us, than who could ever stop us?

And If our God is with us, than what could stand against?

I wonder if it is I, a part of North American selfishness, that has stood against what God wanted to do. Could He have used me to share. Did I stand against these sweet children while I filled my closets and my stomach. Were they stumbling over dusty paths with parched tongues like double sided tape while I quenched my thirst with the flick of an oil rubbed bronze tap?

We travel home; the conversation is hard. I don't know what to ask--me, the girl who always has something to say. They respond with "yes" to everything leaving me aching for their true thoughts, their true opinions. My own boys know exactly where they want to eat, and the olive and the black skinned children are just 'yessing' me no matter what I suggest. Yes to ice cream. Yes to McDonald's. Yes to eating at the house. Yes to rice. Yes to juice. Yes to water. Yes to chocolate milk. Yes. Yes. Yes. And then, I hear it--a gasp in word form. The olive skinned one with buzz cut says, "The lights. I love the lights!" His exclamation was a whisper unused to expressing itself.

This one likes the Christmas lights. He thinks. He feels.

And he sings for his life. For the life of others and probably doesn't know the luxury of expressing his own opinions and ideas. But He likes lights; I heard the gasp. Without hesitation, I start driving to town Square where our tree is lit up, lighted holly and poinsettias dangle from lampposts. I drive by every single house I know of that is lit all the way home. He utters and exclaims, and I point left, and my own boys point right, and we are all in awe of the light.

Jesus says, I am their light. These that know the greatest darkness receive The Light readily because they're not blinded by the gaudy light of the world like I am. They see Him. They exclaim over Him.

Christmas music seeps from the speakers into the car, and I sing a bar--a note here and there to fill the empty spaces. They are timid; I hurt at their silent moments. Are they afraid to speak? Do they know the lady whose car in which they ride would keep them forever if she could? Do they understand that she is suffocating sobs because she knows what it is to love a boy, and there are two who just might need that loving bumping shoulders in her back seat? Do they know that were they to cry she would hold them until the night ended? The music is throbbing from the speakers and Drummer Boy begins. I turn the volume up and palm flat I bang the beat onto the console, "Uganda, do you know this one? It's perfect for you! It's the Drummer Boy! Can you hear the drum?" He hears it. He begins the rhythm with me. My boys join in. And we are an international percussion section united by a rhythm we all understand. Shall I play for you pah rum puh pum pum beats air and our hands are bang bang banging on any surface we can find. I wonder which is louder, the beating of my hand or the beating of my heart.

The song ends and we are happy, laughing. Their smiles are electricity; my boys are feeling the shock. We want them to smile enough for a lifetime. Can we give them enough to last? Away In a Manger begins. They recognize it, tell me it is their carol. They sing it. The tune is a little different. We laugh when we all mess it up. But there was no crib for his bed and I wonder what bed they will return to. When the second verse begins I am dumbstruck. Bless all the dear children in thy tender care. Where has that line been my entire life? How many times have I sung those lyrics and not prayed them, not understood I was asking Jesus to bless ALL the children? All of them, in his tender care. All of them. Even these. These two that for forty-eight ridiculously short hours will be mine to give smiles, laughter, joy. The remainder of their lives will be in his tender care. Can I accept His tender care as sufficient?

And how can I sing the words, ask Him to bless, but turn my own eyes away when they leave? What if it is through me He wants to bless them? What if it is through you? http://www.worldhelp.net/cotw/sponsor/

But what if it is me He wants to bless through them? It is He who turned water into wine. He doesn't need my pennies to drill wells and deliver rice. They don't need me--their God is greater--it is I who needs them. I need their need in order to be freed. It is I who needs to be freed from the American Dream--the I-can-have-it-all mentality of North America. Because you can have it all, and have nothing at all.

As they vie for nomination, the republicans debate the status of a country where once an immigrant could cross crashing cloudy seas to make his fortune. They insist we should return to our great economic state, but I mourn the reality that we are among the world's wealthiest ten percent and yet we want more, better, faster, mightier. And children are hungry. My heart knows there is no answer a President can bring, that true change doesn't occur from the top down, but from within to without. From within my heart, my children's hearts. From selfish to selfless to Christ-filled to hungry children filled.

