Her-Part 2

Scroll down to read Her-Part 1 first.


"Can I help you?" The guy doing lock-up asks it, and  I guess it's a fair question.  She did just sort of barge right in.  Whatever she hoped she might find inside that building had left a good twenty minutes earlier.  We are the stragglers busy discussing our plans for the day--the movies, a hike. 
She grips the cottony-white envelope, holds it up.  "I just wondered if somebody could help me . . ." she hesitates, but only for a second.  Her voice, though.  It's laced with some kind of anguish that comes from below your gut where things are raw and red and real.  " . . . my power bill.  They're gonna shut it off in the morning.  We won't have heat."
We've been under some kind of arctic system, haven't had a night above freezing in at least a week, maybe two. Pipes  everywhere are popping open like overfilled balloons, bursting when they thaw in the daytime.  People complaining about buying more propane.  Me threatening to buy a wood stove to save money.  But I have money in the bank.  More than enough to pay the power bill. 
There are feet shuffling and eyes darting, eyes averting, no one really knowing what to do.  And the man locking up scurries off to find a number. 
The number of the guy that handles these things.
We have a guy for this stuff.
A couple actually.
I know their name, and I know their number is in my husband's phone.  I'm wanting to take my four-inch, high heal and kick him in the shin.  Instead I kick him with my eyes.  "Honey, you've got his number in your phone, don't you?"
I want him to pull out his wallet, not his phone.
She's just standing there, now.
We're all just standing.
So, I start the interrogation.  I always talk when I'm nervous.  If I can just get her story, find out what's going on.  If I can glimpse the baby's face under the thick, blanket.  It keeps slipping off. The woman keeps fumbling with it, trying to hold things together.  She's shielding her little one from the cold.
That's why she's there.  At a church.
At our church after the service is over and the people parted in paths to Kentucky Fried Chicken and Fatz Café. 
She's trying to shield her children from the cold to come.
I remember one time a man showed up at my house.  He couldn't look me in the eye, so I knew something was wrong.  He kept calling me ma'mm saying he was sorry to have to stop by like this.  The kids were home, hunkered around the hem of my jeans.  He said I needed to pay by the close of business or they'd turn the power off.  It was bitter cold that day too.  I still remember this feeling of nausea that came up from my feet and flipped and flopped in my stomach until I wanted to sit down.
I rang the people at the head office immediately.
They had made a mistake.
But I never forgot that feeling. 
So I asked questions, but I really just wanted to hold her in my arms.  Take her home.  Make her tea.
"Are you from around here?'
"A trailer park nearby."
"Do you have a job?"  I'm such an idiot.  She just had a baby.
"Not since the baby."
"Do you have a husband?  Someone helping you?"
"Yes, but he is out of work right now too."  Her brown hair hung in a low pony tail down her back, pulled away from her face.  Her face is the kind of tight that a face is when it is a dam holding everything back and if one single, solitary muscle is moved, all the pain of a thousand years will come flooding out. 
And I just cannot stand it.  I am moving.  I'm beside her, and my arm is reaching around her shoulders. Her hurt, her humiliation, her need? They flow in tears. Just a few, quiet, dignified tears.
I don't know what else I say.  Other people talk too.  Someone offers a prayer.
And prayers are good. 
The prayer of a righteous man availeth much.
So that is a good thing.
But gosh, I'm a doer.
And when that woman in the Bible thought if she just touched the hem of Jesus' garment she would be healed?  Wasn't that the same as this woman thinking if she could just get to the door of our church, she'd find help?
And maybe we are the hem of His garment, we the body, His power coursing through us.
We had swallowed Styrofoam wafers embossed with crosses on them and sipped grape juice just that morning.  To remember.  Remember that His body was broken for us. 
This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.
To remember He was broken.
The body that was broken for others.
And now we are His body.  We the people.  So shouldn't we break too?  For others?  For her?
So, we break open wallets.
We say goodbye and wish well. 
Give the couple's number.
Give the place where she can get clothes.  The place where she can get food.
Give what we have on us at the time.
But it isn't enough.
And of all the questions I could have asked, I don't know her name.

