I was half-way through my tooth brushing late last night when I suddenly realized the toothbrush protruding from my mouth was purple instead of silver. Don’t tell Lydia.
Impulsive shopping is a wonderful fault when coupled with generosity—at least in the case of our neighbors. I arrived, ready to clean, to find a note with my pay directing me to take home an enormous cedar jewelry box, a bag of apples and a huge bowel of fresh berries. Mary also keeps me in facial wash and lotion, has supplied me with tennis shoes, hair items, jewelry and purses and given me more lip gloss than I’ll ever manage to use. I hardly own any jewelry since I wear basically none, but the apples and the berries were a welcome surprise.
Fernando Ortega prophesied truly: “This time next year there’ll be a red-headed grandson sitting on your knee.” That’s what we’ve all been secretly believing and the grandson part, at least, is true. Lauren and Nathaniel called today after their ultrasound with the news that Peanut Scott truly is a boy! So they’re back to the drawing board on names, but certainly delighted. I maintain he will have red hair.
I just finished Ezra and Nehemiah. The spiritual correlations are really neat to see--Revival. For the Jews, it was restoration of outward religion (and renovation of their hearts, as well), but the pictures play over. They read the entire law to the people in one day! Revival starts with listening and loving the Word of God. Then they began reinstating sacrifices--for us we know God desires broken and contrite hearts. They confessed and put away their sin. Next they renovated the temple. God wants us to offer ourselves living sacrifices, keeping our bodies pure and undefiled. They rebuilt the wall--setting up boundaries and protection to keep out unholiness and enemies. And the enemies ridiculed and attacked, especially as they saw the walls going up and the place being rebuilt! But by preparation and faith the Jews fought them off and continued in triumph! And I love what Nehemiah and Ezra told the people after they read the law, "This day is holy to Yahweh your God, do not mourn or weep!" God wanted them to rejoice in the new life He was building, not weep over the past that couldn't be undone. It's interesting, too, that the book of Nehemiah seems to be taken from Nehemiah's journals and he says several times at the end, "Remember me, O God, for good." His prayer made it into scripture, so I think he must have been heard.
Showing posts with label correlations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label correlations. Show all posts
Sunday, April 20, 2008
It seems we’ve been invaded by hoards of bristly orange and black caterpillars--food for the vast array of lizards who scamper in and out around the well house. The birds have arranged themselves into a praise team to sing twenty-four-seven to Almighty God from the verdant boughs. Even the ticks were out rejoicing on a day like this. I never realized just how many of the nasty hitch hikers I picked up until today, when a pair of white pants revealed tag-alongs of all shapes and sizes.
Donnie’s younger brother, Tommy, joined us for church today. When I first met him, nearly four years ago, he was one of those people I thought I could very happily live without ever seeing again. He’s grown up a bit, matured a lot and become considerably more pleasant. And met the Lord in the interim, I’d guess, from the testimony he shared at lunch.
Papa taught from First Timothy three—the requirements for elders in the assembly. He boiled it down to four basic themes: male, mature, moral and a martyr (literally, a witness of Christ). But is this standard for leaders such an unattainable goal? Hardly. There are no restrictions for personality or spiritual gift and, most fascinating, he pointed out that nearly every command for overseers is paralleled elsewhere for all believers—excluding the call to males, of course (mercifully for those of us of the “female persuasion”). If the Lord calls us all to a standard of excellence, how much less those who would shepherd His flock!
“Here,” Zach thrust his Bible in front of me as I sat at the piano. “Verse eight.” We’ll call that a PIE attack, and it means one thing: provide immediate explanation. I glanced around hurriedly for someone to bail me out before protesting. “Who do you think I am to explain this?” “Well, duh,” he shrugged. “Lane's your father.” And there we have it, in three simple words and an apostrophe: my heritage. My amazing heritage. Because my father is wise, the poor, deluded individuals who appear on our doorstep assume the same applies to me. I only wish more of his wisdom would seed and grow in my own heart. I can attempt to regurgitate his explanations. I can pretend to walk uprightly. I can stare hard at a page of scripture and scratch my head and make semi intelligent grunts, but this child—well, this child knows nothing good. Can’t they see that? The high regard my father deserves is miles above anything I might claim. And I fall so short of the perfection of Christ. Please, Yahweh, God of my father, open my eyes, too, that I may behold wonderful things from Thy Law. Zach’s question came from Hebrews five and has been spinning around in my mind all day: “Although He (Jesus) was a Son, He learned obedience from the things which He suffered. And having been made perfect, He became to all those who obey Him, the source of eternal life.” For some odd reason, my head wasn’t screwed on tightly enough to think to take him to Philippians two, where Tabby and I are memorizing. “Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” To the best of my understanding, Jesus learning obedience doesn’t imply that He’d been disobedient before, but simply that He’d never been called to obey before. Once upon a time, He was equal with God, but when He emptied Himself, He chose to be obedient and He learned to be obedient through the suffering—even no longer being present with God at all times must have been difficult. Dragging around an body of dust must have been tiresome. And being forsaken by God and punished for the sins of the world was without doubt agonizing. All this He did for the glory of God. Hebrews says He was heard because of His piety. Philippians continues “Therefore God highly exalted Him, and gave Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee will bow…” Have this humility, I am told. Jesus was equal with the God who humbles Himself just to look at heaven and earth, yet He poured it all out on the altar of sacrifice as a pleasing aroma to God. Have this humility. Whatever I think I am. Whatever I think I have. Pour it out completely on the altar of sacrifice, knowing that I will be heard because of Jesus’ piety.
Lord, the way Thou made to heav’n
Defies our wisdom, schemes or plans
While men seek blindly to be God,
God chose to be a man.
And by Thy Son’s obedience—
And Thou rejecting Him—
Thou brought near those who disobeyed
And set them free from sin.
Donnie’s younger brother, Tommy, joined us for church today. When I first met him, nearly four years ago, he was one of those people I thought I could very happily live without ever seeing again. He’s grown up a bit, matured a lot and become considerably more pleasant. And met the Lord in the interim, I’d guess, from the testimony he shared at lunch.
Papa taught from First Timothy three—the requirements for elders in the assembly. He boiled it down to four basic themes: male, mature, moral and a martyr (literally, a witness of Christ). But is this standard for leaders such an unattainable goal? Hardly. There are no restrictions for personality or spiritual gift and, most fascinating, he pointed out that nearly every command for overseers is paralleled elsewhere for all believers—excluding the call to males, of course (mercifully for those of us of the “female persuasion”). If the Lord calls us all to a standard of excellence, how much less those who would shepherd His flock!
“Here,” Zach thrust his Bible in front of me as I sat at the piano. “Verse eight.” We’ll call that a PIE attack, and it means one thing: provide immediate explanation. I glanced around hurriedly for someone to bail me out before protesting. “Who do you think I am to explain this?” “Well, duh,” he shrugged. “Lane's your father.” And there we have it, in three simple words and an apostrophe: my heritage. My amazing heritage. Because my father is wise, the poor, deluded individuals who appear on our doorstep assume the same applies to me. I only wish more of his wisdom would seed and grow in my own heart. I can attempt to regurgitate his explanations. I can pretend to walk uprightly. I can stare hard at a page of scripture and scratch my head and make semi intelligent grunts, but this child—well, this child knows nothing good. Can’t they see that? The high regard my father deserves is miles above anything I might claim. And I fall so short of the perfection of Christ. Please, Yahweh, God of my father, open my eyes, too, that I may behold wonderful things from Thy Law. Zach’s question came from Hebrews five and has been spinning around in my mind all day: “Although He (Jesus) was a Son, He learned obedience from the things which He suffered. And having been made perfect, He became to all those who obey Him, the source of eternal life.” For some odd reason, my head wasn’t screwed on tightly enough to think to take him to Philippians two, where Tabby and I are memorizing. “Have this attitude in yourselves which was also in Christ Jesus, who although He existed in the form of God, did not regard equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, taking the form of a bond-servant, and being made in the likeness of men. And being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” To the best of my understanding, Jesus learning obedience doesn’t imply that He’d been disobedient before, but simply that He’d never been called to obey before. Once upon a time, He was equal with God, but when He emptied Himself, He chose to be obedient and He learned to be obedient through the suffering—even no longer being present with God at all times must have been difficult. Dragging around an body of dust must have been tiresome. And being forsaken by God and punished for the sins of the world was without doubt agonizing. All this He did for the glory of God. Hebrews says He was heard because of His piety. Philippians continues “Therefore God highly exalted Him, and gave Him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee will bow…” Have this humility, I am told. Jesus was equal with the God who humbles Himself just to look at heaven and earth, yet He poured it all out on the altar of sacrifice as a pleasing aroma to God. Have this humility. Whatever I think I am. Whatever I think I have. Pour it out completely on the altar of sacrifice, knowing that I will be heard because of Jesus’ piety.
Lord, the way Thou made to heav’n
Defies our wisdom, schemes or plans
While men seek blindly to be God,
God chose to be a man.
And by Thy Son’s obedience—
And Thou rejecting Him—
Thou brought near those who disobeyed
And set them free from sin.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
I should have known better than to ask Josiah to help me wash the Suburban. And I certainly should have known better than to hand him the hose. I hardly need explain how cold the water was, or how he seemed unable to stop eliciting funny squeaks and complaints from me. “You never just say ‘stop’,” he defended himself. “You sound like you’re having fun.” That’s because I think it’s funny. I know I make funny noises when doused with cold water. I’m just hoping he’ll be gentleman enough to stop without me asking. The Suburban is now waxed and shiny, vacuumed inside and ready for sale. It will be something new for us not to have a vehicle that seats more than five people.
I opened my Bible to the book of Ruth and smiled. Fairytales are silliness. Romance novels are disgusting. Feminist literature is nauseating. But here, at the end of the tale of humanism, I find a woman I can admire and emulate. Not even a Jew. Excluded from the commonwealth of Israel. Married to a disobedient man. Widowed at a young age. Ruth made the decision to leave her people and her country in pursuit of Yahweh and in service to her mother-in-law. Humble, faithful, industrious and hopeful, Ruth rescued her Jewish family from ruin, her mother-in-law from despair and herself from paganism at home and despising in Israel by throwing herself upon the mercy of the God of Israel. Her trust reaped bountiful rewards through a kind kinsman redeemer who recognized her character and married her, placing her in the ancestry to Christ. “Ah,” said the women of Israel, to Naomi, her mother-in-law. “Ruth is better to you than seven sons!” Ruth’s faithfulness left Naomi better provided for than her husband or sons had ever done. In this is the beauty of the story: the truth that Jesus is our kinsman redeemer, waiting for us to come to Him and say, “Can you help me?” When we throw ourselves on His mercy and kindness, we find that He will not rest until He has redeemed us, made us respectable, beautiful and finally, brought us home to be with Him forever.
Here I kneel at His feet, in awe of His kindness in noticing me, a humble maidservant, foreign to His people.
Lord, I praise Thee, precious Lord!
My purity has been restored,
My heart seems to again be one
Delighting in Thy Risen Son.
And, Oh, the thoughts that weighed me down,
Have flown, Thou art the only sound
My ears or heart can hear or heed.
At last, my Love, Thou’rt all I need.
I opened my Bible to the book of Ruth and smiled. Fairytales are silliness. Romance novels are disgusting. Feminist literature is nauseating. But here, at the end of the tale of humanism, I find a woman I can admire and emulate. Not even a Jew. Excluded from the commonwealth of Israel. Married to a disobedient man. Widowed at a young age. Ruth made the decision to leave her people and her country in pursuit of Yahweh and in service to her mother-in-law. Humble, faithful, industrious and hopeful, Ruth rescued her Jewish family from ruin, her mother-in-law from despair and herself from paganism at home and despising in Israel by throwing herself upon the mercy of the God of Israel. Her trust reaped bountiful rewards through a kind kinsman redeemer who recognized her character and married her, placing her in the ancestry to Christ. “Ah,” said the women of Israel, to Naomi, her mother-in-law. “Ruth is better to you than seven sons!” Ruth’s faithfulness left Naomi better provided for than her husband or sons had ever done. In this is the beauty of the story: the truth that Jesus is our kinsman redeemer, waiting for us to come to Him and say, “Can you help me?” When we throw ourselves on His mercy and kindness, we find that He will not rest until He has redeemed us, made us respectable, beautiful and finally, brought us home to be with Him forever.
Here I kneel at His feet, in awe of His kindness in noticing me, a humble maidservant, foreign to His people.
Lord, I praise Thee, precious Lord!
My purity has been restored,
My heart seems to again be one
Delighting in Thy Risen Son.
And, Oh, the thoughts that weighed me down,
Have flown, Thou art the only sound
My ears or heart can hear or heed.
At last, my Love, Thou’rt all I need.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Sleep and I had a hard time communicating last night. Just when we’d get settled into a comfortable conversation, my body would wake up like a petulant child whining, “I’m not tired.” So I’d lie in bed, wondering how people actually go about counting sheep, whether they actually jump over fences (because the grass is greener on the other side?) and, most importantly, what do sleepless lambs count? Finally it dawned on me (a little before the sun did) that I could be taking this opportunity to refuel so I’d have no excuse for whining later about never getting any “alone” time. No doubt that was the most logical thought I’ve ever had at four o’clock in the morning.
“Weren’t you just at Lowe’s?” the guy called over from the gas pump next to me. I nodded, slid my credit card and started fueling. “My buddy and I couldn’t believe it when you swung that stack of—what were they?—big ol’ things under your arm and carried them in the store. I was like, ‘Dude! She’s tuff! I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley.’” I glanced at the construction trailer they were towing and hid a smile. “Actually,” I explained, “Those were just Styrofoam.”
I managed to catch Jacinderella for about half an hour. “Do you want to come up here, or do you want to go somewhere else?” she asked, already expecting my answer: “I wouldn’t mind being outside in the sunshine.” Here’s the scoop: my Jacinderella has been applying to become a missionary to some South American country. Hence the ambiguous note: “Should I live down ‘neath the ‘Quarter, would you come and visit later?” At least she didn’t write it in Spanish. And. Well. I’m excited for her. But I sure will miss my Jacinderella, come May. Looking back, it’s funny. Who’s have thought the friendship would have gone here, simply through an internet prank?
