Who is the Lamb?

As I was putting away my nativity today, wrapping each ceramic shepherd and angel in tissue paper, the last remaining items were baby Jesus and a lamb.  I wasn't really paying attention to my work since I was listening to some music while working and was caught up in the moment of the music.  But when I saw the baby and the lamb, my hands stopped working and I looked at the two fragile figurines sitting together in the empty stable.

The lamb and the baby that became the lamb.

One creature who was completely oblivious to the weight of the world's sins, and one Being who would carry the weight of the world's sins.

For the longest time I thought that the sacrificial lamb represented Jesus.  But I had a difficult time with that picture because in all the stories of the shepherd and the lambs, the lambs are the ignorant ones.  They are the ones always getting lost and completely unaware of the dangers that they step into.

I suppose it's because the Bible tells us that a "spotless" lamb had to be offered for the sacrifice and so we figure that must be like Jesus.  But there is nothing spotless in this world.  Everything has been touched by the hand of sin. Finding a spotless lamb would not even be possible. I'm guessing the priests found the most perfect lamb that they could. And that would just have to do.  But in all reality, there was nothing perfect.

How could Jesus represent a dumb animal?

Well...He can't.

So every time they made a sacrifice to God for their sins, they did their best to offer up the most innocent thing they could find.  But in spite of all their efforts, their sins were not washed away.  Instead, the stains of the blood, from the sacrifice, only deepened as they added one sacrifice after another to that cold, stone alter.  Because there is nothing we can do, no "perfect" offering we can offer, no sinless act we can sacrifice, that would wipe the slate clean.

And that's when Jesus came down, picked up the not-quite-perfect lamb with his gentle hands, and laid Himself down on that alter and said, "Sacrifice me instead."  And so we did.  We raised the knife with our own hands of sin and brought it down into the heart of perfection and spotless beauty.

The Bible says that we are all part of a holy priesthood.  The priest's job was to kill the lamb for the sake of our sins and we - each of us - have done that.  When we accept our imperfect nature, when we acknowledge that we are ignorant and foolish and prone to getting lost, when we recognize that we're no different than a stupid animal, we place that on the alter.  And then Jesus steps up, removes our sinfulness and takes our place.

But He can't do that unless we give it up to Him.  We need to recognize who we really are and who He really is.  We are that lamb, nuzzling beside him in the stable, completely unaware of our impending fate, until He stands up and takes our place.

The lamb is dumb.  One of the dumbest farm animals, actually.  And yet, every time we look at the lamb in the context of the Spirit, we see the Son of God.

When Jesus became a human, He did not reduce Himself and give up His status in Heaven.  He elevated us.

There is this overwhelming urge inside my spirit to bow down and worship Him when I try to wrap my head around this insanity.  How can Someone love me this much?  I can't even comprehend that kind of love.

When I ponder these things, how can I continue to doubt that my life is in His hands?  And yet I do.  Almost every day.  I doubt and I fear and I wonder if He's near.

There are so many stories and references in the Bible to Jesus as the Shepherd. How could I have missed it?  I am that lamb.  And He is my Shepherd.  And there is nothing He won't do to protect me.  He would even lay down His own life for mine.

The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want...

life blood

Warning: 

This blog contains descriptions of blood.  

Do not read if you are squeamish or disturbed about this kind of thing.

When God commanded the Israelites to start making sacrifices, He did it so that it would be a constant reminder that, "without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness of sins."  (Hebrews 9:22).  The slaughter of the innocent lamb was to be a foreshadowing of Christ's sacrifice.

We are fortunate to live during this period of history when we no longer have to kill innocent animals since Jesus already paid the ultimate sacrifice. We don't need to watch the blood run out of an animal, and onto the ground, to truly grasp Christ's love for us.

Yet, today, my mind was drawn to Christ's sacrifice more vividly than it has ever been. 

The kids and I decided that we would raise our own Thanksgiving turkey this year, in a happy, healthy environment, fed only natural, antibiotic-free food and then processed in a humane and careful manner.

Our turkey had a good life, plenty of room to roam and was very docile and sweet.  But then came the time of the end...

I administered the fatal blow and watched with a gut-wrenching sadness how the blood drained from it's body.  Having never done such a thing before, I could hardly watch.  The other mother that was with me stood outside the coop and whispered, "The blood that was shed for you..."

I turned back and looked at the bird again and the old system of sacrifices suddenly came alive.  Priests had to do this kind of work daily!  And it was not a clean task.  There was so much blood.  It poured down the sides of the alter and puddled at the bottom.

I suppose that people would get somewhat desensitized after so many sacrifices. But the horror and the stench of death just had to leave at least some kind of impact on the people, especially on the priests.

I always thought that the priests were like the royalty of the group, with their fancy robes, and their important jobs and getting paid by the people.  But if you've never killed an animal, let me just educate you on something: it's a nasty job that leaves it's mark.  The odor of the animal stays on your hands and in your nose for hours.  The blood-splattered clothes need to be removed and washed carefully and the workspace needs to be rinsed down and disinfected very diligently.  So I guess the priests were not the "elite" of the Israelite group. They were the grunt workers. 

Peter tells us that we are a royal priesthood too.  And that we're especially chosen for this task.  (1 Peter 2:9).  We're the ones that have to do the dirty work, apparently.  We're the ones that have a first-hand look at the consequences of sin because ours are the hands that are stained with innocent blood.  Having the knowledge of the significance of Christ's sacrifice opens our eyes to the ugly truth of sin.

I think too often we gloss over the reality of the sacrifice and we look at pictures of Jesus on the cross with one or two streams of blood painted delicately along his hands or feet.  We don't want to frighten people with the reality because it might be too traumatic so we smooth over the ugliness.  Many pictures are just a silhouette of Jesus on the cross and some have absolutely no blood on them at all.  But it is His blood that saves us and I don't think He wants to keep that on the down-low.  Without the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness.

If we were to witness His sacrifice, with open eyes, we might be doubled over in disgust and ready to throw up.  I stood there, ready to fall apart and start crying as the turkey quickly stopped struggling and submitted to the unsympathetic hands of death.  His body was still warm, yet there was no fight left in him.  How much more devastating would it have been for me to see the life fade away from the only One that had never done anything but good?  To witness the lifeless hands of the One who reached for and tenderly picked up the fallen?  To see the blood dripping from the lips of the One who spoke only of His love for us?  What would I have felt if I saw His heart physically stop beating?  Would I have fainted?  Gotten sick?  Broken down in utter agony?

