Most of you know that I have been working on my first novel for the past year. Though I have longed to be an author my entire life (I can prove it because I have plenty of elementary school "When I grow up" essays as evidence), I have never taken my writing as seriously as God intended me to. The blog was my first attempt at committing to writing. After a year of blogging regularly, I took the leap to start a novel with a timeline to finish in a year.
I suppose you can say I accomplished that goal in that I have a 92,000 word, 172 page document with a beginning, middle and end. The actual sense of accomplishment that I thought I would feel at this point has been elusive.
Writing a novel is a funny thing. I think most authors start out with a spark of inspiration and plot the idea. Often it is a specific purpose- a goal to express a certain idea- that brings on the story. I have heard it said many times by authors that characters reveal themselves to the writer as the book progresses. Never did I understand this until my characters started falling in love despite my intentions. There were times when my story took turns I never suspected. Perhaps I am a little surprised and baffled by my completed manuscript.
Most challenging was understanding the goal I wanted to accomplish with this book and then figuring out how to accomplish the goal. If I wanted a character to go through a particular catharsis, I had to plot events, conversations or even tragedies that would bring this growth about. Often I felt as though I were "playing God."
The experience of writing has been very spiritually revealing, not just in my commitment to finally use my gift for God's glory, but I received a new appreciation for God's mastery of story telling. He is the "Author and Perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God."
As a humble and uncertain author, I often wondered if my choice in plot was destroying my character. Sometimes I discovered it had done just that and I had to lay on the delete button for several minutes to restore some hope. Even now, I wonder if I sent them down the right path. I have opportunity still to change their past and redevelop their future before I send it off to a publisher with the hope of permanently securing their story between a professional looking cover. Maybe all of those possibilities toy with my sense of completion. But there was a particular tragedy that I felt was certain in this book; paramount to the revelation that I sought for my characters. Scary to think about when we consider the Author of our lives and yet, comforting. He's not hitting the delete button, or scrutinizing scenes and reconsidering. He's not making mistakes with what He sets before us. He's not pounding His head on the keyboard, wondering if He will ever come up with a solution. He knows that what He puts us through will work for the good of His perfect plan. Even tragedy and failure and uncertainty can bring about the revelation He intends for us.
As I balanced two main characters with a sprinkling of friends and family, and tried to figure out how to weave their thoughts and personalities for the good of the story, I often found myself overwhelmed. But Our God does not get overwhelmed with the details of our lives and how they impact others. How amazing is that! As I consider what a tough project this was- the times of frustration, the doubts, the fears, and the work- I am in awe of how perfect God's plan is and how it has been written from the very beginning; the end never changing! I know that as I bring this imperfect offering to His table, He will use it for His good purpose whatever that may be and again, I stand in awe.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Monday, October 29, 2012
Gifts of Love Gone Unnoticed
This post was inspired by a book I am reading right now - One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp. You should read it, especially if you enjoy this post.
There are three things you should know about me before I officially begin this post: First- I used to love riding my bike. I could often be found doing laps for hours in the empty Kincheloe Elementary School parking lot of my hometown, Dowagiac, Michigan. I much preferred this to the dangerous and unpredictable terrain of the road. Second- I am not very observant. That is an odd thing for a writer to say, but any observing that I do is out of training and discipline. It does not come naturally for me. Third- Though I have revealed my challenges in housekeeping before, you should know that I was much more challenged by this when maintaining two jobs to put my husband through law school.
Now that you know these imperative details, I shall begin my post.
My husband, knowing that I missed riding a bike since I no longer owned one, bought me a bike one day while I was at work as a surprise. He wheeled it into our very messy apartment and parked it in the center of the small, cluttered living room. I came home from a long and tiring day and plopped myself on the couch next to my husband (in the small, cluttered living room now "decorated" with a new purple bike) and began whining about my day. My husband grinned and nodded; not a typical response to a complaining, cranky wife. It took me a moment to notice his out of place smile before I began looking around the room for the joke I was clearly missing out on. Once discovered, the bike seemed to stick out like a sore thumb, but I had so easily missed it!
We both laughed. I felt foolish and wonderfully in love with my thoughtful husband. Certainly, he could have announced that he had a gift for me, waved me over to the bike, or placed it out in front of the door in the open and obvious spaces of the hallway. There is an element of fun to gifts that are not so obvious.
I've been thinking about this story and the Giver of every good gift we have in our life. How often does He place in our midst these small gifts, knowing they should bring joy to our hearts, and instead we breeze past them; not noticing them in the clutter and chaos of our lives, and plop before Him and start moaning about all that is wrong with this world? I think pretty often.
I'm trying to imagine God now like my husband- a lover who enjoys to place before me gifts from His heart. He paints the sky vibrant in color for me, and it passes unacknowledged in a rush to get to church in time. He lays before me a feast of love in friendship and family that I pick at like a finicky child. He graces me with the treasure of a small child nestling in sleep at my neck in the moonlight quiet and I bemoan my bed growing cold without me.
Gifts from a lover gone unnoticed. He carves and molds and paints pleasures into my days, and I am willing to ignore them. Imagine how disheartening it would have been for my husband, had I never taken notice of the bike. It's a bit of a stretch, of course, that I would never see a bike in the middle of my living room- no matter the mess. But should it be any more of a stretch that I should never take notice of the good that God places before me, despite the messiness and busyness of my life?
Three beautiful, loud, rambunctious girls bullied their way into my slumber this morning. I threw back the covers, grumbled into the bathroom and left them there to soak up my warmth that was all there was remaining of my presence. Why?! I suppose it happens frequently around here- me being roused from sleep by Julia calling for Mama, and Mary and Colette, squealing and giggling, in the wake, but it's no less of a gift because it happens every day. They are filled with joy every morning as they reunite, as though the night was far longer than it felt for me. Whether they are blatantly thanking God or not, they are certainly relishing in that gift of good companionship every morning. What a lesson I should take from them!
Perhaps this is why the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these- these children that capture joy in the "smallest" of moments- His simple and pure, everyday gifts- while we adults scramble with our discontent to get bigger houses, better cars, and "easier" lifestyles. Right in the midst of climbing the ladder of discontent, God places in front of us that which could refresh our souls if only we pause to drink it in. We forget what we are thirsty for- love, joy, peace- supplied everyday in small gifts wrapped by Our Father in His love.
There are three things you should know about me before I officially begin this post: First- I used to love riding my bike. I could often be found doing laps for hours in the empty Kincheloe Elementary School parking lot of my hometown, Dowagiac, Michigan. I much preferred this to the dangerous and unpredictable terrain of the road. Second- I am not very observant. That is an odd thing for a writer to say, but any observing that I do is out of training and discipline. It does not come naturally for me. Third- Though I have revealed my challenges in housekeeping before, you should know that I was much more challenged by this when maintaining two jobs to put my husband through law school.
Now that you know these imperative details, I shall begin my post.
My husband, knowing that I missed riding a bike since I no longer owned one, bought me a bike one day while I was at work as a surprise. He wheeled it into our very messy apartment and parked it in the center of the small, cluttered living room. I came home from a long and tiring day and plopped myself on the couch next to my husband (in the small, cluttered living room now "decorated" with a new purple bike) and began whining about my day. My husband grinned and nodded; not a typical response to a complaining, cranky wife. It took me a moment to notice his out of place smile before I began looking around the room for the joke I was clearly missing out on. Once discovered, the bike seemed to stick out like a sore thumb, but I had so easily missed it!
We both laughed. I felt foolish and wonderfully in love with my thoughtful husband. Certainly, he could have announced that he had a gift for me, waved me over to the bike, or placed it out in front of the door in the open and obvious spaces of the hallway. There is an element of fun to gifts that are not so obvious.
I've been thinking about this story and the Giver of every good gift we have in our life. How often does He place in our midst these small gifts, knowing they should bring joy to our hearts, and instead we breeze past them; not noticing them in the clutter and chaos of our lives, and plop before Him and start moaning about all that is wrong with this world? I think pretty often.
I'm trying to imagine God now like my husband- a lover who enjoys to place before me gifts from His heart. He paints the sky vibrant in color for me, and it passes unacknowledged in a rush to get to church in time. He lays before me a feast of love in friendship and family that I pick at like a finicky child. He graces me with the treasure of a small child nestling in sleep at my neck in the moonlight quiet and I bemoan my bed growing cold without me.
Gifts from a lover gone unnoticed. He carves and molds and paints pleasures into my days, and I am willing to ignore them. Imagine how disheartening it would have been for my husband, had I never taken notice of the bike. It's a bit of a stretch, of course, that I would never see a bike in the middle of my living room- no matter the mess. But should it be any more of a stretch that I should never take notice of the good that God places before me, despite the messiness and busyness of my life?
Three beautiful, loud, rambunctious girls bullied their way into my slumber this morning. I threw back the covers, grumbled into the bathroom and left them there to soak up my warmth that was all there was remaining of my presence. Why?! I suppose it happens frequently around here- me being roused from sleep by Julia calling for Mama, and Mary and Colette, squealing and giggling, in the wake, but it's no less of a gift because it happens every day. They are filled with joy every morning as they reunite, as though the night was far longer than it felt for me. Whether they are blatantly thanking God or not, they are certainly relishing in that gift of good companionship every morning. What a lesson I should take from them!
Perhaps this is why the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to such as these- these children that capture joy in the "smallest" of moments- His simple and pure, everyday gifts- while we adults scramble with our discontent to get bigger houses, better cars, and "easier" lifestyles. Right in the midst of climbing the ladder of discontent, God places in front of us that which could refresh our souls if only we pause to drink it in. We forget what we are thirsty for- love, joy, peace- supplied everyday in small gifts wrapped by Our Father in His love.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Where Are You Planted?
It's September which means that I have "lost" two to three hours out of my schedule which is now being dedicated to homeschooling a first grader and preschooler. Of course, it is not a true loss of time in that it serves a very valuable purpose, just a large adjustment that requires increased organization on my part. Truly, I value the time we have learning together. As a homeschooler, I am able to emphasize certain topics of interest and really be a part in my child's spiritual growth. These were all the expectations I had heading into the commitment.
What I did not expect was my own spiritual growth as a result of reading a kid's Bible or explaining memory verses to her. We are only into our second week, and I have already experienced this joy. Colette's memory work has been focusing on the first Psalm, which I have read many times before, but as Scripture often does, it has revealed itself in a new light. There is a beautiful visual of a tree in the verse, comparing it to a blessed man. The tree is planted by a river and so it flourishes with this direct access to water. Coming out of a very dry summer that required many waterings of the garden and a lawn that I gave up on, the verse struck a new chord with me. Even with my faithful attendance to the garden this year, it's yield was considerably lower than last year. The lack of the blessing of rain, no doubt, had it's effect.
So it made me consider how no matter where we are or live, we receive blessings that rain from heaven, sometimes sparsely and sometimes abundantly. Jesus said in Matthew 5:43-45 "You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." In other words, even those who do not realize the source, receive blessings from God.
But this Psalm speaks specifically to our ability to increase our blessings from God. It compares a man to a tree by describing that it is where we plant ourselves, that affects our spiritual blessings. A tree in a prairie will survive as long as it receives rain, but plant it by a river and it has a more certain case of survival. It is planted by the source of life and draws from that source, with less concern for the spontaneity of rain.
As the Psalm explains, a man has an ability to plant himself near the source of life. "Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night." It is clear where you will find insufficient soil in the company that you keep and where you will find the source of life- in God's Holy Word.
It is followed by a promise for the man who wisely plants himself. "He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers."
So where are you planting yourself? Consider how closely you surround yourself with God's Word, through prayer, worship and Bible Study. Are you feeding your spiritual tree from a regular source or are you leaving it to be watered infrequently? Examine what changes you need to make in your daily walk to bring about a good season of fruitful labors and if you choose your soil wisely, whatever you do will prosper!
What I did not expect was my own spiritual growth as a result of reading a kid's Bible or explaining memory verses to her. We are only into our second week, and I have already experienced this joy. Colette's memory work has been focusing on the first Psalm, which I have read many times before, but as Scripture often does, it has revealed itself in a new light. There is a beautiful visual of a tree in the verse, comparing it to a blessed man. The tree is planted by a river and so it flourishes with this direct access to water. Coming out of a very dry summer that required many waterings of the garden and a lawn that I gave up on, the verse struck a new chord with me. Even with my faithful attendance to the garden this year, it's yield was considerably lower than last year. The lack of the blessing of rain, no doubt, had it's effect.
So it made me consider how no matter where we are or live, we receive blessings that rain from heaven, sometimes sparsely and sometimes abundantly. Jesus said in Matthew 5:43-45 "You have heard that it was said, 'Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.' But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." In other words, even those who do not realize the source, receive blessings from God.
But this Psalm speaks specifically to our ability to increase our blessings from God. It compares a man to a tree by describing that it is where we plant ourselves, that affects our spiritual blessings. A tree in a prairie will survive as long as it receives rain, but plant it by a river and it has a more certain case of survival. It is planted by the source of life and draws from that source, with less concern for the spontaneity of rain.
As the Psalm explains, a man has an ability to plant himself near the source of life. "Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night." It is clear where you will find insufficient soil in the company that you keep and where you will find the source of life- in God's Holy Word.
It is followed by a promise for the man who wisely plants himself. "He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers."
So where are you planting yourself? Consider how closely you surround yourself with God's Word, through prayer, worship and Bible Study. Are you feeding your spiritual tree from a regular source or are you leaving it to be watered infrequently? Examine what changes you need to make in your daily walk to bring about a good season of fruitful labors and if you choose your soil wisely, whatever you do will prosper!
Friday, August 10, 2012
Not the Mad Eyes!