I don’t know how I ever used to go a whole day without eating. After the first class period of “No Apologies” in Lake D Highschool, my stomach was raging like a rabid raccoon. “We only have about twenty minutes lunch break,” Christy announced checking her watch. “I’m not really hungry anyway.” “Me either,” Randi shrugged. “I had a Twix on the way here. A peanut butter Twix.” And the two of them went off into a discussion of the evolution of the Twix candy bar, while I sat, arms pressed across my loudly complaining stomach meditating on all the Wal-mart fresh fruit in the trunk of the Camry I’d left at the dental clinic. “You can wait,” I assured my stomach and started flipping through one of the orange folders belonging to the next class. Sixth period must have eaten Mexican jumping beans for lunch. They were wound tighter than a shelf of music boxes—all playing different tunes. I sat on the sidelines, covertly studying kid’s reactions as Christy and Randi alternated talking about making choices—and encouraged them to choose abstinence, so they would never have to face so many of the other difficult choices that might follow. A pregnant girl sat on the far side of the room, her nose glowing like Rudolf’s, her eyes on her desk. A group of Mexican boys in the middle oohed and ahhed and cuddled the rubber baby models we’d brought. Popular girls clustered next to me, whispering between themselves and occasionally tossing a shy smile my way from a crevice in their armor-like shells. The variation in a high school health class is unbelievable. The guys who giggled as they handed in surveys announcing that the best part of the class was “hot teachers” contrasted strongly with the two who came up to us afterward, commenting that they wished we could have shared more “truth.” “I know you’re not allowed to talk about Biblical stuff,” one said, tugging on his reddish beard, “but it sure would help.” It sure would. It’s hard to swallow that I can teach information about birth control, show pictures of STDs but I dare not even mention God’s word on the issue. Or even that we’ve been banned from showing the abortion video there—because a girl who’d had one became upset after seeing the pictures. Let’s take our girls to get abortions, but don’t let’s show them what happens to that baby! Teach our teens about sex? Oh, sure. Fine. But don’t you dare mention the God who created their bodies! And we whine about the rate of teen pregnancies and STDs.
I never made it back to the Camry for a piece of fruit. Papa had to head home to work with the plumber on the well-house, and Christy dropped me off at Amber’s apartment instead. Feeling guilty for not paying better attention to what she was saying, I tried to sort out my “training” into easily accessible mental files as we picked up laundry from the Laundromat, Lin N’s pictures from the developer, ice from Pilot and Lizzy from DHS before heading for home. Barely in the door, I was assaulted with the aroma of homemade pizza. Posterity need never know how many pieces I consumed before my stomach decided it could survive until morning.
Public speaking is an art—an art which boils down to the ability to educate, motivate and persuade. And it’s an art Lizzy is learning. We spent the evening embroiled in reading the sermon on the mount in search of contrasts between two great public speakers: Jesus and Hitler. Both accomplished the goal of educating, motivating and persuading. But, as in the story Jesus shared of the two men who built houses—only one structure stood. Hitler’s regime collapsed—not for lack of talent or skill on the part of the leader, but because the foundation was not the truth. We had nearly condensed this concept into a one page speech when Josiah called me to his room.
“I have something to ask you about,” he started, slowly. Then he spilled out how he didn’t think he was truly saved when he’d been baptized as a child. “I know trusting is often a process,” he continued, “but…if I wasn’t saved until a year ago, like I think, should I get baptized again?” He went on to explain how he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced true repentance before, and he couldn’t remember the witness of the Holy Spirit in his heart. It’s embarrassing when people ask my opinion as if they expect me to have some wise answer. “If it’s the first step of obedience, and you don’t think you were obedient then, but you want to be now,” I faltered. “I don’t see what it would hurt?” So Miss Lizzy was treated to another hot-tub baptism. If it could be called a hot-tub when the water is barely seventy degrees. And it really doesn’t matter when Josiah was saved, as long as he can bear testimony to the world that he is indeed a child of God and wishes to walk in obedience to Him.
So this is me at the end of today:
Yes, I left it blank on purpose. Because I’ve hardly had time to assimilate all the data I’ve taken in and sort it into appropriate emotion crates. But it’s been a good day. Lydia’s sound asleep, tucked into my maroon bag. Lizzy’s scrambling into her pajamas.
I think I’ll try to reopen a conversation with sleep.
Lord, I strive to understand
One single moment of one day,
That Thou, before creation planned,
What then is left for me to say.
But, Lord, Thou art too wonderful.
“Weren’t you just at Lowe’s?” the guy called over from the gas pump next to me. I nodded, slid my credit card and started fueling. “My buddy and I couldn’t believe it when you swung that stack of—what were they?—big ol’ things under your arm and carried them in the store. I was like, ‘Dude! She’s tuff! I wouldn’t want to meet her in a dark alley.’” I glanced at the construction trailer they were towing and hid a smile. “Actually,” I explained, “Those were just Styrofoam.”
I managed to catch Jacinderella for about half an hour. “Do you want to come up here, or do you want to go somewhere else?” she asked, already expecting my answer: “I wouldn’t mind being outside in the sunshine.” Here’s the scoop: my Jacinderella has been applying to become a missionary to some South American country. Hence the ambiguous note: “Should I live down ‘neath the ‘Quarter, would you come and visit later?” At least she didn’t write it in Spanish. And. Well. I’m excited for her. But I sure will miss my Jacinderella, come May. Looking back, it’s funny. Who’s have thought the friendship would have gone here, simply through an internet prank?
I don’t know how I ever used to go a whole day without eating. After the first class period of “No Apologies” in Lake D Highschool, my stomach was raging like a rabid raccoon. “We only have about twenty minutes lunch break,” Christy announced checking her watch. “I’m not really hungry anyway.” “Me either,” Randi shrugged. “I had a Twix on the way here. A peanut butter Twix.” And the two of them went off into a discussion of the evolution of the Twix candy bar, while I sat, arms pressed across my loudly complaining stomach meditating on all the Wal-mart fresh fruit in the trunk of the Camry I’d left at the dental clinic. “You can wait,” I assured my stomach and started flipping through one of the orange folders belonging to the next class. Sixth period must have eaten Mexican jumping beans for lunch. They were wound tighter than a shelf of music boxes—all playing different tunes. I sat on the sidelines, covertly studying kid’s reactions as Christy and Randi alternated talking about making choices—and encouraged them to choose abstinence, so they would never have to face so many of the other difficult choices that might follow. A pregnant girl sat on the far side of the room, her nose glowing like Rudolf’s, her eyes on her desk. A group of Mexican boys in the middle oohed and ahhed and cuddled the rubber baby models we’d brought. Popular girls clustered next to me, whispering between themselves and occasionally tossing a shy smile my way from a crevice in their armor-like shells. The variation in a high school health class is unbelievable. The guys who giggled as they handed in surveys announcing that the best part of the class was “hot teachers” contrasted strongly with the two who came up to us afterward, commenting that they wished we could have shared more “truth.” “I know you’re not allowed to talk about Biblical stuff,” one said, tugging on his reddish beard, “but it sure would help.” It sure would. It’s hard to swallow that I can teach information about birth control, show pictures of STDs but I dare not even mention God’s word on the issue. Or even that we’ve been banned from showing the abortion video there—because a girl who’d had one became upset after seeing the pictures. Let’s take our girls to get abortions, but don’t let’s show them what happens to that baby! Teach our teens about sex? Oh, sure. Fine. But don’t you dare mention the God who created their bodies! And we whine about the rate of teen pregnancies and STDs.
I never made it back to the Camry for a piece of fruit. Papa had to head home to work with the plumber on the well-house, and Christy dropped me off at Amber’s apartment instead. Feeling guilty for not paying better attention to what she was saying, I tried to sort out my “training” into easily accessible mental files as we picked up laundry from the Laundromat, Lin N’s pictures from the developer, ice from Pilot and Lizzy from DHS before heading for home. Barely in the door, I was assaulted with the aroma of homemade pizza. Posterity need never know how many pieces I consumed before my stomach decided it could survive until morning.
Public speaking is an art—an art which boils down to the ability to educate, motivate and persuade. And it’s an art Lizzy is learning. We spent the evening embroiled in reading the sermon on the mount in search of contrasts between two great public speakers: Jesus and Hitler. Both accomplished the goal of educating, motivating and persuading. But, as in the story Jesus shared of the two men who built houses—only one structure stood. Hitler’s regime collapsed—not for lack of talent or skill on the part of the leader, but because the foundation was not the truth. We had nearly condensed this concept into a one page speech when Josiah called me to his room.
“I have something to ask you about,” he started, slowly. Then he spilled out how he didn’t think he was truly saved when he’d been baptized as a child. “I know trusting is often a process,” he continued, “but…if I wasn’t saved until a year ago, like I think, should I get baptized again?” He went on to explain how he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced true repentance before, and he couldn’t remember the witness of the Holy Spirit in his heart. It’s embarrassing when people ask my opinion as if they expect me to have some wise answer. “If it’s the first step of obedience, and you don’t think you were obedient then, but you want to be now,” I faltered. “I don’t see what it would hurt?” So Miss Lizzy was treated to another hot-tub baptism. If it could be called a hot-tub when the water is barely seventy degrees. And it really doesn’t matter when Josiah was saved, as long as he can bear testimony to the world that he is indeed a child of God and wishes to walk in obedience to Him.
So this is me at the end of today:
Yes, I left it blank on purpose. Because I’ve hardly had time to assimilate all the data I’ve taken in and sort it into appropriate emotion crates. But it’s been a good day. Lydia’s sound asleep, tucked into my maroon bag. Lizzy’s scrambling into her pajamas.
I think I’ll try to reopen a conversation with sleep.
Lord, I strive to understand
One single moment of one day,
That Thou, before creation planned,
What then is left for me to say.
But, Lord, Thou art too wonderful.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Lydia didn’t realize I’d answered the phone at the same time she had. “Hello,” came the automated voice. “This is Laura (ooh, nice. Now automated voices have names?) from United Health Care. I have a few important questions for Marcia. Is this Marcia?” Lydia hesitated on the other end and finally softly answered, “No.” “What was that?” asked the intelligent robot. “Please answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.” I could hear Lydia’s eyes widen through the telephone lines as she repeated “No.” “Okay. I don’t mind waiting,” the recording continued. “If Marcia is there, please ask me to ‘wait’. If she’s not there, say ‘call back later’. If she doesn’t live there at all, please say ‘wrong number’. What would you like me to do?” A muffled giggle, then Lydia answered. “Wait.” “Okay,” “Laura” responded promptly. “I’ll be happy to wait one minute.” Then the echoing sounds of Lydia relaying the message. “Mom, it’s the smartest recording ever on the phone for you. Her name is Laura.”
I’m so proud of my men folk. With a little adjusting here, and manipulating there, they had our well pump working like new. Well, not like new, but at least back up and limping along. I could finally do loads of laundry, run the dishwasher, clean my bathroom and wash my hair. They are tho thmart.
After supper Bible reading. Lydia’s spelling seems a little hooked on the letter “q”. “Why does Mo keep making the excques that he was not squilled in speech” but nothing was quite as insightful as her simple statement, “Pharaoh was bad.” Of course, so is John Piper.
Still feeling like I’d somehow missed the point of Judges, I skimmed back over the book today, begging that the Lord would somehow personalize it to me. I’m always amazed at the way Yahweh’s word comes together with life issues. Even Judges. As Tabitha and I prayed over the phone, life applications began spilling out. Things that hadn’t really occurred to me until that moment when the Holy Spirit brought them back to mind, convicting and convincing and teaching me to pray. Convicted by the Israelites unfaithfulness, as time and again they turned from Yahweh to serve idols, we begged the Lord to give us both strength to tear down the idols in our own lives and serve Yahweh, as we’ve promised to do.
Lord, even on Thy very altar
I see my flesh and heart both falter
Turning from Thy holy presence
To erect an idol.
Give me strength to tear whatever
Might my heart, from worship, sever
And return me to Thy presence
Freed from every idol.
I’m so proud of my men folk. With a little adjusting here, and manipulating there, they had our well pump working like new. Well, not like new, but at least back up and limping along. I could finally do loads of laundry, run the dishwasher, clean my bathroom and wash my hair. They are tho thmart.
After supper Bible reading. Lydia’s spelling seems a little hooked on the letter “q”. “Why does Mo keep making the excques that he was not squilled in speech” but nothing was quite as insightful as her simple statement, “Pharaoh was bad.” Of course, so is John Piper.
Still feeling like I’d somehow missed the point of Judges, I skimmed back over the book today, begging that the Lord would somehow personalize it to me. I’m always amazed at the way Yahweh’s word comes together with life issues. Even Judges. As Tabitha and I prayed over the phone, life applications began spilling out. Things that hadn’t really occurred to me until that moment when the Holy Spirit brought them back to mind, convicting and convincing and teaching me to pray. Convicted by the Israelites unfaithfulness, as time and again they turned from Yahweh to serve idols, we begged the Lord to give us both strength to tear down the idols in our own lives and serve Yahweh, as we’ve promised to do.
Lord, even on Thy very altar
I see my flesh and heart both falter
Turning from Thy holy presence
To erect an idol.
Give me strength to tear whatever
Might my heart, from worship, sever
And return me to Thy presence
Freed from every idol.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Between dusk and dawn my spirit quieted, like a dove settling into its nest, and I woke this morning knowing again, all will be well. All day long I felt humbled by Yahweh’s goodness, in spite of my fear, doubt and faithlessness. Sometimes I want to crawl out of my own skin and flutter into the air like an invisible butterfly, watching from a distance what God will do next. Emily and I escaped the noisy cafeteria to get some one-on-one in her room and she reminded me how, late one night, shortly after our move, we had made some specific requests to our Lord, how He’d clearly begun an answer the next night and now, looking back over the months, my breath was knocked away by how beautifully He’s been answering that same prayer since. Emily is a faithful prayer warrior, swift to bring everything to her Father’s throne and faithful to remember and recount each answer. I arrived at Amber’s on a Jesus high. “How much sugar have you had today?” she demanded, shaking her head. While she took an important phone call, I filled her camera with hideous faces. I have a decided talent for making hideous faces. I just get tired of trying to be beautiful, and figure I might as well do something I’m actually good at. Silky-coated Baby, who normally vanishes with the arrival of visitors, slinked in to see me, purring slyly to show that she’s accepted me into the family. I threatened Judy with a roll of contact paper and was rather pleased with my ability to inspire fear. “I didn’t do it!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “Honest I didn’t! I thought about it, but I didn’t!”
