There are these shortbreads I've been baking for 16 years. They're not ordinary shortbread cookies. They're whipped. And by whipped, I mean I put butter, flour and a bit of powdered sugar into my faithful Kitchen-Aid, turn her on high and let her roar for ten straight minutes while I go about my business. Of all the fussy, truffly, ganachy, decadent treats I make every Christmas, these common cookies are by far my favorite. In fact, I blame them for at least ten of my extra pounds--I mean really, when the recipe calls for equal parts butter and flour, you know the scale is going to taunt you for the rest of your life. But the key to these cookies isn't in the ingredients. That's nothing new. Anybody can make a shortbread. The key is in the whipping. A friend was over the other day, and I force fed her one with a bit of Earl Grey tea (because who in their right mind would have one without that specific tea?). She said, "These are tricky little cookies. You put them in your mouth, and then they disappear." Exactly. There is so much air in those gloriously golden dollops that they melt instantly on your tongue. Clouds are made of them. They grow on trees in heaven. On the day God rested? He was eating them. I know this. I am certain.
But there is one little problem.
They break.
Every year.
When I attempt to place them in a container, inevitably several of them crack the instant they are lifted from the cookie sheet.
It's because they've been whipped. Hard.
And sometimes life does that to us. Whips us.
Leaves us feeling like a batter that's been tossed around the planet mercilessly for too many long, lonely minutes. And those minutes feel like a lifetime of relentless horror.
I know this because I've been watching it all around me. Lives of those I love have been caught up in some kind of violent cosmic hurricane and the debris and splinters of their world swirl around us.
Children terminally ill.
Family with cancer.
Wedding vows abandoned.
Suicidal children.
Mothers addicted to drugs.
Depression that doesn't lift with talk or pill.
And these aren't just words; these are the stories of souls. Precious, hurting souls. Souls I've talked with this very week.
They have names; they live, and they breathe, and they break.
Dear God, they break.
And were I to have a hundred hands, still I could not stitch the shards of their lives back together, still I could not wipe away all the tears, still I could not fix the fractures.
Noah saw this same stuff, was witness to great woe.
God placed him on the ark, told him He would send flooding rain.
And Jesus told us In this world you will have trouble. (John 16:33)
God did send rain. Though Noah expected it, having never seen it, he didn't know how overwhelming a flooding rain would be. And though we know trouble is promised, we are still stunned by its staggering blows.
Noah sat on that boat, goats bleating, crickets chirping, and a family that no doubt freaked as the waters rose. Did you ever stop to really think of Noah?
Because I thought I knew everything about the whole ark experience. The two by two animals, the pretty little brown flannel graph boat that floated like a cruise ship on blue felt waves, and the gorgeous rainbow bookended by cottony clouds. Mr. Thomas taught me all about it at Faith Baptist Church when I was growing up.
He was a good man. His stories captivated me as he used strips of felt to create a canvas of biblical times. He taught me well, but the truth is, he left a few details out. The ones that didn't fit neatly on his 2 by 4 foot flannel graph board and easel.
I've thought about those things lately. A lot.
If I was Noah's wife, I would have been fine for a little while. I would have let him build his ark. I would have even helped him, baked him muffins and brought him coffee. I would have created feeding charts for the animals and packed an overnight bag 'just in case.' When the rain came, it would have been a confirmation to me that he wasn't crazy. I would have made tea and sat by a window to watch that strange phenomenon I'd not yet seen as it poured down in sheets of clear liquid like tears. But friends, did you ever stop to think of the crowds of people desperately crying out and beating their fists against the cypress wood begging to be let in?
God had already shut the door. And if y'all want things to get really real, we should just discuss God shutting that door. Because nobody wants to tackle that topic. Understanding God isn't easy. He doesn't fit in a theology book or a Dayspring Card. He can't be tamed, fully fathomed or simplified into words that completely encompass all of who He is. He can't. Anyone who pretends otherwise is dead wrong. But know this, there is not one single description of God in the Bible that is false. So when we don't understand or God forbid, we don't agree, we stand on what we know to be true.
For the Lord is good; His love endures forever. (Psalm 100:5)
So when I think of the reality that Noah could give them no relief, I remember that The Lord is still good in that decision to shut the door even if I don't grasp it. That right there would have been the end of me. I'd have climbed out a window, slung out a rope, screamed at Noah to let me help them. Because who among us can ever sit idly by when another is in trouble?
And this is a rather inconvenient truth. Our God does allow trouble.
No Sunday School teacher on the planet can make that fit neatly on their flannel graph board. It's ugly and glaring and uncomfortable.
And still, there is more. It got way worse.
Did you ever think about the bodies?
Because surely when they looked out the windows of that ark they saw bodies. Floating and lifeless beings that finally surrendered their fight to survive. The carcasses of animals and cadavers of their friends and neighbors sloshed about by a deluge so strong that none, not one, single soul survived it.
All broken beyond repair. I know I'd of wept and wailed, and I am not even going to pretend I would have accepted the decision of a sovereign God.
I
would
have
been
ticked.
I'd have yelled. I'd have pleaded for Him to show Himself. To explain Himself. To give me some understanding. And where is the yelling and hollering and pleading before God for answers in our churches today? Does that fit neatly on Sunday morning between Bless the Lord and Oceans in the worship set? Because what if we all got just a little more honest and spit up just a wee bit of the truth of our souls? What would church look like then?
But this is what is worst of all.
After the rain stopped its relentless forty days of pounding, there came a deafening silence.
For 11 months heaven held it's tongue.
Our God was silent.
They floated aimless on an ocean of water with no end. No idea where they were going. No idea when or if they would hear from God again. No idea how long their food rations would hold out. No idea if they would survive.
And if we're being honest, when you've lost that much, would you even want to survive?
They had nothing left.
All I'm saying is we've seen troubles yes, but we're in good company.
God did not speak. That we know of, Noah heard nothing from God for over a year.
And how does a sometimes silent God work with our pretty paintings of God as a doting Father? Is this not perhaps the reason people walk away from the faith?
I'm just asking.
Maybe we were sold a Dixie cup of grape Kool-Aid, and after sipping a little while, we discover, there's more. It's not all grape. It's not all sweet. It's not going down easy. And we feel jilted, deceived, conned. We feel stupid for falling for it. We think we're idiots for drinking the Kool-Aid, and we're out.
Because we've tried to live right, you and I. Haven't we? Tried to follow the rules, be good little Christians. God said Noah was righteous and scripture says Noah did all that God commanded him. Indeed he did.