There are moments in parenting where one can be tempted to groan about having to deal with a particular situation, or choose to be thankful that a discipline issue that has come to surface has given you an opportunity to discuss early on a matter that would not be as favorable as the child ages. Though the temptation to grumble was present, I had chosen to face the matter before me with the latter attitude. It's not every day that one has real life examples to discuss stealing (hopefully).
I remember a particular incident of stealing when I was a young child. My brother and I had discovered that our wrists were small enough to navigate the trap doors of toy vending machines. With the right angle and wiggle, we could grasp one of those plastic bubbles containing a small toy. In our mind it was brilliance, not stealing, so we didn't hide what we had done from our father once he had completed checking out at the local grocery store. I don't remember the specific discussion that entailed, but I do remember suddenly recognizing what I had done was, in fact, stealing and feeling very ashamed for my father having to return the item to the store.
Bearing that in mind, I remained calm about the life lesson Colette would receive when I discovered a plastic pirate coin in her pants pocket while doing laundry. I recognized it immediately as a "treasure" from a children's museum we had recently visited. I was certainly embarrassed and ashamed, but I also knew that an opportunity laid before me to teach my child right from wrong. In the hopes of drawing an immediate confession, I held up the coin for Colette to view and said, "Colette, would you like to tell Mommy where you got this?"
Her eyes grew large with fear and she shrugged her shoulders as convincingly as a 5 year old can muster. She attempted to prevent her face from registering any recognition, but her eyes had already given her away (that, and she had been caught red pocketed). I gently informed her that I already knew where it came from, so it would come as no surprise, but she was still required to tell me. In a state of panic she declared, "Someone must have slipped it in my pocket when I was playing!" *Note: How I have expertly not mentioned the location of discovery of the coin in question.
I will not replay the round-robin discussion that took place for the next half-hour with many tears over how I was not buying the innocent-bystander-of-someone-else's-deviance story. What was frustrating for us both was the stalemate we had both achieved. I knew that I could not allow her to hold onto that story, as there would be no learning from the infraction. She volleyed back with accusations of how I never believed her and why couldn't I just see that it was the truth?! But she was stuck in her misery; sniffling through her bedtime routine, eyeing me up to see if all was well between us.
I wanted all to be well, but I could not gather my distraught child into my arms and tell her she was forgiven and all would be okay, because she had not confessed to any wrong-doing. There would be no learning in that. In fact, I saw that it could lead down a very dangerous road, so I held my position, reminding her that I could not accept her story.
Finally, she said to me, "Mommy, I want to tell you what happened, but I can't tell you when you have the Mad Eyes." For the record, my husband, having much experience in wifely eye expression interpretation, can tell you I was wearing my Serious Eyes and not the Mad Eyes, but nonetheless; I giggled. It was the ice-breaker we needed. I told Colette that she had mis-interpretted my eyes, but either way, I was smiling now. I assured her that we would both feel better if she would tell me what happened and I silently prayed that she wouldn't try and pass off the same song and dance.
"I put the coin in my pocket because I liked it," Colette confessed.
And while no parent delights in their child confessing to something you thought you had taught them better about, I felt triumphant that we could move on to the forgiveness that had been dangling over her. We discussed how it was not a good decision and how we could make the situation right. And, we discussed how it was good that she was learning this lesson now, rather than when she was old enough for a police officer to get involved. I promised her that she was forgiven and that Mommy and Daddy still love her and we hugged and snuggled as I had longed to do from the moment she chose to turn from the truth.
And I learned a lot about the release of confession. Once again, as parenting has often lead me to do, I saw how frequently I am a crying and accusatory child holding to a distorted truth before an all-knowing God, Who longs to pull me out of my misery and offer the forgiveness sealed by the sacrifice of Christ.
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing." Matthew 23:37
How often we are not willing to accept the forgiveness, the comfort, and the protection of the wings of our Father who freely gives it to those who ask! Instead we choose to writhe in our misery and make false claims about our situation. This is how sin holds us captive from the love that God offers. We create a barrier between ourself and God when we refuse to confess our sin. Just as I could not gather Colette in my arms and offer her forgiveness without her confession, so do we create that same barrier with Christ. How could I offer true forgiveness for a crime she did not own? And though I could forgive her in my heart, she could not know the release of that forgiveness if she was not first willing to know the offense of her sin. So though Christ's forgiveness was completed on the cross 2,000 years before you committed the sins He paid for, you will never know what a blessing that forgiveness is unless you openly place before Him your confession. No fear of "Mad Eyes" as we humbly come to the cross. Those are His Love Eyes; the ones that lead Him to the cross in the first place.
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart. I will be found by you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back from captivity.'" Jeremiah 29:11-14 Do not be held captive in your sin, but seek Him and you will be found.
I remember a particular incident of stealing when I was a young child. My brother and I had discovered that our wrists were small enough to navigate the trap doors of toy vending machines. With the right angle and wiggle, we could grasp one of those plastic bubbles containing a small toy. In our mind it was brilliance, not stealing, so we didn't hide what we had done from our father once he had completed checking out at the local grocery store. I don't remember the specific discussion that entailed, but I do remember suddenly recognizing what I had done was, in fact, stealing and feeling very ashamed for my father having to return the item to the store.
Bearing that in mind, I remained calm about the life lesson Colette would receive when I discovered a plastic pirate coin in her pants pocket while doing laundry. I recognized it immediately as a "treasure" from a children's museum we had recently visited. I was certainly embarrassed and ashamed, but I also knew that an opportunity laid before me to teach my child right from wrong. In the hopes of drawing an immediate confession, I held up the coin for Colette to view and said, "Colette, would you like to tell Mommy where you got this?"
Her eyes grew large with fear and she shrugged her shoulders as convincingly as a 5 year old can muster. She attempted to prevent her face from registering any recognition, but her eyes had already given her away (that, and she had been caught red pocketed). I gently informed her that I already knew where it came from, so it would come as no surprise, but she was still required to tell me. In a state of panic she declared, "Someone must have slipped it in my pocket when I was playing!" *Note: How I have expertly not mentioned the location of discovery of the coin in question.
I will not replay the round-robin discussion that took place for the next half-hour with many tears over how I was not buying the innocent-bystander-of-someone-else's-deviance story. What was frustrating for us both was the stalemate we had both achieved. I knew that I could not allow her to hold onto that story, as there would be no learning from the infraction. She volleyed back with accusations of how I never believed her and why couldn't I just see that it was the truth?! But she was stuck in her misery; sniffling through her bedtime routine, eyeing me up to see if all was well between us.
I wanted all to be well, but I could not gather my distraught child into my arms and tell her she was forgiven and all would be okay, because she had not confessed to any wrong-doing. There would be no learning in that. In fact, I saw that it could lead down a very dangerous road, so I held my position, reminding her that I could not accept her story.
Finally, she said to me, "Mommy, I want to tell you what happened, but I can't tell you when you have the Mad Eyes." For the record, my husband, having much experience in wifely eye expression interpretation, can tell you I was wearing my Serious Eyes and not the Mad Eyes, but nonetheless; I giggled. It was the ice-breaker we needed. I told Colette that she had mis-interpretted my eyes, but either way, I was smiling now. I assured her that we would both feel better if she would tell me what happened and I silently prayed that she wouldn't try and pass off the same song and dance.
"I put the coin in my pocket because I liked it," Colette confessed.
And while no parent delights in their child confessing to something you thought you had taught them better about, I felt triumphant that we could move on to the forgiveness that had been dangling over her. We discussed how it was not a good decision and how we could make the situation right. And, we discussed how it was good that she was learning this lesson now, rather than when she was old enough for a police officer to get involved. I promised her that she was forgiven and that Mommy and Daddy still love her and we hugged and snuggled as I had longed to do from the moment she chose to turn from the truth.
And I learned a lot about the release of confession. Once again, as parenting has often lead me to do, I saw how frequently I am a crying and accusatory child holding to a distorted truth before an all-knowing God, Who longs to pull me out of my misery and offer the forgiveness sealed by the sacrifice of Christ.
"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you who kill the prophets and stone those sent to you, how often I have longed to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing." Matthew 23:37
How often we are not willing to accept the forgiveness, the comfort, and the protection of the wings of our Father who freely gives it to those who ask! Instead we choose to writhe in our misery and make false claims about our situation. This is how sin holds us captive from the love that God offers. We create a barrier between ourself and God when we refuse to confess our sin. Just as I could not gather Colette in my arms and offer her forgiveness without her confession, so do we create that same barrier with Christ. How could I offer true forgiveness for a crime she did not own? And though I could forgive her in my heart, she could not know the release of that forgiveness if she was not first willing to know the offense of her sin. So though Christ's forgiveness was completed on the cross 2,000 years before you committed the sins He paid for, you will never know what a blessing that forgiveness is unless you openly place before Him your confession. No fear of "Mad Eyes" as we humbly come to the cross. Those are His Love Eyes; the ones that lead Him to the cross in the first place.
"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon Me and come and pray to Me, and I will listen to you. You will seek Me and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart. I will be found by you,' declares the Lord, 'and will bring you back from captivity.'" Jeremiah 29:11-14 Do not be held captive in your sin, but seek Him and you will be found.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Dirty Dish Prayer List
Awhile ago my dishwasher decided to stop working. I called in a repairman who couldn't get it to work, suggested a new one, and charged me $50. He also said before we got a new one we needed to have some electrical work done. My husband touched the dishwasher that night and it miraculously started working, but it's been given to occasional temperamental behavior so I've stopped using it altogether except as the world's largest dish drying rack. This means I spend a lot of time everyday at the kitchen sink, staring at the minty green wall in front of me.
It has actually been surprisingly convenient because I never have to wait for the dishwasher to be full to run a cycle, which means I never have dirty utensil that I am waiting to use. But it has required additional time out of my day and so to best utilize that time I put a message board on the wall in front of me and having been listing prayer requests. Now I pray over those dirty dishes for friends and family who are facing trials. If you've recently exposed a concern to me, I have probably prayed about it while scrubbing away at finger-smudged glasses and stubbornly stained casserole dishes.
I have been wanting to share the idea on the blog for a couple of weeks now, but other than presenting it as a good idea, I couldn't think of much more to write about. Until today.
The funny thing with washing the dishes after every meal is the monotony of the dishes used. Where it used to be that dirty breakfast dishes were waiting patiently in the dishwasher to be joined by dirty lunch dishes, now I often take the clean breakfast dishes from the dishwasher and use them for lunch and the same happens at dinner. For this reason we don't rotate through as many plates and cups as we once did. It's really the epitome of motherhood. We clean up, just to get dirty again and just when we are satisfied with what we have accomplished, somebody needs a drink of water... or spills something on their shirt... or dumps the toy bin. And then it's time for dinner.
So this morning while washing the breakfast dishes and bemoaning how it would be a mere three hours before I would be wiping down the same Disney princess plate, it occurred to me how monotonous sin can be in our life. And what a good practice regular prayer was to wipe that slate clean. Because I know what it's like to let the dishes pile up through the day and the task is much more daunting then.
Just as it is a given that a day will lead to dirty dishes and laundry that will require tending, it is just as likely that my day will become mired with my sins and Somebody will have to clean up after me. In any given day, I face the trials of losing my temper, thinking unkind thoughts, serving myself, giving into laziness and gluttony, and a whole host of other unattractive dirt.
It's funny how my prayer list over the dirty dishes included everybody but myself. As if I might have it altogether! (Pardon the long pause while I laugh at the irony a bit)...
....
....
The truth is we all need to be wiped clean daily from the build-up of living in a world of sin. "Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord." Acts 3:19
One more comparison that I would like to make with dirty dishes and sin. Have you ever done a sink of dishes only to get to that pesky last casserole dish that is caked with burned cheese and you think, maybe it would just be easier to let it soak for a bit? So you put it in the water and leave it there over night only to be faced with it in the morning and now you have murky water with floaty cheese bits and you dread sticking your hand in there because who knows what else is lurking? No?! You haven't? *Ahem* Me either. But let's imagine for a moment that you have had that experience. And let's imagine that instead of dishes, we're talking sin.
Sometimes, it's easy to approach those obvious "little" sins and say, "I'm done with that!" We wash them up and pack them away, content to never use them again. And then there is the casserole dish sin. The one that's a little more cooked in and requires a lot more work and we decide to just let it soak for a bit because it sounds easier than approaching the disaster head-on and investing a little more time and energy. But it's never any prettier in the morning, is it? Those sins might require a little steel wool scrubbing, but it's best just to get it over with. What an assurance we have in Christ that, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." 1 John 1:9
And now that I have completed this task, onward to some dirty dishes and laundry! Please feel free to email me or comment below if you would like to be included on the Dirty Dish Prayer List!
It has actually been surprisingly convenient because I never have to wait for the dishwasher to be full to run a cycle, which means I never have dirty utensil that I am waiting to use. But it has required additional time out of my day and so to best utilize that time I put a message board on the wall in front of me and having been listing prayer requests. Now I pray over those dirty dishes for friends and family who are facing trials. If you've recently exposed a concern to me, I have probably prayed about it while scrubbing away at finger-smudged glasses and stubbornly stained casserole dishes.
I have been wanting to share the idea on the blog for a couple of weeks now, but other than presenting it as a good idea, I couldn't think of much more to write about. Until today.
The funny thing with washing the dishes after every meal is the monotony of the dishes used. Where it used to be that dirty breakfast dishes were waiting patiently in the dishwasher to be joined by dirty lunch dishes, now I often take the clean breakfast dishes from the dishwasher and use them for lunch and the same happens at dinner. For this reason we don't rotate through as many plates and cups as we once did. It's really the epitome of motherhood. We clean up, just to get dirty again and just when we are satisfied with what we have accomplished, somebody needs a drink of water... or spills something on their shirt... or dumps the toy bin. And then it's time for dinner.