Josh escorted me through the inner maze of DHS to meet Eileen, Lizzy’s mom. I slipped on my best undaunted mask as I sat down across a big desk from her and tried to find a good place to put my hands. First they crept under my crossed legs, but that lasted only as long as the crossed legs. How nice. Here’s the little girl, ma’am, that you’ve never met but wants to steal your daughter for a day every week. She’s a bit odd, ma’am. Wears dresses over her jeans, pulls her hair back in two tails at the back of her neck, refuses to date and she’s short. Oh, excuse me. She’s about your height, ma’am. As she talked with me about her goals for Lizzy, my heart warmed. “We’re not doing the dating thing,” she added. “In fact, there’s not even going to be any of this ‘alone together’ with a guy stuff.” Well. So that’s that. I’d thought she was unsure about the idea. Apparently we’re on. Now I just need to meet Lizzy. Daunting.
Gone excavating in my ancient journals, in search of a missing link for something else, I discovered something which had completely vanished from my current memory system: the draft for a letter—the only letter I’ve ever written a guy. At sweet sixteen. Aw. Not. This one was hard core, all rough edges, blunt phrases and no nonsense. The gist of it was “You need to know that you are a flirt and that’s not a fair way to treat your sisters in Christ.” I cringed as I read it, half embarrassed, half amused, half in awe of the fiery little prophetess of yore. “If this letter ruins our friendship, well, I’m sorry,” it finished with a flourish. “But that will tell me something about your heart.” Oh, but the post script. We mustn’t forget the post script. “Don’t bother writing back. I read all my letters to the family, and I’d rather you didn’t anyway.” To his credit, we’re still friends. I’d like to imagine I’ve picked up a little seasonable grace since then.
In the middle of feeling small, overwhelmed and hating Judges, I found myself shamed by the beautiful lessons the Lord had for Gideon. Hiding in a wine press to beat out wheat, Gideon hardly resembled the “Valiant Warrior” Yahweh’s messenger greeted him as. In fact, the title fit him worse than Saul’s armor fit the young David. “I’m a nobody,” Gideon protested Yahweh’s plan for him to save Israel from Midian. “Not only is my family low on the social ladder, but I’m the baby as well!” Afraid of others’ opinions, he followed the Lord’s instructions to destroy the altars to Baal—at night. But Yahweh wasn’t through teaching Gideon that little is more than enough. Obedience is all Yahweh needs for victory. Sometimes I picture Yahweh shrugging. Or shaking His head nonchalantly, as if to say, “I really am bigger than you think.” After Gideon had gathered an army 32,000 strong, Yahweh told him, “You have too many men.” Wave after wave of men were dismissed until only three hundred remained. Three hundred. To fight a battle as odd as any ever fought. The secret to Gideon’s success lay in the message the angel had given him while he beat out the wheat in secret. “Yahweh is with you, O Valiant Warrior.” Not that Yahweh was with him because of his valor, but that he would be valiant because Yahweh was with him. Striking down public idols might have seemed frightening. Driving out the Midianites might have seemed daunting.. Waving torches and shouting might have seemed ridiculous. Don’t you get it, Abigail? That’s the point. Being vulnerable might seem frightening. Discipling a girl I’ve never even met might seem daunting. Living Yahweh’s way certainly seems ridiculous at times. Yahweh is with me. How about that, little nobody? Why don’t you try “Valiant Warrior” on for size?
Lord, the torch Thou gave me smolders,
Thou hast bid me to be bolder!
Thou hast bid me smash my vase
That I might light up Thy face.
Thou art big enough to raise me,
Naught on earth should daunt or phase me.
Thou puts the powers of dark to flight—
Ignite in me Thy holy light.
Josh escorted me through the inner maze of DHS to meet Eileen, Lizzy’s mom. I slipped on my best undaunted mask as I sat down across a big desk from her and tried to find a good place to put my hands. First they crept under my crossed legs, but that lasted only as long as the crossed legs. How nice. Here’s the little girl, ma’am, that you’ve never met but wants to steal your daughter for a day every week. She’s a bit odd, ma’am. Wears dresses over her jeans, pulls her hair back in two tails at the back of her neck, refuses to date and she’s short. Oh, excuse me. She’s about your height, ma’am. As she talked with me about her goals for Lizzy, my heart warmed. “We’re not doing the dating thing,” she added. “In fact, there’s not even going to be any of this ‘alone together’ with a guy stuff.” Well. So that’s that. I’d thought she was unsure about the idea. Apparently we’re on. Now I just need to meet Lizzy. Daunting.
Gone excavating in my ancient journals, in search of a missing link for something else, I discovered something which had completely vanished from my current memory system: the draft for a letter—the only letter I’ve ever written a guy. At sweet sixteen. Aw. Not. This one was hard core, all rough edges, blunt phrases and no nonsense. The gist of it was “You need to know that you are a flirt and that’s not a fair way to treat your sisters in Christ.” I cringed as I read it, half embarrassed, half amused, half in awe of the fiery little prophetess of yore. “If this letter ruins our friendship, well, I’m sorry,” it finished with a flourish. “But that will tell me something about your heart.” Oh, but the post script. We mustn’t forget the post script. “Don’t bother writing back. I read all my letters to the family, and I’d rather you didn’t anyway.” To his credit, we’re still friends. I’d like to imagine I’ve picked up a little seasonable grace since then.
In the middle of feeling small, overwhelmed and hating Judges, I found myself shamed by the beautiful lessons the Lord had for Gideon. Hiding in a wine press to beat out wheat, Gideon hardly resembled the “Valiant Warrior” Yahweh’s messenger greeted him as. In fact, the title fit him worse than Saul’s armor fit the young David. “I’m a nobody,” Gideon protested Yahweh’s plan for him to save Israel from Midian. “Not only is my family low on the social ladder, but I’m the baby as well!” Afraid of others’ opinions, he followed the Lord’s instructions to destroy the altars to Baal—at night. But Yahweh wasn’t through teaching Gideon that little is more than enough. Obedience is all Yahweh needs for victory. Sometimes I picture Yahweh shrugging. Or shaking His head nonchalantly, as if to say, “I really am bigger than you think.” After Gideon had gathered an army 32,000 strong, Yahweh told him, “You have too many men.” Wave after wave of men were dismissed until only three hundred remained. Three hundred. To fight a battle as odd as any ever fought. The secret to Gideon’s success lay in the message the angel had given him while he beat out the wheat in secret. “Yahweh is with you, O Valiant Warrior.” Not that Yahweh was with him because of his valor, but that he would be valiant because Yahweh was with him. Striking down public idols might have seemed frightening. Driving out the Midianites might have seemed daunting.. Waving torches and shouting might have seemed ridiculous. Don’t you get it, Abigail? That’s the point. Being vulnerable might seem frightening. Discipling a girl I’ve never even met might seem daunting. Living Yahweh’s way certainly seems ridiculous at times. Yahweh is with me. How about that, little nobody? Why don’t you try “Valiant Warrior” on for size?
Lord, the torch Thou gave me smolders,
Thou hast bid me to be bolder!
Thou hast bid me smash my vase
That I might light up Thy face.
Thou art big enough to raise me,
Naught on earth should daunt or phase me.
Thou puts the powers of dark to flight—
Ignite in me Thy holy light.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Some things are simply not to be. Apparently my internet connection is one of those things. Following its mysterious death on Friday, I called AT&T today and, wonder of all wonders, got the same technical assistant. With the warranty still good until November, we have a new one on the way. In the mean time, I’m wirelessless again.
I was almost embarrassed when Amber discovered my blog, along with the post about her. “It was a God thing,” she told me over the phone. “It was so encouraging.” Now she’s joined me with a blog of her own, posting notes from her late night Bible study.
Sated with yummy squash casserole, the family dragged out new spiral-bound notebooks and folded them back for the first night listening to our new Bible of MP3. Our task is to listen each night, for half an hour, make notes, scribble questions, comments or thoughts and discuss them the next morning at breakfast. At the rate we’re going, we just might run right over me in my personal study. I’d argue that I’ve search high and low, far and near for some alone time to keep moving through Judges, but since I haven’t found it, I’m forced to conclude I haven’t searched hard enough. Priorities, my dear self. Priorities. I open my Bible, flip to the Psalms and read, then turn to Judges and stare blankly until the words on the page jumble together and slide off into my lap. I hate Judges. I hate relativity. Moral demise. I hate the way my heart turns from fire to ashes as I read, seeing the same apathy in myself and my country as I see in Israel. Which of the Judges can I look to as a hero? Barak was a coward. Gideon couldn’t believe the plain command of the Lord. Jephthah was rash. Samson was a philanderer. Let’s not talk about what I am. But I’m missing the point. The point is not the failed people. People fail. Past, present and future. The point is Yahweh: His faithfulness to the covenant, both to punish and to deliver. The point is the battles He fought, the deeds He did, the miracles He worked—in spite of people.
Lord, Thou art the judge of all!
Hear and answer when I call,
When I beg Thy favor, Lord,
That Thy name might be adored.
Everything Thou dost is good,
Though often I misunderstood,
The world, nor I am not the theme.
Thou art the hero, King of Kings!
I was almost embarrassed when Amber discovered my blog, along with the post about her. “It was a God thing,” she told me over the phone. “It was so encouraging.” Now she’s joined me with a blog of her own, posting notes from her late night Bible study.
Sated with yummy squash casserole, the family dragged out new spiral-bound notebooks and folded them back for the first night listening to our new Bible of MP3. Our task is to listen each night, for half an hour, make notes, scribble questions, comments or thoughts and discuss them the next morning at breakfast. At the rate we’re going, we just might run right over me in my personal study. I’d argue that I’ve search high and low, far and near for some alone time to keep moving through Judges, but since I haven’t found it, I’m forced to conclude I haven’t searched hard enough. Priorities, my dear self. Priorities. I open my Bible, flip to the Psalms and read, then turn to Judges and stare blankly until the words on the page jumble together and slide off into my lap. I hate Judges. I hate relativity. Moral demise. I hate the way my heart turns from fire to ashes as I read, seeing the same apathy in myself and my country as I see in Israel. Which of the Judges can I look to as a hero? Barak was a coward. Gideon couldn’t believe the plain command of the Lord. Jephthah was rash. Samson was a philanderer. Let’s not talk about what I am. But I’m missing the point. The point is not the failed people. People fail. Past, present and future. The point is Yahweh: His faithfulness to the covenant, both to punish and to deliver. The point is the battles He fought, the deeds He did, the miracles He worked—in spite of people.
Lord, Thou art the judge of all!
Hear and answer when I call,
When I beg Thy favor, Lord,
That Thy name might be adored.
Everything Thou dost is good,
Though often I misunderstood,
The world, nor I am not the theme.
Thou art the hero, King of Kings!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
“I tiped here! Oijtn; egldkjg ljgrgg lkgjeit lkrjtle eoitlekg lekrjyo kg”
Behold the mystic words I discovered in my journal after a quick bathroom break. So far, I’ve been unable to find an online translator that could interpret the meaning. I’m going to guess it’s Lydia language for “you should be more careful leaving your journal open.”
Six months ago today we unloaded the U-haul through the back patio doors. Why I make note of that, I’m not sure. Dates and times stand out starkly in my memory. Actually, most things stand out starkly in my memory. It’s part of my chemical make-up, I suppose. A quick check of my lovely electronic journal, began when we moved, revealed a word count of 125,000. In six months I’ve written my life up longer than most novels.
When Amber called tonight, she was bubbling over with excitement—good news on every count. She thanked me profusely for the notes on prayer from John 17, as well as the website for tracts and started pouring out a million other thanksgivings. A few minutes later Jacinderella called. “Did she tell you about Bible study last night?” she quizzed. “Uh…” I answered, unsure. Soon Jacinderella was spilling how encouraging Amber had been, offering valuable insights into others’ questions and even accidentally stealing Wes’ thunder. As those two had talked earlier, Jacinderella had reminded Amber, “You don’t have to live in defeat. The Lord is our redeemer and our Savior!”
Her words harkened back to the story of Deborah and Barak. A woman judge of Israel, as God had said, “When you forsake me, women and children will lead you.” In the dearth of real men, Deborah stepped forward. Even Barak, for whom she had a special message from Yahweh to save His people, shivered and begged her to accompany him. But Yahweh would not allow His people to live in defeat. In an epic battle, Yahweh routed Sisera and his huge army before Barak and won the victory. In the book of Judges I see God’s war on humanism. In the midst of a crumbling society, God raised up weak, frightened person after person to bring about His victories. I find myself raising Ebenezers along the pathway of my life. Tonight I’m looking back on six months of life in Arkansas, wondering what I’ve really accomplished, feeling like I spent the day spinning my wheels, running in circles, dragging my feet. Am I weak and frightened? Well, good. So much the more usable to bring about God’s glory. The story is not about what I’ve accomplished in six months. The story is about what Yahweh has done.
And He has done great things.
Lord, Thou leads not in retreat,
Thy trumpet never sounds defeat,
For Thou hast every battle won.
The serpent might, once, bruise Thy Son,
But Thou hast turned His steps instead
To tread upon the serpent’s head.
When Jesus Christ was crucified,
Satan’s power bled and died.
Behold the mystic words I discovered in my journal after a quick bathroom break. So far, I’ve been unable to find an online translator that could interpret the meaning. I’m going to guess it’s Lydia language for “you should be more careful leaving your journal open.”
Six months ago today we unloaded the U-haul through the back patio doors. Why I make note of that, I’m not sure. Dates and times stand out starkly in my memory. Actually, most things stand out starkly in my memory. It’s part of my chemical make-up, I suppose. A quick check of my lovely electronic journal, began when we moved, revealed a word count of 125,000. In six months I’ve written my life up longer than most novels.
When Amber called tonight, she was bubbling over with excitement—good news on every count. She thanked me profusely for the notes on prayer from John 17, as well as the website for tracts and started pouring out a million other thanksgivings. A few minutes later Jacinderella called. “Did she tell you about Bible study last night?” she quizzed. “Uh…” I answered, unsure. Soon Jacinderella was spilling how encouraging Amber had been, offering valuable insights into others’ questions and even accidentally stealing Wes’ thunder. As those two had talked earlier, Jacinderella had reminded Amber, “You don’t have to live in defeat. The Lord is our redeemer and our Savior!”