Obedient, God-fearing men and women can do exactly as God instructs and still bear witness to great sorrow.
I'm talking about the kind of sorrow and confusion that follows your child telling you they are gay.
I'm talking about the kind of pain that follows cancer, stage 4.
I'm talking about the knock out punch that happens when you made a bad investment and your family loses their home.
I'm talking about the stuff we don't want to talk about. I'm saying, let's have this conversation.
In this world you will have trouble. Jesus said it because He was willing to have this conversation. Not once did he shy away from the truth of who He is or the questions of a people hungry for a Savior.
So Noah and his family are just about in the middle of what seems like nowhere when we read this:
But God remembered Noah.
God--
our God
the God who was silent,
remembered.
See, that little phrase there is a game changer for me. It's everything I need.
When He remembered, He sent a wind to dry the land, and He closed the floodgates.
Still though He remembered, He remained silent for over half a year longer.
Why God?
Because I know women whose husbands are dead and children whose mothers are dead, and they've lived through the silence of heaven.
But God remembers.
And this is what we need, is it not? We need to know that God remembers us. In Hebrew that phrase means He calls to His memory.
If I'm going to drink from the bitter cup, I want a God who calls me to His memory. I want a God who doesn't forget I exist. A God who cares enough to choose to call me to His mind. Because maybe the Kool-Aid doesn't look right after all, but faith isn't what we see. It's what we don't see.
Around the seventh month, Noah and his family stopped drifting and landed on solid ground.
Faith is believing solid ground will surface and the boat of our lives will land there because our God will not forget us.
Around the tenth month, Noah and his family could see the tops of the mountains again. Earth was still there. It did not give way.
Indeed the earth is established, it cannot be moved. (Psalm 93: 2)
Then, after 370 days Noah and his family set their feet on soil.
Do you hear me when I say it was a year? An entire year of their lives they drift and float and wait. Lord knows we drift too, don't we? And finally, their God speaks.
And when He does? Do you know that He just picks up the conversation right where He left off? No Hi, how are you? It's me, God. Missed you. How you been? What did you think of the ark? How'd the elephants do all cooped up?
Why? Because He already knew. There was no catching up needed; He was always there.
Emmanuel--God with us.
And He is here now in the midst of your story and my story.
Right here. Right now. In the middle of the debris.
The Lord is near to all who call out to Him, to all who call on him in truth. (Psalm 145:18)
I will never leave you nor forsake you (Hebrews 13:5)
There's the whole rainbow bit too. Everybody loves that part, but for me, it's just Him talking to them like He never left.
Because
He
didn't
leave.
He
never
does.
And while we're discussing Him. God isn't afraid of our questions. He's not phased by our doubts. He's not offended by our disappointment.
In fact, I think when we get real and honest and quit pretending, that's when we start to really see God.
Not the God of fairy tales.
Not the God that's just sugar and no spice.
But the LIVING GOD.
The God who has His own will and plan. The God who didn't make us so we could enjoy life, but rather who made us so we could have life.
And by the way, that life we get to have? It's HIM. He said, I am the way, the truth, and THE LIFE. (John 10:10)
Romans 8:5,6 says this: 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 things of the Spirit. For the outlook of the flesh is death, but the outlook of the Spirit is life and peace.
Maybe this is the crux of it all. To survive the flood, we must live according to the Spirit. And there's only one way to do that.
By faith.
It always comes to this, doesn't it?
Without faith it is impossible to please Him, for the one who approaches God must believe that He exists and the He rewards those who seek Him. (Hebrews 11:6)
That same passage says Noah became an heir of the righteousness that comes by faith.
Faith that he exists.
Faith that He rewards those who seek Him.
Faith that if God be for us, who can be against us? No enemy can stand against the power of His name.
Faith that He will shelter you with his wings, you will find safety under his wings. His faithfulness is like a shield or a protective wall. (Psalm 91:4)
Faith that our God's love is loyal. (Psalm 92:4)
Faith that though our God is a consuming fire, the Lord is (also) just in all His actions and exhibits love in all He does. (Psalm 145:7)
Because the outlook of the flesh is death. And when we're in the midst of a flood, sometimes all we see is the death, but
Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence not seen. (Hebrews 11:1)
Knowing this doesn't remove the angst of life. It isn't a promise that our spouse will return, that children won't go hungry, that the stroke won't take his speech or that Alzheimers won't steal her memory. But knowing it changes our outlook to one of life and peace. It reminds us that beneath the raging waters, solid ground remains.
Cookies crumble.
They just do.
And life? It stings sometimes.
It just does.
But God remembers.
And that is enough.
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Friday, April 26, 2013
A People in Constant Motion Yet Unmoved
I'm a runner--of sorts. Not the half-marathon-constantly-training-cool-running-shoes-kinda runner. I'm more of the sleep-in-my-sports-bra-roll-out-of-bed-shove-on-my-shoes-jog-for-thirty-minutes-come-back-drink-coffee-kinda runner. I do it because I need exercise. I try to run five days a week. On the sixth day, I try to take a walk, and on the seventh day, I rest. Recently, though, I've read several articles and even listened to my doctor discuss the current research that suggests running every day may not be the best thing for your body. And part of me is like, "Really, ya think?" A pulled hamstring, a pulled oblique muscle, grouchy knees and strained tendons this year are just a few of the reasons why I have a sneaking suspicion there's probably some validity to the idea that daily pounding the pavement may not be what our bodies were designed for. (And for all you veteran runners out there. Shut your pie holes. I know you're supposed to stretch, wear good shoes, etc. I'm gonna start that tomorrow!) But in truth, sometimes I feel like my entire world is the same--constantly pounding the pavement. And I can't help but wonder if we have a few pulled muscles, a few strained tendons because of it.
It is like we are a train at full tilt, an airplane careening through the heavens, a full on battle charge complete with war whoops, galloping horses and the pounding of hooves. Always pounding hooves. My husband's, my children's, my own. The constant cacophony of crazed feet keeping time to an even crazier schedule. Whatever I liken our life to, it must be in constant full-throttle motion to be even remotely accurate. We are a family on the move. And I know we aren't unique. In fact, I think we probably appear to be in slow motion in comparison to other families. Just the other day, I overheard a conversation where one mom admitted to another mom that she hadn't looked at her daughter's homework in weeks because they had been so busy with other activities and responsibilities that she simply hadn't had the time. I wanted to whisper in her ear, "I feel your pain, Momma. I feel your pain!"