So this morning while washing the breakfast dishes and bemoaning how it would be a mere three hours before I would be wiping down the same Disney princess plate, it occurred to me how monotonous sin can be in our life. And what a good practice regular prayer was to wipe that slate clean. Because I know what it's like to let the dishes pile up through the day and the task is much more daunting then.
Just as it is a given that a day will lead to dirty dishes and laundry that will require tending, it is just as likely that my day will become mired with my sins and Somebody will have to clean up after me. In any given day, I face the trials of losing my temper, thinking unkind thoughts, serving myself, giving into laziness and gluttony, and a whole host of other unattractive dirt.
It's funny how my prayer list over the dirty dishes included everybody but myself. As if I might have it altogether! (Pardon the long pause while I laugh at the irony a bit)...
....
....
The truth is we all need to be wiped clean daily from the build-up of living in a world of sin. "Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord." Acts 3:19
One more comparison that I would like to make with dirty dishes and sin. Have you ever done a sink of dishes only to get to that pesky last casserole dish that is caked with burned cheese and you think, maybe it would just be easier to let it soak for a bit? So you put it in the water and leave it there over night only to be faced with it in the morning and now you have murky water with floaty cheese bits and you dread sticking your hand in there because who knows what else is lurking? No?! You haven't? *Ahem* Me either. But let's imagine for a moment that you have had that experience. And let's imagine that instead of dishes, we're talking sin.
Sometimes, it's easy to approach those obvious "little" sins and say, "I'm done with that!" We wash them up and pack them away, content to never use them again. And then there is the casserole dish sin. The one that's a little more cooked in and requires a lot more work and we decide to just let it soak for a bit because it sounds easier than approaching the disaster head-on and investing a little more time and energy. But it's never any prettier in the morning, is it? Those sins might require a little steel wool scrubbing, but it's best just to get it over with. What an assurance we have in Christ that, "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." 1 John 1:9
And now that I have completed this task, onward to some dirty dishes and laundry! Please feel free to email me or comment below if you would like to be included on the Dirty Dish Prayer List!
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Privileged for a Purpose
President Obama was recently quoted as saying, "If you've got a business, you didn't build that. Somebody else made that happen." It's been in the news. It has gotten a lot of small business owners and conservatives upset. There are unflattering pictures of Obama paired with cute little quips popping up on my Facebook page talking about how somebody else made him happen. People are blogging about it and I suppose, now I am too. And being a conservative, you might guess what I am going to say, but keep reading because I might surprise you.
I didn't climb the family corporate ladder to land myself two stable parents and some really awesome siblings. I didn't use my intellect to weigh my options and select a nice town in Midwest America over an underprivileged country in Africa as my place of birth. I didn't decide to be born white or healthy. To tell you the truth, I didn't always use my best judgement in adolescence to steer me clear of dangerous situations. And if we are being really honest here, I didn't go about the husband-selection process in the level-headed manner that one should. It was by no diet of willpower that I have avoided disease or infertility or even obesity.
I've been blessed. Privileged. The grace of God has rained down on me.
I can't go through life ignoring that, although there are times in life when I certainly try. I want to pat myself on the back for good choices and hard work. I'm not lacking in those areas. And I'm not trying to paint a picture of a life that has been totally at ease either. I've made tough choices. I've faced heartache and hardship. I've known deep sorrow. But I've been privileged.
It's funny when God sends a message loud and clear without ever speaking. Or at least not in that booming voice from Heaven you would expect. Or even that quiet whisper in prayer. It's come in the voice of friends, crying to me about their heartaches- the paths they didn't choose; the place or position or parents they had no say in. It's come in an increasing awareness of the hurting in this world. It's come in the tugging of my heart when I see children I didn't deserve, a husband I didn't deserve, a family I didn't choose and compare it with those who didn't start out so lucky.
I keep hearing that I'm privileged. For some reason, for some purpose, my life started out differently than a large majority. I can count my lucky stars and move forward pretending that the path I lay out from here is all by my own doing, but I know the truth. I was privileged for a purpose. I can go on ignoring that purpose, as many, many, many Americans do, but it would be fighting my very nature. I was designed with a purpose. God didn't bless me so I can tout about how great He is and point to my riches as proof. He has asked me to use my blessings to glorify Him and multiply His Kingdom.
In the well-known Parable of the Talents found in Matthew Chapter 25:14-30, Jesus tells the story about a master who goes away and portions some of his money (talents) in the care of 3 servants. To one, he gives 5 talents; to another, 3 and to the last, 1. He gives no instruction, but it was said that they were given to each "according to their ability." The first two servants double the money, but the servant with one talent buries it for fear of his master. When the master returns, he is displeased with the last servant for having done nothing with what he was given and all that he had was taken from him. We are meant to multiply what God has given us for the good of our Master.
There are some who work hard to pay for their nice homes and their nice cars and their nice kids (And please, let's not get into semantics about what is nice. If you have a working vehicle and a roof over your head, it's pretty nice in comparison to what some have). Maybe we think because we are spreading our love to our children, we are multiplying what God has given us. But to me, it looks a whole lot like buried talents. If you have the capacity to love children, love somebody else's kid too, because there are plenty out there that don't know they are worth anything to anybody.
Maybe we think because we are paying our bills and working hard to get where we are, we are doing our part. But if that's all we are doing, we're just maintaining what we got. It's buried money. If you have an extra dime, it's a dime more than somebody else has.
If you have a voice and half a wit, it's more than what some have, but if you use it to promote yourself, you might as well just go bury your head in the sand. It is amazing what a word of encouragement can do for a person. Try that instead.
If you have two hands and two feet, don't forget those who lost theirs at great sacrifice. You've been privileged with those for a purpose. Use them. But if you're walking around, waving your arms, just trying to get noticed, you are sinking in quick sand. That's not what God gave them to you for.
Have a special talent? Maybe it's been sitting on a shelf for awhile because it wasn't amusing you anymore. Guess what- Buried Treasure! God gave it to you for a purpose.
Have courage? Be courageous for someone scared to death (or facing death). Have a smile? Bring it out for that one person who doesn't get smiled at very often. Have faith? Show it to the faithless. Have a testimony? Share it. Especially with those who are going through the same thing.
Are you getting my point? What we've got- whatever it is- has been given and it was given with a purpose. President Obama was right. If you have a business, or a home, or a good job, or a nice family, or an education, or an opportunity, or a breath of life- you didn't build that. Somebody else made that happen. His Name is Jesus. Not the United States Government. Not Katie Koudelka. Whatever you have, it is a privilege from God to be used for a purpose.
I didn't climb the family corporate ladder to land myself two stable parents and some really awesome siblings. I didn't use my intellect to weigh my options and select a nice town in Midwest America over an underprivileged country in Africa as my place of birth. I didn't decide to be born white or healthy. To tell you the truth, I didn't always use my best judgement in adolescence to steer me clear of dangerous situations. And if we are being really honest here, I didn't go about the husband-selection process in the level-headed manner that one should. It was by no diet of willpower that I have avoided disease or infertility or even obesity.
I've been blessed. Privileged. The grace of God has rained down on me.
I can't go through life ignoring that, although there are times in life when I certainly try. I want to pat myself on the back for good choices and hard work. I'm not lacking in those areas. And I'm not trying to paint a picture of a life that has been totally at ease either. I've made tough choices. I've faced heartache and hardship. I've known deep sorrow. But I've been privileged.
It's funny when God sends a message loud and clear without ever speaking. Or at least not in that booming voice from Heaven you would expect. Or even that quiet whisper in prayer. It's come in the voice of friends, crying to me about their heartaches- the paths they didn't choose; the place or position or parents they had no say in. It's come in an increasing awareness of the hurting in this world. It's come in the tugging of my heart when I see children I didn't deserve, a husband I didn't deserve, a family I didn't choose and compare it with those who didn't start out so lucky.
I keep hearing that I'm privileged. For some reason, for some purpose, my life started out differently than a large majority. I can count my lucky stars and move forward pretending that the path I lay out from here is all by my own doing, but I know the truth. I was privileged for a purpose. I can go on ignoring that purpose, as many, many, many Americans do, but it would be fighting my very nature. I was designed with a purpose. God didn't bless me so I can tout about how great He is and point to my riches as proof. He has asked me to use my blessings to glorify Him and multiply His Kingdom.
In the well-known Parable of the Talents found in Matthew Chapter 25:14-30, Jesus tells the story about a master who goes away and portions some of his money (talents) in the care of 3 servants. To one, he gives 5 talents; to another, 3 and to the last, 1. He gives no instruction, but it was said that they were given to each "according to their ability." The first two servants double the money, but the servant with one talent buries it for fear of his master. When the master returns, he is displeased with the last servant for having done nothing with what he was given and all that he had was taken from him. We are meant to multiply what God has given us for the good of our Master.
There are some who work hard to pay for their nice homes and their nice cars and their nice kids (And please, let's not get into semantics about what is nice. If you have a working vehicle and a roof over your head, it's pretty nice in comparison to what some have). Maybe we think because we are spreading our love to our children, we are multiplying what God has given us. But to me, it looks a whole lot like buried talents. If you have the capacity to love children, love somebody else's kid too, because there are plenty out there that don't know they are worth anything to anybody.
Maybe we think because we are paying our bills and working hard to get where we are, we are doing our part. But if that's all we are doing, we're just maintaining what we got. It's buried money. If you have an extra dime, it's a dime more than somebody else has.
If you have a voice and half a wit, it's more than what some have, but if you use it to promote yourself, you might as well just go bury your head in the sand. It is amazing what a word of encouragement can do for a person. Try that instead.
If you have two hands and two feet, don't forget those who lost theirs at great sacrifice. You've been privileged with those for a purpose. Use them. But if you're walking around, waving your arms, just trying to get noticed, you are sinking in quick sand. That's not what God gave them to you for.
Have a special talent? Maybe it's been sitting on a shelf for awhile because it wasn't amusing you anymore. Guess what- Buried Treasure! God gave it to you for a purpose.
Have courage? Be courageous for someone scared to death (or facing death). Have a smile? Bring it out for that one person who doesn't get smiled at very often. Have faith? Show it to the faithless. Have a testimony? Share it. Especially with those who are going through the same thing.
Are you getting my point? What we've got- whatever it is- has been given and it was given with a purpose. President Obama was right. If you have a business, or a home, or a good job, or a nice family, or an education, or an opportunity, or a breath of life- you didn't build that. Somebody else made that happen. His Name is Jesus. Not the United States Government. Not Katie Koudelka. Whatever you have, it is a privilege from God to be used for a purpose.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
For My Dad
"How much does lawn service cost around here?" my dad asked. He doesn't live "around here," nor would he ever hire a lawn service. "I'm not sure, Dad," I respond as I try to come up with a reasonable figure. He continues, "Did you notice how long it took him to mow the lawn next door?" Suddenly, I feel very ill-prepared, unobservant, aloof to the activity of my own neighborhood. "It's a pretty fast mower," I offer this, my only observation of the very large and very loud mower that visits my neighbor's home every Wednesday, right during nap time.
I know I have failed him in giving the necessary numbers so he can calculate how much money a lawn service might draw in a given day. Of course, he timed the complete job. Fifteen minutes- edging included. But my inability to provide any speculation on the cost of the service leaves the math equation stranded.
This is who my dad is. I believe the world appears to him in numbers. As a child, he would challenge his children to estimate how many cars we would see on long trips to visit our grandparents. This would lead to your head bobbing back and forth at a sickening pace, counting cars flashing by on the opposite side of the highway so as not to miss a single one. He can predict arrival times to the minute better than Mapquest. It is likely he knows how many ceiling tiles there are in every building he regularly visits. He counts how many fireworks there are in large displays and how much money we watched go up in smoke. He knows multiple routes to every city he has ever visited and can recall what gas station or mom and pop store used to be on the corner of every street he's ever travelled down. I'm not kidding. His most frequently asked questions of any visitor is, "How did you get here and how long did it take you?" and you better be prepared with an answer lest you appear completely senseless of the base facts of life. He often responds with something on the lines of, "I visited such-and-such-city once, back in the eighties. Is that diner still there on the corner of Blah-blah and Blah-blah street?" Please don't respond with a hesitant "I think so...," especially if you currently preside in said city.
He's a smart guy- my dad. And he got there by being curious. If he was a cat, he would've been dead long ago. He likes to know where things came from, how much time it took to make them, how many people were involved start to finish, and what kind of turn-around they are getting on their investment.
He's asked a lot of questions and in return received a lot of answers, so as a young child, I recognized he was someone you go to with your own questions. I set out to read the Bible cover to cover when I was probably around the age of 8 or 9. I had a little notebook that I wrote my questions in and I remember approaching my dad with them one night. I can picture him standing by the front door, so it was likely he had just gotten home from work (a teacher of math and science), as I rattled off my questions. I don't remember all of my inquiries, but I do remember asking him where the Garden of Eden was and what were the "Nephilim." We had a discussion about my questions, many of which he answered with ease. I remember him also telling me that I should ask our pastor some of the questions.
And I remember he was smiling. Maybe it was because he saw himself- his own curiosity- reflected in his child. Maybe it was because he was pleased I was reading the Bible. Or maybe he was glad that I had confidence enough in him to have the answers to such important questions.
I am thankful that I have a father who I can confidently go to with my questions about matters of God. If there are Christians who have been accused of blindly following their faith, you could not reasonably call my father one. There is no way his questioning halted when he entered the church, studied the Bible, and lead his children in the path of faith. It would be against his very nature. There are those who claim that to have faith in Jesus one must be lacking in intelligence. This argument is easily refuted in the embodiment of my dad. He's one of the smartest guys I know. His intelligence is rooted in a Father that did not turn away His son's questions, but revealed them in faith.