Her words harkened back to the story of Deborah and Barak. A woman judge of Israel, as God had said, “When you forsake me, women and children will lead you.” In the dearth of real men, Deborah stepped forward. Even Barak, for whom she had a special message from Yahweh to save His people, shivered and begged her to accompany him. But Yahweh would not allow His people to live in defeat. In an epic battle, Yahweh routed Sisera and his huge army before Barak and won the victory. In the book of Judges I see God’s war on humanism. In the midst of a crumbling society, God raised up weak, frightened person after person to bring about His victories. I find myself raising Ebenezers along the pathway of my life. Tonight I’m looking back on six months of life in Arkansas, wondering what I’ve really accomplished, feeling like I spent the day spinning my wheels, running in circles, dragging my feet. Am I weak and frightened? Well, good. So much the more usable to bring about God’s glory. The story is not about what I’ve accomplished in six months. The story is about what Yahweh has done.
And He has done great things.
Lord, Thou leads not in retreat,
Thy trumpet never sounds defeat,
For Thou hast every battle won.
The serpent might, once, bruise Thy Son,
But Thou hast turned His steps instead
To tread upon the serpent’s head.
When Jesus Christ was crucified,
Satan’s power bled and died.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Usually when Josiah comes into my room, lugging his math book and an air of frustration, I can expect a trip to the upper attic of my intellect, where I’ve stowed away all I learned in Algebra, Trigonometry and PreCal. I know I’ve safely packed it up there, but sometimes I can’t ever find it. Today he flipped open his book and pointed to several calculator functions. “It comes out right when I do this one, but in this problem when I plug in thirty-five point forty-five…” “Ahem,” I cleared my throat. “You mean fifty-four?,” I offered. He did a double take and then mumbled, “Uh. Yeah. That helps.”
That was one brief success in a day of multitasking. No wonder Mom is always frustrated that she didn’t finish her to-do list by the end of the day. Trade secret for a productive day: make a short to-do list. She left me with a list long enough to wipe all the windows of the Empire State Building. I should be thankful, since that’s considerably shorter than a mile. In between baking enough food to satisfy a tapeworm, raking and burning piles of soggy leaves, mending, ironing, folding drawers full of drawers, vacuuming, sweeping and cleaning up after myself, I supervised Lydia and Josiah’s schoolwork. Overheard in the dining room as Josiah gave Lydia her spelling words:
Josiah: Spell “pull”.
Lydia: As in “pole” or “pull”?
Josiah: As in P-U-L-L.
Those who doubt that homemaking is a full-time job have never passed beyond a house to a home.
The heading in my Bible said it all: Idolatry Leads to Servitude. No doubt intended as a summary of the facts, but in reality, a rule of life. Forsake Yahweh, pursue other “gods” and the results are always the same: slavery to our own desires and passions. The choice to serve myself always leaves me enslaved to the most cruel mistress. But still, just like the Israelites, I enjoy rest for a time, but soon find I am back to bowing before the Baals, offering my allegiance to the lies and deceit of “self”. Only the Truth can set me free. This morning at breakfast we read of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest and trial and how he stood before Pilate and offered truth. Blinded by the chains of wealth, power and tyranny, Pilate demanded “What is truth?” but never waited for an answer. “I could release you,” Pilate offered, but he had it backwards. It was he who needed to be freed.
Lord, I press my ear against the door
And plead to serve Thee, evermore.
For I know well that as Thy slave,
I’ll find Thy freeing power to save.
When Thou art not my only master
Then my soul is in disaster:
When I love aught but Thee, I find
That loving aught but Thee will bind.
That was one brief success in a day of multitasking. No wonder Mom is always frustrated that she didn’t finish her to-do list by the end of the day. Trade secret for a productive day: make a short to-do list. She left me with a list long enough to wipe all the windows of the Empire State Building. I should be thankful, since that’s considerably shorter than a mile. In between baking enough food to satisfy a tapeworm, raking and burning piles of soggy leaves, mending, ironing, folding drawers full of drawers, vacuuming, sweeping and cleaning up after myself, I supervised Lydia and Josiah’s schoolwork. Overheard in the dining room as Josiah gave Lydia her spelling words:
Josiah: Spell “pull”.
Lydia: As in “pole” or “pull”?
Josiah: As in P-U-L-L.
Those who doubt that homemaking is a full-time job have never passed beyond a house to a home.
The heading in my Bible said it all: Idolatry Leads to Servitude. No doubt intended as a summary of the facts, but in reality, a rule of life. Forsake Yahweh, pursue other “gods” and the results are always the same: slavery to our own desires and passions. The choice to serve myself always leaves me enslaved to the most cruel mistress. But still, just like the Israelites, I enjoy rest for a time, but soon find I am back to bowing before the Baals, offering my allegiance to the lies and deceit of “self”. Only the Truth can set me free. This morning at breakfast we read of Jesus’ betrayal, arrest and trial and how he stood before Pilate and offered truth. Blinded by the chains of wealth, power and tyranny, Pilate demanded “What is truth?” but never waited for an answer. “I could release you,” Pilate offered, but he had it backwards. It was he who needed to be freed.
Lord, I press my ear against the door
And plead to serve Thee, evermore.
For I know well that as Thy slave,
I’ll find Thy freeing power to save.
When Thou art not my only master
Then my soul is in disaster:
When I love aught but Thee, I find
That loving aught but Thee will bind.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
“It’s just like nothing ever happened,” Tabitha beamed at me, as we sat in church, listening to Papa teach from First Corinthians eleven. “Like you’ve never been away.” I returned her smile, but I could hardly echo her sentiments. I haven’t slimmed up like Caleb or shot up like Ezra or filled out like Lydia, but something’s different. Sitting next to her on cold, grew folding chairs in the Longan’s living room, singing harmonies at the top of our lungs, pointing out scriptures that come to mind as the men teach doesn’t erase the past months. My heart says it’s not like I’ve never been away. It’s like I’ve been away for years. Bethany clung to me and the rest of the children crowded around, eager to touch me, to ask me questions, to show me new things. It’s been so long since I was overwhelmed by children. In a whirlwind, we flash through pictures, watch silly military videos, give a million hugs and bustle back into the suburban for the long trip home. Home, as in, Arkansas.
Arkansas is not my home.
Neither is Kansas.
The Israelites, on the other hand, reached their home. Parceled out and detailed, the inheritance of the sons of Israel was delivered, as Yahweh had promised. Not one of the good promises which Yahweh had made to the house of Israel failed; all came to pass. The book of Joshua is a vastly triumphant book—a book of overcoming through Yahweh’s power. As an old man, Joshua calls together the twelve tribes and reminds them of God’s working in their history, from the day He called Abram out of his “home” and promised the land to his descendants forever. “Look at what God has done for you,” Joshua said, waving his hand over fields, vineyards, cities and olive groves. “This is what God has given you. If it’s disagreeable in your eyes to serve Yahweh, choose for yourselves whom you will serve. You can serve the gods of the people Yahweh drove out before you. But as for me and my house, we’re going to serve Yahweh.” Collectively, the people answered, “We’ll serve Yahweh!” “Ah,” Joshua reminded them. “Yahweh is jealous. Remember, He’s hard to serve—if you forsake Him He will have to discipline you.” Again the people responded, “We will serve Yahweh!” Joshua said to the people, “You are witnesses against yourselves. You have chosen Yahweh! Therefore cast away your idols and turn your hearts toward Yahweh.” A third time the people affirmed Yahweh their God. And they did, all the days of Yahweh, and all the days of the elders who survived him. Joshua knew the importance of spelling out the choice—Yahweh and blessing or the idols who cannot save. He knew the importance of seeking a public commitment. And he knew the value of setting up a visible witness, a pile of stones, to remind them every time they saw it, of the commitment they had made to Yahweh, to serve Him only. It’s easy for me to think in my heart, “I will serve the Lord.” But to open my mouth, to acknowledge that I understand how hard it may be, that I understand that Yahweh is jealous for my attention, which He deserves, that I intend to seek Him first and His righteousness confirms to me and to the world, that I have chosen Yahweh. It reminds me where my home is.
When Mr. T asked me today if I was settled in, I hesitated. Settled in to what? A new groove that I’ve built to hedge me into monotony? Sometimes I become too settled, too complacent, too comfortable. Safe. Afraid to take down camp and move, stretch my boundaries, do something new. Afraid that change might be looming at me like a dark thunderhead on the horizon—but is that cloud rain, or sleet or locusts? Why should I avoid change? Each new change the Lord has brought my way has only given me more room to grow, more reason to stretch down my roots for the living water. It seems the Lord has had change on my mind lately, perhaps as I see what Yahweh has done so far, and I look ahead to things that are already changing, wondering what comes next. Fearing what comes next, as if my Lord would lead me into a way He does not also tread.
Lord! Prevent me from ever resisting change, from ever becoming so comfortable in my own way that I lie stagnant and quit growing. Prune me that I grow stronger, taller and bear more fruit!
Never let me feel entirely “at home”—until I am with You.
Lord, this world is not my home,
So I may be content to roam,
Without belonging here or there
As long as I may have Thee near.
May all my interest always be
Invested in eternity
That when I climb up Jacob’s stair
I’ll find the mansion Thou prepared.
Arkansas is not my home.
Neither is Kansas.
The Israelites, on the other hand, reached their home. Parceled out and detailed, the inheritance of the sons of Israel was delivered, as Yahweh had promised. Not one of the good promises which Yahweh had made to the house of Israel failed; all came to pass. The book of Joshua is a vastly triumphant book—a book of overcoming through Yahweh’s power. As an old man, Joshua calls together the twelve tribes and reminds them of God’s working in their history, from the day He called Abram out of his “home” and promised the land to his descendants forever. “Look at what God has done for you,” Joshua said, waving his hand over fields, vineyards, cities and olive groves. “This is what God has given you. If it’s disagreeable in your eyes to serve Yahweh, choose for yourselves whom you will serve. You can serve the gods of the people Yahweh drove out before you. But as for me and my house, we’re going to serve Yahweh.” Collectively, the people answered, “We’ll serve Yahweh!” “Ah,” Joshua reminded them. “Yahweh is jealous. Remember, He’s hard to serve—if you forsake Him He will have to discipline you.” Again the people responded, “We will serve Yahweh!” Joshua said to the people, “You are witnesses against yourselves. You have chosen Yahweh! Therefore cast away your idols and turn your hearts toward Yahweh.” A third time the people affirmed Yahweh their God. And they did, all the days of Yahweh, and all the days of the elders who survived him. Joshua knew the importance of spelling out the choice—Yahweh and blessing or the idols who cannot save. He knew the importance of seeking a public commitment. And he knew the value of setting up a visible witness, a pile of stones, to remind them every time they saw it, of the commitment they had made to Yahweh, to serve Him only. It’s easy for me to think in my heart, “I will serve the Lord.” But to open my mouth, to acknowledge that I understand how hard it may be, that I understand that Yahweh is jealous for my attention, which He deserves, that I intend to seek Him first and His righteousness confirms to me and to the world, that I have chosen Yahweh. It reminds me where my home is.
When Mr. T asked me today if I was settled in, I hesitated. Settled in to what? A new groove that I’ve built to hedge me into monotony? Sometimes I become too settled, too complacent, too comfortable. Safe. Afraid to take down camp and move, stretch my boundaries, do something new. Afraid that change might be looming at me like a dark thunderhead on the horizon—but is that cloud rain, or sleet or locusts? Why should I avoid change? Each new change the Lord has brought my way has only given me more room to grow, more reason to stretch down my roots for the living water. It seems the Lord has had change on my mind lately, perhaps as I see what Yahweh has done so far, and I look ahead to things that are already changing, wondering what comes next. Fearing what comes next, as if my Lord would lead me into a way He does not also tread.
Lord! Prevent me from ever resisting change, from ever becoming so comfortable in my own way that I lie stagnant and quit growing. Prune me that I grow stronger, taller and bear more fruit!
Never let me feel entirely “at home”—until I am with You.
Lord, this world is not my home,
So I may be content to roam,
Without belonging here or there
As long as I may have Thee near.
May all my interest always be
Invested in eternity
That when I climb up Jacob’s stair
I’ll find the mansion Thou prepared.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Grandma’s house is a place to grow fat. She always makes enough food to feed an army of hippos and insists we eat it. “No one’s going anywhere until that vegetable soup is gone.” “I made a huge cake! I expect to see it eaten.” I was delighted we had Nick along to help our endeavor.
And Mandy was another welcome addition. “I’m at my Grandma’s,” I told her over the phone. “Are you busy this afternoon?” As a matter of fact she wasn’t. And she was coming to town anyway for a game night at Abigail and Shane’s. After an amazing lunch of chicken enchiladas, eaten fashionably late (at three o’clock), the whole family packed out in the suburban and headed into their house for a tour and a glimpse of little Miss Sofia Grace. A few months ago I’d figured I’d be spending my days holding Abigail’s baby and hanging out with Mandy. This is the first time I’ve held Sofia, and I’ve not seen Mandy in six months. Seems like I keep being reminded how the Lord changes things—quickly sometimes. I always look ahead, when the change is still misty and unknown and grow frightened, but each change is simply the rerouting of a channel. The flow is never stopped—just redirected. Never as dangerous as my overactive imagination deems possible.
Grandma’s house is also a wealth of distractions. “I’ll have plenty of time to finish Joshua,” I cheerfully tell myself, but instead I sit through the entire KU game, keeping track of the players almost as avidly as Grandma herself. As if I care who makes it into the top four. As if it has any benefit or bearing on my life or the path the Lord would have me walk. As if watching these poor deluded souls grasping at a fading crown will somehow spur me on toward my own eternal crown.