I wonder though, if motion is one of Satan's greatest allies in disabling a follower of Jesus--not just any motion, but motion without a refined, focused purpose. After all Jesus did call us to be 'doers of the word and not hearers only.' So motion itself isn't wrong, and that's good since I'm perpetually moving. But what seems to happen is that we buy into a mindset that insists activity and entertainment are our divine purpose and right. We have this notion that good parents enroll their children in everything. If our kids are interested, give them the chance to explore it fully. And it doesn't sound wrong even as I type it, does it? And for goodness sakes, we mustn't forget that good kids are busy kids, so we arrange sleepovers, parties, and play dates. Our youth ministries are overrun with game nights and lock-ins because we need to keep our kids out of trouble, right? (Yet apparently almost 90% of them will leave church within their first year of college. So how's that working for us?) It's the motion movement we've bought into; yet we're all limping along with pulls and strains; and man alive are we ever thirsty. So are our children. Thirsty for the Living God.
"Why do you search for the living among the dead?"
It was a question the men at the tomb asked the women who came to treat Christ's dead body with spices. See, they were behind the eight ball. They came to treat a dead body. It wasn't until the men asked the women that question that scripture says the ladies remembered what Jesus had told them about His purpose. He would fall into the hands of sinful men, be crucified, and rise again the third day. He was done with the dying and onto the rising. Jesus had a focused plan, and he stuck to it (Luke 24). But we aren't aware of His plan, or like the women, we've forgotten it. The result is that we too are searching for the living among the dead.
And I'm left to ask not "What is my plan," but . . .
What is God's plan for our family?
What is God's plan for our sports-loving-book-inhaling-thirteen-year-old?
What is God's plan for our tree-climbing-animal-adoring-ten-year-old?
We say we "just want the very best for our kids," but I wonder if we really mean it. Because isn't the very best synonymous with God's plan? And if we're really wanting to cut to the chase, aren't we a little too busy pursuing the very best to stop and ask God what His plans are for our children?
Wasn't Francis Chan onto something when he said, “Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don't really matter.”
In the end, maybe daily running on the treadmill of a society that is convinced that more is more, that bigger is better, that lessons and sports and clubs and involvement equal success, is causing more damage than good.
Could it be that we're missing God's plan while we act like hamsters in a cosmic cage?
Could it be our children don't need to be entertained, rather they need to be enlightened?
Could it be they need to know they weren't placed on earth to get great grades, go to great colleges, embark on promising careers, marry, make babies, buy a house and live happily ever after? (And don't misunderstand me here, I'm not saying those things won't happen along the way. I'm just asking if it is possible that we missed the main point?)
Could it be?
Could it be we ourselves need the same enlightening?
Because there is an entire world out there in desperate need of our assistance, and if we are busy balancing a life on a blasted treadmill, we can't help them. We're incapable of doing both.
So while we run . . .
While we race . . .
While we entertain . . .
While we keep busy . . .
While we give our children opportunities . . .
Almost half a million children in the US live in foster care. 100,000 of them cannot return home. Ever.
More than 150 MILLION children have lost one or both parents to AIDS, disease, poverty, etc.
At least 3.5 MILLION children die each year because of malnutrition related diseases.
55 million unborn children are killed every year via abortion, 105 per minute. 3 per minute in the US.
Approximately 15 people die per minute due to nutrition related illness.
209 MILLION people do not have any scripture in their language.
. . . people die, and they don't know God.
But, in the meantime, our kids got into the right University because they had a great transcript, lots of activities, and high SAT scores.
We're busy chasing the proverbial American Dream and teaching our children to do the same. In short, we're the guy in Jesus' parable of the talents that buried his in the field. We're burying the greatest resource God has given us--our lives--under a mound of worldy pursuits and earthly treasures. But it is never enough. We're never satisfied. We hunger and thirst for more.
"My food," said Jesus, "is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work.(John 4:34)
Are we hungry and thirsty because we aren't eating the right food?
And just what is the will of him who sent Jesus? Really?
We have come to know love by this: that Jesus laid down his life for us; thus we ought to lay down our lives for our fellow Christians. But whoever has the world's possessions and sees his fellow Christian in need and shuts off his compassion against him, how can the love of God reside in such a person? Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue but in deed and truth. (I John 3:16-18)
We have come to know love by this: that Jesus laid down his life for us; thus we ought to lay down our lives for our fellow Christians.
And for whom have I laid down my life? For whom have I said, I'll forgo what I want so they can have what they need? For whom? Because if I'm gonna be honest, there's a part of me that doesn't want to raise my hand and volunteer as a foster parent. I'd rather not go back to diapers and diaper bags, bottles and burps. I'm finally past that. And what if they have problems? What if they're disturbed because of what they've been through? It could get messy, could get inconvenient.
Carrying the cross wasn't convenient for Jesus, and yet . . .
But whoever has the world's possessions and sees his fellow Christian in need and shuts off his compassion against him, how can the love of God reside in such a person?
And for whom have I surrendered my possessions? I wonder what inheritance Jesus left for his siblings to divide? I'm kinda guessing none. Yet isn't that the thing that concerns us if we're being truthful? We want to amass some little something here on earth so we can leave it for our wee ones. We want to save enough to go on trips, to travel the world . . . or at least to Florida. We want to add a pool, pave the driveway, buy, consume, take, hold for ourselves.
Storing up treasure in heaven means surrendering earthly treasures . . .
Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue but in deed and truth.(I John 3:18)
And isn't this the crux of it all? The answer to the motion problem? It isn't that God has told us to remain inert. Indeed, He called us to action. But the focus, the purpose of that action?
Should not our strides be specifically aimed? Should not our motion be in the direction of Love?
Love won't leave us with pulled muscles, in fact it will expand our muscles, expand our hearts.
Love won't leave us with strained tendons; it will be a balm to the strains of others.
Love won't leave us with aching knees; it will lift a world brought to their knees by a life apart from God, to their feet.
Love walks.
Love runs.
Love prays.
Love builds.
Love gives.
Love feeds.
Love refrains.
Love pays fairly.
Love mends.
Love translates.
Love sacrifices.
Love lays down one's own life.
I wonder about those two bombers in Boston. I wonder if they ever came in contact with love. I wonder if there was a free camp like the one here in the mountains where my family is privileged to help during the month of July--a place where children come and experience the unconditional love of God--would it have made a difference? Had one person brought LOVE to them, could it have changed everything?
Because in a world where people are constantly running, love moves too. Moves hearts. Moves lives. Moves people to step off the treadmill of American Dreams and into the reality of lives lived for eternity. One accomplishes nothing that will last. The other accomplishes things imperishable.