At the heart of getting an answer, is knowing of whom to ask. If you are struggling in Calculus, it is unlikely you will find sufficient help from your gym teacher. Likewise, when we struggle with belief; with life; with purpose; it is best to go to the One with all of the answers. And yes, it is okay to start out with, "Are you even up there?" because He has an answer for that, too, and He will rejoice that you are finally letting Him answer that question.
I am grateful that I have a father who not only has a lot of helpful answers, but who also directed me to my Heavenly Father who satisfies my own inherited need to question.
Happy Father's Day, Dad!
Luke 11:11-13 "Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in Heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!"
I know I have failed him in giving the necessary numbers so he can calculate how much money a lawn service might draw in a given day. Of course, he timed the complete job. Fifteen minutes- edging included. But my inability to provide any speculation on the cost of the service leaves the math equation stranded.
This is who my dad is. I believe the world appears to him in numbers. As a child, he would challenge his children to estimate how many cars we would see on long trips to visit our grandparents. This would lead to your head bobbing back and forth at a sickening pace, counting cars flashing by on the opposite side of the highway so as not to miss a single one. He can predict arrival times to the minute better than Mapquest. It is likely he knows how many ceiling tiles there are in every building he regularly visits. He counts how many fireworks there are in large displays and how much money we watched go up in smoke. He knows multiple routes to every city he has ever visited and can recall what gas station or mom and pop store used to be on the corner of every street he's ever travelled down. I'm not kidding. His most frequently asked questions of any visitor is, "How did you get here and how long did it take you?" and you better be prepared with an answer lest you appear completely senseless of the base facts of life. He often responds with something on the lines of, "I visited such-and-such-city once, back in the eighties. Is that diner still there on the corner of Blah-blah and Blah-blah street?" Please don't respond with a hesitant "I think so...," especially if you currently preside in said city.
He's a smart guy- my dad. And he got there by being curious. If he was a cat, he would've been dead long ago. He likes to know where things came from, how much time it took to make them, how many people were involved start to finish, and what kind of turn-around they are getting on their investment.
He's asked a lot of questions and in return received a lot of answers, so as a young child, I recognized he was someone you go to with your own questions. I set out to read the Bible cover to cover when I was probably around the age of 8 or 9. I had a little notebook that I wrote my questions in and I remember approaching my dad with them one night. I can picture him standing by the front door, so it was likely he had just gotten home from work (a teacher of math and science), as I rattled off my questions. I don't remember all of my inquiries, but I do remember asking him where the Garden of Eden was and what were the "Nephilim." We had a discussion about my questions, many of which he answered with ease. I remember him also telling me that I should ask our pastor some of the questions.
And I remember he was smiling. Maybe it was because he saw himself- his own curiosity- reflected in his child. Maybe it was because he was pleased I was reading the Bible. Or maybe he was glad that I had confidence enough in him to have the answers to such important questions.
I am thankful that I have a father who I can confidently go to with my questions about matters of God. If there are Christians who have been accused of blindly following their faith, you could not reasonably call my father one. There is no way his questioning halted when he entered the church, studied the Bible, and lead his children in the path of faith. It would be against his very nature. There are those who claim that to have faith in Jesus one must be lacking in intelligence. This argument is easily refuted in the embodiment of my dad. He's one of the smartest guys I know. His intelligence is rooted in a Father that did not turn away His son's questions, but revealed them in faith.
At the heart of getting an answer, is knowing of whom to ask. If you are struggling in Calculus, it is unlikely you will find sufficient help from your gym teacher. Likewise, when we struggle with belief; with life; with purpose; it is best to go to the One with all of the answers. And yes, it is okay to start out with, "Are you even up there?" because He has an answer for that, too, and He will rejoice that you are finally letting Him answer that question.
I am grateful that I have a father who not only has a lot of helpful answers, but who also directed me to my Heavenly Father who satisfies my own inherited need to question.
Happy Father's Day, Dad!
Luke 11:11-13 "Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in Heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!"
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Thank You, Mom
With Mother's Day approaching, I thought it only appropriate to honor my own mother in this entry. Let me start by saying, she's not perfect, but what mom ever was? Eve probably had the best shot at it, living in a perfect world and all, and we know how far she got. So when it comes to moms, mine isn't perfect but I really feel like God poured an extra blessing on me by the one I got.
Moms aren't perfect. And neither are dads. I believe that is what is at the heart of the commandment to honor your father and your mother. The truth is when you are 16, your brain tricks you into thinking it is far superior than the one your parents were given. And though you may on occasion be "right" in a particular argument, as a Christian we are called to honor our parents' wisdom over our own. God knew more than any teenager that parents were not always going to be right. He also knew that an important lesson for every man and woman is humility. To humble yourself at the age of 16 is no easy task. Or perhaps it was only a large struggle for me because I was rarely successful. Looking back on many of the topics that made me scoff in my youth, I realize now what lessons I have carried with me into my own parenting.
It's a long time coming, but... Thanks Mom!
Thank you, Mom, for choosing a good husband. I believe that is the start of a good mother; knowing with whom she is going to forge the future of her children. My dad is not perfect either, but he is a really good husband and father. This foundation that was laid for seven lucky children is becoming more and more a rarity.
Thank you, Mom, for valuing family. Because my mom (and dad) raised seven children, I have six people that capture my love and adoration continually and the number continues to grow as they marry and have children. The gift of a large family taught me that the world doesn't revolve around me and my needs, but I am a part of a world that revolves around love.
Thank you, Mom, for not taking shortcuts. When your peers were heading down the road of convenience with disposable diapers, dishwashers, and canned goods, you were sweating over hand-washing dishes three times a day for 9 people, scrubbing cloth diapers and socks and tshirts, and canning and freezing the goodness of summer. Though when I was young I thought store-bought cookies were a treat over your home baked ones, it was only because they were such a rarity. My taste buds still confirm that there is nothing like homemade. You taught me what accomplishment feels like at the work of my own hands.
Thank you, Mom, for teaching me what a treat is. Cool Whip is so much more special when you only get a dollop a year. So is eggnog, maraschino cherries, and ice cream cones from Twistees. Perhaps there were times when money prevented you from indulging us as much as you may have wanted to, but I suspect that most of your resistance was out of wisdom. While I will admit that I ate Cool Whip unabashedly from a tub on a regular basis once I moved out, I really value that you taught me how to cherish the good things in life. Special memories of childhood were going to the Berrien County Youth Fair, picnicking at the beach, going to visit grandparents, and those rare occasions when we would get subs from the Kmart deli when we had been out shopping too long. They didn't happen everyday, so I was grateful for them. I rarely got everything I wanted. Thank you for that. Because parenting isn't good if you give your kids everything they want; parenting is good when your kids appreciate the occasion when they got something they really wanted. We didn't have a lot of toys in comparison to kids today, but we sure loved the toys we had. More than that, we loved the company we had in a playmate. If we had our say as kids, we probably would have eaten at McDonald's more than the one time a year when we were traveling to Grandma and Grandpa's, but then that burger would not have tasted so good.
Thank you, Mom, for family traditions. Homemade burgers and fries, followed by popcorn and pop every Friday night never got old. Thank you for knowing it is still an expectation when we visit. Thank you for putting my hair in curlers for Easter Sunday and insisting that we all looked our very best for that day. Thank you for not putting the presents under the Christmas tree until the late hours of Christmas Eve night, even when Santa Claus was long a thing of our past. There is nothing quite as exciting as a Christmas tree packed with presents for seven children (and stockings falling from the mantel). Thank you for always making a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, for lighting the candles and blowing them out right before dinner started, for always making big breakfasts on Saturday mornings, for always cooking huge meals for Sunday dinner, and for doing so many things the same exact way for years. Sometimes the greatest security you can give a kid is in the routine that says, "things will always be this way," even when it won't.
She's not perfect, but I am really thankful she is my mom.
Moms aren't perfect. And neither are dads. I believe that is what is at the heart of the commandment to honor your father and your mother. The truth is when you are 16, your brain tricks you into thinking it is far superior than the one your parents were given. And though you may on occasion be "right" in a particular argument, as a Christian we are called to honor our parents' wisdom over our own. God knew more than any teenager that parents were not always going to be right. He also knew that an important lesson for every man and woman is humility. To humble yourself at the age of 16 is no easy task. Or perhaps it was only a large struggle for me because I was rarely successful. Looking back on many of the topics that made me scoff in my youth, I realize now what lessons I have carried with me into my own parenting.
It's a long time coming, but... Thanks Mom!
Thank you, Mom, for choosing a good husband. I believe that is the start of a good mother; knowing with whom she is going to forge the future of her children. My dad is not perfect either, but he is a really good husband and father. This foundation that was laid for seven lucky children is becoming more and more a rarity.
Thank you, Mom, for valuing family. Because my mom (and dad) raised seven children, I have six people that capture my love and adoration continually and the number continues to grow as they marry and have children. The gift of a large family taught me that the world doesn't revolve around me and my needs, but I am a part of a world that revolves around love.
Thank you, Mom, for not taking shortcuts. When your peers were heading down the road of convenience with disposable diapers, dishwashers, and canned goods, you were sweating over hand-washing dishes three times a day for 9 people, scrubbing cloth diapers and socks and tshirts, and canning and freezing the goodness of summer. Though when I was young I thought store-bought cookies were a treat over your home baked ones, it was only because they were such a rarity. My taste buds still confirm that there is nothing like homemade. You taught me what accomplishment feels like at the work of my own hands.
Thank you, Mom, for teaching me what a treat is. Cool Whip is so much more special when you only get a dollop a year. So is eggnog, maraschino cherries, and ice cream cones from Twistees. Perhaps there were times when money prevented you from indulging us as much as you may have wanted to, but I suspect that most of your resistance was out of wisdom. While I will admit that I ate Cool Whip unabashedly from a tub on a regular basis once I moved out, I really value that you taught me how to cherish the good things in life. Special memories of childhood were going to the Berrien County Youth Fair, picnicking at the beach, going to visit grandparents, and those rare occasions when we would get subs from the Kmart deli when we had been out shopping too long. They didn't happen everyday, so I was grateful for them. I rarely got everything I wanted. Thank you for that. Because parenting isn't good if you give your kids everything they want; parenting is good when your kids appreciate the occasion when they got something they really wanted. We didn't have a lot of toys in comparison to kids today, but we sure loved the toys we had. More than that, we loved the company we had in a playmate. If we had our say as kids, we probably would have eaten at McDonald's more than the one time a year when we were traveling to Grandma and Grandpa's, but then that burger would not have tasted so good.
Thank you, Mom, for family traditions. Homemade burgers and fries, followed by popcorn and pop every Friday night never got old. Thank you for knowing it is still an expectation when we visit. Thank you for putting my hair in curlers for Easter Sunday and insisting that we all looked our very best for that day. Thank you for not putting the presents under the Christmas tree until the late hours of Christmas Eve night, even when Santa Claus was long a thing of our past. There is nothing quite as exciting as a Christmas tree packed with presents for seven children (and stockings falling from the mantel). Thank you for always making a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, for lighting the candles and blowing them out right before dinner started, for always making big breakfasts on Saturday mornings, for always cooking huge meals for Sunday dinner, and for doing so many things the same exact way for years. Sometimes the greatest security you can give a kid is in the routine that says, "things will always be this way," even when it won't.
She's not perfect, but I am really thankful she is my mom.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Lord of the Day
I have been leading a Bible Study on the Book of Acts at Heart of the Shepherd every Sunday morning for several weeks now. It has been about 4 weeks since we read Chapter 12. Today I read it with my daughter and suddenly I discovered something I had not noticed only a few weeks ago. This is what I love about the Bible! When God calls it the Living Word, it is because it takes form in our lives regularly if we allow it, bringing life with that understanding.
In Acts Chapter 12 it is recapping the story of Peter being imprisoned for spreading the Gospel. So threatening was the message, that his captors saw fit to have him guarded by four squads of soldiers containing four soldiers each. That's 16 men to 1 man in chains. And as overly cautious as this may sound, it wasn't enough. Peter's friends were back home praying for him earnestly. The night before he was to go to trial, an angel awakens him and leads him out of the prison. He goes to the home of Mary, the mother of John Mark, where everyone has been praying for him. A servant girl, named Rhoda goes to the door and she is so excited to see him that she forgets to let him in and runs to tell everyone. Verse 15 was the moment of revelation for me. "'You're out of your mind,' they told her. When she kept insisting that it was so, they said, 'It must be his angel.'"
Originally, I found the interaction with Rhoda humorous. The girl forgets Peter at the door, she's so excited! And I suppose because I was amused by that, I missed what the comments by the rest of the party really implies. You see, these people had been praying for Peter. It is reasonable to guess that they were praying for his protection, for his release, for his faith, and for his comfort. And these same praying people cannot believe it when he actually shows up at the door. In fact, they explain away the girl's persistence by saying it must be Peter's angel. In other words, they think it is more reasonable that Peter is dead and his angel is paying them a visit, than to believe that Peter was actually released from prison.
It occurred to me that we Christians suffer from this same disconnect in our daily walk of faith. It is as though we trust God in heavenly matters, but often don't expect Him to intervene with our earthly ones. And when He does answer those prayers with the friend we have needed, or the money to cover unexpected costs, or a sudden sense of peace, we often give ourselves the credit as being resourceful enough to make it through the hard times.