“The Prayer of Jabez” lay quietly by on the coffee table, so I picked it up and started reading. More out of curiosity, since I’d seen more “prayer of Jabez” paraphernalia than I ever cared to see. Creating study Bibles named after one verse seems a bit of overkill to me. However, I soon found myself engrossed in the truths and principles shared in this original pocket-sized book—many of which the Lord has been bringing forth in my life already. Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, “Oh that Thou wouldst bless me indeed, and enlarge my border, and that Thy hand might be with me, and that Thou wouldst keep me from evil, that it may not bring pain to me.” A simple prayer, it seems, and perhaps a little self-serving. In my self-righteousness, I tend to reprimand myself for praying for “me” all the time. But David, the man after God’s own heart prayed and pleaded for himself constantly. Yahweh wants us to seek Him for ourselves, to seek His blessings for ourselves, and to seek His protection for ourselves. This little booklet broke down Jabez’s prayer into four parts: A plea for God’s blessing, a plea for increased influence, a plea for God’s empowering and a plea to be kept from temptation. When we ask for God to bless what we do, we must understand that His blessings point to Him, that He blesses what brings glory to Him, that His blessings include pruning, disciplining and guidance. When we ask that he increase our influence, we are asking for more ministry—sometimes beyond what we can handle! I’ve seen this over and over again in my life, especially in the past few months. But having more than we can handle is simply the perfect situation for Yahweh to work—if we humbly entreat His hand to be with us, His Spirit to empower us, His wisdom to guide us. There is no question then about Who did the work. The more we seek to do for the Lord, the larger a target we make ourselves to Satan. To pray to be kept from temptation—“lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil,” Jesus taught His disciples to pray. Beg the Lord, not only for strength to endure, to resist and to come safely through temptation, but pray in advance that He would remove temptation, that He would keep our feet on a level path. What could glorify God more than to bless us as we seek to serve Him, by His power and to implore His protection from even the temptation to sin? Chronicles tell us, God answered the prayer of Jabez.
As I read, my mind kept coming back to Caleb, the man I read about this morning. Of the generation that rebelled against Yahweh and fearfully refused to take the land, only Joshua and Caleb lived to enter the land—the two spies who remained faithful to Yahweh. Incidentally, Caleb’s name means faithful. At age eighty-five, when he finally entered the land and took his possession, he came to Joshua saying, “I’m still strong! There’s still so much to do! Give me more land (enlarge my boundaries) so I can drive out the Lord’s enemies.” What a delight Caleb must have been to Yahweh, in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, he shone like a light, praising Yahweh for giving him health, desiring more room to use God’s blessings to further God’s name.
Lord, bless me! Bless my soul indeed
Fulfill my deeply rooted need
To be with Thee and to be Thine,
And turn my water into wine
That it may bring Thy joy to all,
And hear my prayer whene’er I call.
May Thy hand be swift to guide me
And from every evil hide me.
And Mandy was another welcome addition. “I’m at my Grandma’s,” I told her over the phone. “Are you busy this afternoon?” As a matter of fact she wasn’t. And she was coming to town anyway for a game night at Abigail and Shane’s. After an amazing lunch of chicken enchiladas, eaten fashionably late (at three o’clock), the whole family packed out in the suburban and headed into their house for a tour and a glimpse of little Miss Sofia Grace. A few months ago I’d figured I’d be spending my days holding Abigail’s baby and hanging out with Mandy. This is the first time I’ve held Sofia, and I’ve not seen Mandy in six months. Seems like I keep being reminded how the Lord changes things—quickly sometimes. I always look ahead, when the change is still misty and unknown and grow frightened, but each change is simply the rerouting of a channel. The flow is never stopped—just redirected. Never as dangerous as my overactive imagination deems possible.
Grandma’s house is also a wealth of distractions. “I’ll have plenty of time to finish Joshua,” I cheerfully tell myself, but instead I sit through the entire KU game, keeping track of the players almost as avidly as Grandma herself. As if I care who makes it into the top four. As if it has any benefit or bearing on my life or the path the Lord would have me walk. As if watching these poor deluded souls grasping at a fading crown will somehow spur me on toward my own eternal crown.
“The Prayer of Jabez” lay quietly by on the coffee table, so I picked it up and started reading. More out of curiosity, since I’d seen more “prayer of Jabez” paraphernalia than I ever cared to see. Creating study Bibles named after one verse seems a bit of overkill to me. However, I soon found myself engrossed in the truths and principles shared in this original pocket-sized book—many of which the Lord has been bringing forth in my life already. Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, “Oh that Thou wouldst bless me indeed, and enlarge my border, and that Thy hand might be with me, and that Thou wouldst keep me from evil, that it may not bring pain to me.” A simple prayer, it seems, and perhaps a little self-serving. In my self-righteousness, I tend to reprimand myself for praying for “me” all the time. But David, the man after God’s own heart prayed and pleaded for himself constantly. Yahweh wants us to seek Him for ourselves, to seek His blessings for ourselves, and to seek His protection for ourselves. This little booklet broke down Jabez’s prayer into four parts: A plea for God’s blessing, a plea for increased influence, a plea for God’s empowering and a plea to be kept from temptation. When we ask for God to bless what we do, we must understand that His blessings point to Him, that He blesses what brings glory to Him, that His blessings include pruning, disciplining and guidance. When we ask that he increase our influence, we are asking for more ministry—sometimes beyond what we can handle! I’ve seen this over and over again in my life, especially in the past few months. But having more than we can handle is simply the perfect situation for Yahweh to work—if we humbly entreat His hand to be with us, His Spirit to empower us, His wisdom to guide us. There is no question then about Who did the work. The more we seek to do for the Lord, the larger a target we make ourselves to Satan. To pray to be kept from temptation—“lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil,” Jesus taught His disciples to pray. Beg the Lord, not only for strength to endure, to resist and to come safely through temptation, but pray in advance that He would remove temptation, that He would keep our feet on a level path. What could glorify God more than to bless us as we seek to serve Him, by His power and to implore His protection from even the temptation to sin? Chronicles tell us, God answered the prayer of Jabez.
As I read, my mind kept coming back to Caleb, the man I read about this morning. Of the generation that rebelled against Yahweh and fearfully refused to take the land, only Joshua and Caleb lived to enter the land—the two spies who remained faithful to Yahweh. Incidentally, Caleb’s name means faithful. At age eighty-five, when he finally entered the land and took his possession, he came to Joshua saying, “I’m still strong! There’s still so much to do! Give me more land (enlarge my boundaries) so I can drive out the Lord’s enemies.” What a delight Caleb must have been to Yahweh, in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, he shone like a light, praising Yahweh for giving him health, desiring more room to use God’s blessings to further God’s name.
Lord, bless me! Bless my soul indeed
Fulfill my deeply rooted need
To be with Thee and to be Thine,
And turn my water into wine
That it may bring Thy joy to all,
And hear my prayer whene’er I call.
May Thy hand be swift to guide me
And from every evil hide me.
Thursday, March 17, 2008
Travis put us all in stitches, describing the plight of his dentures. Tricky things to make, are dentures, and take hours of intense labor, as I’ve discovered from being in the lab with Papa. It’s hard to convince the wayward teeth to stay in one’s mouth, as poor Travis has discovered. “Super glue works for many things,” Mom offered, jokingly, but Travis only shuddered. “It doesn’t work for this! I tried it!” Out pop his teeth, before he continues, “I go to eat oatmeal with a big spoon and wind up putting my food on top of my teeth instead of between them. The first day I got them, I was driving down the highway with my windows rolled down and I sneezed. I barely caught my teeth on their way out the window. Just the other day I coughed and they went flying across the floor. ‘Mary!’ I yelled. ‘Get me my dentures, would you?’ She says, ‘I ain’t touching them!’” Then there’s the time he lost them in a movie theatre. He’d taken them out to eat popcorn and rolled them into his sweatshirt, then gotten up to move, forgetting about them. Soon he and the manager were crawling around in the dark with a flashlight, poking under people’s feet, more entertaining than the movie, as they searched for the missing mouthpiece. Travis knows we’re believers. We talk with him frequently. But none of us has yet shared the gospel. Why is it that those who live so near us, who give us so many opportunities, seem the most frightening? As if sharing the best news on earth would somehow hamper our relationship.
I think I made a million phone calls today, and received a million more. I can’t even remember why. I know I wasn’t selling vinyl siding. Thankfully, they weren’t either.
As usual, I’d disconnected the wireless device after checking my e-mail and attempted to reconnect it to Papa’s computer. Nothing. No recognition. Uh. What? I checked the USB cables, tried several other ports and then tried reconnecting to my laptop. Power, yes. Data, no. Oh great. That meant a hardware issue. I quickly dug out our latest bill and called AT&T. Emily, my very kind AT&T representative walked me through several troubleshooting processes (again) and deduced the same thing. Here’s where I found her impressive: instead of simply transferring me over to the warranty department and leaving me on my own to explain myself and my data, she went on hold with me—even disconnected me, so I wouldn’t have to wait, and then called me back when she finally got through to a representative, where she introduced us, passed on the problem and I soon had my issue resolved. Well, at least as well as I could hope for. The upshot is that we’re expecting a new device Monday. Until then, we shall be entirely cut off from the electronic world. Funny how dependent we’ve become on e-mail and internet that a few days without that option seems like a hardship.
I’ve been lingering in the word bridge between Deuteronomy and Joshua, captured by one theme: “Have I not commanded you, be strong and courageous! Do not be terrified or discouraged, for Yahweh is with you.” Could there be a more appropriate time for this command, when it seems a few giants are undefined giants are facing us? Fascinating is the wording. Not, “you can do it” or “you’re big enough for this” or “you’re the man!” as the world would tell us—falsely. A command: be strong and courageous. Make the choice: don’t be terrified or discouraged. Why? Because Yahweh is with you. Us. Me. Forty years before, Joshua’s generation had trembled, had feared, had become discouraged, forgetting the mighty deeds Yahweh had done on their behalf. Now, as an eighty-year-old man, come again to the edge of the promised land, God reminds him over and over again to be brave! To fight with might for the right. Because Yahweh Himself is with him, fighting for the sake of His name.
Be strong in Yahweh and in the strength of His might. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers and principalities of darkness. We’re not battling idolatrous Canaanites, but the very bloodthirsty darkness that controlled them. Therefore, we should gird ourselves with the armor of God, that we may stand firm. Clothed with truth, guarded by righteousness, walking in peace, shielded by faith, protected by salvation and doing battle with God’s word and through the far-reaching power of prayer.
And pray for what? For boldness. “Have I not commanded you be strong and courageous!” Because the Creator and Sustainer of all life is with me wherever I go. Because the battle is not mine, it’s His. Because He has already won the victory and ensured that I will receive the unfading wreath of eternal life.
The story of Jericho’s downfall seems overly familiar at times, but the command for silence set me to thinking. Why would God command silence as His people paraded around the walls of Jericho? In a dearth of words, I find myself growing thoughtful, pondering, meditating. No doubt the men of Israel found themselves recalling how Yahweh had piled up the water of the Jordan so they could cross, how He had brought them so far, they could see the ark in front of them, leading the way, remember the beautiful object lessons it contained, think on God’s promises kept and this new one: that the walls would come crashing down when they obeyed. Jericho was a battle won through worship—unquestioningly obeying God’s commands. Silently, so as to focus on Yahweh and His power. Then the shout—the cry of faith that the victory was won and the answering rumbling that sent the massive walls into piles of dust and debris. As I buckle on my armor for spiritual battle, I am reminded that God does the fighting—our part is to worship, to obey, to shout the cry of victory.
Lord, Thou bids me take my sword,
And in the true strength of Thy word,
The courage which Thy presence lends,
The power which Thy spirit sends,
To take the battlefield and fight,
Against the strongholds of the night,
Tear down discouragement and fear,
And so the devil’s strongholds here.
I think I made a million phone calls today, and received a million more. I can’t even remember why. I know I wasn’t selling vinyl siding. Thankfully, they weren’t either.
As usual, I’d disconnected the wireless device after checking my e-mail and attempted to reconnect it to Papa’s computer. Nothing. No recognition. Uh. What? I checked the USB cables, tried several other ports and then tried reconnecting to my laptop. Power, yes. Data, no. Oh great. That meant a hardware issue. I quickly dug out our latest bill and called AT&T. Emily, my very kind AT&T representative walked me through several troubleshooting processes (again) and deduced the same thing. Here’s where I found her impressive: instead of simply transferring me over to the warranty department and leaving me on my own to explain myself and my data, she went on hold with me—even disconnected me, so I wouldn’t have to wait, and then called me back when she finally got through to a representative, where she introduced us, passed on the problem and I soon had my issue resolved. Well, at least as well as I could hope for. The upshot is that we’re expecting a new device Monday. Until then, we shall be entirely cut off from the electronic world. Funny how dependent we’ve become on e-mail and internet that a few days without that option seems like a hardship.
I’ve been lingering in the word bridge between Deuteronomy and Joshua, captured by one theme: “Have I not commanded you, be strong and courageous! Do not be terrified or discouraged, for Yahweh is with you.” Could there be a more appropriate time for this command, when it seems a few giants are undefined giants are facing us? Fascinating is the wording. Not, “you can do it” or “you’re big enough for this” or “you’re the man!” as the world would tell us—falsely. A command: be strong and courageous. Make the choice: don’t be terrified or discouraged. Why? Because Yahweh is with you. Us. Me. Forty years before, Joshua’s generation had trembled, had feared, had become discouraged, forgetting the mighty deeds Yahweh had done on their behalf. Now, as an eighty-year-old man, come again to the edge of the promised land, God reminds him over and over again to be brave! To fight with might for the right. Because Yahweh Himself is with him, fighting for the sake of His name.
Be strong in Yahweh and in the strength of His might. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against rulers and principalities of darkness. We’re not battling idolatrous Canaanites, but the very bloodthirsty darkness that controlled them. Therefore, we should gird ourselves with the armor of God, that we may stand firm. Clothed with truth, guarded by righteousness, walking in peace, shielded by faith, protected by salvation and doing battle with God’s word and through the far-reaching power of prayer.
And pray for what? For boldness. “Have I not commanded you be strong and courageous!” Because the Creator and Sustainer of all life is with me wherever I go. Because the battle is not mine, it’s His. Because He has already won the victory and ensured that I will receive the unfading wreath of eternal life.