I remember James' words, Grieve and mourn and wail. Change your laughter to mourning and your joy to gloom. (James 4:9) I understand him. Be broken, he said. See things for what they really are. See them in light of Jesus' heart. The New Living Translation says, "Let there be sadness for what you have done...." Yes, let there be sadness for a life of selfishness, and let their be an anchoring of my soul this day. Let me be pierced deeply enough to leave a scar. Let me bleed a while that I might be left with weakness for those who have less.

Words we mulled on after dinner during memory time pulse in my spirit. Do not accumulate for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But accumulate for yourselves treasures in heaven where moth and rust do not destroy, and thieves do not break in and steal. I wonder if it is possible to have both? It isn't wrong to have possessions, is it? But the ones that I choose to store--meaning to keep for the future--should not be physical. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. And I want my heart hunger to be eternal, not temporal. But the catalogues come in the mail. There is a new cell phone out that would make my life easier. There is a better gaming system that would surely mean family fun. And our BBQ is now 13 years old; is not that old enough to merit a new one for Christmas? The eye is the lamp of the body. So, the things I see then, the things I choose to see, to focus on will cast light for my entire body, my life. If then your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eye is diseased, your whole body will be full of darkness. And mine has diseases that cause blindness. Our nation too, needs bifocals. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness! No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money. (Matthew 6:10-24 There it is in black and white--we can't serve both. We may have both, but we cannot serve both. We will be a house divided. We will eventually collapse under the pressure of two lords. But perhaps what I want is less that I may gain more. And if I left the grill to sit with all the other BBQ's at Home Depot and bought 3 goats instead http://goh.worldhelp.net/goats/ then 3 families would have milk--nutrition, and an income. And wouldn't that be more for me too? More for my children too? Wouldn't the nourishing of 3 families who have never owned a BBQ and cook their rice three times a day over an open fire with scraps of garbage as fuel become food for my family's soul?

My oldest is working on writing his life's purpose statement. He lamented to me, "Mom, sometimes I've been thinking about my life's purpose, and I see that a lot of things don't line up with it."

"It's hard, isn't it?" I look into his creek-water eyes and wish I could raise a boy to live the easy life, a boy that could take the road more traveled.

"Yes, it's the broken life." We've talked about this--broken living. It's the better way to take communion, we believe. There is a time for the wafers and juice, but we find that we remember Jesus better by breaking ourselves--stepping outside of what is comfortable. Giving up a meal, feeding homeless families, hugging powdery seniors' necks at nursing homes--things not comfortable for raggedy, rough boys--are a part of our family communions.

"Remember Jesus? It had to be hard for him watching his brothers and sisters growing up doing their own thing while He knew He would be breaking loaves and fishes, walking amongst the poor, the diseased, hanging from a cross. He lived to redeem. Lived broken so we could be whole."

"Yes. He probably didn't always enjoy that." My son relates to the idea of Jesus as a boy.

"When we give up here, we gain later. Those who live poor in spirit inherit the Kingdom of heaven."

"But we'll be rich in a better way in heaven, mom. That's what it means about storing up treasures in heaven. We'll have that in eternity." He knows. He gets it. He holds my hand and I look deep into his riverbed eyes--the pupils water smoothed pebbles--and love him.

The Ugandan and Philippine boy slept the last two nights in another host home, but they were with us still. We carry them now. We carry their people, their families, their thirst. A Christmas tree towers over ten feet tall in my living room--the room that only weeks ago I lamented being too small to host the homeschool mom's Christmas party, the room that when they entered, they exclaimed It is so big, Auntie! I had thought they would enjoy seeing the shiny decorations. Playfully, I wrapped one in strands of crimson wooden cranberries. "I'm a Chreestmas boy, Auntie! A Chreestmas boy," he had exclaimed.

Indeed, he is a Christ-boy. In his face I see a hundred thousand faces--hunger, pain, thirst, need, loneliness. Those were the real reasons Christ came, weren't they? The real reasons for all our merry making this time of year are about what we can give, not what we will receive.