Her-Part 1

A sunny Sunday and we're all chirping and chattering.  I'm savoring a stolen 2 or 3 minutes with my beloved girlfriend with the perfect, lemony locks who I rarely get more than 2 unfinished sentences with, like. ever.  And the precious few I get?  I don't want to share them cause she reads my heart and ignores the craziness of my mind, and I love her.  So I won't lie, I didn't notice the other woman.  Our kids were running around all pink-cheeked and sweater-clad in the wispy, happy wind.  Our husbands were probably resolving the Super Bowl-in-an-open-arena-and-the-weather's-calling-for-snow dilemma.  And she made it all the way across an empty parking lot, a toddler in tow, and an infant car seat hanging heavy from her arm--all the way across.  Right up to the double doors.  Not just to the double doors, but pushed her way through the doors as the last deacon was leaving the building. 
Light's out folks.
Show's over.
We're closed.
Except she pushed through the door, so we couldn't be closed.
And who was she?
Not one of us. I knew that much just by the jeans. 
And where'd she come from?
Then I see the car--an older sedan--across the lot.
I see the envelope in her one free hand.  I've seen them before.  Every month actually.
And the guy locking up is as befuddled as we are.  I mean you can't just march into an empty church uninvited.  It's not like the Hallmark movies where people wander into church buildings, and some priest is roaming around dusting candlesticks and refilling holy water.
We may be interdenominational, but we're practically Baptist.
We lock our doors, for goodness sake.
She was late.  But she didn't care.  She just pushed her way through.


And I remember this:
When she heard about Jesus, she came up behind him in the crowd and touched his cloak because she thought, "If I just touch his clothes, I will be healed."

That woman, the one with the blood issue--the taboo one, she was late too.  She came up to Jesus at the back of the crowd.  If she could just get the tips of her fingers to the fraying fringe of his frock, then she knew she'd be healed. It wasn't the frock that held the hope, though.  It was His power that moved through the frock to the fingers. And He did heal her.  He said her faith healed her.

Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed from your suffering.

And didn't this mother of two have faith?  Faith that in a church she could find hope.  Find help.
Because you've got to be pretty rock-bottom, pretty much out of luck, out of hope, out of options to show up with your power bill in one hand and your babies in the other, when surely you know the services are over, and ask for help.

Desperate, maybe.
Determined, yes.
In the right place?
Dear, God, I hope so.

The Mothering Chronicles 5: Of Mustard Seeds and Faith

"It's impossible for me to have self control. I can't do it no matter how hard I try." Beliefs admitted in a current of puddles poured from a hurting heart. Brother gets a Kleenex for our youngest, and I wish it would wipe away more than tears, cleanse him of his doubt. With God ALL things are possible. All things.

Sometimes we call them thunderstorms--they churn and swirl and threaten our peaceful days above the overgrown wheat that shades Corty's eyes. The powerful emotions, the passion, the deep sense of conviction about things that insist on trying to control his tender young heart. And he tries. Oh how he tries. Tries to swallow big gulps of tempers and squelch the downpour of feelings, like Mt. St. Helens, that rage and roar. I know his journey. He is his mother's son. We share in this. Feelings that become mountains. And self-control being a fruit of the Spirit, we are bankrupt at times to conquer the mountains.

At night I pull the downy comfort tight over his shoulders--two bones covered in creamy skin-- and think of amazing grace that covers his raw heart. He feels helpless, not having passed enough days yet to understand what it means to be held in the hands of the Mighty God. Lord, show me how to teach him. Show me how to help him harness his passions for you.

And when, though she has risen, the sun still hides below the mountains beginning to bald now with the season's shedding, I linger long enough between lemongrass sheets to ask again, Lord, wisdom for this day. Wisdom and patience.

After beans are ground, dark elixir brewed, oatmeal spooned to break fasts, we gather to eat The Bread of life. We are wading like fishermen through Paul's letter to the Hebrews. Theology for 9 and 11 year olds, theology for a mother, theology for daddy--we've gotten water in our boots. It's heavy stuff. Daddy's better at it than I, but he's at the station, so it is just mom. I'm relieved when the chapter is 11 and I've eaten these words before. Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, being convinced of what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1) And I know why it took us over a week longer than I'd planned to pass through this book. He knew. Omniscient. He always knows. He's in the business of ordering our steps if we will but still ourselves long enough to notice. We need the faith chapter on this day.

Faith is being sure of what we hope for. Sure--convinced--no question--without doubt. That's what I say to the boys. But later I look and find it is, in the Greek, a compound word. Hypostasis. I like it for it's ease of pronunciation. A preposition combined with a verb. The preposition telling the verb just where the action will take place. The action is to make stand, to place. The preposition is under. Faith is a state of being in which there is a sure foundation placed under our feet. A sure foundation. I am remembering the cement trucks bringing their sloppy stone soup to our giant square hole we dug from the side of the hill--they carried our liquid foundation. Frames had been erected to hold the elephant colored glop until it had hardened. We waited patiently. You can't rush poured concrete as it dries. You can't rush a sure foundation--that thing that sets everything else to rights, that thing that keeps homes level, corners square, walls that don't wave. And faith is that to us--that thing that keeps us level when life is upside down.