Once, Joseph and Mary lost Jesus as a youth. When they found Him, He spoke the now infamous line: "Don't you know I'm to be about my Father's business?" (Luke 2:49)
Our Father's business is The World. And He deals in only one currency. Love.
Father, help me to move in your wake, to move in focused, purposeful ways. Help our family to have the sole goal of being about your business. Redirect, guide,hem us in, and strengthen our limbs for the journey. Amen.
It is like we are a train at full tilt, an airplane careening through the heavens, a full on battle charge complete with war whoops, galloping horses and the pounding of hooves. Always pounding hooves. My husband's, my children's, my own. The constant cacophony of crazed feet keeping time to an even crazier schedule. Whatever I liken our life to, it must be in constant full-throttle motion to be even remotely accurate. We are a family on the move. And I know we aren't unique. In fact, I think we probably appear to be in slow motion in comparison to other families. Just the other day, I overheard a conversation where one mom admitted to another mom that she hadn't looked at her daughter's homework in weeks because they had been so busy with other activities and responsibilities that she simply hadn't had the time. I wanted to whisper in her ear, "I feel your pain, Momma. I feel your pain!"
I wonder though, if motion is one of Satan's greatest allies in disabling a follower of Jesus--not just any motion, but motion without a refined, focused purpose. After all Jesus did call us to be 'doers of the word and not hearers only.' So motion itself isn't wrong, and that's good since I'm perpetually moving. But what seems to happen is that we buy into a mindset that insists activity and entertainment are our divine purpose and right. We have this notion that good parents enroll their children in everything. If our kids are interested, give them the chance to explore it fully. And it doesn't sound wrong even as I type it, does it? And for goodness sakes, we mustn't forget that good kids are busy kids, so we arrange sleepovers, parties, and play dates. Our youth ministries are overrun with game nights and lock-ins because we need to keep our kids out of trouble, right? (Yet apparently almost 90% of them will leave church within their first year of college. So how's that working for us?) It's the motion movement we've bought into; yet we're all limping along with pulls and strains; and man alive are we ever thirsty. So are our children. Thirsty for the Living God.
"Why do you search for the living among the dead?"
It was a question the men at the tomb asked the women who came to treat Christ's dead body with spices. See, they were behind the eight ball. They came to treat a dead body. It wasn't until the men asked the women that question that scripture says the ladies remembered what Jesus had told them about His purpose. He would fall into the hands of sinful men, be crucified, and rise again the third day. He was done with the dying and onto the rising. Jesus had a focused plan, and he stuck to it (Luke 24). But we aren't aware of His plan, or like the women, we've forgotten it. The result is that we too are searching for the living among the dead.
And I'm left to ask not "What is my plan," but . . .
What is God's plan for our family?
What is God's plan for our sports-loving-book-inhaling-thirteen-year-old?
What is God's plan for our tree-climbing-animal-adoring-ten-year-old?
We say we "just want the very best for our kids," but I wonder if we really mean it. Because isn't the very best synonymous with God's plan? And if we're really wanting to cut to the chase, aren't we a little too busy pursuing the very best to stop and ask God what His plans are for our children?
Wasn't Francis Chan onto something when he said, “Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don't really matter.”
In the end, maybe daily running on the treadmill of a society that is convinced that more is more, that bigger is better, that lessons and sports and clubs and involvement equal success, is causing more damage than good.
Could it be that we're missing God's plan while we act like hamsters in a cosmic cage?
Could it be our children don't need to be entertained, rather they need to be enlightened?
Could it be they need to know they weren't placed on earth to get great grades, go to great colleges, embark on promising careers, marry, make babies, buy a house and live happily ever after? (And don't misunderstand me here, I'm not saying those things won't happen along the way. I'm just asking if it is possible that we missed the main point?)
Could it be?
Could it be we ourselves need the same enlightening?
Because there is an entire world out there in desperate need of our assistance, and if we are busy balancing a life on a blasted treadmill, we can't help them. We're incapable of doing both.
So while we run . . .
While we race . . .
While we entertain . . .
While we keep busy . . .
While we give our children opportunities . . .
Almost half a million children in the US live in foster care. 100,000 of them cannot return home. Ever.
More than 150 MILLION children have lost one or both parents to AIDS, disease, poverty, etc.
At least 3.5 MILLION children die each year because of malnutrition related diseases.
55 million unborn children are killed every year via abortion, 105 per minute. 3 per minute in the US.
Approximately 15 people die per minute due to nutrition related illness.
209 MILLION people do not have any scripture in their language.
. . . people die, and they don't know God.
But, in the meantime, our kids got into the right University because they had a great transcript, lots of activities, and high SAT scores.
We're busy chasing the proverbial American Dream and teaching our children to do the same. In short, we're the guy in Jesus' parable of the talents that buried his in the field. We're burying the greatest resource God has given us--our lives--under a mound of worldy pursuits and earthly treasures. But it is never enough. We're never satisfied. We hunger and thirst for more.
"My food," said Jesus, "is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work.(John 4:34)
Are we hungry and thirsty because we aren't eating the right food?
And just what is the will of him who sent Jesus? Really?
We have come to know love by this: that Jesus laid down his life for us; thus we ought to lay down our lives for our fellow Christians. But whoever has the world's possessions and sees his fellow Christian in need and shuts off his compassion against him, how can the love of God reside in such a person? Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue but in deed and truth. (I John 3:16-18)
We have come to know love by this: that Jesus laid down his life for us; thus we ought to lay down our lives for our fellow Christians.
And for whom have I laid down my life? For whom have I said, I'll forgo what I want so they can have what they need? For whom? Because if I'm gonna be honest, there's a part of me that doesn't want to raise my hand and volunteer as a foster parent. I'd rather not go back to diapers and diaper bags, bottles and burps. I'm finally past that. And what if they have problems? What if they're disturbed because of what they've been through? It could get messy, could get inconvenient.
Carrying the cross wasn't convenient for Jesus, and yet . . .
But whoever has the world's possessions and sees his fellow Christian in need and shuts off his compassion against him, how can the love of God reside in such a person?
And for whom have I surrendered my possessions? I wonder what inheritance Jesus left for his siblings to divide? I'm kinda guessing none. Yet isn't that the thing that concerns us if we're being truthful? We want to amass some little something here on earth so we can leave it for our wee ones. We want to save enough to go on trips, to travel the world . . . or at least to Florida. We want to add a pool, pave the driveway, buy, consume, take, hold for ourselves.