Open my eyes, Father. Leave me bleeding a while longer. Let them linger in my heart--The Chreestmas boys. Amen.

http://www.worldhelp.net/ http://www.compassion.ca/

Sailing into the Storm (part 3)

I'm way too much of a perfectionist to live without regret. I've always admired people who without hesitation insist they have walked through the past to the present with no regrets. You may be one of them--the kind of person who looks at every mistake as an opportunity to learn and embraces them for what they are. Now don't misunderstand me, I do learn from my mistakes and I believe readily that God is sovereign amidst every misstep in my life. But I'm not going to lie to you--there are a thousand things I'd do differently if ever given a do-over card. It's interesting though because in God's economy there is a perfect way to live, albeit rather narrow, but perfect nonetheless. And yet "there is none righteous, no not one." (Rom. 3:10) No man's soul has ever slipped into eternity without first having missed the mark of God in some way. And God holds us to that standard which is why He can say about a good man or woman--maybe Mother Theresa, "Even you fall short." (Rom. 3:23) But though He holds us to that standard, He also miraculously and completely releases us from every shortcoming. I'm not talking about a license to do whatever we want, (Rom. 6:1) but I am talking about a God who somehow demands complete holiness and yet forgives and repairs every failure and poor decision we will ever make. Just yesterday I read a quip on a local country church: God doesn't measure us using the curve; He uses the cross. Somehow amidst our mess ups in life the miracle of grace is allowed to bloom like the first crocus of spring budding in a bed of winter snow. When Paul stood up to encourage the sailors, prisoners, soldiers and captain on a ship whose end was certain destruction, he knew the reason they were in this mess was a result of poor choices. Certainly they regretted ignoring Paul's sound advice with everything in them. After all, Paul had warned them that setting out to sea was dangerous and he knew that pushing forward into the Autumn Mediterranean would result in loss of life. They hadn't listened. Sound advice was given to them and for reasons unknown to us, they left Paul's advice in the wake of the ship as they set sail. How many times have I been given sound advice, been warned about a decision and pushed on because the current of my own agenda was stronger than that of the counsel I received? My guess is those men on that ship wanted to deliver those prisoners as quickly as possible. Perhaps the centurion responsible for Paul had a wife waiting back home for him with a belly full and ready to deliver his first child. Maybe the owner of the ship would receive some additional remuneration for seeing to it that every prisoner arrived by spring. Perhaps they genuinely believed it was the best thing to do despite what Paul had told them. Now Paul says something that I think is worth pausing to take in. Paul reveals some of his humanity here. I can't get over his inability to resist saying, "I told you so." Here we have a man who is responsible for spreading the message of Jesus all over the New Testament landscape and the guy who penned the very words we commit to memory from book after book of our scripture. When he stands up to a slew of desperate and depressed men I can't help but notice that he couldn't resist reminding them of the advice he gave. "Men, you should have listened to me and not put out to sea from Crete, thus avoiding this damage and loss." (Acts 27:21) He just had to say I told you so. Did it really matter that he had given them advice and they hadn't listened? I only point this out because I think it's important that we see our heroes of the faith in their humanity. They, just like us are mere humans following Jesus. Just knowing that Paul, the man who was confident enough in other passages to tell people to emulate him, live like he lived, had the occasional human tendency gives me a little hope. Let's go on. He says to these men who have gone beyond looking into the horizon with worry and fear to a resignation that their lives are on a slow-motion journey to the bottom of the ocean's floor, "And now I advise you to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only the ship will be lost. For last night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve came to me and said, 'Do not be afraid, Paul! You must stand before Caesar, and God has graciously granted you the safety of all who are sailing with you.' Therefore keep up your courage, men for I have faith in God that it will be just as I have been told." (Acts 27: 24) I think it's worth mentioning that these men worshipped gods like Zeus, god of thunder and lightning and Poseidon, god of the sea. Can you imagine worshipping gods like this your entire life and finding yourself collapsed on the deck of a ship, water sloshing around your wet ankles resigned to the belief that those gods must not care enough for you to calm the storm and quiet the sea? Surely they prayed to their gods, begged them for mercy. Remember when Elijah had the contest with the prophets of Baal and they called out to Baal for an entire day