Then this other word, so little I almost missed it, what. Being convinced of what we do not see. Spoken in Greek it would have read, "Being convinced of the established fact we do not see."

So this is faith: A sure foundation placed under our feet setting our lives to right, to stability, and the condition of being convinced beyond question of the established facts that we cannot see with our naked eye. Father, give us spiritual eyes to see YOU as an established fact. When we watch the blazing maple catch fire with autumn winds, may we know You are consuming fire. When we listen to the morning dove pair sing sweet serenades may we know you as Love. Let us see with our hearts that the visible has its origin in the invisible. (Heb. 11:3)

Then there is the list--the greats--Noah, Enoch, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses. And this, "And these all were commended for their faith, yet they did not receive what was promised." (Heb. 11:39) All those years. Four thousand years of believing, being sure, and yet not one of them actually saw the full fruition of God's promise. So theirs was a life of faith--feet placed with God-facts underneath. Lives built on that.

I fell in love with a farm house perched like a canary on a hillside of honeybees and rabbits tobbaco. If strings were attached to my heart, that farm house gripped them all in her hands and drug me to her, heart first, logical mind second. Patient and wise, my sweet husband walked her floors with me. My dad too, came. Both of them knowing and yet realizing I would have to see reality for myself. She was perfect. Then we looked beneath her heart pine floors. Like a hundred arms with elbows resting on the clay, rocks were stacked, sometimes with shims of wood, sometimes large, other times the size of my husband's fists, 2 feet or so high. Spread at somewhat regular intervals, these ancient piles held the yellow bird atop her perch. How had she stood all these years? When "structural re-engineering" came up the strings were snipped, and I comforted myself with extensive photographs--I could replicate her. Still, I can't help but think somehow that house stood though her foundation appeared crazy to the logical mind. It was a sure fact the naked eye couldn't see as sensible, but somehow she stood a couple hundred years.

And I have a son who says, "It just isn't possible, mommy." He's looking with the naked eye. But Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a grain of mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." (Matt.17:20) And I am thinking, How small then, must our faith be? And my young one is thinking his faith must require a microscope to view because he can't control his emotions. And I'm thinking about the big things. Bills. Raising rowdy boys to be mighty men. Staying married when my parents didn't make it past 17 years. Educating my children in a way that goes against the norms. Are they learning enough? Can I really do this? And the friend who knows that everyday with her son is the last day he will have that much physical capability because Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy has taken up residence within the frame of his flesh and bone. The mother and father who have spent nearly 2 months gripping the railing of some hospital bed wondering if their daughter will recover from the accident. Faith the size of a mustard seed. Surely our faith is that large, and yet we don't move mountains, we don't see healings all the time.

I remember the dear one who just passed through the cancer cadence and though she is whole, she was made so by medical technology. What of mustard seed faith? I think, then, of the charm my grandmother passed to me. A marble sized sphere of glass, one side spider's web cracked, the other in tact and suspended in its center, a mustard seed. A mustard seed to dangle on a chain about my neck. God knows no accidents, and He knows I need to see what Jesus meant when he spoke of mustard seeds and faith. I've always felt it a piercing truth that mine is smaller than the charm I wear.

But today, as hazel almond eyes and foamy, foggy blue eyes look at me, hurt by what they feel is their inadequate faith, I realize it. I hear it in my spirit. Outside the window there stands a small mountain dressed for Thanksgiving in topaz and cinnamon. They can move that mountain. One shovel at a time. You can move that mountain. One shovel at a time. One shovel. Noah built that boat before he ever saw a drop of rain. The showy miracles were few until the days of Moses. But yet generations believed. Generations of people stood on firm foundations of sure faith. They moved mountains of people to continue to believe one child at a time, one person at a time. Self-Control comes one heart-yielded moment at a time--a small shovel filled with the emotions of a mountain of passion that will one day be used to glorify God. And if the healing comes through radiation, then the mountain to be moved is not the cancer, but the life learning to fully yield. And if the child isn't restored to full health, the faith is not small. The foundation remains sure--but the mountain will not be moved in a single sweep of His strong right arm every time. Sometimes the mountains are in our own souls--the visible mountain is the sickness and it has roots in the invisible heart learning to trust the goodness of God. And maybe the man with greater faith is he whose feet remain planted when the visible miracles don't come, he whose back grows strong with lifting the small shovels of mountain.