Storing up treasure in heaven means surrendering earthly treasures . . .
Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue but in deed and truth.(I John 3:18)
And isn't this the crux of it all? The answer to the motion problem? It isn't that God has told us to remain inert. Indeed, He called us to action. But the focus, the purpose of that action?
Should not our strides be specifically aimed? Should not our motion be in the direction of Love?
Love won't leave us with pulled muscles, in fact it will expand our muscles, expand our hearts.
Love won't leave us with strained tendons; it will be a balm to the strains of others.
Love won't leave us with aching knees; it will lift a world brought to their knees by a life apart from God, to their feet.
Love walks.
Love runs.
Love prays.
Love builds.
Love gives.
Love feeds.
Love refrains.
Love pays fairly.
Love mends.
Love translates.
Love sacrifices.
Love lays down one's own life.
I wonder about those two bombers in Boston. I wonder if they ever came in contact with love. I wonder if there was a free camp like the one here in the mountains where my family is privileged to help during the month of July--a place where children come and experience the unconditional love of God--would it have made a difference? Had one person brought LOVE to them, could it have changed everything?
Because in a world where people are constantly running, love moves too. Moves hearts. Moves lives. Moves people to step off the treadmill of American Dreams and into the reality of lives lived for eternity. One accomplishes nothing that will last. The other accomplishes things imperishable.
Once, Joseph and Mary lost Jesus as a youth. When they found Him, He spoke the now infamous line: "Don't you know I'm to be about my Father's business?" (Luke 2:49)
Our Father's business is The World. And He deals in only one currency. Love.
Father, help me to move in your wake, to move in focused, purposeful ways. Help our family to have the sole goal of being about your business. Redirect, guide,hem us in, and strengthen our limbs for the journey. Amen.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Easter All Year: The Yielded Journey
If we could have been there, sandaled toes sifting dusty paths, with Him that week, I wonder if we would have noticed. I wonder if we would have realized something was up, not right. I wonder if we could have sensed an intensity about Jesus in the days that preceded his arrest. Would his hair have shown a stray grey strand or two that certainly weren't there the week before? (Like the presidents who enter office auburn, black, and blond, shades, but leave dyed the same shade--stressed grey.) Would one eye have sagged slightly, like my grandfather's, under the emotional weight? Though the sky was blue, barometric pressure fine, and the pollen count low would he have complained just once of a headache--an ache only death would alleviate? And I wonder how it must have been for him in that hushed upper room as he sat side by side, surrounded by twelve and yet entirely, utterly alone?
Sometimes I suspect it wasn't the fear of physical pain that caused capillaries to burst, a face to sweat blood. Don't you think that just maybe it was the relational pain of knowing he would be betrayed by the very man he had poured years of ministry into? The only way I can relate to Christ this weekend is to imagine something similar. What if, when their bones have reached the extent of breadth and height and their shoulders are broad, one of my sweet boys-slivers of my heart, chose to walk from our family? Turn their back on me? Believe they could do better elsewhere? Sold out for some silver? What if it was my son? Because though Jesus bore none biological, weren't the disciples really like his children? He poured his life into them, teaching them, feeding them, guiding them, preparing them. Isn't it probable that he could bare the wicked strap he knew they'd use to punish Him for His deity, but what caused him to go back and pray three times in one night was the suffocating sadness of surrendering his relationships with those twelve who would scatter when soldiers came? Oh, Jesus, if my own children scattered at the moment I needed them, how I would crumble, disintegrate. Yet you stood.
"My Father, if possible, let this cup pass from me!"
That was his plea, and I'll never fully grasp its depth. As though he said, "God, I can't fathom baring this plan You have asked of me. I want to run in the other direction. I want to hide, go to another city, keep a low profile for a while. I want to live." What if he really did want to live? What if he knew that he would conquer death, conquer hell, conquer the grave, and get the prize of a return trip to the heavenly presence of God in the end, but somehow still . . . he wanted to live? Because it is hard to understand the reality that this temporary life is only the casing of eternal souls in mortals frames. The everlasting living? The real party? That begins when we shed these frames and enter the realm where moth and rust no longer destroy. But that's all heady knowledge--fills me with understanding. To live out that knowledge. That is hard. Was it hard for him too? He had a mother. A father. Twelve disciples. He had people he loved.
If those were his feelings--even a teensy weensy little bit--then I understand that God/Man. I do. Because I know the end of the story. I know in the end, I get the prize of the presence of God, the streets of gold, the gate of pearl, the face of Creator God. I mean can you even begin to fathom what the face of God will be like? He speaks and mountains literally melt. He utters words and birds of a thousand colors stretch wings, fill air. So I get it. I do. And yet I long to linger here a little while. Long to keep loving those I call mine--sweet, sweaty, summer-freckled boys with dirt glued beneath their fingernails and a man whose square jutted jaw still makes my tummy somersault.
He himself said these words: "Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me . . ." (Matthew 10:37) And being God, he had to know when he spoke them it would be he that would have to walk away from his mother and father. It was him who would never have the chance for a son or a daughter. Surely when he "threw himself down with his face to the ground and prayed . . . " (Matthew 26:39) he recalled the very words he had uttered about loving fathers, loving mothers. Are we to assume that because he was a man filled with God-head deity, he was exempt from the very things culture dictates, temps us with throughout all time? Was he exempt from the longings of earthly things? Scripture tells us he was tempted in every way. Surely, he was tempted just to live an ordinary life, like all the other people. Just to live.
Father if it be possible, let this cup pass . . .
Yet not what I will, but what you will.
(Matthew26:39b)
And sometimes I wonder if, though he had no biological children of his own, Jesus isn't the best model of parenting we could follow. He lived with one singular purpose--to accomplish God's will. God's will. That was it. What if, as we coaxed the growing up in our children, we followed this singular mantra: You were made for God's purpose; yield to it.
alive, they were like helium balloons and time was the gas that filled them. Once time ceased, they would deflate and sink to the ground. They were not HIS LIFE. His life was a narrow path that carried him through the hungry, the thirsty, the diseased, the crippled, the destitute, the sinful tax collectors, the pharisees, the Sadducees, Pilate, Golgotha's hill, and a cross. All things that appeared like death but in the end meant life. He yielded every single time to God's will. And I wonder how often yielding might seem like death to us too; I wonder how often the very thing that would truly fill us, elevate us, is clothed in a road so narrow few will truly travel it.