pleading with him to light their sacrifice? "They invoked the name of Ball from morning until noon, saying, "Baal, answer us." But there was no sound and no answer...Throughout the afternoon they were in an ecstatic frenzy, but there was no sound, no answer, and no response." (I Kings 18:26,29) It is no wonder these men literally gave up hope--they would have pleaded and begged their gods to intervene only to discover their cries for help fell like the waves around them into a sea of unanswered and misguided prayers. Their gods were silent. Silent. My heart has always broken for these men and I have to marvel at how similar I am to them. How often do I put my hope in my husband's job only to find it disappoint? When he loses his job we discover who the true God is. How often do I put my hope in that of a friend only to discover they cannot fulfill my needs? When they don't have time for us anymore we discover who the true God is. How often do we put our hope in our savings account or our retirement funds? When the stock markets falls like anchor of a ship we discover the true God. How often do we put our hope in great men and women of the faith? When they fail in some human way we discover they are not the true God. How often do we place hope in education or in doctors? When our children aren't getting well, we know the true God again. And here's one I constantly have to catch myself on--how often do I put my hope for our children in the way we are raising them? If we do everything right, surely they'll turn out okay. Wrong. Just ask the mother or father who prayed daily, raised them well, loved them well, taught them about God and then watched their child walk away. There are no guarantees. None. My children have free will and that truth forces me to confront the reality that only God can truly grip their hearts. Though most followers of Jesus would say they are monotheistic--worshipping only the one true God, I have to wonder if God himself wouldn't say, "You have become like the Israelites worshipping the gods of the world around you." Usually we don't realize we have formed idols from worldly ideas until we count on them and their complete silence break out hearts when we've cried out. It's then we realize we were crying out the name of our idols and not the name of our Father who loves us desperately. The other thing I love about this passage is this: these sailors made a grave error in judgment and God still moved in their situation. Paul looks them square in the face and says, 'you messed up but there will be no loss of life because the God that I worship? He wasn't silent. He sent an angel to speak to me last night and told me that He still had a plan. His plan is for me to go before Caesar and nothing, not even this storm will stop Him from accomplishing His purpose.' God will not allow any other God to get His glory--He always shows up. Always. He always shows himself strong. Always. Because his love does not depend on our perfection. And though these people made a significant mistake, He still reigned. His purposes for Paul's life would still be carried out. Period. This is such an incredible truth--God is sovereign even when we screw up. He knows we are human and He allows us to be exactly that, but that is the exact definition of mercy. He sees our needs and meets them. He doesn't change us so that we have no needs--that He's reserved for eternity--but He meets them over and over and over again. His grace says, 'Behold I love you with an everlasting love,' and His mercy says, 'And I see you messed up, but I knew you would and I have charted the purpose of your life with this in mind. I'll not be thwarted. I'll reign amidst the chaos.' This is our God--the one true God. So would I change some of my decisions in the past? Do I regret them? Sure I do. I've been tossed by the storms of poor choices and I'd have far preferred avoid those storms, but has God proven Himself faithful and worked each of those poor choices out for my ultimate good in the end? Absolutely. Without question He has never left me disappointed, never left me in the muck of my humanity. He has a strong right arm and He has never withheld His hand from me. Never. Paul had hope because when he gazed into the black of the storm He saw the light of the face of Jesus and remembered His words, "I'll never leave you. I'll never forsake you." Oh that we could know those words in the deepest marrow of our bones, the very fiber of our hearts when we stand hopeless amidst the storms that rip our spirits apart. I'll close with words Paul wrote to the Roman church, "Now may the god of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe in him, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." (Romans 15:13) Do you believe in the God of hope? Pray with me: Father, God who is literally hope, teach us amidst the storm to believe in who you are. Your word says you are the God who is hope. Your word says hope does not disappoint us. Lord, teach us to anchor ourselves so deeply in your character that when storms come we see that though they rage around us they do not change our position in You. Spirit of God may your fruit of hope overflow from the branches of our lives. In Jesus name, amen. Read with me: I Kings 18 Romans 8:6