Suddenly, this story became so very powerful to me, because it wasn't just about Peter escaping from prison, but it was an intimate look at how I actually view my relationship with God. It revealed to me how very likely I would be the one saying, "Rhoda, you're crazy! It must be an angel, because there's no way it's Peter!" I so often struggle with the thought that God regularly accomplishes the impossible or even the unlikely. I can trust in Him for my eternal salvation, but I am hesitant to believe He has a grasp on this day.
I have a great God. He has conquered my sins, covered them with His righteousness, and longs for my entrance into His Eternal Home. But He wasn't done with me when He secured my eternity. How easily I forget that. He has a daily plan for me. One that involves regular interference. Most of which I probably do not ever acknowledge or recognize.
Jesus isn't just a God of the eternal, but He is Lord over this day! His power is accessible today, but we so often act like we won't see it until eternity. If we welcome Him as the God who cares about today, we will see the power of the God that was able to conquer not only death, but the life we face today.
In Acts Chapter 12 it is recapping the story of Peter being imprisoned for spreading the Gospel. So threatening was the message, that his captors saw fit to have him guarded by four squads of soldiers containing four soldiers each. That's 16 men to 1 man in chains. And as overly cautious as this may sound, it wasn't enough. Peter's friends were back home praying for him earnestly. The night before he was to go to trial, an angel awakens him and leads him out of the prison. He goes to the home of Mary, the mother of John Mark, where everyone has been praying for him. A servant girl, named Rhoda goes to the door and she is so excited to see him that she forgets to let him in and runs to tell everyone. Verse 15 was the moment of revelation for me. "'You're out of your mind,' they told her. When she kept insisting that it was so, they said, 'It must be his angel.'"
Originally, I found the interaction with Rhoda humorous. The girl forgets Peter at the door, she's so excited! And I suppose because I was amused by that, I missed what the comments by the rest of the party really implies. You see, these people had been praying for Peter. It is reasonable to guess that they were praying for his protection, for his release, for his faith, and for his comfort. And these same praying people cannot believe it when he actually shows up at the door. In fact, they explain away the girl's persistence by saying it must be Peter's angel. In other words, they think it is more reasonable that Peter is dead and his angel is paying them a visit, than to believe that Peter was actually released from prison.
It occurred to me that we Christians suffer from this same disconnect in our daily walk of faith. It is as though we trust God in heavenly matters, but often don't expect Him to intervene with our earthly ones. And when He does answer those prayers with the friend we have needed, or the money to cover unexpected costs, or a sudden sense of peace, we often give ourselves the credit as being resourceful enough to make it through the hard times.
Suddenly, this story became so very powerful to me, because it wasn't just about Peter escaping from prison, but it was an intimate look at how I actually view my relationship with God. It revealed to me how very likely I would be the one saying, "Rhoda, you're crazy! It must be an angel, because there's no way it's Peter!" I so often struggle with the thought that God regularly accomplishes the impossible or even the unlikely. I can trust in Him for my eternal salvation, but I am hesitant to believe He has a grasp on this day.
I have a great God. He has conquered my sins, covered them with His righteousness, and longs for my entrance into His Eternal Home. But He wasn't done with me when He secured my eternity. How easily I forget that. He has a daily plan for me. One that involves regular interference. Most of which I probably do not ever acknowledge or recognize.
Jesus isn't just a God of the eternal, but He is Lord over this day! His power is accessible today, but we so often act like we won't see it until eternity. If we welcome Him as the God who cares about today, we will see the power of the God that was able to conquer not only death, but the life we face today.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
The Messy Mommy Ministry- A Call to Action (Or Inaction?)
The plan was to have a good friend come over for dinner on Easter Sunday. I told her 5 o'clock because we would be getting home from church at around noon and I wanted plenty of time to get my house clean before she arrived. I think I've let on a few times that I am not the tidiest housekeeper. This is in no part due to laziness, but more so due to an inherited inability to throw out anything or organize that which I am unwilling to throw out. (Not to mention the triple combo efforts of three professional mess-makers).
Thus began a distracted effort to prepare sweet potatoes, fold laundry, whip up a pie, vacuum, and de-clutter as soon as I got children down for a nap. In the flurry of activity my spirit was high as I sang some of the songs from service that morning. Before it was even halfway over, I had decided that this was the best Easter ever. Good Friday service was very effective and it was the first time since having children that I was able to give my undivided attention to the service (Special thanks to well-behaved Colette and Mary, and Daddy, who took out not-so-well-behaved Julia). Then on Saturday the kids made a Resurrection Garden, dyed Easter eggs, and Colette and I made cookies together that had scriptural references for each ingredient. With all of the additional blogging, I was feeling very connected with God and felt that I had been successful in sharing the Message with my children.
And yet, something started nagging at me while I cleaned. All of this preparation was in honor of my friend- a friend who knows me well; a friend who knows the messiness of being a mother; a friend who I invited to dine with us because her own children would be spending Easter with their father and she would be alone. And suddenly what I was doing did not seem so honorable, because I realized that my scheduling design was to avoid her seeing the reality of my everyday living. We moms do this a lot. Too much. Don't we? We scramble to tidy up our lives and homes so we can accept compliments on how "put-together" we are with these broad grins and a wave of our hands as we say, "Oh, it doesn't always look like this," but we want you to think that we're just being modest. And meanwhile, we perpetuate this falsehood among us that you can have the perfect house, perfect husband, perfect kids and perfect life while causing others to feel inadequate. So we all keep running this rat race that keeps us distracted from serving each other in very deep and real ways that begins with us being REAL with each other.
It suddenly became very detestable to me. This is not to advocate letting your housework go to the dogs or not having the decency to wipe down the toilet seat for your guests. But, my desire to put on a false ambience of order at the expense of my friend's loneliness on the very holiday that expresses God's great love and humility, gripped me with irony. So I tossed in the towel, let her know she could come over whenever she was ready, and made no last minute pleadings with my husband and children to run like mad shoving piles out of sight.
She told me she had crawled into bed that afternoon and cried because she was missing her kids so much. And frankly, it made me want to crawl into a hole. When I could have been a friend, I had chosen to perpetuate an image instead. It didn't honor my friend. It honored me and my image. And not only that, but I really think behavior like this is harmful to my ministry as a Christian. Too often I am running around saving face, missing what is really important. Yes, I have missed opportunities to be the hands and feet of Christ because I didn't want someone to see my messy house.
Colette and I had been talking about what we do if Jesus came back to Earth and He was coming to our house today. Colette just stared in wide-eyed wonder and said (what I have determined to be very wise), "I don't think I would say anything!"
And I said, "I would start running around cleaning like crazy." Because I would. Even for Jesus who has a daily, omnipotent view of my home.
Colette gave me one of those knowing looks that she makes right before she says something brilliant and began, "There's this story in the Bible about Martha and Mary..." She actually trailed off as if to communicate that her point was so obvious there was no need to go further. I got it. Jesus came to Martha and Mary's house, and Martha scurried about cleaning while Mary sat at the feet of Jesus, listening. Martha pleads with Jesus to get her sister to be of some assistance. Jesus replies, "You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her." (Luke 10:41-42)
Jesus did not tell Martha that cleaning was not virtuous. He did say that what Mary had chosen was better. How many times do we burden ourselves with activities that are good, but God is offering us something better?
Clean houses are great. Being of service to others is better.
What I am proposing is a pledge of transparency and a move towards putting a hold on wiping down the kitchen so we can pick up a tissue and wipe at the tears of someone in need. I am calling it My Messy Mommy Ministry, because I'm not willing to let distractions keep me from hearing God's call to action.
Thus began a distracted effort to prepare sweet potatoes, fold laundry, whip up a pie, vacuum, and de-clutter as soon as I got children down for a nap. In the flurry of activity my spirit was high as I sang some of the songs from service that morning. Before it was even halfway over, I had decided that this was the best Easter ever. Good Friday service was very effective and it was the first time since having children that I was able to give my undivided attention to the service (Special thanks to well-behaved Colette and Mary, and Daddy, who took out not-so-well-behaved Julia). Then on Saturday the kids made a Resurrection Garden, dyed Easter eggs, and Colette and I made cookies together that had scriptural references for each ingredient. With all of the additional blogging, I was feeling very connected with God and felt that I had been successful in sharing the Message with my children.
And yet, something started nagging at me while I cleaned. All of this preparation was in honor of my friend- a friend who knows me well; a friend who knows the messiness of being a mother; a friend who I invited to dine with us because her own children would be spending Easter with their father and she would be alone. And suddenly what I was doing did not seem so honorable, because I realized that my scheduling design was to avoid her seeing the reality of my everyday living. We moms do this a lot. Too much. Don't we? We scramble to tidy up our lives and homes so we can accept compliments on how "put-together" we are with these broad grins and a wave of our hands as we say, "Oh, it doesn't always look like this," but we want you to think that we're just being modest. And meanwhile, we perpetuate this falsehood among us that you can have the perfect house, perfect husband, perfect kids and perfect life while causing others to feel inadequate. So we all keep running this rat race that keeps us distracted from serving each other in very deep and real ways that begins with us being REAL with each other.
It suddenly became very detestable to me. This is not to advocate letting your housework go to the dogs or not having the decency to wipe down the toilet seat for your guests. But, my desire to put on a false ambience of order at the expense of my friend's loneliness on the very holiday that expresses God's great love and humility, gripped me with irony. So I tossed in the towel, let her know she could come over whenever she was ready, and made no last minute pleadings with my husband and children to run like mad shoving piles out of sight.
She told me she had crawled into bed that afternoon and cried because she was missing her kids so much. And frankly, it made me want to crawl into a hole. When I could have been a friend, I had chosen to perpetuate an image instead. It didn't honor my friend. It honored me and my image. And not only that, but I really think behavior like this is harmful to my ministry as a Christian. Too often I am running around saving face, missing what is really important. Yes, I have missed opportunities to be the hands and feet of Christ because I didn't want someone to see my messy house.
Colette and I had been talking about what we do if Jesus came back to Earth and He was coming to our house today. Colette just stared in wide-eyed wonder and said (what I have determined to be very wise), "I don't think I would say anything!"
And I said, "I would start running around cleaning like crazy." Because I would. Even for Jesus who has a daily, omnipotent view of my home.
Colette gave me one of those knowing looks that she makes right before she says something brilliant and began, "There's this story in the Bible about Martha and Mary..." She actually trailed off as if to communicate that her point was so obvious there was no need to go further. I got it. Jesus came to Martha and Mary's house, and Martha scurried about cleaning while Mary sat at the feet of Jesus, listening. Martha pleads with Jesus to get her sister to be of some assistance. Jesus replies, "You are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her." (Luke 10:41-42)
Jesus did not tell Martha that cleaning was not virtuous. He did say that what Mary had chosen was better. How many times do we burden ourselves with activities that are good, but God is offering us something better?
Clean houses are great. Being of service to others is better.
What I am proposing is a pledge of transparency and a move towards putting a hold on wiping down the kitchen so we can pick up a tissue and wipe at the tears of someone in need. I am calling it My Messy Mommy Ministry, because I'm not willing to let distractions keep me from hearing God's call to action.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Feeling Phony
I think about Peter a lot. I would like to say we are a lot alike- in his pre-rock-of-the-church stage- but even then I feel like I am handing myself too nice a compliment. Peter had a courageous mouth. Or maybe Peter suffered with Chronic Foot-In-Mouth Syndrome. I can relate to that. It's why I prefer writing. There is a lot of deleting, pausing, cutting, pasting, even researching proper word usage to make sure I mean what I say. But outside of the safety of my computer, my brain and tongue do not always seem properly connected. Likewise Peter had this habit of blurting out awe-inspiring confessions of faith, only to find himself doing something quite the opposite moments later.
Hypocrite. Phony. Fake. Lukewarm.
How many times did Peter internally struggle with these words- fearing that they actually defined him? Peter- who walked on water, only to sink when his focus became the waves. Peter- who proclaimed Jesus was the Savior, only to misunderstand what that meant. Peter- who slept in the Garden of Gethsemane though Jesus had asked him to pray. Peter- who said he would lay down his life for Jesus, and then fled to save his own life when Jesus was betrayed and then he denied ever knowing Him.
If the shoe fits, wear it. Probably was not yet a coined phrase in those days, but it was likely Peter was thinking something of the sort. Who was he to deny the role he kept playing? It seemed to be in his character; something he could not escape. And maybe that Saturday he was starting to accept it, own it, believe it. Maybe he was thinking his last couple of years had been built on false pretenses. Jesus was dead. He had deserted him.
Perhaps he remembered Jesus telling him that He had prayed for him, encouraging him, "And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers." Who was Peter to be the one to strengthen, when his weaknesses were so often publicized?
Who am I to encourage you, when so often my own actions conflict with my heart?
2 Corinthians 12:9 "But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" Who better than Peter to display the transforming power in our lives by the very grace of God? Who better than you? Who better than me? Because when I am finally able to produce a good work in Christ, it is evident that it wasn't my doing.
I think about Peter a lot and how Jesus reassured him. Jesus knew something about Peter that Peter didn't even know. Jesus knew what Peter would become. Jesus knew the plans He had for him. Truth be told, Jesus had more faith in Peter than Peter had in himself. And He has a lot more faith in what you can accomplish than you probably have in yourself. It's a funny thing to consider God having faith in you. We talk so much about having faith in Him, but sometimes I don't find that so encouraging when my faith wavers more than Peter's. But then I think of God watching over me with the love and faithfulness of the perfect parent, quietly reassuring me, "You can do this!" And I can't argue with that. My confidence is in my faithful God, not in my own ability to believe, because like Peter, I fail in even doing that moments after I proclaim it with all my heart. Psalm 117:2, "For great is His love toward us, and the faithfulness of the LORD endures forever. Praise the Lord!"