Can you take a moment to recognize the gruesome reality that Jesus suffered?  Of all the time periods in which He could have come to earth, He chose to arrive during a time when criminals were killed in the most inhumane ways possible.  Wouldn't it have been easier for him to come during the modern times with our silent injection killing?  Or He could have been hung?  Even a firing squad or a guillotine would have resulted in a faster death.  But that's not what He chose to do.  He showed up when He could be raised up on a hill and His blood could flow out of His body until it puddled to the ground and the dirt soaked it up.  For hours.  Nothing quick and relatively painless, like for my turkey.

I had the choice to slice the turkey's throat and let it bleed while it was still alive and the heart was still pumping.  Apparently, the blood drains faster and more thoroughly that way.  But I didn't have the heart to do that.  So I opted for the death blow and the slower draining process.

But that's not Jesus' way.  He chose the slowest, most painful way to die.  The method that would result in the most blood.

Why?  Because He was trying to drive a point home.  I think He was trying to make it real for us so that we wouldn't forget and then fall for the enemy's lies.

When I was 17, I suffered a skiing accident that resulted in a large crack in the back of my head. That morning, when my friend was trying to french-braid my hair, I had been talking to another friend on my right and my french-braid ended up lopsided.  The ski hit my head directly under the lopsided french braid.  The extra hair dampened the blow as did the strap from my ski goggles.  My white goggles were forever stained with blood after that accident.  Even though most people thought it was kind of gross, I kept using those goggles because every time I looked at the blood stain, I remembered how God protected me from something that could have been so much worse.
 
Today, after killing my innocent, docile turkey, my memory is stained with blood and every time I remember this experience, I can remember how Jesus protected me from something that could have been eternally worse by standing in between me and the blow that I deserved.

the greener grass

My little artist struck again today when she brought a handful of grass into the house.  (Read the ratty shoe post to see her other "this-is-beautiful" perspective.)

I was on the phone with the internet company when she came inside, excitedly, showing me her handful of grass, pulled up by the roots.  I was like, "Whoa!  Why are you bringing lawn grass into my living room?" The internet lady on the other end of the phone started laughing.  My little one, unhindered by my distress, held the exceptionally long grass carefully in her hands, tenderly stroking the long blades.  "Look how beautiful it is!  We need to put it in a vase!"

I was distracted since I was still on the service call with the Internet company and just kind of shooed her away with, "Maci, please take that grass back outside." She walked away and I continued my phone call.

After I ended my call, I went back to the kitchen to finish canning pears and I saw a drinking glass filled with water and stuffed full of the embarrassingly long backyard grass.  I just had to laugh.  I called Maci downstairs, held up the jar, smiled at her and asked her, "What do you see when you look at this?"

"I see a beautiful decoration!"  She exclaimed, accentuating the word beautiful.  She smiled and gently stroked the blades of grass again. "I put it in the water so that it could keep growing.  And it will get SO big and I can use it as a decoration in my room!"

I left the grass in the glass.  It's sitting on my counter as another reminder.  'Cause check this out:  When I'd go out to the backyard to tend to the chickens, I would see how long my grass was and I would feel overwhelmed because I'm having a bit of a hard time keeping up with the amount of housework I have right now.  I am embarrassed that my backyard grass is so long that I could weave a basket out of it or braid it into a climbing rope or something.  The length of the grass is a constant reminder to me that I am falling behind and makes me feel a bit like a failure.  But to the honest eyes of an innocent girl, the length of the grass is just, plain beautiful.

Her perspectives have not been tainted by the stresses and responsibilities of life.  For her, beauty is still beauty.  I do recall the Bible telling us to become like little children in order to enter the Kingdom of God.  (Matthew 18:2).  There are so many lessons we can learn from the perspective of children.  That one verse in Matthew is so loaded!  So today, I am reminded to admire the beauty that God affords me even amidst the consequences of my own neglect.

Now I'm not saying that neglecting my yard tasks is a good thing, obviously.  But I love how no matter how much I accomplish or how much I fail to accomplish, my God is always there, sprinkling little reminders of His love in my path.  And when I stop to look at it, my daughter is right, that grass is really beautiful!

I would love to someday have the eyes of a child that sees the hand of God in everything around me.

night sky

When I look at the night sky and see the work of your fingers 

-- the moon and the stars you set in place -- 

what are mere mortals that you should think about them, 

human beings that you should care for them?  

Yet you made them only a little lower than God 

and crowned them with glory and honor.  

Ps. 8:3-5

Every time we visit my parent's 18-acre property, my son begs to watch the stars at night.  He has always been drawn to the whole astronomy thing.  He loves the stars because, "They're so bright and so pretty and so shiny and there's so many!"

We don't get to watch them often because the night sky is usually past the kids' bedtimes.  But I promised we'd do it tonight.  So around 10:00, we bundled up, laid down our blankets, and cuddled under another blanket to watch the stars for almost an hour.

We laid there in the dark, listening to frogs and crickets and my son, who would remark, "Oh wow!"  And then a moment later, "Oh wow!"  I asked what he was seeing and he said his eyes were adjusting to the dark and it made it seem like more and more stars were appearing.  We would yell, "Did you just see that?" every time a "shooting star" would streak across the sky.  And we would watch the satellites travel across the expanse of the sky until they melted into the horizon.

Time just seemed to stand still as we sat, fixated on big exploding balls of gas.  How could something, relatively stationary, keep our attention for such a long time?  It's almost like we're in some sort of vacuum, where we realize our finiteness and we're subdued by it.

I looked at all those stars and told my kids how scientists believe that those stars have been in the sky for much, much longer than our earth has even existed.  That would mean that God provided those explosions of light maybe millions of years before He created our earth.  Like He knew that He would create us and so He planned really far ahead.  We reflected on that for a minute then my son said, "I don't understand how God was created or how forever can be forever.  Sometimes I get mad because I don't understand it."

I told him I understand his frustration since I also struggled with those same thoughts when I was younger.  But now, since I've experienced a relationship with Jesus, I don't care that there's so much that I don't understand.  Because I trust that understanding whatever "forever" means doesn't matter nearly as much as my promise to stand in the presence of Jesus someday.

The thing is that once I've given God authority over my life, that means I have relinquished control over everything that doesn't belong to me.  And understanding infinite concepts with my little brain is not something that belongs to me.  I'm free of that and free to allow God to guide my steps.  And that's such a peaceful place to be!