And I realize I can't always give these boys perfect answers, easy solutions. Sometimes it is in the shoveling day after day after long raw day that the mountains are moved. All I can offer my children is the sure foundation. Faith. Faith in the God who is able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine, the God who is working all things together for our good, the God who is able to keep you from falling, who promises the fruits of His Spirit in our lives, faith that with that very God, ALL things are possible.

An afternoon object lesson seems like the most practical way to take this faith theology and rub it into the fibre of our lives like oil on a leather saddle. We take a bike ride through the mountains--and I see them today as movable. I choose a long hill. I say you can climb it, boys. It is not insurmountable. And they do. And calves burning, hearts quaking at our temples, I whisper, "You did that one foot pushing one pedal down at a time. Look what you climbed. You can develop self-control. One moment at a time. One day at a time. Believe that with your God all things are possible. He won't quit on you; you have faith the size of a mustard seed--maybe even bigger." And mouths smile. And I see that perseverance is faith's best friend.

If we give them faith--a sure foundation--we teach them that their lives are not built on educations, family wealth, knowledge, skills, or even what they may amass, but on the Rock of Ages. Give them faith when they are young, and show them that faith is not just about the miracles that make us cry out in awe, but about the slow and steady trust over measly moments, the winters, the springs, the mountains that make up our lifetimes. And when we fail, my fellow moms, when we fail? That is when we remind them of our own humanity, then point them to their feet and remind them that their feet are firmly planted, not in us, but in the great unchanging I AM.

So, tonight, as a joke I serve mustard seeds for dinner. And the boys think I'm serious. Maybe they are just half starved because the dinner bell dings late, but they chase those tiny pods down and eat them. If mustard seeds are our faith, then our faith has a kick. I laugh at the creativity of our God, that he would choose the spicy mustard seed to illustrate his parable, because mustard seeds and lives grounded in faith both pack a punch. And while they eat the seeds, eyes crossing, noses curling, voice boxes squeaking, swirling with spice-laughter, I pray. Father, cause their soul soil to take these seeds of faith and let them grow. I remember that what I do in moderation, they will do in excess and I add, "Father, I confess my days of unbelief. Cause my faith to multiply. Let it grow before the eyes of my wee ones. Amen.