Hypocrite. Phony. Fake. Lukewarm.
How many times did Peter internally struggle with these words- fearing that they actually defined him? Peter- who walked on water, only to sink when his focus became the waves. Peter- who proclaimed Jesus was the Savior, only to misunderstand what that meant. Peter- who slept in the Garden of Gethsemane though Jesus had asked him to pray. Peter- who said he would lay down his life for Jesus, and then fled to save his own life when Jesus was betrayed and then he denied ever knowing Him.
If the shoe fits, wear it. Probably was not yet a coined phrase in those days, but it was likely Peter was thinking something of the sort. Who was he to deny the role he kept playing? It seemed to be in his character; something he could not escape. And maybe that Saturday he was starting to accept it, own it, believe it. Maybe he was thinking his last couple of years had been built on false pretenses. Jesus was dead. He had deserted him.
Perhaps he remembered Jesus telling him that He had prayed for him, encouraging him, "And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers." Who was Peter to be the one to strengthen, when his weaknesses were so often publicized?
Who am I to encourage you, when so often my own actions conflict with my heart?
2 Corinthians 12:9 "But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" Who better than Peter to display the transforming power in our lives by the very grace of God? Who better than you? Who better than me? Because when I am finally able to produce a good work in Christ, it is evident that it wasn't my doing.
I think about Peter a lot and how Jesus reassured him. Jesus knew something about Peter that Peter didn't even know. Jesus knew what Peter would become. Jesus knew the plans He had for him. Truth be told, Jesus had more faith in Peter than Peter had in himself. And He has a lot more faith in what you can accomplish than you probably have in yourself. It's a funny thing to consider God having faith in you. We talk so much about having faith in Him, but sometimes I don't find that so encouraging when my faith wavers more than Peter's. But then I think of God watching over me with the love and faithfulness of the perfect parent, quietly reassuring me, "You can do this!" And I can't argue with that. My confidence is in my faithful God, not in my own ability to believe, because like Peter, I fail in even doing that moments after I proclaim it with all my heart. Psalm 117:2, "For great is His love toward us, and the faithfulness of the LORD endures forever. Praise the Lord!"
Friday, April 6, 2012
Getting Re-Sensitized
We live in a graphic society. Our movies have become more gory, more horrifying, and more disturbing. Hollywood doesn't hold much back. We are drawn to the detail and the emotion that it evokes. If a wound would draw blood, we do not want it to be left to the imagination; we want to see it. Or at least it would appear the general public does.
When I was in 9th grade my older brother went to see Jurassic Park in the theater and he protectively informed me that I may not be able to handle it. I will admit when I finally saw it on video I spent most of my time leaping off the couch, but I proudly handled the gore which had been unseen in my world thus far. It was the first of many movies I would subject myself to that continued to push the envelope of graphic images and disturbing material. I have since learned that it is best for my mental and spiritual well-being to avoid these types of movies or television shows, but there is one graphic movie that I will continue to watch because the imagery actually brings a lot of benefit.
As many did, I went to the theater in 2004 to see The Passion of the Christ and left drained of tears and emotionally raw. While many shied away from the violence, I appreciated it. Having grown up in the church, I was accustomed at a very young age to the idea of Jesus dying on the cross. I suppose it was oversimplified when I was a child in order to protect my sensitivities and then as I grew older my own spiritual lethargy lead me to never contemplate the graphic nature of the event. And on another hand, in my spiritual immaturity, I had always minimized what took place by considering that dying must be as simple for God as any of His other feats.
It is easy to become desensitized. In a world where pain and suffering is a common companion to our friends and families in the form of illness, addiction, emotional trauma, tragedy, and the like; we find ourselves drawing the line of how far we can even allow ourselves to care about our neighbor... or that homeless guy in Detroit... or that hungry kid in Africa. Sometimes it is just too much to even consider our own sorrows to allow sorrow to creep in for mankind. And maybe that's why the box office blows up with movies that lead us to become desensitized to some of the pain and suffering that exists in our own small world.
Or maybe, for some of us, it reminds us that we do care, when we have tried so hard to not care just so we can function.
It is why I welcome Good Friday with a somber heart, because it is necessary to cause ourselves to care. Sometimes we need that reminder. And especially as a Christian who loves to delight in the gifts of my Savior, I need to remember that it came at great expense.
He suffered. Contemplate it. Cry about it. Experience it. Remember it. Because the joy that comes after realizing why He did it, will restore you enough to care about who He did it for...
When I was in 9th grade my older brother went to see Jurassic Park in the theater and he protectively informed me that I may not be able to handle it. I will admit when I finally saw it on video I spent most of my time leaping off the couch, but I proudly handled the gore which had been unseen in my world thus far. It was the first of many movies I would subject myself to that continued to push the envelope of graphic images and disturbing material. I have since learned that it is best for my mental and spiritual well-being to avoid these types of movies or television shows, but there is one graphic movie that I will continue to watch because the imagery actually brings a lot of benefit.
As many did, I went to the theater in 2004 to see The Passion of the Christ and left drained of tears and emotionally raw. While many shied away from the violence, I appreciated it. Having grown up in the church, I was accustomed at a very young age to the idea of Jesus dying on the cross. I suppose it was oversimplified when I was a child in order to protect my sensitivities and then as I grew older my own spiritual lethargy lead me to never contemplate the graphic nature of the event. And on another hand, in my spiritual immaturity, I had always minimized what took place by considering that dying must be as simple for God as any of His other feats.
It is easy to become desensitized. In a world where pain and suffering is a common companion to our friends and families in the form of illness, addiction, emotional trauma, tragedy, and the like; we find ourselves drawing the line of how far we can even allow ourselves to care about our neighbor... or that homeless guy in Detroit... or that hungry kid in Africa. Sometimes it is just too much to even consider our own sorrows to allow sorrow to creep in for mankind. And maybe that's why the box office blows up with movies that lead us to become desensitized to some of the pain and suffering that exists in our own small world.
Or maybe, for some of us, it reminds us that we do care, when we have tried so hard to not care just so we can function.
It is why I welcome Good Friday with a somber heart, because it is necessary to cause ourselves to care. Sometimes we need that reminder. And especially as a Christian who loves to delight in the gifts of my Savior, I need to remember that it came at great expense.
He suffered. Contemplate it. Cry about it. Experience it. Remember it. Because the joy that comes after realizing why He did it, will restore you enough to care about who He did it for...
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Stinky Feet
After bearing the weight of seven children, my mother's legs and feet were laced with purple varicose veins. I remember as a child admiring my mom's legs and thinking they were pretty and this was not by recognizing the symbolism in those veins that bore the sacrifice of my life. They were the legs of my mother and as many young girls do, we look to our mothers to understand beauty, and to me, her legs were beautiful simply because they were mom's. I'm not sure when this world's influence swayed me to the side of admiring smooth and tan legs, despite what I knew in my heart as a little girl. Sadly it happened.
Like most girls struggling with self-image at the age of 13, I was mortified when one of my best friends exclaimed on a bright and sunny morning that I had ugly feet. I had never considered that one might have ugly feet. Feet were feet... until I looked at her small, smooth skinned feet and her darling painted toes next to my wide and veined, un-manicured clods. Suddenly I became very aware of feet; my own with shame, others with disgust or envy.
Perhaps it was this heightened awareness that led to a general aversion to feet- unless they are the piggies of one of my precious little pumpkins- otherwise, keep your dirty, smelly, scaly, sweaty hooves away from me.
Can you imagine why I get a little squeamish when considering what Jesus did at the Last Supper? He and the disciples are dining together and Jesus starts washing their feet with a basin of water and a towel tied at his waist. To put this in perspective, He wasn't removing a pair of Nikes and cushiony socks before starting in on the job. He was most likely faced with a layer of grime that would turn your stomach, mingled with blisters and callouses and cracks. Those feet had done some serious walking. This is why there was often a servant in the household who would wash the feet of those that entered. So when Jesus took it on Himself to fill this humble position, Peter was aghast.
Quite frankly, it catches me by surprise every time, too. I have to resist the urge to exclaim, "Yuck!" We're talking about Jesus who touched Lepers, but I'm turned off by a little foot-washing. And maybe that's the point. Because every time I hear the story, I am humbled by my vanity. (Does that sound like an oxy-moron to anybody else?)
Jesus wasn't just washing those feet. He was loving those feet. They were feet that had been following Him around for three years, and were ripe with the sacrifice of it. And He knew where those feet would be going when He left this earth. They would be the feet that would carry the Gospel to many nations. Those feet had a story. They belonged to someone. He humanized those feet and that's why He could lovingly wash them. It's why my mother's legs were beautiful to me, because my mother was beautiful to me regardless of how the world would define her.
Despite the grime of our life, Jesus loves us. He looks beyond what disgusts others- the callouses of greed, hate, envy, pride and anger; the painful blistering of alcoholism, addiction, prostitution, and murder- and sees what He created to be beautiful. And when He's done washing away the ugliness, He reveals the new life hiding underneath all of those layers of dead skin.
Isaiah 52:7 proclaims, "How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, 'Your God reigns!'" Those feet that had travelled mountain terrain would be anything but beautiful to the average eye, but to the one who sought the message, one might even kiss those feet. I suppose it could be said that each of our feet has a story to tell, not so much where we have been, but what message we bring.
I've never had a pedicure- as much as I don't like other people's feet, I'm certainly not going to subject someone to mine. But I think it's time for a weekly, Godly pedicure, because I'm pretty sure there's some work that needs to be done to these toes. The message they bring is too often not one that brings a smile to the beholder. And while I'm at it, I'm going to stop judging a foot by its callouses, and consider instead its Maker. No panicking if tonight's Maundy Thursday service requires a little dirty work ;).
Like most girls struggling with self-image at the age of 13, I was mortified when one of my best friends exclaimed on a bright and sunny morning that I had ugly feet. I had never considered that one might have ugly feet. Feet were feet... until I looked at her small, smooth skinned feet and her darling painted toes next to my wide and veined, un-manicured clods. Suddenly I became very aware of feet; my own with shame, others with disgust or envy.
Perhaps it was this heightened awareness that led to a general aversion to feet- unless they are the piggies of one of my precious little pumpkins- otherwise, keep your dirty, smelly, scaly, sweaty hooves away from me.
Can you imagine why I get a little squeamish when considering what Jesus did at the Last Supper? He and the disciples are dining together and Jesus starts washing their feet with a basin of water and a towel tied at his waist. To put this in perspective, He wasn't removing a pair of Nikes and cushiony socks before starting in on the job. He was most likely faced with a layer of grime that would turn your stomach, mingled with blisters and callouses and cracks. Those feet had done some serious walking. This is why there was often a servant in the household who would wash the feet of those that entered. So when Jesus took it on Himself to fill this humble position, Peter was aghast.
Quite frankly, it catches me by surprise every time, too. I have to resist the urge to exclaim, "Yuck!" We're talking about Jesus who touched Lepers, but I'm turned off by a little foot-washing. And maybe that's the point. Because every time I hear the story, I am humbled by my vanity. (Does that sound like an oxy-moron to anybody else?)
Jesus wasn't just washing those feet. He was loving those feet. They were feet that had been following Him around for three years, and were ripe with the sacrifice of it. And He knew where those feet would be going when He left this earth. They would be the feet that would carry the Gospel to many nations. Those feet had a story. They belonged to someone. He humanized those feet and that's why He could lovingly wash them. It's why my mother's legs were beautiful to me, because my mother was beautiful to me regardless of how the world would define her.
Despite the grime of our life, Jesus loves us. He looks beyond what disgusts others- the callouses of greed, hate, envy, pride and anger; the painful blistering of alcoholism, addiction, prostitution, and murder- and sees what He created to be beautiful. And when He's done washing away the ugliness, He reveals the new life hiding underneath all of those layers of dead skin.
Isaiah 52:7 proclaims, "How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation, who say to Zion, 'Your God reigns!'" Those feet that had travelled mountain terrain would be anything but beautiful to the average eye, but to the one who sought the message, one might even kiss those feet. I suppose it could be said that each of our feet has a story to tell, not so much where we have been, but what message we bring.
I've never had a pedicure- as much as I don't like other people's feet, I'm certainly not going to subject someone to mine. But I think it's time for a weekly, Godly pedicure, because I'm pretty sure there's some work that needs to be done to these toes. The message they bring is too often not one that brings a smile to the beholder. And while I'm at it, I'm going to stop judging a foot by its callouses, and consider instead its Maker. No panicking if tonight's Maundy Thursday service requires a little dirty work ;).
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Gone Fishing
It's amazing how a story I have read straight from the Bible a good 50 times all of a sudden generates a new perspective. What other book can do that?! Though I have this happen frequently, the story of most recent inspiration is from Luke 5:1-11. I bet as I start sharing the story, many of you will go, "Oh yeah, I know that one. Fishing all night. No fish. Then lots of 'em. Fishers of men. Yep. Got it." I'm not criticizing, because I have a tendency to do this often when re-reading anything. It is in part because I have a pesky Know-It-All complex, so I like to convince myself that I have nothing new to learn. And this conceit is probably why it took me 50 readings to get such a basic and amazing concept from the well-known, yet well-overlooked, story.
The account takes place at the beginning of Jesus's ministry when He is in the process of gathering disciples. A crowd had gathered to hear him speak just as some unsuccessful fishermen have come in from a night of fishing. Jesus steps into a boat belonging to Simon so that He can be visible to the crowd. After teaching the people, He asks Simon to push out to deep water and let down his nets. Simon answers, "Master, we've worked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets."