The story of Jericho’s downfall seems overly familiar at times, but the command for silence set me to thinking. Why would God command silence as His people paraded around the walls of Jericho? In a dearth of words, I find myself growing thoughtful, pondering, meditating. No doubt the men of Israel found themselves recalling how Yahweh had piled up the water of the Jordan so they could cross, how He had brought them so far, they could see the ark in front of them, leading the way, remember the beautiful object lessons it contained, think on God’s promises kept and this new one: that the walls would come crashing down when they obeyed. Jericho was a battle won through worship—unquestioningly obeying God’s commands. Silently, so as to focus on Yahweh and His power. Then the shout—the cry of faith that the victory was won and the answering rumbling that sent the massive walls into piles of dust and debris. As I buckle on my armor for spiritual battle, I am reminded that God does the fighting—our part is to worship, to obey, to shout the cry of victory.
Lord, Thou bids me take my sword,
And in the true strength of Thy word,
The courage which Thy presence lends,
The power which Thy spirit sends,
To take the battlefield and fight,
Against the strongholds of the night,
Tear down discouragement and fear,
And so the devil’s strongholds here.
Resurrection Sunday, March 23, 2008
System overload!
Just as I was sitting down to write, AmCam showed up, and whoopdie-doo! She’s a great girl, but I was ready to wind down and call it a night. “You always make me feel so welcome,” she hugged me on her way out the door. Little Hypocrite Abigail stood by smiling, eager to dash back to the safe haven of her bedroom. But if love is action, is it wrong to hide my own desires to make someone feel welcome? Is that hypocrisy or love?
Lydia rose this morning with skin as smooth as a new born baby’s. Praise the Lord!
Our home was brimming over with activity as we got ready for our meeting this morning. In addition to Dathan and Nick, Bruce, Lauren and Nathaniel all pulled in late last night and Josh joined us after the Sunrise Service at First Baptist. As we reflected on Christ’s death and resurrection, Josh’s questions brought to light some beautiful details: how Christ’s sufferings were greater than any sinner will ever face in hell, because in those three hours on the cross he was forsaken by God, His own Holy Father; how, even God’s grace in the shining of the sun was blotted out while Jesus hung on the cross paying the penalty for the world’s sin; how death could not hold him—in three hours time He had paid for every sin ever committed or that ever would be committed and was able to commit His spirit to God; how, while His body lay in the grave, He went and preached triumph to the souls in sheol, and when he ascended back to God, He led forth those who had been waiting on the credit of faith in God for the Messiah who would free them from their sins; how we know He was heard because of His piety, in that God raised Him again! In this is our confident hope, that as Jesus conquered death and rose again to the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in newness of life, confident that we shall be raised into the likeness of His perfection one day. This is God: both just and the justifier.
From there Papa turned to teach from First Timothy chapter two—about prayer in the assembly, by the males, and the females redirection to a role in the home. It’s hard to shake ourselves loose of the cultural concept that women should be “liberated” and should be independent. When all of us learn to be truly independent individuals, society will crumble. Interdependence is what holds a family, a marriage, a community together. God’s plan for separate roles—where each person performs a special part that only they can do well. Like the spider is important to the earth’s ecosystem in her ability to build webs and trap insects like no other creature, so the woman’s importance is not in her ability to compete with men, but in her ability to bear children—something no man can do. Strange it is, that women have “liberated” themselves from the freedom of enjoying what they were created to be, and have enslaved themselves in the rat-race that is corporate life—little realizing how much that second income is actually costing them: second car/insurance/expense/wear and tear, wardrobe, daycare, eating out or pre-made food, to mention nothing of medical bills due to stress and strain at work and home. The femanazis of our day have embraced a double curse—was it not enough to have pain in child-birth, but that they also must work the ground by the sweat of their brow? How blessed I am to have been raised in a family who sought to function under God’s plan, and has reaped so many of the blessings He reserves for those who seek His ways. As we studied, I was struck by the concept that a godly woman is not an independent entity. The headship passage in First Corinthians eleven began to gel with me. God is the head. Even Jesus said He could do nothing on His own initiative—He was only an ambassador of God. Each man is an ambassador of Christ and each woman, an ambassador of her man—husband or, in my case, father. It’s not a weighty chain of command, it’s a layered umbrella of protection. The godly woman adorns herself with modesty and good works, as an ambassador of her man. I found myself slipping into a brown study, reevaluating my life, my activities, my attitudes. Am I pleasing my father? Am I seeking to further his ministry? Am I blessing him? As an expression of my love for Christ.
Lauren and Nathaniel shared with me what they've been learning from "Created to be His Helpmeet"—girls tend to think themselves spiritual because they talk on and on about how God leads them, in every little thing. Guys are carnal, of course, because they don’t have the same subjective, emotional reactions. So how does God lead? Can we look back and see His leading in the past? I’m sure, as I read back through my journals, that I can see God’s hand, see His leading. I set up Ebenezer stones, saying “Thus far has the Lord brought me”. Is that mistaken? Emotional? Shallow?
How am I ever going to sort out the scrambled mess my mind and heart have reached?
I think I’ll go to bed. In the morning I will defragment.
Lord, my heart seems bruised and shattered,
Swirling winds of doubt have scattered.
Lost within the storm, I stand
Wishing I could understand.
What’s a girl to do? I wonder.
Confused by flashes, peals of thunder,
Pelted by the boiling rain—
Unite my heart to fear Thy name.
Just as I was sitting down to write, AmCam showed up, and whoopdie-doo! She’s a great girl, but I was ready to wind down and call it a night. “You always make me feel so welcome,” she hugged me on her way out the door. Little Hypocrite Abigail stood by smiling, eager to dash back to the safe haven of her bedroom. But if love is action, is it wrong to hide my own desires to make someone feel welcome? Is that hypocrisy or love?
Lydia rose this morning with skin as smooth as a new born baby’s. Praise the Lord!
Our home was brimming over with activity as we got ready for our meeting this morning. In addition to Dathan and Nick, Bruce, Lauren and Nathaniel all pulled in late last night and Josh joined us after the Sunrise Service at First Baptist. As we reflected on Christ’s death and resurrection, Josh’s questions brought to light some beautiful details: how Christ’s sufferings were greater than any sinner will ever face in hell, because in those three hours on the cross he was forsaken by God, His own Holy Father; how, even God’s grace in the shining of the sun was blotted out while Jesus hung on the cross paying the penalty for the world’s sin; how death could not hold him—in three hours time He had paid for every sin ever committed or that ever would be committed and was able to commit His spirit to God; how, while His body lay in the grave, He went and preached triumph to the souls in sheol, and when he ascended back to God, He led forth those who had been waiting on the credit of faith in God for the Messiah who would free them from their sins; how we know He was heard because of His piety, in that God raised Him again! In this is our confident hope, that as Jesus conquered death and rose again to the glory of the Father, so we too may walk in newness of life, confident that we shall be raised into the likeness of His perfection one day. This is God: both just and the justifier.
From there Papa turned to teach from First Timothy chapter two—about prayer in the assembly, by the males, and the females redirection to a role in the home. It’s hard to shake ourselves loose of the cultural concept that women should be “liberated” and should be independent. When all of us learn to be truly independent individuals, society will crumble. Interdependence is what holds a family, a marriage, a community together. God’s plan for separate roles—where each person performs a special part that only they can do well. Like the spider is important to the earth’s ecosystem in her ability to build webs and trap insects like no other creature, so the woman’s importance is not in her ability to compete with men, but in her ability to bear children—something no man can do. Strange it is, that women have “liberated” themselves from the freedom of enjoying what they were created to be, and have enslaved themselves in the rat-race that is corporate life—little realizing how much that second income is actually costing them: second car/insurance/expense/wear and tear, wardrobe, daycare, eating out or pre-made food, to mention nothing of medical bills due to stress and strain at work and home. The femanazis of our day have embraced a double curse—was it not enough to have pain in child-birth, but that they also must work the ground by the sweat of their brow? How blessed I am to have been raised in a family who sought to function under God’s plan, and has reaped so many of the blessings He reserves for those who seek His ways. As we studied, I was struck by the concept that a godly woman is not an independent entity. The headship passage in First Corinthians eleven began to gel with me. God is the head. Even Jesus said He could do nothing on His own initiative—He was only an ambassador of God. Each man is an ambassador of Christ and each woman, an ambassador of her man—husband or, in my case, father. It’s not a weighty chain of command, it’s a layered umbrella of protection. The godly woman adorns herself with modesty and good works, as an ambassador of her man. I found myself slipping into a brown study, reevaluating my life, my activities, my attitudes. Am I pleasing my father? Am I seeking to further his ministry? Am I blessing him? As an expression of my love for Christ.
Lauren and Nathaniel shared with me what they've been learning from "Created to be His Helpmeet"—girls tend to think themselves spiritual because they talk on and on about how God leads them, in every little thing. Guys are carnal, of course, because they don’t have the same subjective, emotional reactions. So how does God lead? Can we look back and see His leading in the past? I’m sure, as I read back through my journals, that I can see God’s hand, see His leading. I set up Ebenezer stones, saying “Thus far has the Lord brought me”. Is that mistaken? Emotional? Shallow?
How am I ever going to sort out the scrambled mess my mind and heart have reached?
I think I’ll go to bed. In the morning I will defragment.
Lord, my heart seems bruised and shattered,
Swirling winds of doubt have scattered.
Lost within the storm, I stand
Wishing I could understand.
What’s a girl to do? I wonder.
Confused by flashes, peals of thunder,
Pelted by the boiling rain—
Unite my heart to fear Thy name.
Friday, March 21, 2008
Spring Break: the words sound like a time of intense boredom—excuse me, relaxation. For us, it is simply a switching over of guests. Our local home-from-the-war-on-furlough-soldier, Donnie showed up for a visit. Donnie, Dathan and Josiah are a deadly combination. I spent the majority of the visit dodging them, recovering stolen shoes from the rooftop gutter, the porch rafters or other random spots of concealment. Donnie hasn’t changed one single cubic centimeter. Reading his notes from Iraq, how the bodies come in mutilated and he has to identify them and file reports, how the most comforting sound is the sound of a helicopter shooting scud missiles, simply because he knows those are friends, protecting him, how other American soldiers cheer when they see the bodies of Arabs, while he sees only the end of a life—a soul gone to judgment. He neglected to tell us today was his twenty-second birthday. Twenty-two years old, and he’s a platoon sergeant, responsible for a whole host of tasks, with death constantly staring him in the face. Twenty-two years old, and separated from his new bride by a commission and an ocean. Wars and rumors of wars, Jesus promised, until the return of the Prince of Peace.
The movie I went to such labor to procure from the Tech library was titled “Inherit the Wind.” Tonight we watched a critique of it, under the name “Inherently Wind”. Enlightening it was to see the background on the Scopes Monkey Trial—in which the state laws regarding teaching man as descended from apes was put on trial, in one of the most famous and most fake trials in history. “Ah,” said the defense. “When any one theory is taught exclusively, then is there only room for bigotry.” Less than a century later, what do we see? One theory taught: the theory that man evolved from apes. Bigotry? I could hardly agree more. Propaganda, the movie was. Hardly a hint of fact, with an overt stab at the character of Christians in general. Any movie, so inflammatory about any other “type” of people, would be banned from public schools. Instead, this one is shown in English classes, and discussed as “a great classic.”
Zach dived through the doors in time to send Dathan rolling across the floor. Everyone seems to find Dathan an irresistible rag-doll. We’ll have a full breakfast table tomorrow morning.
“Be silent and listen, O Israel! This day you have become a people for Yahweh, your God. You shall therefore obey Yahweh your God, and do His commandments and His statutes which I command you today.” So Moses began the lengthy curses from Mount Ebal, followed by the blessings from Mount Gerizim. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life in order that you may live: by loving Yahweh your God, by obeying His voice, and holding fast to Him.” Disobedience to God brings a curse. “This commandment is not too difficult,” Moses insisted, and yet, even he failed and disobeyed God, and was prevented from entering the land. How is life? By loving Yahweh, obeying His voice and holding fast to Him. Those who would choose life, Yahweh saved on credit and sent their souls to a place of refuge until the Way the Truth and the Life should come and pay their ransom and redeem them and lead them to paradise—the heavenly promised land. It is He of whom Moses spoke, “The Word is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart.” If you confess with your mouth, Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved. Choose life in order that you may live.
Lord, I stand upon Mount Gerizim,
And gaze into the promised land,
Thou spoke the blessing long ago,
And led Thy people by Thy hand
But this same blessing that Thou spoke,
The Word, blessed every man in Thee.
By Thy grace, I have obeyed
And chosen life eternally.
The movie I went to such labor to procure from the Tech library was titled “Inherit the Wind.” Tonight we watched a critique of it, under the name “Inherently Wind”. Enlightening it was to see the background on the Scopes Monkey Trial—in which the state laws regarding teaching man as descended from apes was put on trial, in one of the most famous and most fake trials in history. “Ah,” said the defense. “When any one theory is taught exclusively, then is there only room for bigotry.” Less than a century later, what do we see? One theory taught: the theory that man evolved from apes. Bigotry? I could hardly agree more. Propaganda, the movie was. Hardly a hint of fact, with an overt stab at the character of Christians in general. Any movie, so inflammatory about any other “type” of people, would be banned from public schools. Instead, this one is shown in English classes, and discussed as “a great classic.”
Zach dived through the doors in time to send Dathan rolling across the floor. Everyone seems to find Dathan an irresistible rag-doll. We’ll have a full breakfast table tomorrow morning.
“Be silent and listen, O Israel! This day you have become a people for Yahweh, your God. You shall therefore obey Yahweh your God, and do His commandments and His statutes which I command you today.” So Moses began the lengthy curses from Mount Ebal, followed by the blessings from Mount Gerizim. “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life in order that you may live: by loving Yahweh your God, by obeying His voice, and holding fast to Him.” Disobedience to God brings a curse. “This commandment is not too difficult,” Moses insisted, and yet, even he failed and disobeyed God, and was prevented from entering the land. How is life? By loving Yahweh, obeying His voice and holding fast to Him. Those who would choose life, Yahweh saved on credit and sent their souls to a place of refuge until the Way the Truth and the Life should come and pay their ransom and redeem them and lead them to paradise—the heavenly promised land. It is He of whom Moses spoke, “The Word is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart.” If you confess with your mouth, Jesus as Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved. Choose life in order that you may live.
Lord, I stand upon Mount Gerizim,
And gaze into the promised land,
Thou spoke the blessing long ago,
And led Thy people by Thy hand
But this same blessing that Thou spoke,
The Word, blessed every man in Thee.