Speechless

Speechless. Without audible uttering. Unable to form communicable words with one's tongue. Though for some it may be difficult to believe, I have found myself in this predicament a time or two. The birth of my sons--their slow motion arms and legs stretching skyward and their lifesaver red lips forming tiny ohs as they made their entrance into the world--left me utterly overwhelmed and without words. A yellow topaz ring I had admired for over a year presented in the hands of my husband to me when I thought he hadn't realized how much I loved it also found me unable to form verbal expression. A friend just yesterday told me how her husband had left her sleeping while he crawled from bed blurry eyed and dazed and headed to Wal-Mart for their 5 AM Black Friday sale to pick up their children's Christmas gift. When she realized she had overslept she dashed from bed clamoring to get dressed in hopes there might be a few of the prized items left when her husband casually said, "It's okay. I already got it." Speechless! A husband who braved the insanity of Wal-Mart on black Friday...alone! Wow. My question today is have you ever been left speechless by God? Poor Zechariah and Elizabeth don't get a lot of air time what with Mary and the baby Jesus' story only verses after their own tale of miraculous pregnancy and birth. Here were two righteous and obedient children of God who found themselves unable to bare a child. Scripture doesn't tell us of their emotions about the lack of children, but as a mom, I know that at some point in her life Elizabeth must have groaned and wept into her pillow with the longing for a child. And I wonder if anyone shared with her in her pain. I wonder if at some point she and Zechariah came to the understanding that God was sovereign and remained good despite the reality that He had not blessed them with a child of their own. So often the things withheld from us are not for our pain but for God's later glory and if we can hold onto that truth during the barren season we somehow position ourselves to fully grasp and enjoy the blessings of God when they are poured into our lives. I wonder if Zechariah and Elizabeth understood that. Now Gabriel appeared to Zechariah while he was in the holy place and tells him he is going to have a son. Naturally Zechariah is not a little surprised and certainly has some questions. My pastor pointed out that unlike Mary who when told she will give birth to the prophesied Messiah of her nation simply asked, "How can this be since I've not been with a man," Zechariah asks for some sort of a sign to prove its truth. Interesting comparison. Mary accepted what the angel said as true and simply wondered about the practical "how" God would accomplish this. Zechariah on the other hand wanted proof that what the angel said was in fact true--a sign. So often I still want to ask God for confirmation signs. I won't go there today theologically, but I do want to say that sometimes when I notice a pattern of asking God for confirmation signs it's an indicator that I'm struggling with weak faith. God's Word is clear that living out belief in what we do not tangibly see is a part of the follower of Christ's daily life. "Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen." (Hebrews11:1) "The righteous shall walk by faith." (Habakkuk 2:4) Jumping ahead a moment, while Zechariah is chatting with Gabriel Luke 2 says "Now the people were waiting for Zechariah, and they began to wonder why he was delayed in the holy place." I love that little sentence. So often when we are meeting our destiny, when we are discovering the greatness of God's plan for our life--people on the outside looking in have no idea what is going on. It's never convenient when God drops in and changes everything, but it's always right. Zechariah was busy doing what he was supposed to do. So often I get caught up in thinking perhaps I need to do something different for God to speak to me. Listen, when God wants to interrupt our daily routine to have a little chat, I can without hesitation promise you He'll have no problem getting our attention. Remember the writing on the wall? The burning bush? The baby floating in a basket down a river? The talking donkey? For busy moms and dads who are just thankful to get ten minutes of quiet time before the Lord a day, the idea of spending a sacred hour or two before the Lord each morning prostrate before Him is almost laughable at times. If you are able to do that regularly, then I commend you. But if you aren't I pray that you know that your God loves you so intensely, so radically, so emphatically that when He's ready to do something major in your life, you'll know it. Our job is to remain faithful with the stewardships God has given us--to obey. And when we do feed our spirits, then we need to make sure that we feed them with the milk and honey of God's Word and not other things. Now backing up again to verses 19 and 20, Gabriel answers Zechariah's request for a sign like this, "I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God..." It's as though he's saying, "Hello! You may not have noticed I'm an angel! You know that God you are making offerings to right here in the Holy Place? Well, I stand in his presence everyday! Trust me, when I tell you you are going to have a baby. You're gonna have a baby!" Here's the thing--when we do get the burning bush experience we need to respond in faith. Everything that angel told Zechariah lined up with the prophecy of God's Word and Zechariah being of priestly lineage definitely would have known God's Word. We should always test things against the truth of God's Word and when it lines up, we need to line up too and obey in faith. Then Gabriel says to Zechariah, "because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will be silent, unable to speak, until the day these things take place." And there you have it. God sends an angel to tell Zechariah his life is fixing to be changed forever and Zechariah is so shocked he wants proof that God's really going to do this great thing. I can almost hear God saying, "Zechariah, buddy, I'm God. I can do ALL THINGS. When I move in your life, when I act, it'll leave you speechless." Most theologians agree that he was probably also left deaf because of the fact that later on when asking for the name of the baby, the people made signs to Jon to ask the question. I can't help but wonder if God's whole point in leaving Zechariah deaf and mute was simply this: if we don't listen to the message of God delivered by his servants our hearing is of no use to us. And when our lips utter words of unbelief, they too are of no value. But more than anything, I think Zechariah was left speechless by the power of God at work in his life. Zechariah was a good man. He obeyed God. He served God. And he struggled with believing the unbelievable. I can relate to that. What prayer or petition of your heart is something so impossible that it is difficult to believe God will work in that situation? The answer to that question my friend is likely the very situation where God desires greatly to leave you speechless. Speechless not because you couldn't believe He'd work, but speechless at His power and His might and His faithfulness when He does move. I have a list of barrens--the situations and circumstances in the lives of my friends and family that seem impossible. Trust me, I've got some doosies on that list. I bet you do too. And I am specifically taking those before God and saying, "Lord, leave me speechless. Show your power. Show your might. I don't see how, but I believe, Lord. I believe." Will you pray that with me? "God of wonder, Lord of the barren wastelands in our lives, you see all of these situations. You already know they exist and have a plan that incorporates them in our lives for your glory. God we believe you can work. We believe you are able. Lord, we're not kidding when we say that we believe some of these circumstances are literally impossible, but God with you all things are possible. We stand on that truth today. We line up behind it and we beg of you, leave us speechless. In Jesus' name we ask. Amen."