So rather than expend my energies to try to make sense of things that belong to God, I would just rather reflect on things like: the same God who created the vast universe also delicately fashioned our human bodies.  Our bodies are so intricately designed, so thoughtfully planned out, so lovingly formed.  How amazing is He?  His attention to detail for our mortal bodies -- that will someday, soon, turn to dust -- is nothing short than an expression of His ridiculously crazy love for us.  There seems to be more detail in the creation of our bodies than in the stars that literally outshine us.  Since before the dawn of our earth, those stars shone.  Long after our earth will cease to exist, those stars will likely still shine.  And yet, they are not the crown of His creation.  We are.  The ones who are made of dust and turn to dust.

What is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?  Ps. 8:4

I know that a lot of people focus on our insignificance when they observe the immense expanse of the universe.  But the message I got tonight was that God loves us more than all those pretty stars and planets and galaxies.  I can't even wrap my head around such devotion from Creator God for something so puny as us.  This kind of reflection draws my heart into greater worship for Him.  But it also puts humans in perspective for me.  It seems like if God loves us this much, then I can certainly make a greater effort to love all of His children as well.

the broken shoe

At first glance, you might think this is a perfectly lovely display of decor and treasures in my daughter's room.  But did you notice the shoe on the bottom right side of the shelves?  My contribution to that shelf was the picture of her and her brother and the sunshine plaque.  The rest are her favorite things.

That silver shoe used to be part of a pair, of course.  Two silver, sparkly shoes that had a beautiful satin bow across the toes.  They were her favorite shoes and she would wear them nearly every day, rain or shine.  But like all shoes, they wore out.  The sparkly fabric started to fray and the bottom of the shoe was coming off of the top of it.  We tried gluing it but it was really starting to come undone.  She insisted on wearing them until they were literally falling off her feet.

We went to the store to get her new sparkly shoes.  They weren't nearly as beautiful as the current ones, no satin bow, no shiny fabric.  I headed to the garbage to deposit the old shoes when Maci snatched the better one of the pair from my hands and cried, "No!  I want to keep this one!"  "But we already bought you new shoes," I insisted.  "These are garbage now."  But she persisted.  She said that she wanted to keep it and put it on her shelf at home because it was a beautiful shoe.  I pointed out how the fabric was worn and how the lip was coming off.  She didn't care.  She said it was beautiful and since she couldn't wear them anymore, she wanted to be able to still enjoy them.  I relented and we took the shoe home.

It has been sitting on that shelf for well over a month now.  If you know me, you know that I'm quite particular about my home decor and keeping a ratty shoe on display is not exactly my style.  But there was a beautiful message in this piece of decoration that I wanted to treasure.

My daughter is the type of free-spirited girl that sees the images in the negative spaces.  She sees what isn't seen by most, and although she's not a huge fan of history and academics, she loves biographical story books about people who pushed against the norm and accomplished great things.  Books about Einstein, Amelia Earhart, Rosa Park, Helen Keller, Martin Luther King Jr. etc.  I keep telling her that her perspectives on life will change the world someday.  They're already changing mine.

The idea that the old shoe still maintains its beauty is nothing short of God's perspective and it's a point of view that more of us need to adopt.  Everything that God created was beautiful and it was good.  We are all created in His image and we are beautiful and good.  But life takes its toll on us and we get worn down and worn out.  And sometimes, others may have trouble seeing our value.  But if you look carefully, past the effects of time and age, you can see what they were meant to be and what they still are.

I know this is a cheesy sort of message to write about, but as I was putting away some laundry in her room this morning, I saw the little shoe again and realized how unfair I have been to some of God's creation.  Some of His people have lost some of their glitter in my eyes.  And I can definitely see the negative effects that this life has had on them.  And to be quite honest, I don't keep those people in my life.  Because you can't keep wearing a broken shoe without it taking a toll on your foot, you know what I'm saying?

But what if, rather than tossing them into no-man's-land, I set them aside to remember them as God intended?  Wow...seriously, that's kind of profound right now.

Think about it.  There are people who have done some serious damage in my life and I have had to take a step away from them because if I had stayed, I would be more damaged, myself.  I did what I needed to do to function properly.  But in the process of removing their damaging effects from my life, I also removed all the good memories.  I thought it would be easier that way.  And it is easier.  For me.  But what about my God?  How does it affect and grieve Him when I dismiss one of His children as "garbage" when He gave His own precious life for them?

He is desperate to show us how much He treasures us and we, as His representatives, sometimes do a poor job of perpetuating that love to all of His children.  What would happen, if we loved even those that we could no longer maintain in our lives?  What kind of world would it be?

I pray that God grants me the vision to see beyond the scratches and the worn-out edges and see the souls of the ones for which He died.

and so much more

Every time I take a break from my blog writing, I increase the writing in my personal journal because I just have to write something.  Lately my journals have been more along the lines of poetry...poetry put to a melody, actually.

Sometimes I sit down and decide that I'm going to write a song about something. But many times, it just comes to me.  I don't know if my songs have a lot of listening value for people that aren't my friends, but it's still a pretty cool gift to receive from God.  The songs are from Him and they fill my heart with gratitude for His endless thoughtfulness.  

Today, on my drive home from Everett, I was thinking about the "I am" phrases found in the book of John and a little melody started playing in my brain, I am your light, I am your hope, I'm all those things and so much more....

I came home and wrote the rest of the song but felt like there was no way it was inclusive of all that He was.  He really was so much more...

The Bible identifies over 200 names used for Jesus.  Savior, Redeemer, Mighty God, Jehovah, Prince of Peace, Shiloh, Shepherd, the Great I Am are just samples.  So many names.  So many titles.  So many job descriptions.  And yet, like numbers that have no end, neither do His names have an end.  It would be interesting to note how many of those titles I have personally experienced. I'm hoping it's every one of them.  

In addition to those glorious titles, though, He's also been a shoulder, an audience, a spark, a stop sign, an editor, a song, eyeglasses, and so much more. 

But He's also been a punching bag.  He's been a forgotten friend.  He's been abandoned and accused and doubted.  He's been lonely and He's been waiting.  He's been patient and faithful and forgiving and so much more.  

But through it all...

He's been mine.  

And that's the most amazing thing.  I don't deserve a treasure like that.  And yet He is.  And will always be.  The God the keeps giving without measure.  When I reflect on Who He is, I can understand, with more clarity, how we will be in a constant state of perpetual praise for the rest of eternity.  That's fine with me.  I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.  

I finished recording the song so you can listen to it now too.  

weeds

A weed is but an unloved flower?  Really?

In my gardener's mind, weeds are sin, growing at exponential rates, emboldened by our environment to proliferate and destroy good fruit.  So that'd be like saying, "A sin is but an unloved quality attribute."  I don't think so.