By Thy grace, I have obeyed
And chosen life eternally.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Amber told me I’m hyper. Hyper for me or hyper for Amber or just hyper in general? Hyper because I called her talking in a weird voice, and when she knew who it was, offered to hang up and try again? Hyper because I followed every comment she made with some wise crack? Hyper because I gave her an elaborate description of my day, complete with endless details on the glories of budgeting? “Together Mom and I labored over the reconciliation.” She misunderstood me. “Reconciliation? Wait. Did you and your mom fight? I don’t believe it.”
So much for the valley. Instead the Lord has been leading me alongside a rim, close enough that sometimes my feet dislodge a pebble and send it clattering to the floor far below, but He has my hand and I am safe on high. I feel as if I’ve been walking on air, gazing down into the valley, but never falling, gazing up into His face and seeing His love spelled out there in great tenderness. Every fear that rises in my heart, every worry or doubt that springs up is melted by His goodness. Each time I think I’ve lost His hold and might tumble, I’ve called His name and He’s been there, upholding me with His righteous right hand.
I finished Numbers. (“Can you count now?” Amber demanded, in her best Abigail imitation.) As He sent them into the promised land under the leadership of Moses’ prodigy, Joshua, God warned His people that if they failed to completely destroy the wicked nations living in the land and wipe out their heathen religions, He would have to rain down their punishment on the Israelites. I see that in our homes and our churches—if we embrace the idols of the world, we are likely to bear their shame and consequences with them. “Come out and be separate,” says Yahweh. “Touch no unclean thing.”
When Israel conquered a foreign kingdom, Yahweh told them how to redeem the plunder. “Pass everything that can stand fire through fire, then purify it with water, and whatever cannot stand fire, pass through the water, and it shall be purified.” Later, Yahweh spoke through the prophet Isaiah, using the same beautiful symbolism to describe how He would buy back His people from captivity. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you. For I am Yahweh, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” To me, the words ring out with hope—I have been redeemed from the world, bought by the Savior and made holy through His precious blood. When He leads through testing or trials—fire and water—He will be with me, as He leads me in the path to purification. I will never be overwhelmed. Only cleansed. Made holy. Like Yahweh.
Lord, when fiery ways I trod,
Beside me, Thou, the Son of God,
The fiery furnace Thou wilt bear
And always show me Thou art there.
And when my way lies through the water,
Thou reminds this frightened daughter,
Once Thou parted such a sea
And safely o’er Thou’ll carry me.
So much for the valley. Instead the Lord has been leading me alongside a rim, close enough that sometimes my feet dislodge a pebble and send it clattering to the floor far below, but He has my hand and I am safe on high. I feel as if I’ve been walking on air, gazing down into the valley, but never falling, gazing up into His face and seeing His love spelled out there in great tenderness. Every fear that rises in my heart, every worry or doubt that springs up is melted by His goodness. Each time I think I’ve lost His hold and might tumble, I’ve called His name and He’s been there, upholding me with His righteous right hand.
I finished Numbers. (“Can you count now?” Amber demanded, in her best Abigail imitation.) As He sent them into the promised land under the leadership of Moses’ prodigy, Joshua, God warned His people that if they failed to completely destroy the wicked nations living in the land and wipe out their heathen religions, He would have to rain down their punishment on the Israelites. I see that in our homes and our churches—if we embrace the idols of the world, we are likely to bear their shame and consequences with them. “Come out and be separate,” says Yahweh. “Touch no unclean thing.”
When Israel conquered a foreign kingdom, Yahweh told them how to redeem the plunder. “Pass everything that can stand fire through fire, then purify it with water, and whatever cannot stand fire, pass through the water, and it shall be purified.” Later, Yahweh spoke through the prophet Isaiah, using the same beautiful symbolism to describe how He would buy back His people from captivity. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be scorched, nor will the flame burn you. For I am Yahweh, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.” To me, the words ring out with hope—I have been redeemed from the world, bought by the Savior and made holy through His precious blood. When He leads through testing or trials—fire and water—He will be with me, as He leads me in the path to purification. I will never be overwhelmed. Only cleansed. Made holy. Like Yahweh.
Lord, when fiery ways I trod,
Beside me, Thou, the Son of God,
The fiery furnace Thou wilt bear
And always show me Thou art there.
And when my way lies through the water,
Thou reminds this frightened daughter,
Once Thou parted such a sea
And safely o’er Thou’ll carry me.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Today was a perfect day. Because it was.
Josiah and I trooped back from sawing wood to discover the basketball goal, lying prone like Goliath himself, slain by a mischievous gale, the backboard shattered underneath. Our skills will be needing improvement to swoosh our balls without the benefit of the backboard.
Lauryn breezed in briefly, like the personification of summer herself—golden sunlight hair and a sky blue shirt to match her eyes. It’s hard to believe she’s not been out since Christmas break, but her presence was more than welcome. As always. I’ve missed the days from last semester, when we spent so much time together and spilled out everything the Lord was teaching us or every way we felt the pruning sheers.
Balaam brought home a powerful point. Not such an exemplary character, this Balaam fellow, who would have eagerly cursed the Israelites for a price, had not the Lord prevented him—through the intervention of his donkey. Instead, he blessed them and delivered beautiful promises of the future Messiah. Self-assured, self-righteous and self-confident, I imagine myself special because perhaps sometimes the Lord speaks or works through me. Well, doesn’t He? Well, didn’t He also speak through Balaam’s donkey? I sat still for several minutes (which is quite the accomplishment for me) trying to wrap my mind around the truth. God used a donkey to convince a shady character to bless His people. Who am I to boast of being a tool? Is it amazing that a shovel would be used to dig a hole? That a bucket would be used to water flowers? Do we honor the shovel or the bucket for being used? Neither does the Lord’s work in me bear any honor for me, but only more honor for the Lord, that He could stoop and find a use for such a worthless vessel as I am. But I will not always be so broken, leaky and dirty.
Once again I am reminded how frail I am and how big the Lord is. How capable He is of protecting me, upholding me and of working things out. I trust He is working out His perfect will in me. Making me perfect.
Perfect days might seem evasive, but I’m looking back on twenty years of them. Perfect in the light of God’s handiwork, His timing, His plans and what He’s been doing. Perfect because He has remained Lord over all creation.
Lord, Thou art enthroned in splendor,
Yet to this child of dust art tender.
Year by year, here’s what I see:
That Thy perfection touches me.
Thy creation: seas and woods,
Thou said all were “very good”,
But Thou hast promised, when life’s done
I’ll be perfect, like Thy Son.
Josiah and I trooped back from sawing wood to discover the basketball goal, lying prone like Goliath himself, slain by a mischievous gale, the backboard shattered underneath. Our skills will be needing improvement to swoosh our balls without the benefit of the backboard.
Lauryn breezed in briefly, like the personification of summer herself—golden sunlight hair and a sky blue shirt to match her eyes. It’s hard to believe she’s not been out since Christmas break, but her presence was more than welcome. As always. I’ve missed the days from last semester, when we spent so much time together and spilled out everything the Lord was teaching us or every way we felt the pruning sheers.
Balaam brought home a powerful point. Not such an exemplary character, this Balaam fellow, who would have eagerly cursed the Israelites for a price, had not the Lord prevented him—through the intervention of his donkey. Instead, he blessed them and delivered beautiful promises of the future Messiah. Self-assured, self-righteous and self-confident, I imagine myself special because perhaps sometimes the Lord speaks or works through me. Well, doesn’t He? Well, didn’t He also speak through Balaam’s donkey? I sat still for several minutes (which is quite the accomplishment for me) trying to wrap my mind around the truth. God used a donkey to convince a shady character to bless His people. Who am I to boast of being a tool? Is it amazing that a shovel would be used to dig a hole? That a bucket would be used to water flowers? Do we honor the shovel or the bucket for being used? Neither does the Lord’s work in me bear any honor for me, but only more honor for the Lord, that He could stoop and find a use for such a worthless vessel as I am. But I will not always be so broken, leaky and dirty.
Once again I am reminded how frail I am and how big the Lord is. How capable He is of protecting me, upholding me and of working things out. I trust He is working out His perfect will in me. Making me perfect.
Perfect days might seem evasive, but I’m looking back on twenty years of them. Perfect in the light of God’s handiwork, His timing, His plans and what He’s been doing. Perfect because He has remained Lord over all creation.
Lord, Thou art enthroned in splendor,
Yet to this child of dust art tender.
Year by year, here’s what I see:
That Thy perfection touches me.
Thy creation: seas and woods,
Thou said all were “very good”,
But Thou hast promised, when life’s done
I’ll be perfect, like Thy Son.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Morning found Lydia and I the sole occupants of our roomy home. No doubt the quiet served her well, since she finished her math early and came to me, asking to play some games Mom had heard of on the internet. I hooked her up to the Hallmark site and settled in for my Bible study, but a few technical difficulties made me rethink. Ultimately, the game allowed her to interact with other kids in a “safe” environment, chatting with prepared comments and playing interactive games. Harmless, no? My mind flitted to those I knew who had become addicted to internet gaming, some even finding outlets through these games for worse addictions. Harmless, perhaps. Safe, possibly. But when do the grey areas turn black? Where do we learn to love that which can later lead us down paths of pain or impurity? A story from the ancient readers I slogged through in my early years rose before me: the young boy whose father gave him sugar with a drop of alcohol. Once he drank it for the sugar, later it became a habit he could not break, and he died in a drunken stupor in a gutter. I know I have an overactive imagination. I know I might be blowing things out of proportion, “But Lydia,” I said. “I don’t think I want you playing this game. I don’t think it’s a good habit to start.” Smiling cheerfully at me, she said, “Okay. Do you have any other ideas?”
Our evening group was still on the puny side, but we’d gained back Nathan. Who can pattern our conversations? Tonight we turned to childhood stories. For my part, my parents told my embarrassing events—how I’d repeatedly gotten in trouble for gorging on candy. Apparently their wisdom broke me of it. It’s a rare day that any form of candy tempts me now. What a sneaky little girl I was. I wonder, am I still so devious?
Reading of the Israelites incessant grumbling in the wilderness always prickles me. Poor Moses, saddled with the responsibility of leading such a stubborn, rebellious people. And held to such high expectations himself! I come to the Meribah with him and behold his frustration as he brings water from a solid stone, but this time he was commanded to speak to the stone. Instead, he rebuked the people and struck the stone. The water gushed forth, but the Lord was displeased. “You have not believed in Me,” he said, “to treat Me as holy in the site of Israel. You will not enter the land.” God is serious about His word. He is serious about His people’s obedience, especially that of the leaders. It’s sobering to realize that God, in His power, can still offer fresh water to others through our failings, but the consequences may still keep us from enjoying His blessings. We serve the Lord, not through making up “worship” schemes of our own, but through obedience.
Today, most powerfully, I know the Lord is good and does good.
Lord, Thou art good and doeth good,
Whate’er my mind misunderstood.
The plans Thou hast are made to last
And guard the future as the past.
Since Thou hast saved my soul from hell
Thou will withhold no good, as well.
I trust Thou knowest what is best,
And in Thy promise find my rest.
Our evening group was still on the puny side, but we’d gained back Nathan. Who can pattern our conversations? Tonight we turned to childhood stories. For my part, my parents told my embarrassing events—how I’d repeatedly gotten in trouble for gorging on candy. Apparently their wisdom broke me of it. It’s a rare day that any form of candy tempts me now. What a sneaky little girl I was. I wonder, am I still so devious?
Reading of the Israelites incessant grumbling in the wilderness always prickles me. Poor Moses, saddled with the responsibility of leading such a stubborn, rebellious people. And held to such high expectations himself! I come to the Meribah with him and behold his frustration as he brings water from a solid stone, but this time he was commanded to speak to the stone. Instead, he rebuked the people and struck the stone. The water gushed forth, but the Lord was displeased. “You have not believed in Me,” he said, “to treat Me as holy in the site of Israel. You will not enter the land.” God is serious about His word. He is serious about His people’s obedience, especially that of the leaders. It’s sobering to realize that God, in His power, can still offer fresh water to others through our failings, but the consequences may still keep us from enjoying His blessings. We serve the Lord, not through making up “worship” schemes of our own, but through obedience.
Today, most powerfully, I know the Lord is good and does good.
Lord, Thou art good and doeth good,
Whate’er my mind misunderstood.
The plans Thou hast are made to last
And guard the future as the past.
Since Thou hast saved my soul from hell
Thou will withhold no good, as well.
I trust Thou knowest what is best,
And in Thy promise find my rest.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
“It must be Wednesday,” Jacinderella always sings when she sees my number on her phone. Muffins comprised my special delivery for her today, much to her amusement. Muffins from Josiah. I’d promised Emily I would wait and eat with her and Jacinderella, devoid of class for the day, lingered with us. She refused to believe my pudding was more than edible. “Whenever anyone says something in the Caf is good, I’m always spectacle.” Too much Spanish has mixed up her English vocabulary. I’ve yet to see Jacinderella make much of a spectacle—unless we’re counting that one. Roving over campus in the tingling sunshine, after lunch, sent us all into waves of nostalgia, remembering how different it was last year in the Spring when I assumed I’d never be back. Now Jacinda’s the one leaving. In two months.
Amber’s house turned out to be a hubbub of activity. When I arrived, the maintenance men were putting in a new outlet. Or trying to. My mind raced back to all the outlets I’d wired in, under Tabitha’s careful supervision, trying to remember which wire matched with each connection. Hopeless, I’m afraid. When an older preacher-man and his wife arrived, I was embarrassed to suddenly become the center of attention when Amber began explaining why I carry such a huge purse. I suppose refusing to be without my Bible, headcovering or knife marks me as peculiar, as does not dating, homeschooling and meeting at home, which she added as a bonus. But gracious Dave had no intention of challenging or disdaining and turned out to be an encouraging man of God. I dragged Amber outside to the picnic table to read and pray. John eleven—in which Jesus loved Martha, Mary and Lazarus so much that He stayed away instead of coming and healing Lazarus. Why? Because He wanted to reveal to them the glory of God—if they believed. When God seems to tarry in His actions, perhaps it is for a similar purpose—out of love He would reveal to me the glory of God, if I believe.