Jesus himself said, "My food is to do the will of Him who sent me." (John 4:34) The very thing that sustained him was actually doing the very things God sent him to do. That sustained him like food. And I think of SEVEN, and how right in this moment, I'm hungry. Hungry because I've chosen to change a few things for just thirty days, an emptying of myself so that there is room to be fed by the purposes of God. And Jesus ate the will of His Father. Hungry and yet full. Full because when we live out God's purposes we enter the realm of spiritual food--a manna of the heart. When in John 10:10 Jesus said, "I have come that you may have life and have it to the full," did he mean this kind of eternal fullness of yielding?
Because knowing that we are made for a purpose isn't completely enough. Knowing is not a substitute for yielding. Jesus knew the cup--even wished it away--and yet he accepted that He must drink it. If my purpose is to glorify God (Is. 43:7) then am I yielding to His glory? Am I living to make him famous? Am I buying things that will reflect him? Am I treating my neighbors, my family, my children in such a way that they want that great God? Am I?
Gosh I get torn. Do you? I want so many things sometimes my life must resemble a refrigerator turned on it's side, rolled down a hill, and then opened. Pick up where I left off with piano lessons when I was ten years old. Mozart is still throbbing behind my finger tips, isn't he? (Okay, probably not.) And what about learning water color? And a bed and breakfast? What about an organic orchard? I drove by one--dilapidated, trees untended--and longed to make a career out of it. Apple Juice. Apple Pies. Apple turnovers. Apple Butter. And traveling to every continent? Where is the line, the boundary?
Sarah, I made you for my plans. Seek me. Yield.
But what about our goals? Our ambitions? What about finding more work to make more money to give my kids more opportunities? What about amassing more? Just yesterday I squawked to Jeff, with if-I-am-being-honest-tears-clogging-my-vision, "Do you know how long it has been since I got to spend an entire day in Atlanta shopping without interruption? I can't even remember!" Jeff is clothed. The boys are clothed. I am clothed. We need nothing. What in the world would I even spend an entire day in Atlanta shopping for? Yet I long for it because somehow it has become a Grizzly that growls in the face of my heart.
What about ME?
God, I want to have fun too. It can't all be serious and straight as an arrow, can it?
"He who loses his life for my sake will find it." (Matthew10:38)
Will find it?
Will find it.
And there, my friends is the crux of this thing. Somehow, we think if we choose a narrow path we will lose out, miss out, have no fun. There's no wrong in abundance of life here--in the thrill of new pursuits, new learning, new hobbies, new things. We are blessed with all things. But if we wish to find our life, then the choosing needs to be sifted through the purposes of God--the keeping of our eyes fixed on Jesus.
The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. (Matthew 6:22,23)
We are a nation of parents with unhealthy eyes, aren't we? We try to stuff the balloons of our children's lives with year round sports for our children, music lessons, gymnastics, art lessons, Iphones, pods, and pads, with bigger homes, summer camps, programs, opportunities, and . . . more opportunities. And in the end, they don't fly. They're not filled with life. They . . . WE . . .all sink under the weight of it. We don't keep our eyes fixed on Jesus.
We are a people with unhealthy eyes too. I am. I focus on the things and people in this world when Jesus whispers Seek me first. Nope. I don't always fix my eyes on him.
And if I did, would he remove all the things and people? I think that's what we're really afraid of, isn't it? Missing out? Losing relationships? Surely, it was this loss that caused Jesus to resist the cup His Father offered.
What does it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
What.Does.It.Profit?
And I came to give you life to the full. If you lose your life--what you see as life--you will gain the great Life, the abundant Life. Unless a kernel of wheat cracks open and dies, there is no fruit, no life.
Isn't this what Easter is really about? Whether or not you celebrate this holiday, isn't commemorating the resurrection--whenever it occurred--about gratitude for the Man who lost his life? Offering thanks for the man who cracked open?
On Good Friday, we circled around the restored elm table we rescued from an Ontario barn and shared the communion of Jesus' death together. In church, when we take communion, there are these little wafers (they taste like sawdust and wood glue) and we pick them out of a silver platter. We don't break them. But, as a family, we broke the bread we shared. It was significant to me. I broke Jesus. My choices. That was part of his purpose--paying once and for all time for every single one of the times I would choose not to yield.
We say we want to live life to the fullest, but how can it be full if it is apart from God's purposes? Apart from me, you can do nothing.
This narrow path, this keeping the eye healthy by fixing it on Jesus, this yielding to the Creator's way, it is life.
It.Is.Life.
It.Is.Abundant.
It.Is.Joy.
It.Is.Hope.
Taking the cup, the cup offered of God, and drinking it, slowly, one day at a time, one decision at a time, one moment at a time, is the way we celebrate Easter year round. Measuring my decisions based on their return value in eternity despite the roaring grizzly in front of me--it may in the end, make all the difference. It may.
It will.
May I yield to Life.
Pray with me:
Jesus, thank you for breaking open for me, for mankind. Thank you for showing me the way to parent. Thank you for yielding. Thank you for staying the course though the loss was great. Thank you for gaining LIFE for all mankind, for me, through your brokenness. Help me, Jesus, to yield. Amen.
Sometimes I suspect it wasn't the fear of physical pain that caused capillaries to burst, a face to sweat blood. Don't you think that just maybe it was the relational pain of knowing he would be betrayed by the very man he had poured years of ministry into? The only way I can relate to Christ this weekend is to imagine something similar. What if, when their bones have reached the extent of breadth and height and their shoulders are broad, one of my sweet boys-slivers of my heart, chose to walk from our family? Turn their back on me? Believe they could do better elsewhere? Sold out for some silver? What if it was my son? Because though Jesus bore none biological, weren't the disciples really like his children? He poured his life into them, teaching them, feeding them, guiding them, preparing them. Isn't it probable that he could bare the wicked strap he knew they'd use to punish Him for His deity, but what caused him to go back and pray three times in one night was the suffocating sadness of surrendering his relationships with those twelve who would scatter when soldiers came? Oh, Jesus, if my own children scattered at the moment I needed them, how I would crumble, disintegrate. Yet you stood.
"My Father, if possible, let this cup pass from me!"
That was his plea, and I'll never fully grasp its depth. As though he said, "God, I can't fathom baring this plan You have asked of me. I want to run in the other direction. I want to hide, go to another city, keep a low profile for a while. I want to live." What if he really did want to live? What if he knew that he would conquer death, conquer hell, conquer the grave, and get the prize of a return trip to the heavenly presence of God in the end, but somehow still . . . he wanted to live? Because it is hard to understand the reality that this temporary life is only the casing of eternal souls in mortals frames. The everlasting living? The real party? That begins when we shed these frames and enter the realm where moth and rust no longer destroy. But that's all heady knowledge--fills me with understanding. To live out that knowledge. That is hard. Was it hard for him too? He had a mother. A father. Twelve disciples. He had people he loved.
