Thursday, March 6, 2008

Who started it, I’m not sure, but each member of the family has picked up the tune and the words to “I’m a little teapot”. Lydia is still whistling it as she folds her laundry. Perhaps we all identify a little too closely with the “short and stout” part.

I thought Spring was here, but apparently my thoughts have yet to become scientific laws. As I scurried in and out of stores, running errands for Mom and Papa and finally managed to meet Lauryn for lunch, the dreary weather turned first to a drizzle, from a drizzle to a sleet and from a sleet to a blustery snow. Jacinda escorted me back to my car with an umbrella.

Spying a drum set in the window of the Valley Piano store, I popped in to see if I might sneak a play, only to discover they were hardly set up for playing. Instead, I swapped piano pieces with the store owner and soon found myself asking if he knew the Lord. Having managed to gear up for a good conversation, I found myself in for a rare treat sharing and hearing what the Lord was doing in a brother’s life. Amazing the bond of encouragement found throughout the body of the Lord.

I was melting with impatience behind a huge traffic jam when Papa called, asking me to come back to the clinic. Weather conditions were getting nasty and the clinic was closing up as quickly as possible. Managing to slip between traffic and get into a side road, I skirted the issue—a pretty nasty looking wreck in a main intersection.

Having wrapped up Leviticus, I find myself looking back on it through the perspective of Romans—the Law is our tutor to lead us to Christ. “You are to be holy as I am holy,” Yahweh says, over and over again. But who can be holy like the Lord? The foreshadowing is beautiful—in a painful sort of way. Bloody sacrifices offered year by year, animals without defect, to cover over the sins of omission and commission, reminder of how short we fall from the standard of the Living God. Hebrews offered perfect parallels (imagine that) as I read through the Law of sin and death. Now, Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world has been slain. His blood is sufficient to cleanse every sin ever committed or that ever will be committed. Once again I am reminded how, in His death, He tore the curtain that separated us from the Holy of Holies and opened up the mercy seat of God, to all who enter having been sprinkled with His pure blood.

It sounds grotesque, perhaps. The life is in the blood, God’s law said, forbidding the eating of blood. Truly, the life is in the blood—the blood of Jesus.

Lord! Only Thy blood can suffice
To cleanse me of both guilt and vice.
The sacrifices Thou dost seek
Are in a soul and heart shown weak

Through gazing at Thy holy law.
And falling on my face in awe,
I recognize I am unworthy--
Yet Thou hast made me pure and holy.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

Kitchens have a nasty habit of growing smaller the longer you are trapped in them. Mom and I spent the day cooking. I managed to escape the kitchen now and then—for a bit of drumming while my meatballs burned and stuck to the pan, a run to my room to write down a phrase until the timer on my pumpkin bread called me back, for a walk while everyone else ate lunch, to clear out my head and eyes and enjoy the beautiful woods God made. Frankly, it is my firm belief that cooking and eating nearly classify as wastes of precious time. Yet, sadly I must confess, that I do both very well at times.

While in the woods I discovered a large cat paw print. Larger than a house cat. “No worries,” I told myself, and myself raised her eyebrows. “I’ve faced down a wildcat before.” Myself chuckled back, recalling the day so many years ago when I came face to face with a bobcat as he hunted in our old woods back home in Kansas. As we stared at each other, two fireballs of fur and fear, I stood up to my full height and began barking at the top of my lungs. The bobcat retreated in haste and I continued my walk. I was still chuckling to myself when a crash came from the woods and I jerked my head up in time to see three enormous white tails bouncing down the side of the hill.

Sleeper joined us for supper and to pick Nick up for the holidays. Papa surprised us all with a pop quiz on Christians and the Mosaic Law. I missed more than I care to confess, and we all enjoyed a hearty discussion of the matter, followed by some good teaching and some great quotes. I am grateful to be under a Law of Grace, by the blood of Jesus Christ. I am also increasingly aware of how little scripture I know by heart and how little I can draw upon when in a pinch. The foundation for my life is in that book—how can I hope to live a life pleasing to the Lord while so ignorant of His Word?