Sailing into the Storm (part 2)

They said it was the wind that caused the accident, that it happened in an instant--his motorcycle vacuumed into the path of that tractor trailer. The life of a young, healthy father ripped from his sweet children and wife and not a moment to say goodbye. One morning he left on his bike and all was calm, normal. And then the storm. I will never know the ravage that ripped at this family from the moment they heard their daddy wasn't coming home. I will never fathom the depths of grief that wife and mother felt when she lay that first night in a bed empty of the man who loved her all those years. But I bore witness to their tears. We picture how our lives will be--whether we mean to or not. And most of us don't picture the storms. Acts 27:14 tells us that not long after the flutters of south wind passed by "a hurricane-force wind called the northeaster blew down from the island. When the ship was caught in it and could not head into the wind, we gave way to it and were driven along." I've never been on a ship in a storm, but I have given way to the powerful rapids of a river. I've been carried unwillingly to the place of the water's whims. What is incredible in this passage to me is that word driven. The Greek word indicates that they were no longer in control--the storm was now driving that ship. I can see that captain just as he releases the controls, hangs his head and turns his back on all human attempts to navigate that ship surrendered to the thrashing will of winds and waves. He had to come to the point of realizing he couldn't control where they were going or what would happen. Sometimes the storms in our lives are so intense, so powerful that we realize we are not in control. Driven by the force of the storm, we have no idea where we will end up. We need to know in those moments that though we are no longer in control it isn't the storm that dictates where we will land. It is our Father God who controls the winds and the rains of those storms. It is our Father who says to the wind "You may blow." and then later "Quiet. Peace be still." And it is our Father to whom those winds and rains always submit. We need to know in those moments that there is nothing that can thwart the purposes of our Heavenly Father in our lives and that He will accomplish all that He intends. (Is. 14:27) In that understanding comes a sense of release. A sense that when we've done all we can do, when we've prayed all we can pray, when we've done all things responsible, and when we've wept every tear left in our heart we can be still and know our Father reigns. Still. He reigns. (Ps. 46:10, Is. 52:7) Verse 18 says that they were "battered by the storm." The Greek word means that they were violently beaten by that storm and then verse 20 goes on to say something that just rips my heart up. "When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days and a violent storm continued to batter us, we finally abandoned all hope of being saved." Those sailors needed the stars and the sun to navigate. They spent nearly fourteen days without seeing the light of day and you and I need to know when we are in the midst of dark hours of the soul that there are those who have gone before us. We're among a company of many who have passed through the black of night to see the Spirit of God reach down and rescue a heart that is without hope. Here's the thing--those sailors thought they needed the stars to navigate where they were going. But God does not need human mechanisms to bring about His plans for our lives and often He removes them to help us see that it is God who is at work within us. (Eph. 3:20) Scripture says they through their cargo overboard. They did everything they could to lighten the load. We do that too, don't we? When we sense the magnitude of the storm we begin to lighten our loads. We'll do whatever it takes to stay afloat. Suddenly superficial things become insignificant--the things we thought we couldn't live without are cast over the ships of our lives without a second thought. Financial ruin? We don't need satellite TV. We don't need that second and third vehicle. We can live without going out to eat. In fact we can live without going shopping for anything but essential food. Marriages being ripped apart? Maybe I didn't need all that "me time" after all. Maybe all I really need is face to face time with the man I committed to marry. Maybe I really didn't need to win all those fights. Maybe I just needed to love him. Children struggling? Nothing else matters. We'll fast. We'll pray. We'll cancel every appointment, we'll leave work early and we'll call in every family member and counselor and pastor we know to give us advice. Because when a storm comes we see instantly all that really matters in our lives. In my opinion, that's a wonderful place to be. These sailors actually abandoned every shred of hope that they would be rescued. They were so convinced of their death that they actually quit eating. What, after all was the point of fueling a body doomed to be consumed by the ravenous jaws of the Mediterranean? Have you ever been through something so intense that you just really couldn't keep doing the things required for living? I mean there are griefs that can grip the heart of a man so deeply he no longer showers, he no longer cleans his house, he no longer gets out of bed. I've seen that grief in my days. And there are shocks that wave through families so powerful that they no longer go to church and they no longer get together with their friends. Who of us would be honest if we said we've never felt utterly without hope? And here's the funny thing--it doesn't take a tragedy to bring us to a place without hope. Sometimes the drudgery and constant gnawing of the day to day requirements of our lives brings us to the point of being so down that we just can't get up. It's at this point that Paul stands up--can you see them all there, faces in hands, numb, cold, wet and cavernous and empty without hope? There, strung about loosely along the deck of that ship no longer gazing into the charcoal horizon, they know the sun isn't going to break through before they are swallowed by the sea. It is to this group of sailors and fellow prisoners that Paul speaks these words: "Men, you should have listened to me and not put out to sea from Crete, thus avoiding this damage and loss. And now I advise you to keep up your courage, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only the ship will be lost. For last night an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I serve came to me and said, 'Do not be afraid, Paul! You must stand before Caesar, and God has graciously granted you the safety of all who are sailing with you. Therefore keep up your courage, men for I have faith in God that it will be just as I have been told." On this day, in this hour in your life I don't know what situation through which you may be journeying, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that the promises in God's Word remain true. I love that Paul said he was confident it would be just as he had been told. In other words he was insisting that whatever God said would come to pass. This is the truth of our lives too--what God says is true. Period. No matter what waves are standing higher than the sun in our lives, no matter what rain has ripped at our faces until we are blinded by the impact. "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen." (Heb. 11:1) We stand not on what is before us, but on the guarantees of the God who promises to never leave, to never forsake, to be with us through the valley of the shadows of death, to be an ever present help in times of trouble, to be near the broken hearted, to comfort, to love. You'll never find me dancing a jig of joy in the face of a storm, but I pray that you'll find me believing still in the pure and perfect goodness of my Father. Pray with me: God, you have taken through storms. You've brought me to the other side. You have proven that you will not leave me or abandon me to the ravages and disappointments of this life. Help me Lord to believe when my heart doesn't want to, doesn't have the strength to anymore. Lord, help me to honor you with my belief--to proclaim to a world that you remain the hope of all nations. Jesus, it is you that lives through me. Help me to surrender to the power of your life within. Amen. Read with me: Psalm 42