Now, I have heard sermons prepared on the miraculous event that takes place- so many fish are caught they need extra boats. And I have heard sermons on Simon's response- he falls to his knees, recognizing that this is God who stands before him, and he is "a sinful man." I can even remember as early as my first Sunday School class teaching us to be "fisher's of men," as Jesus calls those men to be. What struck me as "new" in the story, was how fishing all night with no results is much like ministry.
Sometimes there are no catches and we have given up hope and pulled our boats ashore. Sometimes we can lift our spirits by considering tomorrow is a new day and a change is in the winds. Sometimes we feel so discouraged, we wonder if God has use for us at all. And it is often on those days that God tells us to get right back in the boat and try again. We might be tempted to point out to God what He already knows. We have been trying! All night, all day, our whole life and nobody (or maybe it's just that one somebody) is taking the bait.
But because You say so, Lord, I will go.
I have a friend whose father is facing death; a father who in all appearances had strayed from the faith, though he once had served in the church. On Monday, this friend had shared with me the pain she felt of knowing what her father faced in death and not having the comfort of his salvation. And just when it might seem time to row the boat ashore and consider it too late to hope that he might make peace with God, she and others continued to share the Gospel message with him.
It is Thursday. What a difference God can make in three days... or 3 hours... or 3 minutes. I received an email that this friend's father has asked for forgiveness and is in the process of finding peace in Christ, even in death. What an amazing blessing to see this prayer answered!
Luke 5 is a story of hope- one that says even when it defies the odds and your own sensibilities, God is at work preparing a catch that will make our hearts burst with joy, unable to contain the bounty. As I read it, it brought to mind many whom I have witnessed to with no result and I rowed away, feeling defeated and leaving them in the seas of doubt. But God calls us to go back out and let down the net again.
When we are feeling discouraged, especially when the salvation of a loved one is on our mind, we are reminded that sometimes it only requires pushing out to sea one more time. It might seem tiring, it might seem hopeless, it might even be frightening, but if God has called us to do it, He will be faithful to see us through it.
The account takes place at the beginning of Jesus's ministry when He is in the process of gathering disciples. A crowd had gathered to hear him speak just as some unsuccessful fishermen have come in from a night of fishing. Jesus steps into a boat belonging to Simon so that He can be visible to the crowd. After teaching the people, He asks Simon to push out to deep water and let down his nets. Simon answers, "Master, we've worked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets."
Now, I have heard sermons prepared on the miraculous event that takes place- so many fish are caught they need extra boats. And I have heard sermons on Simon's response- he falls to his knees, recognizing that this is God who stands before him, and he is "a sinful man." I can even remember as early as my first Sunday School class teaching us to be "fisher's of men," as Jesus calls those men to be. What struck me as "new" in the story, was how fishing all night with no results is much like ministry.
Sometimes there are no catches and we have given up hope and pulled our boats ashore. Sometimes we can lift our spirits by considering tomorrow is a new day and a change is in the winds. Sometimes we feel so discouraged, we wonder if God has use for us at all. And it is often on those days that God tells us to get right back in the boat and try again. We might be tempted to point out to God what He already knows. We have been trying! All night, all day, our whole life and nobody (or maybe it's just that one somebody) is taking the bait.
But because You say so, Lord, I will go.
I have a friend whose father is facing death; a father who in all appearances had strayed from the faith, though he once had served in the church. On Monday, this friend had shared with me the pain she felt of knowing what her father faced in death and not having the comfort of his salvation. And just when it might seem time to row the boat ashore and consider it too late to hope that he might make peace with God, she and others continued to share the Gospel message with him.
It is Thursday. What a difference God can make in three days... or 3 hours... or 3 minutes. I received an email that this friend's father has asked for forgiveness and is in the process of finding peace in Christ, even in death. What an amazing blessing to see this prayer answered!
Luke 5 is a story of hope- one that says even when it defies the odds and your own sensibilities, God is at work preparing a catch that will make our hearts burst with joy, unable to contain the bounty. As I read it, it brought to mind many whom I have witnessed to with no result and I rowed away, feeling defeated and leaving them in the seas of doubt. But God calls us to go back out and let down the net again.
When we are feeling discouraged, especially when the salvation of a loved one is on our mind, we are reminded that sometimes it only requires pushing out to sea one more time. It might seem tiring, it might seem hopeless, it might even be frightening, but if God has called us to do it, He will be faithful to see us through it.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
God and Coffee
I have always left the act of giving up something for Lent to the Catholics. Originally the thought never crossed my mind because I'm not Catholic. And then there were a few years where I thought the idea was kind of nice, but we would be halfway through the Lenten season or I just couldn't think of something that wasn't self motivated. For example, if I considered giving up sweets, I would be hoping for the added benefit of losing weight. It just didn't seem right to have another motivation.
Yesterday I did not have a paczki and I did not come up with a plan of self-sacrifice for Lent. My church is promoting 40 days in the Word and I thought that suitable preparation for Easter. But this morning as I reached for the coffee to make my morning cup, I felt this very clear impression that I was to give it up. Before I had pulled the coffee grinds entirely from the cupboard, I was putting them back. The decision was made that fast.
Now I will just preface this post by saying that I am not a caffeine addict. I don't have some massive mug that accompanies my day and I don't feel like I require it in order to function. But I do really, really, really enjoy my one cup of coffee in the morning. There is something really peaceful about the warmth of the mug in your hands and the pace at which you have to drink the steaming liquid. My kids have a clear understanding that coffee is for adults and they do not get to partake which means that coffee is the one thing that I can leisurely enjoy without somebody asking me for a taste, leading to several others clamoring for what's MINE.
I wanted to share with you some reflections I had while I wrestled with this commitment this morning:
1. It was a fleeting thought. Perhaps this was just silly. What affect can giving up coffee have?
These thoughts took place moments after I walked away from the coffee cupboard. The decision had been made so quickly with no forethought that my brain attempted to convince me against the commitment I had just made. As I tried to reason my way out of giving coffee up for Lent, it occurred to me that the fact that thought came from nowhere was evidence that it came from God. How many times do we have impressions from God that we don't immediately act upon because we dismiss them as being not well thought out?
2. It's not like it's a big sacrifice- you're not addicted to the stuff.
I prefaced this blog by mentioning that I am not a caffeine addict, but I discovered this morning that I have a lot more reliance on the stuff than I even realized. The fact that I tried to convince myself that I could have it because "it wasn't like I needed it," is enough said. How often do we fool ourselves in thinking we depend on God when we allow so many other dependencies in our life and then convince ourselves that they don't exist?
3. This is not a good idea. I'm probably going to get a headache and I won't be able to write later which is a greater service to God than giving up coffee.
Well that sounds like a pretty good argument to me! But then it occurred to me that perhaps I needed to trust that if God was asking me to give up coffee, He would sustain me; headache or not.
4. "Time to start school, Colette! Mommy's just going to grab her... cup... of...coff.....BLAH!"
I can not tell you how many times I almost forgot that I had committed to giving up coffee and kept looking for it. It is so routine that I fear I will forget tomorrow until after I have completed a cup! And I wonder how many things are so routine in our life that we form dependencies we don't even realize we have.
5. But I'm going to someone's house and I know they'll have coffee and I can't resist the temptation and it will look rude if I decline and why should I give up when everybody is else is having some?
Sacrifice doesn't come easy and it certainly doesn't come without temptation. It's time we stop fooling ourselves that the Christian life is a paved and easy road to walk.
6. What if two days from now I give up? Wouldn't it be better to not try than to try and fail and let God down?
The devil specializes in convincing us we're licked before we even get started. The only winner in that situation is him. 2 Corinthians 12:9 "But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me."
My final revelation came when I was about to pretend like I never thought that thought because I really just wanted a cup of coffee. It occurred to me that I should pine after God's Word like I was pining after that cup of coffee. What if my source of peace in the morning was God's Word? What if that was my source of warmth and comfort? What if not getting God's Word affected my daily functioning? What if I feared the disastrous results if I didn't take time to connect with Him? What if spending time in His Word was so routine that I couldn't break the habit no matter how hard I tried? What if I accepted the fact that the day is filled with temptations and I am called to a life of sacrifice, not a life of pleasure? What if I recognized that it is only in my weaknesses that I can actually see the power of God working?
What if giving up coffee was the only way God planned on calling me to these reflections and I missed that opportunity with Him?
Proverbs 16:3 "Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed." Here's to 40 days without coffee, but a God who will be filling my cup to overflowing!
Yesterday I did not have a paczki and I did not come up with a plan of self-sacrifice for Lent. My church is promoting 40 days in the Word and I thought that suitable preparation for Easter. But this morning as I reached for the coffee to make my morning cup, I felt this very clear impression that I was to give it up. Before I had pulled the coffee grinds entirely from the cupboard, I was putting them back. The decision was made that fast.
Now I will just preface this post by saying that I am not a caffeine addict. I don't have some massive mug that accompanies my day and I don't feel like I require it in order to function. But I do really, really, really enjoy my one cup of coffee in the morning. There is something really peaceful about the warmth of the mug in your hands and the pace at which you have to drink the steaming liquid. My kids have a clear understanding that coffee is for adults and they do not get to partake which means that coffee is the one thing that I can leisurely enjoy without somebody asking me for a taste, leading to several others clamoring for what's MINE.
I wanted to share with you some reflections I had while I wrestled with this commitment this morning:
1. It was a fleeting thought. Perhaps this was just silly. What affect can giving up coffee have?
These thoughts took place moments after I walked away from the coffee cupboard. The decision had been made so quickly with no forethought that my brain attempted to convince me against the commitment I had just made. As I tried to reason my way out of giving coffee up for Lent, it occurred to me that the fact that thought came from nowhere was evidence that it came from God. How many times do we have impressions from God that we don't immediately act upon because we dismiss them as being not well thought out?
2. It's not like it's a big sacrifice- you're not addicted to the stuff.
I prefaced this blog by mentioning that I am not a caffeine addict, but I discovered this morning that I have a lot more reliance on the stuff than I even realized. The fact that I tried to convince myself that I could have it because "it wasn't like I needed it," is enough said. How often do we fool ourselves in thinking we depend on God when we allow so many other dependencies in our life and then convince ourselves that they don't exist?
3. This is not a good idea. I'm probably going to get a headache and I won't be able to write later which is a greater service to God than giving up coffee.
Well that sounds like a pretty good argument to me! But then it occurred to me that perhaps I needed to trust that if God was asking me to give up coffee, He would sustain me; headache or not.
4. "Time to start school, Colette! Mommy's just going to grab her... cup... of...coff.....BLAH!"
I can not tell you how many times I almost forgot that I had committed to giving up coffee and kept looking for it. It is so routine that I fear I will forget tomorrow until after I have completed a cup! And I wonder how many things are so routine in our life that we form dependencies we don't even realize we have.
5. But I'm going to someone's house and I know they'll have coffee and I can't resist the temptation and it will look rude if I decline and why should I give up when everybody is else is having some?
Sacrifice doesn't come easy and it certainly doesn't come without temptation. It's time we stop fooling ourselves that the Christian life is a paved and easy road to walk.
6. What if two days from now I give up? Wouldn't it be better to not try than to try and fail and let God down?
The devil specializes in convincing us we're licked before we even get started. The only winner in that situation is him. 2 Corinthians 12:9 "But He said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me."
My final revelation came when I was about to pretend like I never thought that thought because I really just wanted a cup of coffee. It occurred to me that I should pine after God's Word like I was pining after that cup of coffee. What if my source of peace in the morning was God's Word? What if that was my source of warmth and comfort? What if not getting God's Word affected my daily functioning? What if I feared the disastrous results if I didn't take time to connect with Him? What if spending time in His Word was so routine that I couldn't break the habit no matter how hard I tried? What if I accepted the fact that the day is filled with temptations and I am called to a life of sacrifice, not a life of pleasure? What if I recognized that it is only in my weaknesses that I can actually see the power of God working?
What if giving up coffee was the only way God planned on calling me to these reflections and I missed that opportunity with Him?
Proverbs 16:3 "Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and your plans will succeed." Here's to 40 days without coffee, but a God who will be filling my cup to overflowing!
Monday, January 30, 2012
Cleaning House!
No one probably expected much from Josiah. His grandfather had lead a great massacre of innocent blood and his father was murdered by his own trusted officials. At the tender age of eight, when boys in our time are still stumbling in their reading and have not yet conquered long division, Josiah was made king of Judah; a whole nation entrusted to the rule of a boy who was from a line of kings that had long been leading Judah down a path of destruction. What could we expect from a child, but to follow in the examples laid before him? How could he know any better?
But somehow he did. It was said of Josiah in 2 Kings 23:25, "Neither before nor after Josiah was there a king like him who turned to the Lord as he did- with all his heart and with all his soul and with all his strength, in accordance with all the Law of Moses." I find it fascinating. During Colette's school time this morning, we read the story of Josiah and it lead me on a cross-referencing search for more on this king, but the answers I sought, I did not find. What caused Josiah to live so differently than those that had come before him?
Here is what we do know. In the eighteenth year of his reign (so when he was about 26!), Josiah ordered that the Temple of the Lord, which had long been neglected and desecrated by idol worship, be cleaned and repaired. We do not know what inspired this; whether it was an earnest seeking of God or a shallow desire of aesthetic pleasure. While cleaning the temple, The Book of Law was found and brought to Josiah. Apparently, this book had been long-forgotten as a result of a disregard to lead God-pleasing lives. Upon it being read, Josiah was gripped with emotion because it clearly brought to light God's justice in dealing with a nation that had long turned from Him. Josiah rightly feared for his nation because the law clearly warned of what would happen if Israel turned from God and worshipped idols. Josiah did everything within his power to turn the nation around, and began by renewing his nation's commitment to God and then he started cleaning house.