If those were his feelings--even a teensy weensy little bit--then I understand that God/Man. I do. Because I know the end of the story. I know in the end, I get the prize of the presence of God, the streets of gold, the gate of pearl, the face of Creator God. I mean can you even begin to fathom what the face of God will be like? He speaks and mountains literally melt. He utters words and birds of a thousand colors stretch wings, fill air. So I get it. I do. And yet I long to linger here a little while. Long to keep loving those I call mine--sweet, sweaty, summer-freckled boys with dirt glued beneath their fingernails and a man whose square jutted jaw still makes my tummy somersault.
He himself said these words: "Anyone who loves his father or mother more than me is not worthy of me; anyone who loves his son or daughter more than me is not worthy of me . . ." (Matthew 10:37) And being God, he had to know when he spoke them it would be he that would have to walk away from his mother and father. It was him who would never have the chance for a son or a daughter. Surely when he "threw himself down with his face to the ground and prayed . . . " (Matthew 26:39) he recalled the very words he had uttered about loving fathers, loving mothers. Are we to assume that because he was a man filled with God-head deity, he was exempt from the very things culture dictates, temps us with throughout all time? Was he exempt from the longings of earthly things? Scripture tells us he was tempted in every way. Surely, he was tempted just to live an ordinary life, like all the other people. Just to live.
Father if it be possible, let this cup pass . . .
Yet not what I will, but what you will.
(Matthew26:39b)
And sometimes I wonder if, though he had no biological children of his own, Jesus isn't the best model of parenting we could follow. He lived with one singular purpose--to accomplish God's will. God's will. That was it. What if, as we coaxed the growing up in our children, we followed this singular mantra: You were made for God's purpose; yield to it.
alive, they were like helium balloons and time was the gas that filled them. Once time ceased, they would deflate and sink to the ground. They were not HIS LIFE. His life was a narrow path that carried him through the hungry, the thirsty, the diseased, the crippled, the destitute, the sinful tax collectors, the pharisees, the Sadducees, Pilate, Golgotha's hill, and a cross. All things that appeared like death but in the end meant life. He yielded every single time to God's will. And I wonder how often yielding might seem like death to us too; I wonder how often the very thing that would truly fill us, elevate us, is clothed in a road so narrow few will truly travel it.
Jesus himself said, "My food is to do the will of Him who sent me." (John 4:34) The very thing that sustained him was actually doing the very things God sent him to do. That sustained him like food. And I think of SEVEN, and how right in this moment, I'm hungry. Hungry because I've chosen to change a few things for just thirty days, an emptying of myself so that there is room to be fed by the purposes of God. And Jesus ate the will of His Father. Hungry and yet full. Full because when we live out God's purposes we enter the realm of spiritual food--a manna of the heart. When in John 10:10 Jesus said, "I have come that you may have life and have it to the full," did he mean this kind of eternal fullness of yielding?
Because knowing that we are made for a purpose isn't completely enough. Knowing is not a substitute for yielding. Jesus knew the cup--even wished it away--and yet he accepted that He must drink it. If my purpose is to glorify God (Is. 43:7) then am I yielding to His glory? Am I living to make him famous? Am I buying things that will reflect him? Am I treating my neighbors, my family, my children in such a way that they want that great God? Am I?
Gosh I get torn. Do you? I want so many things sometimes my life must resemble a refrigerator turned on it's side, rolled down a hill, and then opened. Pick up where I left off with piano lessons when I was ten years old. Mozart is still throbbing behind my finger tips, isn't he? (Okay, probably not.) And what about learning water color? And a bed and breakfast? What about an organic orchard? I drove by one--dilapidated, trees untended--and longed to make a career out of it. Apple Juice. Apple Pies. Apple turnovers. Apple Butter. And traveling to every continent? Where is the line, the boundary?
Sarah, I made you for my plans. Seek me. Yield.
But what about our goals? Our ambitions? What about finding more work to make more money to give my kids more opportunities? What about amassing more? Just yesterday I squawked to Jeff, with if-I-am-being-honest-tears-clogging-my-vision, "Do you know how long it has been since I got to spend an entire day in Atlanta shopping without interruption? I can't even remember!" Jeff is clothed. The boys are clothed. I am clothed. We need nothing. What in the world would I even spend an entire day in Atlanta shopping for? Yet I long for it because somehow it has become a Grizzly that growls in the face of my heart.
What about ME?
God, I want to have fun too. It can't all be serious and straight as an arrow, can it?
"He who loses his life for my sake will find it." (Matthew10:38)
Will find it?
Will find it.
And there, my friends is the crux of this thing. Somehow, we think if we choose a narrow path we will lose out, miss out, have no fun. There's no wrong in abundance of life here--in the thrill of new pursuits, new learning, new hobbies, new things. We are blessed with all things. But if we wish to find our life, then the choosing needs to be sifted through the purposes of God--the keeping of our eyes fixed on Jesus.
The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are healthy, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are unhealthy, your whole body will be full of darkness. (Matthew 6:22,23)
We are a nation of parents with unhealthy eyes, aren't we? We try to stuff the balloons of our children's lives with year round sports for our children, music lessons, gymnastics, art lessons, Iphones, pods, and pads, with bigger homes, summer camps, programs, opportunities, and . . . more opportunities. And in the end, they don't fly. They're not filled with life. They . . . WE . . .all sink under the weight of it. We don't keep our eyes fixed on Jesus.
We are a people with unhealthy eyes too. I am. I focus on the things and people in this world when Jesus whispers Seek me first. Nope. I don't always fix my eyes on him.
And if I did, would he remove all the things and people? I think that's what we're really afraid of, isn't it? Missing out? Losing relationships? Surely, it was this loss that caused Jesus to resist the cup His Father offered.
What does it profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?
What.Does.It.Profit?
And I came to give you life to the full. If you lose your life--what you see as life--you will gain the great Life, the abundant Life. Unless a kernel of wheat cracks open and dies, there is no fruit, no life.
Isn't this what Easter is really about? Whether or not you celebrate this holiday, isn't commemorating the resurrection--whenever it occurred--about gratitude for the Man who lost his life? Offering thanks for the man who cracked open?