The disjointed ramblings I scribbled down last night--the workings of an exhausted mind, are beyond my own comprehension today. I cried myself to sleep last night, weeping for the others and myself and woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a train. Slowly I opened my eyes to discover they were not swollen, and then climbed out of bed to fix an early breakfast, pondering the many times I've been told no. As I worked, the thought came to me: No is not a punishment. The force of this simple statement hit me with such amazing ferocity that it nearly stole my breath. No is not a punishment. It’s not a divine spanking when the Lord says “no”. It’s not something to be dreaded. His plans always work out—for the good of those who love Him. For Him to answer my prayers with a “no” should not cause me tears, it should not disturb me or make me miserable. It should bring me peace, knowing that the Lord has heard and answered. And whatever He has is better. Don’t say it tritely. Really listen. I thought what I wanted was good. The Lord said, “no, I’ve got something better in mind. Because you are called according to My purpose.” Where is my cause for sorrow? Where is my excuse for depression? Where is my reason for pitying myself? When the Lord says “no” it is not a punishment, just a redirection. He’s simply blocking me off from the wrong direction and heading me in the right direction again.

Chains fell off my heart and mind. For the first time in a long time I felt completely freed of a burden I’d been carrying, which had grown heavier and heavier of late. Anything to which the Lord says “no” is simply not what He has for me, and I can accept that joyfully as His loving protection. The rest of the day I floated around on the joy of knowing I am a daughter of the King and my heart is like water in His hands, to turn wherever He wishes.

Later, I passed a picture of a much younger Abigail, reposing placidly on the bookshelf in the library. “Little girl,” I sought to advise the innocent-eyed child. “Life is hard. Living is dangerous. Loving is risky. The only true reward is in the Lord. Pursue Him.”

Lord, may I ever, always be
Content to know Thy will for me.
And when I know Thy will in full
Pursue it gladly, heart and soul.

And when Thy will seems distant still
Remind me, waiting, is Thy will.
And when Thy will is dim or worse
Remind me to pursue Thee first.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Perhaps drums are my “thing” after all. The sunshine today left me full of a weird, super-energy which defied wearing out. A walk, a run, push-ups, rough-housing with Josiah all left me still feeling a violent urge to hit something. For the protection of his stomach, Josiah volunteered his drums. I’d never managed to make the sticks bounce before, or work my hands with separate beats or even simply hold the sticks correctly. Today, everything came together for me: bounces, rhythms, timing. Most of the afternoon passed loudly for my poor family and our guests, but I think I’ve found a new passion. Notice I said “passion”, not “talent”. I’ve swiped Josiah’s ancient green drumsticks, he built me a drum pad from an ice cream bucket filled with beads, and I’ll likely be making a racket for the next, oh, week or so, before the fancy fades, like most others. Including the guitar, which I picked up again today and strummed out the song I wrote on it a year ago when I was trying to learn. I would like to believe that it’s a mark of genius when the only song I can play on guitar is one I wrote, but my conscience won’t allow such fibbing. Playing guitar was something I really made a concentrated effort at, but the neck of Papa’s steel-string was simply too wide for my shrimpy-woman hands. Someday I will snag someone’s electric and learn it all. Of course, the real goal is bass. That’s right, this woman here is the dreamer who would like to master piano, harp and bass guitar. Well, and drums, cello, violin, flute and regular guitar. Musical talent would have been a convenient gift once upon a time.

I never even cracked my Bible in private today. It’s a horrible thing to have to record, but I get some sort of penance satisfaction from pointing the finger at myself. Perhaps it’s my personality that demands someone to reprimand, and when no one else is available, I pounce on myself. Honestly, though, it is pitiful that I’ve not read the Word today. I cuddled by my parent’s fire, Bible in hand this morning, and promptly drifted to sleep. Sure, I got fed during church by Papa, Don and Nick, all sharing good stuff—about the gifts we have in Christ Jesus. And sure, I played and sang praise songs with Josiah and Zach this afternoon. But I didn’t gather my Bread from Heaven first thing in the morning and I’m sure my spirit has been ill-fed today on account of it. “Tomorrow,” I promise myself, and my Bible, and the Lord. “Tonight I want to finish up my journal, climb into bed and cuddle in to sleep, sleep, sleep. After all, doesn’t the Lord give His loved one’s sleep?” Sure, He does. And He says to meditate on my bed and be still. What better way to meditate than after a hearty spiritual meal? Sadly, I don’t feel hungry. When fasting, you know, the longer you go, the less you desire food. I can’t bear for my spiritual system to go into starvation mode, no longer demanding sustenance. I can’t make up the tomorrow for not eating today. I think of the famine for God’s word—in other countries where believers stay awake all night to read as much as they can, never sure when a Bible will be again available to them. Never sure when they will have time again to sit and read the precious Word of God. Tonight before I go to sleep, I will take the time to read God’s word, in case I never have another chance.

Lord, because it seems less filling,

See my hardened heart, unwilling

To get up and gather early,

Taste Thy bread so pure and holy.

But Thy precious bread from heaven,

Free from sin’s pervading leaven,

Unlike manna in the desert

May be gathered now and ever.