The Turtle Perspective Check

Turtles. Not really a creature upon which I'd declare myself an authority. When my sweet friends called wondering if we'd be willing to watch theirs for a week while they went on a mission building trip I was certainly willing...just not really qualified. In fact only a few months prior those same friends blessed us with tadpoles which despite all my Internet research and careful listening to their instructions, I managed to kill in a very short period of time. I mentioned my track record before they dropped the turtle off to which the reply came, "Sarah, turtles are much harder to kill than tadpoles." And with that, the turtle arrived in it's adorable habitat and we were solely responsible for two little girls' precious pet. Two mornings into our care giving I was having a quiet time while the turtle sat on the table next to me having her morning vegetables. Daisy, our cocker spaniel was nestled on the couch. I'd like to say I was so engaged in the presence of God that I didn't hear it at first, but it is probably just that I am rather spacey at times. Irregardless, after a few moments, my mind became aware of the jingling of Daisy's collar. A bug or a stick she's gotten from her morning walk, I thought. And moments later the jingling persisted. Must be a flea that hopped on her outside. And the jingling persisted. That's when it hit me--THE TURTLE! I turned immediately to see Daisy happily eating remnants on my beautiful couch no less! It was like a vacuum cleaner hose was stuck straight down my throat and the air sucked out of me. I couldn't breath. I gasped. I called out loud some sort of desperate prayer. Jumping up, I saw what I can only describe to you as sinew, small bones--tiny little fragile bones--and some flesh of sorts. All I could think is how did she get the shell without me hearing it crunch? How? I wanted to yell at her, but it was my fault. What kind of a person assumes a cocker spaniel and a turtle are going to peacefully co-exist while I engage in a lengthy morning quiet time with two cups of coffee? I looked into the habitat and sure enough--no turtle. I took Daisy outside and told her she'd have to stay out there until I calmed down. My own children were still asleep for which I was grateful. This would buy me some time. How was I going to tell them the little green-shelled squishy creature had been eaten? Dead. It was dead. Apparently turtles are easier to kill than tadpoles...especially when you have a cocker spaniel. As I debated my situation and felt my breath return in the form of hyperventilation and tears climbed up to my eyeballs preparing for a horse race down my hot cheeks already red with the mortifying prospect of confessing I was an accomplice to turtle murder, I concluded the best thing to do would be to go upstairs and bake a pie. After all, isn't that how everyone deals with catastrophe? Cook? Clean? The remains of the little turtle lay patiently waiting on the arm of my couch for me to clean up, but I couldn't bring myself near the debris. So upstairs I went and one chocolate chiffon pie and one house cleaning cleaning later, they still waited. Of course I also phoned my husband and mother for support. My sister called me as soon as she heard the news to offer her moral support. She instructed me to leave the left-overs for my husband to clean when he got home. My mom told me she was just glad the cocker spaniel was okay. What? No help at all. After about an hour of flipping out Martha Stewart fashion, I knew I had to handle it. With hands gloved in plastic grocery store bags and wads of thick paper towel, I headed over to clean up my couch. I won't mention the retching and dry heaving that occurred. As I went to wipe the edge of the couch I saw something in the habitat--what appeared to be just the back of the turtle. The edge of the shell was sticking out of some moss. Oh, please God, no! Did she decapitate it? This is why I didn't hear the shell crack! No. No. No. Retch. No. Dry heave. No. I had to look. What if the poor creature could still feel? I'd have to run over it with my car to put it out of its misery. Slowly I pulled the shell out--completely in tact. The turtle was there; alive and unharmed! Upon closer examination of the habitat I realized what had happened. The owners had put a slice of pizza in the habitat and the dog had found that too difficult to resist. She was eating the pizza! What I thought were tiny bones had been little sticks and debris from the habitat, and the sauce...well I had assumed it to be flesh. While I had run around behaving like a maniac assuming that turtle to have been violently eaten right underneath my nose it had in fact been alive and well burrowed under moss and mud. Romans 8:5, 6 says, "For those who live according to the