Sailing into the Storm

What human who has cast a glance seaward has not forever been impacted by the liquid-gems poured out for miles that surpass the sight line? The sea. My forefathers crafted wooden ships that would navigate the prism waters and sailed the seas with skill. I suppose it is in my blood though I've never sailed. So the story recorded in Acts 27 and 28 holds particular appeal to me because of the setting--The Mediterranean Sea. Guilty only of loving his Jesus, Paul finds himself a prisoner on a journey across the Sea to plead his case before Caesar. It's late in the year and Julius the Centurion in charge of Paul along with the sailors knew that though they had orders to deliver this and other prisoners to Caesar, embarking on a journey this long was dangerous. And yet, they set sail. If you will, walk with me through this passage a while. The first few verses use phrases like, "sailed slowly,"or "sailed under the lee" and "sailed along the coast." These skilled sailors were scared. They knew the dangers that surrounded them and they hovered along the coastlines of various islands and cities in hope of being sheltered from vicious winds. I love that they played it safe. We are so similar aren't we? We make sure we have 401k's and we take our multi-vitamins. We carry life insurance and look for jobs that provide benefit packages. Sure, it's common sense to do those things, but it's also playing it safe. Wouldn't you agree? If there is a natural shelter available, we're gonna sail the ships of our lives pretty near it aren't we? And there's nothing wrong with that at all--in fact I'd probably call it being wise stewards of our lives. When my husband and I moved from Ontario back to Georgia to be nearer my family one of the things that we gave up was the shelter of health insurance. We purchased it for our children, but not for ourselves. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel completely vulnerable. There isn't a morning that passes that I don't pray for God's protection over Jeff and that I don't look forward to the day when we again will have the harbor of insurance. But here's the thing--I know of so many people without health insurance for whom God has provided their medical needs. Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth. In God's economy He just provides. Whether He provides through Bluecross/Blueshield or through an agency that helps people with cancer the bottom line is that it is still God who has provided. "And my God shall supply all your needs according to His glorious riches in Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:19) As humans we like to compartmentalize provision and say that out of the ordinary provision is from God and the rest is just us taking care of ourselves. Surely God laughs at our audacity to actually think that anything we have could have found its source in anything other than His gracious hand. Scripture says that their sailing became difficult along the coast of Crete as they headed into the beginning of October. Paul knew that their lives were in danger and though he was a prisoner, he wasn't afraid to mention his concerns. "Men, I can see the voyage is going to end in disaster and great loss not only of the cargo and the ship, but also of our lives." (Acts 27:10) Proverbs 22:3 says, "A prudent man sees danger and takes refuge, but a simple man keeps going and suffers for it." It's ironic that the captain and owner of the ship--the individuals who should have known better--both insisted that they should continue on this voyage. The greatest expert in our lives is the Spirit of God and yet so often we ignore his still small voice and listen to the voices of those around us. Spiritually speaking any course we take that poses even one iota of threat to our walk with God is a dangerous sea on which to sail. I'm talking about buying that one item on credit because next year we think we'll have the money to pay for it. I'm talking about gossiping just that one time because that morsel of news is just eating a hole in our tongue and we're dying to share it. While taking that course may not have immediate implications, we are opening the door to loss not necessarily of physical life, but definitely of abundant life. So they continue on their journey and "when a gentle south wind sprang up, they thought they could carry out their purpose, so they weighed anchor and sailed close along the coast of Crete." (Acts 27:13) Here they are sailing and what relief they must have felt when that south wind began to cool their faces as they stood on deck--that reassuring calm that gave them confidence they'd be okay despite the facts they knew to be true about sailing this late in the season. We all know the expression "it's the calm before the storm." It was. Here in the mountains of northern Georgia, the wings of Appalachia, we enjoyed several years of economic calm--houses going up, construction booming, new restaurants opening, people buying bigger trucks, more equipment, more, more, more. It wasn't sustainable growth and surely people knew the facts. It doesn't take a genius to realize that houses can't double in value every three years forever. Yet so few saw danger and took any sort of preparatory refuge. Often in our families we have prolonged periods of calm--everything seems wonderful--the kids are doing well in school, they're doing well with friends. Or in our marriages--we've been getting along well, we enjoy each other's company. Or in our churches--the new building is going up, offerings are coming in regularly, people like the new youth pastor. Calm. But are we prepared for the storm? The reality is that storms come. They do. We may have relative quiet for years, but in our lifetime we will face storms. This passage is so powerful because Paul faced the storm and lived to tell his story and somehow amidst all that he goes through, His faith in God remains the anchor that holds. We'll continue this story, but for now, let me just ask in what harbor do you seek refuge? Because here's the thing--there is shelter in the God who has loved you with an everlasting love. His arms will not fail in times of trouble. On this you can stand. Pray with me: Father, show me the areas in my life where I am enjoying relative calm and need to prepare for what may lie ahead. I know you told me in your Word that in this world I would have trouble, but to be of good cheer for You have overcome the world. Teach me to take refuge in the shelter of your wings. Teach me to seek harbor not in the coastline of worldly protection but in the shadow of You, the Most High God. Thank you that your Word promises you are with me always even in the shadow of death. Amen. Read with me: Psalm 91:1 Jeremiah 31:3 We'll continue to sail...I hope you'll join me again for part 2.