“Now the man Moses was very humble, more humble than any man who was on the face of the earth.” I think I just lost my identifying connection with Moses. It was this humility that prompted him to say, completely devoid of jealousy, “Would that all Yahweh’s people were prophets that Yahweh would put His Spirit upon them!” The same humility prevented him from offering resistance when his brother and sister complained that God had also spoken through them—what was so special about him? In his silence, God defended him. “Prophets,” Yahweh said, “I speak to them in dreams and visions. My servant Moses, I speak with mouth to mouth.” Forgiving and merciful, Moses pleaded with Yahweh to heal Miriam’s leprosy and reminded the Lord that wiping out the nation of Israel would bring a reproach on His Holy name. Moses thought not of himself—but only of Yahweh. It was all about God.
Lord, when I feel lost and dazed,
Remind me it is Thou Who saves.
When my quill falls from my hand
'Tis Thou who fillest my inkstand.
When I want to run and hide
Remind me of Thy power inside.
Remind me Thou art ever near:
Thy perfect love casts out my fear.
Amber’s house turned out to be a hubbub of activity. When I arrived, the maintenance men were putting in a new outlet. Or trying to. My mind raced back to all the outlets I’d wired in, under Tabitha’s careful supervision, trying to remember which wire matched with each connection. Hopeless, I’m afraid. When an older preacher-man and his wife arrived, I was embarrassed to suddenly become the center of attention when Amber began explaining why I carry such a huge purse. I suppose refusing to be without my Bible, headcovering or knife marks me as peculiar, as does not dating, homeschooling and meeting at home, which she added as a bonus. But gracious Dave had no intention of challenging or disdaining and turned out to be an encouraging man of God. I dragged Amber outside to the picnic table to read and pray. John eleven—in which Jesus loved Martha, Mary and Lazarus so much that He stayed away instead of coming and healing Lazarus. Why? Because He wanted to reveal to them the glory of God—if they believed. When God seems to tarry in His actions, perhaps it is for a similar purpose—out of love He would reveal to me the glory of God, if I believe.
“Now the man Moses was very humble, more humble than any man who was on the face of the earth.” I think I just lost my identifying connection with Moses. It was this humility that prompted him to say, completely devoid of jealousy, “Would that all Yahweh’s people were prophets that Yahweh would put His Spirit upon them!” The same humility prevented him from offering resistance when his brother and sister complained that God had also spoken through them—what was so special about him? In his silence, God defended him. “Prophets,” Yahweh said, “I speak to them in dreams and visions. My servant Moses, I speak with mouth to mouth.” Forgiving and merciful, Moses pleaded with Yahweh to heal Miriam’s leprosy and reminded the Lord that wiping out the nation of Israel would bring a reproach on His Holy name. Moses thought not of himself—but only of Yahweh. It was all about God.
Lord, when I feel lost and dazed,
Remind me it is Thou Who saves.
When my quill falls from my hand
'Tis Thou who fillest my inkstand.
When I want to run and hide
Remind me of Thy power inside.
Remind me Thou art ever near:
Thy perfect love casts out my fear.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Our backyard resembles a topographical map. In an effort to refrain from exaggeration, I’ve given the ranges such appropriate names as the Himalayan and Andes Mole Hills. Either our neighborly rodents have become archeologists or they should cut down on the caffeine.
Winter must have finally given in and curled up for hibernation. While raking leaves from the front of the house, I kept popping into the house to gulp some water—some golden water, I might add. The ground is still soggy enough to leave our well-water slightly colorful, even after draining through our Burkey filter. Hauling logs over rivulets that danced through the woods brought on the first tingle of being hot.
It seems to my vivid imagination that somehow Papa is holding my hand tighter and even lingering over it during meal-time prayers and his blue eyes shine with a greater tenderness. Has something about me changed? Or is it him? Our relationship has come full circle, through toil and tears, awkwardness and confusion, back to the trust I had when I was my father’s source of joy.
When Rib-eye and Hamburger, excuse me, Lin N and Emily, read Lydia’s testimony they decided on immediate action. A short time later they burst into our house laden with roses, smiles and congratulations. Lindsey hasn’t been here since before Christmas break, due to teacherly studies, but it was just like old times, watching them write an elaborate story in the guestbook, while they giggled and whispered behind their hands. Something about Emily brings out the giggles in everyone I know. Including me.
Becoming irritated with the Israelite’s grumbling invariably guides me into repentance for my own grumbling. “Give us meat to eat!” they whined, “All we have is this bread…this heavenly food. We’re tired of it.” Jesus is the bread that came down from heaven, but I often whine to the Lord, “Look at all the entertainment I had back in Egypt, now it’s just Your word. And these books of Moses, Lord, they’re boring!” Only boring because the eyes of my heart lack depth-perception. Again the Lord revealed His power and His faithfulness when he gave them meat to eat. “Where will you find food for all these people?” Moses demanded, much like the disciples did when Jesus broke the loaves and fish. Yahweh’s answer: “Is My power limited? Now you shall see whether My word will come true or not.” He provided so abundantly that the people ate greedily and many died from a plague.
Today the Lord led me through green pastures and quiet waters, bidding me lie down and wait in peace, sending abundant promises on the wings of hope. I’d rather be up running around in circles, tripping in mole-hills, dancing in the sunshine—anything rather than sitting still. I run to the woods and keep running, when I should stop, drop and pray. He put my life back in perspective as I sped along, reminding me of those without hope, those in other countries where every day merely living is a hazard, and then of His Son, who suffered more in anticipation in the garden than I could ever fear suffering. Why am I afraid? Why do I insist, “I can’t handle this!” when the Lord is faithful to keep all His promises? “All things work together for good to those who love God.” Do I love God? As purely as a broken and confused little girl can. I’ll enjoy the moments of quiet refreshing now, reflecting on the Lord’s faithfulness to those before me, instead of allowing myself to dread all those future things I don’t understand.
Indeed, my heritage is beautiful.
Lord, I will rejoice in Thee
For Thou wilt not abandon me!
An orphan I shall never be—
Thou wills to me, Thyself.
So, when Thou heard my mournful cry
Thou sent Thy only heir to die
To execute Thy will, and I
Inherited Thyself.
Winter must have finally given in and curled up for hibernation. While raking leaves from the front of the house, I kept popping into the house to gulp some water—some golden water, I might add. The ground is still soggy enough to leave our well-water slightly colorful, even after draining through our Burkey filter. Hauling logs over rivulets that danced through the woods brought on the first tingle of being hot.
It seems to my vivid imagination that somehow Papa is holding my hand tighter and even lingering over it during meal-time prayers and his blue eyes shine with a greater tenderness. Has something about me changed? Or is it him? Our relationship has come full circle, through toil and tears, awkwardness and confusion, back to the trust I had when I was my father’s source of joy.
When Rib-eye and Hamburger, excuse me, Lin N and Emily, read Lydia’s testimony they decided on immediate action. A short time later they burst into our house laden with roses, smiles and congratulations. Lindsey hasn’t been here since before Christmas break, due to teacherly studies, but it was just like old times, watching them write an elaborate story in the guestbook, while they giggled and whispered behind their hands. Something about Emily brings out the giggles in everyone I know. Including me.
Becoming irritated with the Israelite’s grumbling invariably guides me into repentance for my own grumbling. “Give us meat to eat!” they whined, “All we have is this bread…this heavenly food. We’re tired of it.” Jesus is the bread that came down from heaven, but I often whine to the Lord, “Look at all the entertainment I had back in Egypt, now it’s just Your word. And these books of Moses, Lord, they’re boring!” Only boring because the eyes of my heart lack depth-perception. Again the Lord revealed His power and His faithfulness when he gave them meat to eat. “Where will you find food for all these people?” Moses demanded, much like the disciples did when Jesus broke the loaves and fish. Yahweh’s answer: “Is My power limited? Now you shall see whether My word will come true or not.” He provided so abundantly that the people ate greedily and many died from a plague.
Today the Lord led me through green pastures and quiet waters, bidding me lie down and wait in peace, sending abundant promises on the wings of hope. I’d rather be up running around in circles, tripping in mole-hills, dancing in the sunshine—anything rather than sitting still. I run to the woods and keep running, when I should stop, drop and pray. He put my life back in perspective as I sped along, reminding me of those without hope, those in other countries where every day merely living is a hazard, and then of His Son, who suffered more in anticipation in the garden than I could ever fear suffering. Why am I afraid? Why do I insist, “I can’t handle this!” when the Lord is faithful to keep all His promises? “All things work together for good to those who love God.” Do I love God? As purely as a broken and confused little girl can. I’ll enjoy the moments of quiet refreshing now, reflecting on the Lord’s faithfulness to those before me, instead of allowing myself to dread all those future things I don’t understand.
Indeed, my heritage is beautiful.
Lord, I will rejoice in Thee
For Thou wilt not abandon me!
An orphan I shall never be—
Thou wills to me, Thyself.
So, when Thou heard my mournful cry
Thou sent Thy only heir to die
To execute Thy will, and I
Inherited Thyself.
Daylight Savings! Sunday, March 9, 2008
Nobody told us to Spring forward. My ever-intelligent computer was my first source for the news. Nine o’clock, it boldly announced. Unless my memory fails me (which is completely possible), I’ve never slept ‘till nine in my life! The fact was soon confirmed by Nick’s arrival. “You’re an hour early,” I heard Mom greet him. “Actually,” Nick said in his matter-of-fact tone, “I’m right on time, it’s just that the clocks are all an hour early now.”
“The college guys are nice,” Lydia confided this morning, “but I sure would like to see another, you know, little girl.” Her wish was granted, to her delighted surprise, by the evening arrival of Renee’ and Lydia on a visit from Kansas. I did say Lydia. Two Lydias in the house make for mild confusion and many giggles.
Aside from Josiah’s high-hat cymbal giving out and my distinct inability to clearly strum even simple chords, the day proved very encouraging. Zach has bounced back, and Josh has simply bounced. He ought to be too old to have as much energy as he’s been displaying of late. When he joined us for basketball, late in the afternoon, he decided to bully Taylor, hounding him, fouling him and throwing all kinds of ridiculous belittling comments in his general direction. “You ain’t all this, Big Son!” (swipe, swipe, grab, bear-hug, etc.) Without a word, Taylor dribbled around, underneath, over, upon, beside, between and whatever other prepositions apply, with whatever hands or feet were available to ultimately “lose” the game. Because the first rule in any game is that Josh always wins. By nine o’clock he’d calmed down to nearly adult behavior and he and Josiah and I sat on the floor of Josiah’s room and talked—about what the Lord is doing in each of our lives, how each of us have our defenses up in certain areas, how we can see each other growing. I look at Josh and think, “Wow! Look what God’s doing in him!” Can it be possible that he looks at me and sees growth in me, too? Am I really growing? I see it in others. How encouraging to hear it of myself.
I overheard Papa questioning the guys whether they thought in words or pictures. Following the assumption that thinking takes place, I might as well be a camera. As Papa led us through the first chapter of Paul’s first letter to Timothy, the imagery of shipwrecked faith caught my imagination. He reminded us that Paul had been through shipwrecks, barely surviving with the skin on his back. Josiah chimed in with correlations of how important parts of our faith in the Lord could be “thrown overboard” as we battle the storms of life or are tossed on every wind of doctrine. Do we try to “lighten our load” by tossing out God’s Word, fellowship, prayer, praise, accountability and most importantly, our confident expectation through Jesus Christ—our anchor? I know there are plenty of things in my life that I could cast off and sail more smoothly, but Paul encouraged those on board with him to eat!
Lord, the winds and waves are Thine,
I needn’t match the wind and whine.
Thy hand can calm the raging sea.
‘Tis Thou who made the waves—and me.
The storms, Thou sends, that with each gust
I’d prove Thee faithful and entrust
My soul to Thee, Who holds all time.
Firm Thou remains, and keeps what’s Thine.
“The college guys are nice,” Lydia confided this morning, “but I sure would like to see another, you know, little girl.” Her wish was granted, to her delighted surprise, by the evening arrival of Renee’ and Lydia on a visit from Kansas. I did say Lydia. Two Lydias in the house make for mild confusion and many giggles.
Aside from Josiah’s high-hat cymbal giving out and my distinct inability to clearly strum even simple chords, the day proved very encouraging. Zach has bounced back, and Josh has simply bounced. He ought to be too old to have as much energy as he’s been displaying of late. When he joined us for basketball, late in the afternoon, he decided to bully Taylor, hounding him, fouling him and throwing all kinds of ridiculous belittling comments in his general direction. “You ain’t all this, Big Son!” (swipe, swipe, grab, bear-hug, etc.) Without a word, Taylor dribbled around, underneath, over, upon, beside, between and whatever other prepositions apply, with whatever hands or feet were available to ultimately “lose” the game. Because the first rule in any game is that Josh always wins. By nine o’clock he’d calmed down to nearly adult behavior and he and Josiah and I sat on the floor of Josiah’s room and talked—about what the Lord is doing in each of our lives, how each of us have our defenses up in certain areas, how we can see each other growing. I look at Josh and think, “Wow! Look what God’s doing in him!” Can it be possible that he looks at me and sees growth in me, too? Am I really growing? I see it in others. How encouraging to hear it of myself.
I overheard Papa questioning the guys whether they thought in words or pictures. Following the assumption that thinking takes place, I might as well be a camera. As Papa led us through the first chapter of Paul’s first letter to Timothy, the imagery of shipwrecked faith caught my imagination. He reminded us that Paul had been through shipwrecks, barely surviving with the skin on his back. Josiah chimed in with correlations of how important parts of our faith in the Lord could be “thrown overboard” as we battle the storms of life or are tossed on every wind of doctrine. Do we try to “lighten our load” by tossing out God’s Word, fellowship, prayer, praise, accountability and most importantly, our confident expectation through Jesus Christ—our anchor? I know there are plenty of things in my life that I could cast off and sail more smoothly, but Paul encouraged those on board with him to eat!
Lord, the winds and waves are Thine,
I needn’t match the wind and whine.
Thy hand can calm the raging sea.
‘Tis Thou who made the waves—and me.
The storms, Thou sends, that with each gust
I’d prove Thee faithful and entrust
My soul to Thee, Who holds all time.
Firm Thou remains, and keeps what’s Thine.