I planted vegetables from seeds, this year, and watched them sprout and grow.  I would water them regularly and check on them often.  They were doing great.  Then I was gone from my garden for a couple weeks and I returned to find the garden overrun with weeds, making my seedlings practically invisible.  I started working on the garden, over the next couple of weeks, whenever I had time and it wasn't raining.  But the weeds continued to grow at insane rates before I could address them.  

Yesterday I finally finished clearing out the plots with my carrots and beets and pickling cucumbers.  But by that time, the weeds were enormous!  Some were 15 inches tall and completely overshadowing all my plants.  My beet tops are about 8 inches tall so they're not seedlings anymore, but they were still completely hidden from sight.  I'm glad to say that my garden finally looks like a garden again (at least for now.)

As I was working at these weeds, hour after hour, I kept thinking to myself, These weeds are sin.  I hate them.  Because just like the sin in our lives, if we neglect to bring them to God, the sin will literally overrun the good fruit that God is growing in our lives.  In other words, it is possible for a "heart garden" to contain God's good fruit as well as sin.  And others can enjoy the blessings of our fruit, too, even if the weeds are bigger than the fruit.  But the fruit won't grow to full capacity and some of it may never grow at all, unless the weeds are removed.

But here's the problem, once the weeds are as big as mine were, trying to remove them is actually stressful on the good fruit.  As I pulled out weeds that were growing right next to my beet root, the soil around the plant would loosen and my beet plant would kind of wilt over.  I thought, Oh no!  I've ruined my plants because I tried to remove the sin-weeds too late.  But unwilling to give up on my plants, I kind of replanted them by tucking them back into the soil and readjusting their positions.  At the end of the day, all the leaves were just laying there, exhausted from the stress they sustained.  I added lots of water and hoped for the best.  By the next day, they were strong and the leaves were extended toward the heavens as if in praise to God for their clear patch of ground that now facilitated their desire to reach towards the sun.

So I was reassured that it's not impossible to target the sin in our lives after it's overgrown, but it will take some extra effort, for sure.  And that's all good and well and we already know that.  But what struck me the most was how much faster and successfully the weeds would grow.  I do not believe weeds are unloved flowers.  There has got to be some biological structure of a weed that is different from a plant because of its proliferation rate and ability to grow regardless of the environment.  During my break from gardening, yesterday, my friend and I were talking about these weeds and how, like sin, they overrun the good fruit.  She said, "It's because everything in the environment encourages their growth because this is a sinful world."  And that's the truth, isn't it?  Weeds will naturally grow. Sin will naturally take root because this is the world in which we live.

When God cursed the earth and told Adam and Eve that it would be through toil that they would produce food, I believe He was trying to remind them of the nature of sin.  He wasn't trying to punish them and make them suffer.  He doesn't want us to suffer.  He just wants us to remember.  He wants us not to neglect the tending of our hearts.  He wants to make sure that we see, firsthand, how destructive sin can be if it is allowed to run free.

The seeds of sin are already in the soil.  They are standard-issue in these gardens of ours.  We can invite Jesus to pick them out whenever they grow but they'll just come back, from the neighboring gardens, from the seeds the birds drop, and so on.  Our only safeguard is to invite Him to tend it on a regular basis.  And when we do?  Wow!  The fruit that is produced is fantastic!  A garden plot near mine is entirely weed free and their beets are the size of small apples, whereas mine are the size of radish wannabes.  I have hope, though, for a full harvest of beets, now that they can see the sun.

All I really want to say is:  Please don't neglect the tending of your heart because everything in this world encourages the growth of sin.  Sin is not just an unloved flower.  Don't ever believe that kind of nonsense.  It is the kind of thing that chokes out the fruit that God is growing.  Invite the Master Gardener into your garden every day so that it can be a place of rest and enjoyment.

In the Garden has always been one of my favorite hymns.  I love the idea of my garden being the place where God and I meet and walk together (while the dew is still on the roses).  That image is so peaceful and inviting.  The Gardener tends our gardens and then it becomes the perfect place to spend time with Him, away from the harsh environment of the world.  It can be our little piece of Heaven, where we can commune with God and enjoy His presence.  I want that.  I want to get to the place where He isn't constantly working on the weeds, but where I can take the time to enjoy His glory.

reaching and waiting

Every time we visit my parents in Oregon, we love to take a tour of the property and see what's growing.  Different things will ripen at different times throughout the summer.  So today we nibbled on raspberries and stuffed ourselves full of blueberries.  Then we plucked perfect, orange carrots and baby potatoes out of the ground. We admired the clusters of future blackberries and raw figs, and apples that were still the size of walnuts.  The persimmons were just flowers while the vineyards were covered in little tiny infant grape buds, that resembled baby's breath flowers.  The squash and beans and cucumber plants were still far behind, filling out only in green.

There is so much to admire and enjoy and watch on this property. So many things growing and ripening.  I can't imagine a more enjoyable vacation spot during Summer's growing period.  As I walked around, snapping one picture after another, I had to stop when I came to the boysenberries.  An entire 20-foot row of huge bushes, next to the blueberry patch, absolutely filled with very immature berries.  There was something about them that spoke to me.  Whereas all the other fruits I admired were hiding under leaves and branches or buried in the earth, the boysenberries were all perched on the ends of their branches extending their bodies towards the sun.  All of them.  Hundreds and thousands of them, just reaching.  Nothing hindered their extension towards the sun.  They were not tucked away. It was as if they rose above everything around them for one purpose.

I stood there just looking at them, thinking, Wow, they really know what's up, don't they? 

I admired the patience and determination of the little green berries.  Just reaching and waiting. Just waiting for the sun to work its magic.

I snapped a picture of their content little selves and wondered, Am I patient?  Do I wait on God?  Would I be willing to just sit there and wait until He determines it is the right time for me to bloom? 

If the boysenberries could experience awareness, they might think, Hey, I've been here just as long as those blueberries.  And yet I'm still sitting here waiting to ripen.  No one cares about me.  No one is taking pictures of me or smacking their lips in satisfaction as they enjoy my fruit.  Why do I have to ripen so much later?  Why not now?  

Okay, yes, it is silly to personify a bunch of boysenberries but I'm trying to make a point about my own shortcomings.

I can't tell you how many times I have been impatient with God. I have so much growth I still need to experience and I just want to be a better person already. But all I can do is sit here with nothing to do except to wait on Him.  I can't move His hand any more than the boysenberries can force the sun to ripen them prematurely.  They cannot control the power of the sun; they can only absorb it and be changed from the inside.  And that sounds great and amazing.  But, oh man!  It's so difficult to wait sometimes!