Yahweh--The Source of All

Yesterday while we were working at our property an elderly couple drove by in their minivan. I knew right away they might be our neighbors up the hill. I went over to greet them and hoped they wouldn't be offended by my dirty tank top and muddy hands. I am so excited to tell you that not only are they seniors (those of you who know me know how I love having elderly neighbors) but they are Christians too! After a short conversation I discovered that they are retired from a lifetime of pastoring, but in no way are they retired from ministry. They continue a CD ministry to shut-ins and send out weekly Bible time CD's to children as well. Within a five minute conversation, my CD library grew by four CD's with a promise to send more each week! I was elated to the point of tears because having these godly people just up the street somehow confirms deep in my spirit that this is where God would have us--that He caused this to be. In addition, a Christian friend of ours is the contractor another house in this small neighborhood. Two Christian contractors we know are putting a bid in on another home that is soon to go in. At a time when building is progressing at a snail's pace in this hibernating economy, there are Christian builders and neighbors scampering about our new neighborhood like ants! I can't ignore that. I have to stop and say with certainty: "The LORD has done this and it is marvelous in our eyes." (Psalms 118:23) The word LORD in that passage is the most commonly used name for God in the Old Testament--used over 6,500 times. Translated as Yahweh, it means to cause to be. It oozes of self existence and self-sustainability. It informs all who hear it of God's presence before anything came to be, of God as the source of all life, all occurrences and all that is. The first time this name of God is used in the Old Testament is in the account Cain and Abel's birth. I hope you won't mind if I take the liberty of writing out that passage here with the definition of YAHWEH inserted everywhere that name is used. Eve said "I have created a man just as The One Who Causes All To Be did!" Then she gave birth to his brother Abel. Abel took care of the flocks, while Cain cultivated the ground. At the designated time Cain brought some of the fruit of the ground for an offering to The One Who Causes All To Be. But Abel brought some of the firstborn of his flock--even the fattest of them. and the One Who Causes All To Be was pleased with Abel and his offering, but with Cain and his offering he was not pleased. So Cain became very angry, and his expression was downcast. Then The One Who Causes All To Be said to Cain, "Why are you angry and why is your expression downcast? Is it not true that if you do what is right, you will be fine? but if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at the door. It desires to dominate you, but you must subdue it. (Then Cain takes Abel out and kills him.) Then The One Who Causes All To Be said to Cain, "Where is your brother Abel?" And he relied, "I don't know! Am I my brother's guardian?" But The One Who Causes All To Be said, "What have you done?" (Gen. 4:1-10a) When you read this passage knowing the Hebrew meaning of the word translated into English as LORD in our Bibles it takes on an incredible level of irony. Did you pick up on that? First Eve brazenly claims that she brought forth a child just like God (the source) created humanity! She may have simply been astonished at the miracle of life--after all she'd never seen that happen before, but irregardless she has a great deal of audacity to literally say I created a man just like God did! I have to wonder if God was thinking No, Eve. That was actually me who placed that child within your womb. I AM the source of life, Eve." Then Cain is angry and down-trodden because his offering wasn't good enough for God. Again, it's so ironic. He missed the point entirely. God doesn't need our offerings--He causes our offerings to be in the first place. Cain actually believed in his heart that he was capable of pleasing Almighty God in his own strength. Cain then wrongly concludes that the source of his troubles was his brother Abel and removes that source of struggle. Wrong