flesh have their outlook shaped by the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit have their outlook shaped by the things of the Spirit. For the outlook of the flesh is death but the outlook of the Spirit is life and peace..." Now I realize we're talking about a turtle, but here's the thing, my outlook was clearly defined. I assumed the worst before I ever gathered any information. In fact, I didn't bother to examine the situation very closely at all before I declared the turtle dead and called my family for support. Sometimes I need vivid object lessons for God to show me how I respond to life on a grander scale. It's one thing to laugh about the turtle that I thought was dead, but it's an entirely different matter when it comes to perspecitve on life. In the realm of our daily lives my outlook needs to be shaped, molded, fashioned by the life giving Spirit of God. Have you ever met someone who you could only describe as a "glass half-empty" kind of individual? By what is their outlook shaped? The flesh. Our flesh is in slow-motion decay. We can do everything in our power to preserve it. We can eat without ever indulging, we can exercise diligently, we can have lifts and tucks, we can exfoliate away scandalous wrinkles and we can color away gray but we will never prevent the reality that at some point, our flesh has an appointment with the black soil of earth. Death. If we allow our lives to be guided by the reality of our flesh we will be like perpetual Chicken Little's--the sky always falling. We all face reality and often our realities are in fact laced with death, with devastating circumstances, pain, disappointment, failed efforts and attempts, but that is only one side of our reality. For with every single circumstances comes the life-giving truth that God "works all things together for good for those who love God..." (Romans 8:28) God's Word says that an outlook shaped by the Spirit will be that of life and peace. We experience peace when we trust. It's that simple. If we don't trust, we won't know peace. And if we don't know God, we won't trust. Romans 12:2 reminds us that in order to have a Spirit directed perspective on the world around us we need to renovate our minds. "Do not be conformed to this present world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may test and approve what is the will of God--what is good and well-pleasing and perfect." If we fill our mind with the truths of God's Spirit then naturally the fruit of God's Spirit within will overflow from our lives. And "the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control..." (Gal. 5:22, 23a) Two fruit in particular reveal what way we live before we've ever uttered a word. Peace and faithfulness. The word faithfulness was a bit of a surprise to me. I'd always read that passage and thought the meaning was that of an individual who is faithful in their commitments--reliable. But in Greek the word actually indicates being full of faith. Trust. We just can't escape the reality that as we yield our lives to God, as we know Him more and more, as we hide His Word in our heart we will inevitably discover He is worthy of our trust. And when we discover He is worthy to trust, we will be filled with more and more faith. Spiritually speaking we can choose one of two spiralling decisions. We can diligently seek God and in turn our faith grows, our outlook is shaped by the Spirit of God, and as our outlook is shaped by the Spirit of God we will seek Him more, yield to Him more and our faith will further grow. Alternatively, we can choose to rely on ourselves and others around us. As we do, our faith shrinks like a balloon filled with air and then let go. We fly and flit around in a pattern completely unpredictable and out of control. In the end, we will lie worn, deflated, and lifeless on the ground. Romans 8:31 says, "If God is for us, who can be against us?" When my perspective is based on the truth that my Father God is for me in every sense of the word--gunning for me, enabling me, pushing for me, empowering me--I will see events and circumstances as a part of God's life giving plan and peace will reign in my heart. True, it was only a turtle, but now, when I see one of those tiny chartreuse shells toddling across the road or sunning themselves on a log Ill do a quick outlook check. Am I convinced the end of the world is but a cocker spaniel away or am utterly persuaded that my Father God is for me and my future is secure in His hands? Lord, let me honor You by living a life of belief and faith. You deserve my trust. You deserve my praise in the form of a heart that is convinced You are good and You are able and You are working in my life. Shape my perspective, Spirit. Fill my heart that I might reflect your goodness to all with whom I interact. Amen.