I see the lesson in those little berries, standing at attention, holding their heads up high.  I see how peaceful it can be to just hang around and enjoy the Son while the Maker of all good things prepares me to grow in His love.  And I can see how important it is to get out from under the shadows and really reeeacchhhh for the Son. 

I love that God is the one that does the work for me.  I just enjoy His presence and then the Master Gardener comes in and produces the fruit in my life.

Thank you, little berries, for reminding me to remain patient.  God isn't done with me yet and so I will wait.

time management

I came home to a quiet house, after dropping my kids off with their dad for the extended weekend.  On my way in from the garage, I opened the freezer to grab the tray of rhubarb pieces that I had laid out, single layer, on a tray.  I prepared to transfer the frozen pieces into a plastic bag.  After the tray had been cleared, I noticed little frost squares that had been left behind around where the rhubarb pieces had sat.  I suddenly had a brief chilled feeling, akin to loneliness.  I inwardly sighed and thought, I'm gonna miss those kids.  With the long weekend, I wouldn't get to see them till Monday evening.  Now don't get me wrong, I do treasure the quiet, alone times, especially when I haven't really had any quiet for over a month.  But when you really care about someone and enjoy spending time with them, you kinda miss them when they're gone, even if they're only gone for a little bit.

I finished clearing the tray of rhubarb and just stood there for a second, looking at the empty tray covered in little square frost spots.  It kind of looked like a calendar with all its squares except that there were probably 75 little squares; a very busy calendar indeed.

And then I had to wonder, does God miss me when I'm gone?  Does He look ahead at my schedule and calendar and sigh, I'm gonna miss her for the next few days.  Cause when you really care about someone and enjoy spending time with them, you kinda miss them when they're gone, even if they're only gone for a little bit.  And the truth is, when I get extra busy, the loyal relationships in my life take a back seat for a little while.

I looked around at the rest of the kitchen and evaluated the work I still had to do.  It's all fun stuff; preparing produce to pack into the fridge for the week, making frosting for cupcakes and other things.  But it felt like God was longing to spend a little time with me, instead.  So I stepped away from the tasks and found my place with Him for a while.  And I was glad I did.  I bet He missed me when I was so busy.

Last week, I was standing in the canned food aisle at Costco and was trying to figure out if I should spend $6 on a case of black beans or just can my own, as I would prefer to do.  $6 isn't much but canning your own is even cheaper plus there's no waste from the cans.  But it is a bit of a chore, presoaking the beans, par-cooking, and then pressure canning them.  I was talking to myself and muttering, "Should I save time or save money?"  My daughter piped up, "Save time!  And then you can spend more time with ME!"  Well, that settled it.  I put the case of beans in my cart and walked away.  

I think it's helpful to recognize that God feels the same way my daughter does.  So many times, I make choices to invest more time in something because it's more economical or environmental or whatever.  And it's good to be conscious of both the world and our finances, but not at the expense of our time with those we love: God, our children, our families, our friends.

I've been so busy lately.  I've actually been busy reevaluating the use of my time and I gotta tell you, I have adjustments that I can definitely make.  And I'm making them.  And you know what?  I've gotten more accomplished in the last few days than I have in a while.  Yes, I'm constantly busy, but I'm busy with more of the right kind of stuff.  And it feels more rewarding and satisfying and fulfilling.  I'm still struggling with the idea of giving up some stuff that is important to me but I think I'll figure this out soon, hopefully.

It certainly wouldn't hurt to periodically visit my schedule and my time management and make sure I'm focused on what really matters.  So help me, God, to have the wisdom and honesty to identify the distractions in my life that are keeping me from the priorities.  And then to have the will to live within the newfound perspectives.

stillness

Do you ever feel like you can't keep up with certain things?  Like household tasks and responsibilities seem to be stacking up faster than you can complete them?  Every now and again I feel that way.  But I suppose that I never really take the time to reflect on why that happens.  I just push through it and say goodbye to sleep while I play catch-up.  And then I'm good for a while.

Tonight I decided I wouldn't sleep until I got caught up in several areas of my life and so it's past 10 o'clock and I'm not even close to resolving the mess.  I still have quite a bit to do and probably won't go to bed until about midnight.  But as I went out to the front porch to clean up the shoes that had stacked up out there, I heard the rocking chairs quietly inviting me to sit for a spell.  So I thought, Sure, why not?  Just for 5 minutes.  I figured it was just a place to sit for a bit.  I had no idea that I would be surrounded by stillness, quietude and restoration.

That's not actually a picture of me.  I just found it online.  But I liked it because that's exactly how I am sitting, with my legs up on the railing, in the dark (yet with a computer on my lap).

As I rest in this rocker, the warm night air seems to envelop me in a sympathetic embrace.  The melody of the chirping crickets is complimented by the harmony of the croaking frogs.  The bugs at a distance dance around the glow of the street lamp in time with the night music.  And every now and again, a restless fly whizzes by.  I can't see him in the dark but I can hear him and feel him as I try to swat him away.  The trees stand quietly, surrounded by shadows, as a hint of a breeze sneaks past them, ruffling their leaves in the most gentle way. The sidewalks are vacant and the concrete is still mildly warm from the sun beating down on them earlier today.  I haven't seen a single car pass by in the entire 20 minutes that I've been out here.  But I have seen one shadowy figure walk down a driveway, a few houses down, carrying a small box.  My neighbor's shades are drawn but I can see a faint silhouette moving across the room.  I wonder if they have any idea how this night air can make a person get all poetic.

I like how everything is black and white in the dark.  I love how it is only in the path of the light that I can observe and register the colors.  I see varying shades of green in the trees that are spotlighted by the street lamps.  I see grey asphalt and yellow street lines.  I see a haze of purple across the sky, remnants from what I'm sure was a stunning sunset.  It is all so peaceful and restorative and I'm so glad I took the time to sit here, if only for half an hour.  I am trying to absorb as much of this stillness as I can because I know what is waiting for me inside.

My heart is quite content.  I have everything I would need in this moment.  And yet, I can't help but wonder what it would feel like if Jesus, Himself, was sitting in the rocker next to me.  I turned the rocker towards me a little bit and registered the emptiness of the chair.  Can you imagine?  Can you even imagine taking a work break with Jesus, resting in the rocking chairs, listening to the symphony of frog and crickets and lights and colors and shadows and breezes?  Would He put His legs up on the railing like I do?  Would He hold my hand as we rocked, in silence?