again. He didn't get it. God allowed that to happen. If he had stopped to acknowledge God as The LORD, Yahweh, perhaps he would have begun to understand that the things happening to him were coming through The God Who Causes To Be. He wrongly concluded that he controlled his own destiny. Finally, this tragic account is concluded with The God Who Causes To Be's question to Cain, "What have you done?" The source of all asks a mere man, "What did you do?" Every single event, person and thing that come into our lives are filtered through Yahweh God. Even the bad things that happen are allowed to come into our lives by Him. I know this is a tough concept. Look at Cain. I've always felt sorry for him. To me, it appears he wanted to do his best. Perhaps though, he was not usable by God because he didn't understand that even his very best was not remotely good enough for God. Perhaps he wrongly concluded that he could be good enough for God. We know how the story plays out--all of our righteousness is as filthy rags in comparison to God. None of us measures up. The thing is that had Cain realized that God allowed his brother to give a better offering and gotten on his knees before Yahweh and said, "LORD, I am humbled by your presence. Even my ability to produce the right offering will only find it's source in You. I ask You to help me to bring something that is pleasing to you." Perhaps the story would have ended differently. Acknowledging God as Yahweh changes everything. When my new neighbors pull up and I discover they are Christians I can quickly think about how lucky I am to have good people living up the hill from me. Or I can immediately stop and worship Yahweh, The God Who Causes All To Be. God allowed them to live up the street. That's GOD!! Let me tell you something else I found interesting. It isn't until Exodus 6 that the Israelites begin to know God as Yahweh. They are enslaved in Egypt and facing circumstances far more difficult that any I've known. Moses is frustrated that God has asked Him to deliver these people. He actually asks God why He's causes more trouble for them and calls God out on the fact that He has yet to rescue them from their bondage. Up until now, the name Yahweh has been used 215 times, but in this moment the lights go on. "God spoke to Moses and said to him, "I am the LORD. (The God Who Causes All To Be) I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob as God Almighty, but by my name 'the LORD' I was not known to them." (Ex. 6:3) Though their forefathers experienced incredible miracles like Abraham's barren wife Sarah becoming pregnant with Isaac and though they saw the faithfulness of God's provisions like Jacob's family being fed by Joseph in Egypt, they had not known God as Yahweh. The Hebrew meaning of the word known speaks to an experiential knowledge of someone as opposed to an intellectual knowledge. I may know that chocolate is supposed to taste good, but until I've felt a morsel melt on my tongue, I've not known it to be true for myself. The same is true here. Though this generation of Israelites had known of God as Yahweh, they didn't know it to be true in their own lives. What a tragedy that generations of God's people didn't truly know Him. And yet, the reality is that we are no different. We have the entire written word of God, we have experienced the faithfulness of God in our lives and yet most days, we rise, eat, live and sleep without ever stopping to acknowledge the greatness of Yahweh in our lives. When I wake, the very first breath I take found it's source in the self existent Yahweh. When I eat, the very grains of my cereal found their origin in Yahweh. The very soil my husband digs out to create a spot for our home found it's beginning in the spoken words of Yahweh. These things we face daily--job losses, broken marriages, struggling children, sick parents, promotions, tests, new friendships, moves, love, births, deaths--they all find their source in Yahweh. It is my prayer that I'll know God as Yahweh every single day. It is my prayer that I'll not be oblivious to his presence like Cain was and that it will be said of me: She knew me as YAHWEH God. May my children's children's children know God as Yahweh. Amen.