On Good Friday, we circled around the restored elm table we rescued from an Ontario barn and shared the communion of Jesus' death together. In church, when we take communion, there are these little wafers (they taste like sawdust and wood glue) and we pick them out of a silver platter. We don't break them. But, as a family, we broke the bread we shared. It was significant to me. I broke Jesus. My choices. That was part of his purpose--paying once and for all time for every single one of the times I would choose not to yield.
We say we want to live life to the fullest, but how can it be full if it is apart from God's purposes? Apart from me, you can do nothing.
This narrow path, this keeping the eye healthy by fixing it on Jesus, this yielding to the Creator's way, it is life.
It.Is.Life.
It.Is.Abundant.
It.Is.Joy.
It.Is.Hope.
Taking the cup, the cup offered of God, and drinking it, slowly, one day at a time, one decision at a time, one moment at a time, is the way we celebrate Easter year round. Measuring my decisions based on their return value in eternity despite the roaring grizzly in front of me--it may in the end, make all the difference. It may.
It will.
May I yield to Life.
Pray with me:
Jesus, thank you for breaking open for me, for mankind. Thank you for showing me the way to parent. Thank you for yielding. Thank you for staying the course though the loss was great. Thank you for gaining LIFE for all mankind, for me, through your brokenness. Help me, Jesus, to yield. Amen.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
But A Vapor
In January of 2008 I dreamt of death--my own. What a rumbling within my heart ensued in the days after that night! To stare into the reality that our days are not without end is unnerving, shocking even. I think of the movie "Bucket List" and songs with lyrics like, "live like you were dying." Their message like strokes of bold red on a white wall scream out the truth of our mortality.
Yesterday I had my annual physical. The cholesterol came back good, the blood counts were fine, my foot still involuntarily jolts when my knee is tapped by the rubber mallet thingymajig. My sugar was a touch high, but when the lady asked me if I had a healthy diet, I failed to mention the Chic-Fil-A vanilla milkshake that served as my lunch on the way down. Instead I mentioned my organic garden; she seemed happy. Those organic carrots really raise blood sugar levels, I hear! I walked out of the Dr.'s with an A+ for health and the promise of many more good reports. But what if it had been different?
What if, when she listened to my heart she heard a flutter or pause that shouldn't have been? What if when she checked for lumps she had come across one so stationary that she knew it could mean only one thing? What if she looked me square in the eyes and said in a gentle tone, "It isn't good, Sarah." What then? Would anything change?
Tomorrow, I will spend time with someone who is in fact dying--shedding that mortal shell that carries our soul for a parenthesis on earth amidst eternity's ceaseless timeline. And I wonder, when she got the news, did anything change? I keep thinking of this lady's life over the years. I remember her since I was about 12. Just shy of 25 years I've watched her be the same--watched her love, watched her pray, watched her encourage, watched her stand beside her husband, watched her touch the lives of those around her, watched her perpetually worship. I'll most remember her as a lady among ladies, and one who loved her God. How would I be remembered? Really? Part of me wants to say, "Wait, I'm still working on that. Don't remember me yet. I need to tweak a few things first."
My boys are young, my bill of health is good, my days are filled with schooling, gardening, cooking, neighboring, friending, daughtering, sistering, organizing, planning, laundry ( I should list that twice) dog training, bill paying. Filled. I feel, most of the time, like the carry-on I packed for a trip to Maine a couple years ago that was supposed to hold everything I needed for an entire long weekend. Or like a laundry basket that's been filled with water--it leaks everywhere. There's so much in my little sliver of life that I can barely keep all the ends tied let alone t's crossed and i's dotted. It's a tender time, I think, because my life won't be swollen and full and bulging forever. I'm going to wake up one day to silence in my home instead of the quiet, steady breathing of my early riser patiently waiting for me to greet the sun with him. And his tackling, tumbling brother won't knock me over with surprise jumps onto my back because he'll be grown. The Psalmist must have thought about these things too because he said, "So teach us to number our days, so that we might live wisely." (Psalm 90:12) And I'm left wondering, "If I'm to live like I'm dying--which, in truth I am--than what things should be on my daily bucket list?" There are like two million things and people all lined up, some not so patiently, waiting to make the cut.
"Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength...love your neighbor as yourself." (Matthew 22)
Love God. Love people. Seems so simple. Maybe it is. Maybe every single action I take needs to go through this one filter, "Will I be loving God and loving people as I love myself if I do this thing?" And if I followed that mantra, then maybe my legacy would be tweaked enough. Maybe I would be remembered like this. She loved. She loved. That would be something.
So, I know tomorrow isn't promised to me. I'm married to a firefighter. I face the reality of danger every third day when he leaves for his shift and I wonder, Will he come home? But what am I doing with the moments that are given me? What am I doing with the sweet precious mornings when that little rooster patters into my room wide awake and ready to discuss the NFL strike and the other one dives into my bed like it's a swimming pool? What am I doing with the few minutes between when the boys have gone to bed and Jeff is still up before he goes on shift? What am I doing with the people God puts in my life--the junior counselors at camp, the campers, the neighbors, the sisters, the friends, the parents? It is indeed a tender time, a time not to be taken for granted, not to be wasted. It is the allotted time. The bucket list time. Not the bucket list of adventures I want to take, but of seizing the moments that are my present reality and squeezing every ounce of life out of them that I possibly can.
Ephesians 5:15 says we are to live carefully "redeeming the time" we are given. That word redeem carries with it the idea of rescuing something from being lost. My youngest son can't keep up with his shoes. He has about five thousand pairs, and none of them are where they are supposed to be at the proper time. When Sunday comes his brown dress shoes are surely down by the creek, and his camouflage boots are the only two matching shoes to be found. Sometimes I pick up his shoes, put them in a pile on top of the dryer, and just wait to see how long it takes him to notice they are all missing. He never has noticed. Not once. What if our minutes and hours were like that? God found them squandered and scattered haphazardly here and there, and He picked them up and placed them altogether for us to see collectively just how many precious moments we lost? I can't imagine what it would be like to really see all of that time together in one lump sum. It's my heart's desire to rescue the time God has given me.
James 4:14 says, "...you are but a vapor, here for a little while and then vanishing." Like an early morning mist that whispers across a sleeping lake, our souls drift through these mortal days, only to return to the arms of eternity. May their journey leave behind the fragrance of God.
Pray with me:
Lord, I'm humbled that you've given me time. More of it than many. Help me daily to use every single fiber of it for love. Loving others, loving you, loving who you've made me to be. May I be known for love. Amen.
Read with me:
Ephesians 5:15,16
Monday, July 7, 2008
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.
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