I have a lot of things I would like to say to Jesus.  But in these moments of rest, I'm quite content to just sit in His presence and breathe.  The idea of such restfulness puts a smile on my face because it has already taken place.



Sometimes... being with Jesus is just being aware of His presence, acknowledging His gift in the beauty that surrounds us.  And sometimes that's enough.  Tomorrow He'll teach me something new.  But tonight - right now - He just wants to sit with me.  And that's just lovely.

the silence in between

After Christ cried out, It is finished! I believe silence echoed throughout the heavenly realms.


What does it sound like when silence echoes?

It sounds like a lonely heartbeat pulsating against my chest, trying to escape.
It sounds like hollowness pounding quietude onto the drum of my ears.

It sounds like the forgotten whisper of the wind that has already blown past.

It sounds like a feather falling silently to the ground.

It sounds like a still lake upon which rests the moonlight.

It sounds like the sun, shining its rays of light on my face.


Silence can be deafening.  Or silence can be restful.


The day that Jesus died, silence could be heard.  That means that there was a powerful message that was spoken through that silence.  For some it was a message of confusion, of doubt, of searching.  For others it was a message of defeat and devastation.  But for God, it was a message of a well-deserved rest.

I choose to believe that the plan of salvation was established even before the dawn of our earth.  As soon as sin entered our world, the plan went into motion.  The plan to preserve Jesus' lineage.  The plan to prophesy the Word.  The plan to guide God's chosen people into receiving the prepared salvation.  So much work to do!  So much preparation.  So much shepherding and redirecting.  That plan was all heaven could talk about for thousands of years.

Yet on that cross, upon Jesus' final words, It is finished, the plan could finally rest.  Heaven could rest.

Imagine a wedding coordinator, working tirelessly to prepare every detail of a high-profile marriage, extinguishing every figurative fire, and working herself into exhaustion to make sure that the wedding will be flawless.  After the bride and groom depart the celebration, I would expect the coordinator to collapse into a chair and just rest for a while.  The exhaustion could melt away into relief because all the pieces of the puzzle fit perfectly.

I imagine that heaven might have felt a little bit like that too.

The silence that lingered in between Jesus' final words as a Lamb, and the angel's first words by the empty tomb, ushered in a new chapter of earth's history.  It would be a chapter outlined in victory and anticipation.

But the silence in between....

It was the first time in all of eternity that the Trinity was broken.  I do not believe Jesus visited Heaven on that Sabbath day.  I believe He stayed in the tomb, separated from His Father and His Holy Spirit.  It wasn't until Sunday that He went to see His Father, just as it is stated in the Bible.  But then that would mean that the Trinity was - if only for a few hours - only a Duo.  I don't understand that.  It sounds too quiet.  If I was an angel in heaven, I wouldn't even know what to say.  I would remain silent.

I wonder how much silence Heaven experienced that restful Sabbath day.  I wish I could get a glimpse into those moments.


Tonight I experienced an incredible Good Friday program, served in powerful silence.  It was in that silence, through the reading of the John's account of Jesus' final hours, that I could hear with more clarity.  I could hear the fear in Pilate's voice, the authority in Jesus' responses.  I could hear the crack of the whip inflicted on Jesus' work-worn body.  I could hear His groans of pain as He willfully suffered at the hands of those He had created.  I could hear the venom and evil as they cried, "Crucify Him!"  I could hear the nails being pounded into wood, with flesh in between.

I couldn't stop the noise.  I couldn't get away from how loud it all was.  I couldn't stop crying as I witnessed this event, anew, within the solitude of my own heart.  It all seemed so real and the images of my Savior and Lover, being abused in such an offensive manner, broke my heart into a million pieces.  As a mother, the thought of my children suffering physical and emotional pain is heart-rending.  I couldn't bear the knowledge of such things happening.  And how much more devastating it is for me to remember what Jesus suffered on my account and on the accounts of every other person on this earth.  Jesus.  The One who didn't deserve to suffer.  The only One who was justified to hate yet was so filled with love, instead.  Jesus.  The One who held children in His open arms.  The One who's exhausted hands tenderly touched the bodies and hearts of the unclean.  Jesus.  The One who's back bent down to help others stand.  The One who lived to serve us His love.  How can I listen to the stories of His suffering and not feel a devastating pain in my heart?

As I drove home from the service, in silence, I saw many people out and about, doing their thing, talking to friends, washing their cars.  And my heart suddenly screamed out, Do you even know what we're commemorating today?  Do you know what Jesus did for you?  So many of you are standing around, living your life in ignorance of the most divine gift that was ever given to you.  You don't even see it, do you?  How I wish you could see and understand!  How I wish you would turn your eyes towards Heaven and see the One who is waiting for you with open arms.  Ugh!  Look at all these people.  So many of them have NO idea.  

I entered my home in silence.  My throat seemed parched and my cheeks were stained from the salty tears that wouldn't seem to stop even after the service ended.  I took in a deep breath and looked around my house while I acknowledged the silence.  No appliances were running.  The lights were off, except for two indirect lamps.  The cat was resting.  Even the parakeets were silent, with their heads tucked into their feathers.  I soaked up the silence.  And I finally felt like I could rest a bit.


If you've never been to a silent service before, you may not understand my emotional response to it. I certainly didn't anticipate it.  I don't even know if silent services are a thing.  But I can tell you that it spoke, powerfully, to the heart and to the sympathetic emotions of my soul.  It translated familiar stories into awe-inspiring and startling messages of truth that pounded their foundations into my very core.  And I walked away moved, impacted...changed.

I believe Heaven experienced a silent service that Friday and Saturday too.  And in the meantime, their hearts prepared for the celebration that would explode throughout all of Heaven on the following Sunday morning.  That's what I'm looking forward to next...


Happy Sabbath day of rest to all of you.

Jesus calling

I woke up before the crack of dawn as usual, this morning, but was too tired to want to get out of bed.  I laid there, inwardly grunting because I would rather sleep today.  But I felt God inviting me to please get up and meet with Him.

My first response to Him was, "Why?  Because something awful is going to happen and I will need to prepare by meeting with you?"

In my defense, I have experienced many awful things and having spent that time in God's presence, I had the faith to rest in the promise that He was still in control.

I didn't get any impression that He was preparing me for awful things.  So I tried again:  "Then what is it?  Are you preparing good things for me and you don't want me to mess them up?"  Again, spending time, regularly, in God's presence is my assurance that I will have the wisdom to avoid doing stupid things.  It's not always a guarantee because I'm painfully ignorant sometimes and quite prone to making mistakes, but at least I'm making an effort to avoid the stupidity and I know Jesus is understanding and gentle with me.