Preemptive Praise

I'd heard of the capabilities of the kitchen aid. After all, what self-respecting novice chef has not heard of and longed for, perhaps dare I say even lusted after the sleek yet sturdy design of the kitchen aid free-standing mixer? Though my own fingers had never personally touched one and I'd never turned out any culinary confection thanks to one, I was confident that with one I could do far greater things than without. I began what can only be called a kitchen-aid campaign and I waged it on my very new and very green husband. At the time two-hundred and ninety-nine dollars seemed like an awful lot to spend on a kitchen appliance--especially one that would take up three quarters of the counter space in our second floor Victorian apartment. My approach was to sing the kitchen-aid praises until Jeff was convinced as was I that without the stainless and white mixer our lives would somehow be inadequate. I praised it's ability to make bread, to make cookies, to puree baby food, (though babies were not in our plan for ten years) and most of all, I praised it's ability to work alone, while I focused on other tasks. In effect, I launched a preemptive praise attack declaring the worth and ability of this appliance before I had ever experienced the evidence to ratify my beliefs. And, it worked. Ten years later that beautiful baby we call Betsy is still turning out triple batches of chocolate chip cookies each week while I happily listen to her buzz and twirl around. I was preemptive in my praise of her and she's never let me down--not once. This idea of preemptive praise has kept me thinking. The notion that I praise before I experience is somewhat foreign when it comes to God. With Betsy (my mixer) I was confident because other people had told me all about the kitchen aid's great performance history. With God the Bible says we are surrounded by "a great cloud of witnesses" --those who have gone before and banked on His goodness without wavering and yet I hesitate to pre-praise Him because in any given circumstance I'm not sure what He will do. Hebrews 11:1 says, "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen." The NET translation puts it this way: "Now faith is being sure of what we hope for, being convinced of what we do not see." When we praise God before the answer, solution or resolution comes it's like we are placing our situation like a seed into prepared soil. When a gardener tills, pulls roots, adds nutrients and fertilizers to soil before he places a seed into the ground he is declaring to the world that he knows full well what's fixing to happen. He's going to plant that seed into the ground and within a short period of time the buds of new life will appear and it won't be long before he's enjoying fresh produce. Preparing the soil actually produces the best results. When we praise God before He acts, we are fertilizing our hearts--making them soft and supple, ready to receive whatever fruit he desires to produce in our lives. This past spring the boys and I put some potatoes into the ground in the back yard. We didn't do any prep work--just dug holes and tossed the buds into the red clay. We got a real bad cold snap that killed just about everything people had put in the ground and we figured those potatoes were rotting under the soil. We gave up on them and completely forgot about them. We weren't overly disappointed or concerned because we hadn't really counted on much anyway. But just this past week Corton announced, "Momma, our potatoes are coming up!" I was shocked and went to check out his story. Sure enough, there, amidst the rocky, red clay were potato plants almost a foot tall. I couldn't believe it. We hadn't even watered them because we figured they were a lost cause--hopeless; yet here they were growing despite our lack of faith. Now that's the difference between being the kind of person who lives a preemptive praise lifestyle and the kind of person who loses faith, gives up and writes things off as hopeless. Corty had remembered what we planted and had continued to keep an eye on the dry cracked earth waiting for life to appear. I had turned to other pursuits and figured I could buy potatoes from the grocery store if we needed them. Had it not been for a little man of faith I would have missed the life God brought from the terra cotta earth. How often in our lives do we completely miss God's answers, His power, His work in our little worlds because we have long ago given up hope? It is possible for believers to live in a garden filled with lush, ripe fruit of God and see only desert sandstorms--sort of a reverse mirage. On the other hand when I choose to preemptively praise God in every area of my life, I will look at the veins of a cracked and dry ground and say, "I know the God who will bring forth life here and I can't wait to see it." Preemptive praise gives me hope when I tearfully bring my beautiful family member whose life has been drained by drugs and men who refuse to love her but happily take from her before God's thrown of grace. Of course I plead with God to intervene and beg Him to act quickly, but I also spend time praising Him for what I know He can do--soften hearts, minister healing, restore that which was taken. Preemptive praise is evidence of faith in our lives. We won't always see evidence that God is working, but "what is visible has its origin in the invisible." (Hebrews.11:3b) I campaigned for a kitchen aid because I believed in it's reputation. I need to campaign for God's work in my life because I believe what is said of Him in His Word to be true. When we choose to believe God's Word, choose to stand on it, base our lives on it, the quality will be starkly different and the outcomes will be different too. Remember the famous words of the Declaration of Independence, "We hold these truths to be self-evident..." For followers of Christ there are truths that are self-evident. We serve a good God. We love a faithful God. We hope in an able God. We seek an ever present God. We count on a powerful God. We believe in a loving God. God's word says, "Without faith it is impossible to please him, for the one who approaches God must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who seek him." (Hebrews. 11:6) He exists. That's evident because of creation. He rewards those who seek him. That's evident because of Noah and Abraham and David and Jabez. Listen to His words of promise, "You keep completely safe the people who maintain their faith, for they trust in you..." (Isaiah 26:3) Completely safe. Wow! This is the God we are praising so, "let us draw near with a sincere heart in the assurance that faith brings...and let us hold unwaveringly to the hope that we confess, for the one who made the promise is trustworthy..." (Hebrews10;22a, 23) We don't praise a God who drowned the Israelites in the Red Sea because of their selfish whining. We don't praise a God who drowned Noah and his family in a flood because of a leaky boat. We don't praise a God who drowned Jonah in the Sea because of his weakness and fear. We serve the God who parts Red Seas, builds sound vessels and provides giant fish to carry us through our doubts, fears and rebellion to the shore of His promises. May it be said of us all that we lived a life of faith, that though we did not always see the fruition of our faith, we held unwaveringly to the hope we had in a good and faithful God. Lord, today, I praise you because I know you are working in the circumstances in our life. I know you are working beneath the soil now where I cannot see, but I am watching, Lord, expectantly. I'll be ready when the first shoots sprout forth to shout to the world, Look! My Father is acting! He's working! He's making a way in the desert. Lord, may this be so because of your name's sake. Amen. Read with me: Psalm 16:8,9 Psalm 34:1-4, 10, 37:3-5, 7a, Psalm 150:2, Isaiah 26:3-4, Jeremiah 32:27,