There was a lot of work to do. Within the temple there were idols for the stars, sun, and moon, as well as for the false gods, Baal and Asherah. In the very Temple of God, male shrine prostitutes were living and women had a station for weaving gifts for Asherah. Horses and chariots had been dedicated to the worship of the sun. Israelites sacrificed their own children in fire to Molech! There were altars throughout the land of Judah to various pagan gods. There was a booming business for mediums and spiritists. Idol worship was so commonplace and widely accepted that few places went untouched. So Josiah went on a destructive, but righteous rampage against the evil that infiltrated his nation.
And it all started with a little housekeeping.
How's your temple looking? "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body." 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 What about your "Jerusalem", the city that is home to the temple?
I would venture to guess we could all do a little housekeeping. How many of us have lost the Book of the Law? Collecting dust on a bookshelf somewhere? Let's talk about our temples. Josiah found idol worship right on the doorstep. How are your doorsteps looking? What kind of garbage do you let pass through the thresholds of your eyes and ears? Maybe you need to consider what is coming out of the temple by way of your mouth. If people were to come to the temple to seek God, is your tongue giving them the wrong direction? What kind of idols do you find in your appearance? Do you spend more time showering than you do in prayer? How about exercise over studying the Bible? Do your wardrobe needs exceed your charitable expenditures (don't forget to include all of your body products, hair cuts and makeup in that figure)?
Is your home a place you would expect to find a godly temple? Is it a place that welcomes prayer, praise and worship? Is it a refuge to the weary? A reflection of holy conduct? Is it a place that can balance mercy with justice? Does it offer instruction in the ways of righteousness to its citizens?
I wonder what it would look like if we followed Josiah's example and called a meeting of our household to instruct them in renewing their covenant with God. What if we went on a symbolic journey of removing the idols that have made their way into our homes? What if we smashed to bits and burned to ashes those things that have lead us away from worshipping our God? And what if in the midst we found the ability to love and obey our God with all of our heart, soul, and strength?
But somehow he did. It was said of Josiah in 2 Kings 23:25, "Neither before nor after Josiah was there a king like him who turned to the Lord as he did- with all his heart and with all his soul and with all his strength, in accordance with all the Law of Moses." I find it fascinating. During Colette's school time this morning, we read the story of Josiah and it lead me on a cross-referencing search for more on this king, but the answers I sought, I did not find. What caused Josiah to live so differently than those that had come before him?
Here is what we do know. In the eighteenth year of his reign (so when he was about 26!), Josiah ordered that the Temple of the Lord, which had long been neglected and desecrated by idol worship, be cleaned and repaired. We do not know what inspired this; whether it was an earnest seeking of God or a shallow desire of aesthetic pleasure. While cleaning the temple, The Book of Law was found and brought to Josiah. Apparently, this book had been long-forgotten as a result of a disregard to lead God-pleasing lives. Upon it being read, Josiah was gripped with emotion because it clearly brought to light God's justice in dealing with a nation that had long turned from Him. Josiah rightly feared for his nation because the law clearly warned of what would happen if Israel turned from God and worshipped idols. Josiah did everything within his power to turn the nation around, and began by renewing his nation's commitment to God and then he started cleaning house.
There was a lot of work to do. Within the temple there were idols for the stars, sun, and moon, as well as for the false gods, Baal and Asherah. In the very Temple of God, male shrine prostitutes were living and women had a station for weaving gifts for Asherah. Horses and chariots had been dedicated to the worship of the sun. Israelites sacrificed their own children in fire to Molech! There were altars throughout the land of Judah to various pagan gods. There was a booming business for mediums and spiritists. Idol worship was so commonplace and widely accepted that few places went untouched. So Josiah went on a destructive, but righteous rampage against the evil that infiltrated his nation.
And it all started with a little housekeeping.
How's your temple looking? "Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your body." 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 What about your "Jerusalem", the city that is home to the temple?
I would venture to guess we could all do a little housekeeping. How many of us have lost the Book of the Law? Collecting dust on a bookshelf somewhere? Let's talk about our temples. Josiah found idol worship right on the doorstep. How are your doorsteps looking? What kind of garbage do you let pass through the thresholds of your eyes and ears? Maybe you need to consider what is coming out of the temple by way of your mouth. If people were to come to the temple to seek God, is your tongue giving them the wrong direction? What kind of idols do you find in your appearance? Do you spend more time showering than you do in prayer? How about exercise over studying the Bible? Do your wardrobe needs exceed your charitable expenditures (don't forget to include all of your body products, hair cuts and makeup in that figure)?
Is your home a place you would expect to find a godly temple? Is it a place that welcomes prayer, praise and worship? Is it a refuge to the weary? A reflection of holy conduct? Is it a place that can balance mercy with justice? Does it offer instruction in the ways of righteousness to its citizens?
I wonder what it would look like if we followed Josiah's example and called a meeting of our household to instruct them in renewing their covenant with God. What if we went on a symbolic journey of removing the idols that have made their way into our homes? What if we smashed to bits and burned to ashes those things that have lead us away from worshipping our God? And what if in the midst we found the ability to love and obey our God with all of our heart, soul, and strength?
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Joseph's Staff
I caused myself a lot of anxiety this Christmas. And a large part of that anxiety lead to blog-freeze (a new term I just created to describe my brain's inability to form a coherent blog entry). The other responsible party for the blog-freeze would be Julia, the Twenty Minute Napper.
I have always been pretty low-key about Christmas. I do not get roped into everything having to be just perfect, but I enjoy the pursuit of making it memorable. I love the decorating and baking and gift-purchasing. The most enjoyable activities for me is setting out the Nativity scene and attending Christmas Eve service. Now, as much as any other parent, I do love seeing my children filled with excitement and joy when they open gifts, but this year I began to fear that the focus of Christmas would get shifted to the presents, which is so easy for young and old to do.
Fretting often causes a state of agonizing indecision for me. I wandered down toy aisles and craft aisles over-analyzing every gift and the spiritual impact it might have on my children. Meanwhile, the rest of the holiday season continued stress-free. We participated in church activities and purchased gifts and food for the less fortunate and almost every night enjoyed singing Christmas songs. We focused our activities on celebrating Christ's birth, but how to gear the presents in that direction nagged at my heart daily.
I had read on a blog an idea to present gifts that resembled the symbolic gifts that the Magi brought to Jesus. I loved the idea. I still love the idea though it sadly became a source of holiday frustration. I adopted this idea to give the children's gifts a spiritual focus. Frankincense was burned in the temple and signified drawing close to God in worship. Myrrh would be used to prepare a body for burial and an appropriate gift for children would be something hygiene related that teaches us to value our own bodies. Gold was a gift for the King of Kings and should be replicated by the parents by giving a gift to show the child how much they are valued. I loved the idea, but I found the gold aspect surprisingly hard to fill. I adore my children. My daily life is committed to a sacrificial love for them. Finding a gift that communicated this became an impossible task when surrounded by a sea of gaudy-colored toys that held the potential of being discarded two days after gifting.
Two days before Christmas with only gifts of Frankincense (a child's devotional) and Myrrh (toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner), I handed the task over to my husband with no small amount of angst. He charged through one store and made some very well-recieved purchases. Though I felt relief, I also felt a strong sense of failing to really expose through the gifts what Christmas really should be centered around.
And it wasn't until just a few days ago that I ushered those feelings out the door. I would like to share with you what has been most frequently played with since Christmas. The item that has been the source of hours of play, as well as several sharing altercations, has been a cardboard tube that once held wrapping paper. Everyday since Christmas, Colette dons a blue blanket affixed to her head by a headband, wraps a baby doll in a blanket, and hops aboard a hobby horse which is lead by Mary wielding the cardboard tube. If you haven't guessed, they are Mary and Joseph reenacting the Christmas story and the tube is Joseph's staff. The fights take place when "Mary" decides that she needs a staff too because she's pregnant afterall, and can't be expected to ride on the donkey the whole time!
I can not tell you how many times this sweet display of their knowledge of the true meaning of Christmas has brought tears to my eyes. And they have made me giggle too when Jon was playing the role of one of the Wise Men and was reprimanded for coming in too loudly and waking the baby up or when Colette (Mary) told Mary (Joseph) that the baby was about to be born and he needed to go to the store quickly to buy some hay for the manger.
The lesson in all of this? Sometimes I think we tend to get fancy with the simple act of speaking God's Word. Sometimes we get so fancy that we forget that the power is in hearing God's Word, not in our fancy presentation. I am going to trust that as I continue to share God's Word with my children it will be His love that points them in the right direction, not my creativity or intellectual reasoning or my persistence. Romans 10:17 "Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the Word of Christ."
I am not at all implying that God does not use us in creative and exciting ways to bring His message to the lost. I strongly believe that we are each gifted in a manner that God uses for specific purposes in ministering to the hearts of the unsaved. What I am implying, is that we can become easily distracted from the power of the simplicity of hearing God's Word. In all that we do, we should make sure that the message of Christ is coming through loud and clear. I trust that Colette, Mary and Julia are getting the message because God's Word promises it. Isaiah 55:10-11 "As the rain and the snow come down from Heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it."
The "staff" is becoming slightly mangled from the daily journeys to "Bethlehem," but I am keeping what others would discard because it is valuable in the eyes of my children. What was on its way out to the trash, became the most valued "toy" in our household. In the eyes of the world, we may seem to be discardable with no potential worth keeping, but God sees not just the salvageable, but his most valuable possession. Just when we think we are heading out to the trash, we can become the staff that leads the way to Bethlehem.
I have always been pretty low-key about Christmas. I do not get roped into everything having to be just perfect, but I enjoy the pursuit of making it memorable. I love the decorating and baking and gift-purchasing. The most enjoyable activities for me is setting out the Nativity scene and attending Christmas Eve service. Now, as much as any other parent, I do love seeing my children filled with excitement and joy when they open gifts, but this year I began to fear that the focus of Christmas would get shifted to the presents, which is so easy for young and old to do.
Fretting often causes a state of agonizing indecision for me. I wandered down toy aisles and craft aisles over-analyzing every gift and the spiritual impact it might have on my children. Meanwhile, the rest of the holiday season continued stress-free. We participated in church activities and purchased gifts and food for the less fortunate and almost every night enjoyed singing Christmas songs. We focused our activities on celebrating Christ's birth, but how to gear the presents in that direction nagged at my heart daily.
I had read on a blog an idea to present gifts that resembled the symbolic gifts that the Magi brought to Jesus. I loved the idea. I still love the idea though it sadly became a source of holiday frustration. I adopted this idea to give the children's gifts a spiritual focus. Frankincense was burned in the temple and signified drawing close to God in worship. Myrrh would be used to prepare a body for burial and an appropriate gift for children would be something hygiene related that teaches us to value our own bodies. Gold was a gift for the King of Kings and should be replicated by the parents by giving a gift to show the child how much they are valued. I loved the idea, but I found the gold aspect surprisingly hard to fill. I adore my children. My daily life is committed to a sacrificial love for them. Finding a gift that communicated this became an impossible task when surrounded by a sea of gaudy-colored toys that held the potential of being discarded two days after gifting.
Two days before Christmas with only gifts of Frankincense (a child's devotional) and Myrrh (toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo and conditioner), I handed the task over to my husband with no small amount of angst. He charged through one store and made some very well-recieved purchases. Though I felt relief, I also felt a strong sense of failing to really expose through the gifts what Christmas really should be centered around.
And it wasn't until just a few days ago that I ushered those feelings out the door. I would like to share with you what has been most frequently played with since Christmas. The item that has been the source of hours of play, as well as several sharing altercations, has been a cardboard tube that once held wrapping paper. Everyday since Christmas, Colette dons a blue blanket affixed to her head by a headband, wraps a baby doll in a blanket, and hops aboard a hobby horse which is lead by Mary wielding the cardboard tube. If you haven't guessed, they are Mary and Joseph reenacting the Christmas story and the tube is Joseph's staff. The fights take place when "Mary" decides that she needs a staff too because she's pregnant afterall, and can't be expected to ride on the donkey the whole time!
I can not tell you how many times this sweet display of their knowledge of the true meaning of Christmas has brought tears to my eyes. And they have made me giggle too when Jon was playing the role of one of the Wise Men and was reprimanded for coming in too loudly and waking the baby up or when Colette (Mary) told Mary (Joseph) that the baby was about to be born and he needed to go to the store quickly to buy some hay for the manger.
The lesson in all of this? Sometimes I think we tend to get fancy with the simple act of speaking God's Word. Sometimes we get so fancy that we forget that the power is in hearing God's Word, not in our fancy presentation. I am going to trust that as I continue to share God's Word with my children it will be His love that points them in the right direction, not my creativity or intellectual reasoning or my persistence. Romans 10:17 "Consequently, faith comes from hearing the message, and the message is heard through the Word of Christ."
I am not at all implying that God does not use us in creative and exciting ways to bring His message to the lost. I strongly believe that we are each gifted in a manner that God uses for specific purposes in ministering to the hearts of the unsaved. What I am implying, is that we can become easily distracted from the power of the simplicity of hearing God's Word. In all that we do, we should make sure that the message of Christ is coming through loud and clear. I trust that Colette, Mary and Julia are getting the message because God's Word promises it. Isaiah 55:10-11 "As the rain and the snow come down from Heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it."
The "staff" is becoming slightly mangled from the daily journeys to "Bethlehem," but I am keeping what others would discard because it is valuable in the eyes of my children. What was on its way out to the trash, became the most valued "toy" in our household. In the eyes of the world, we may seem to be discardable with no potential worth keeping, but God sees not just the salvageable, but his most valuable possession. Just when we think we are heading out to the trash, we can become the staff that leads the way to Bethlehem.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