But again, I heard only silence.

Then, after a moment, a quiet, gentle voice in my heart spoke and said, Why can't it just be that I want to be with you?  

That kind of hit me in the gut and I got out of bed.

And now as I write this, I remember the song Softly and Tenderly.  It's a call for sinners to accept Jesus but it's also a call for children to answer to their Father.

I will just write out a couple of the verses and call it a day, as far as my blog is concerned.

Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,

Calling for you and for me;

See, on the portals He's waiting and watching,

Watching for you and for me.

Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading,

Pleading for you and for me?

Why should we linger and heed not His mercies, 

Mercies for you and for me?

Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised,

Promised for you and for me!

the unlovables

How many people do you really love?  Family, friends, significant others, children?  And when I say "love," I don't just mean in the general sense of the word, like we love our neighbors and all God's children.  I'm talking about Love, with a capital L.  The kind of love that compels us to go out of our way to be for them.  The kind of love that causes our own hearts to break if theirs are breaking.  The kind of love that would suffer a devastating blow if we were to lose them.  The kind of love that causes you to look for them in a crowd.  The kind of love that makes your face light up with joy when you finally find them.

There are so many people that I love in that way!  And the more I get to know God, the more I learn to love more of His children with a heartfelt, never-ending kind of love.  But right now I'm talking about those that you adore.

How many people do you absolutely adore?

And do they adore you back?

Most people agree that if someone doesn't love you back, you should just let them go and take your heart to where the love will be returned.

But that's not how Jesus rolls.  He loves us, not because we return His love.  He loves and adores us because we are worthy to be loved and we are adorable.  

He is so devoted to us, so committed to being right there for us, just in case we ever need Him.  He absolutely adores us because He knows who we are inside.  He knows everything about us and recognizes His spirit in us and everything we are capable of.  And He thinks we're amazing.  And He thinks we're valuable.  And He wants nothing more than an audience with us to just be with us.  Just to be near us.  Just to talk to us.  Just to relish in the joy of our presence.  That's how much He loves us.

We are so fortunate to be loved like that.  But are we capable of loving others in that same way?  Would we adore and cherish people who reject our dedicated desire to love them?  I'll be honest, probably not.  Because our love for others is often determined by the way they respond to us or treat us, rather than in the beautiful, eternal innate value of each human being.

But what if....


What if we loved them because of how God sees them?  What if when they mistreated us or turned away from us we said, "Hey you, guess what?  I love you.  I don't care what you think of me; that has zero bearing on my devotion to you.  You are worthy.  You are amazing.  And I will always love you because you are worth it."

Crazy thought, huh?  Almost as if we'd be embodying a sacred characteristic of our heavenly Savior.

If Jesus can desperately love all of His children (even the ones who don't allow Him entrance into their hearts, even those that reject Him and spit on Him and slander His name) then I can love the unlovables in my own life, right?

Lord, grant me the grace with which to extend that level of love to all those that have made it their mission to hurt me.

I can't even wrap my head around it, to be honest with you.  I can't even visualize it.  But I want the freedom to love people like God does.  I've had some practice, recently, and I think I'm ready to try extending the boundaries of that kind of love to those who need God's grace in their lives as much as I do. And in that way, I can honor my Savior as I extend His love to those who He has deemed worthy.  And who knows, maybe in the end, I will see what God finds so adorable about them too.

setting the example

On Christmas day I took the kids up to the mountains to play in the snow.  When I was growing up in Chicago, we always had snow on Christmas day and that's how it should be, so up to the mountains we went until we found piles of deep snow. The deeper the better!  My son and I tried climbing up a hillside while the rest of our party ate lunch by the car. But the hillside turned out to be way deeper than we anticipated.  We laughed and fell, repeatedly.  My little boy, who is working on growing up into a real gentleman, said to his mama, "I'll go first.  You can just step in my footsteps and you won't sink in as much."

What a little doll he was.  It's usually my role to blaze the trail for my kids.  But he was man enough to do it.  But that got me thinking about walking before my kids.  And teaching them how to then walk before their own kids.  It's more than just guiding them or giving them directions. Because we all know that children learn more from watching than from obeying.

Yesterday I walked into the bathroom about 1/2 hour after my son took his shower.  I noticed his clothes piled up on the ground and was like, "Um, hello?"  He looked a little sheepish and then picked up his clothes.  I thought to myself, How do I get these kids to pick up after themselves without having to remind them all the time?  

Today, I went into my bathroom, hours after my own shower, and had to step over a pile of my own clothes on the floor.  Now, I know what you're thinking:  You're the one setting the bad example, mama.  But that's not fair.  I had to rush out of the shower in a hurry and didn't have time to pick up my stuff.  I cleaned it up as soon as I had time. And besides, I'm the one cleaning it up so I'm allowed to leave it if I want to.

All good excuses but those excuses mean nothing to the kids that are watching me.

So I had to think about some of the other examples I set for them.  The other day, when I was frustrated with the incompetent Verizon representatives because of the mixup on my account, I may have lost my cool and said something to the effect of, "How the hell am I supposed to verify this information?" and then quickly turned to my kids and half-jokingly said, "Please don't repeat what I just said."  My kids know how to talk and they're respectful about it and they understand that sometimes Mommy gets frustrated and "hell" and "crap" come out.  But still, I wish I didn't mess up sometimes.

I can come up with a list, longer than you think, about the bad examples I should try to avoid.  And I can try my hardest to be better about them, but I will fail because I'm not perfect, nor do I ever expect to be.

So instead of focusing on what I shouldn't do, I thought about what I can do to set the proper examples.  What kind of footsteps do I want them stepping into?

I left my Bible out on my table today because I was in the middle of something.  Usually, when my daughter wakes up and comes downstairs in the morning, I put away my devotional stuff and cuddle with her for a while.  But today, my stuff was left out and I walked into my kitchen and thought, Huh, that's weird.  I've never seen my Bible open and laid out on the kitchen table like that. Do my kids even know that I read my Bible?  Shouldn't I be setting this example for them?  We read the Bible as a family, sure, but do they know that I do this on my own?  I remind my son to have his worship in the morning but is he seeing me have my own too?  They know I "meet with God" but I don't think they have any idea what I'm doing during that time because my devotion and study time happens when they're asleep or away.  And all this time I was telling my son to have his own worship without actually showing him.  How did I miss that?

Tonight my daughter was clingy because she had been throwing up today.  She wanted to cuddle with me as she went to sleep so I brought my Bible and computer into the bedroom to read while she nestled up next to me.  She laid her head on my shoulder and pointed to my Bible, "Why did you color in your Bible?" She wanted to know.  Then she wanted to know what the different colors meant.  Yes, I have color-coordinated the highlightings in my Bible.  Does that surprise anyone?

Anyway, I continued to read for a while as she lay next to me.  I was all caught up in Jesus' admonitions to the Pharisees when I heard her tiny little voice read, "So I say to you:  Ask and it will be given to you..."  She was pointing to a pink-highlighted section and reading it.  She read the entire paragraph.  And she hardly knows how to read!  She's been a little slower on the reading skill, and although I work with her, I don't feel it necessary to push her.  So I was so surprised that on her own, she decided this was worth the effort!

If you're not a parent, you can't begin to imagine the heart-warming joy that fills the atmosphere of the room as you witness your emerging reader sounding out the sacred words of Jesus.  The first words she ever read from the Bible were Jesus' words!  A promise that if we ask, He will give.  That if we search, we will find.  And if we knock, He will open the door.  I will print these words out and frame them and put them in her room, for sure.

And I sit here, typing, as she is fast asleep next to me (giving me all her germs), and I'm thinking that none of this would have taken place if I had continued to keep my devotion time all to myself.  This experience motivates me to continue to find ways to blaze the pathways for my children in the spiritual disciplines I want them to follow.

This much I can do. I can't be perfect and I can't always set a noble example of behavior for them.  But I can show them how I worship my Savior, so that even if I say crap or hell a few too many times, they will know where to go to locate their true north so that they can someday find their way Home.

at the door

When I was a little girl, I had some favorite pictures of Jesus that I would just stare at.  Whenever I studied them, they seemed to transport me to another place.  There are three pictures that come to mind but one in particular was very precious to me.  It was the painting of Jesus standing at the door and knocking.  I have always loved the verse,

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock;  
If any man hear my voice, and open the door,
I will come in to him, and sup with him and he with me.  
Revelation 3:20 KJV

The way the artist portrayed the fiery warmth emanating from Jesus' heart is so inviting.  The shadows on the bushes tells us that it's nighttime.  But inviting Jesus in with His glow would light up the entire place!

When I stared at the painting as a child, I used to wish the door would open.  It bothered me that the door never opened. I wanted to know how the story ended.  What was the person in the house doing?  Did they hear the knock?  Were they on the other side of the door, thinking about opening it?  Were they trying to ignore it and turn their tv up louder?  What was going on in there?  Why was the door in the picture forever closed?

In my imagination, sometimes the door would open and I tried to imagine what would go on inside. I saw Jesus and someone eating together and laughing and sharing bread.  Not just eating in their own seat at the table, but interacting with each other, actively.  It seemed like such a pleasant place to be and I wanted to "sup" with Him so I could have fun too.

Decades later, I decided to finally answer the knocking on my own heart's door.  I had been aware of the knocking for so long but had too much fear to entertain thoughts of Jesus in my heart.  Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds.  I was actually afraid to let Jesus in because He would take away my fear and I was afraid to live without fear.  Messed up, actually.  I would lose sleep, night after night after night, struggling with God.  He would entreat me, Please let me come in.  I can take your fear away. And I would inwardly scream, "No!"  I had lived with fear for so long I didn't know how to function without it.

But one day, I was too tired to fight anymore and I let it all go.  And I have lived without fear for years now.  Some have even commented on the fact that I don't appear to fear anything.  It's true.  I can't imagine what I'd be afraid of.  Because that same Jesus who literally glows, like a burning fire, came inside and lit the entire place up with His glorious self.  In the presence of His light, all fear is driven away.

Here's a quote from a world-famous (I wish there was a sarcasm font) author that describes Jesus' entrance into her heart:

"He seems to keep pulling me toward Him.  He just won’t let up.  Every day it’s, Knock, knock.  Anybody home?  Can I come in for a bit?  The only way I know to make that knocking stop is to open the door and let Him in.  It turns out He’s an excellent Guest; He knows His way around like He built the place.  And He always leaves it cleaner than before He arrived.  As far as I’m concerned, He can just move in."  - ce galusha

Yeah, so the quote is mine, from the intro to the books I wrote in 2013 but I still love it so much because it is a perfect description of what He's doing in my heart.  And how it is so much easier to open the door than to resist.

Although it's been about 30-some years since I studied that painting of Jesus at the door, my heart still burns with questions.  Who are those inside?  Why are they not opening the door to Him?  Do they have any idea Who He is?  If they knew, they wouldn't even have a door!  

And my heart aches for Jesus who stands there calling out, Can anyone hear my voice?  Anyone?  He can hear the echoes of His solitary voice ringing out through the hollow streets of His broken heart, searching for those children whose faces He saw as He hung on the cross.  

Yes, many have answered the door and many will yet answer.  But there are so many who will not and although my heart breaks for what they are missing, I'm a 1000 times more distraught over the pain that Jesus feels over the loss.  

Can you imagine a mother having just experienced a devastating disaster, then having to search for her child through a maze of debris and destruction? "Where is my child?"  she would cry out.  Desperate to hold them and care for them, she searches, calling the child by name with no response. "Why won't my child answer me?  Surely they know my voice!"  Calling, searching, waiting, hoping that her child will hear her voice and call out, "Here I am, Mommy!"  

That is our Savior. He sifts through all the debris and destruction of our world, of our hearts, of our minds, and calls out to us, Where are you?  Why are you so far away from me?  I am your Father.  I am here to protect you.  Please let me take you home.  

I don't know why the door isn't answered in the painting.  I don't know why I didn't answer it for so many years. 

If you do not walk with Jesus; if you are not eager to meet with Him at every opportunity; if your heart is not aching to be held by Him; if His name is not daily on your lips and heart....then maybe you haven't actually opened the door yet.  I know that's a bold statement to make.  It sounds like I'm making a judgement call because not everyone worships and serves God the same way; I know.  But everyone who is in love with Him testifies to that love with evidence that assures them that they haven't left Jesus out in the cold night air. 

Yes, I invited Jesus inside a long time ago but there may still be rooms in my heart where I shut the door and do not allow Him entrance.  Like a door marked Unforgiveness...

I will make a deliberate effort to invite God into all those barred rooms. I encourage you to do likewise.  

tough as nails

For so long, even while I was married, I felt like I had to assume both gender roles in my home to some degree.  There were always certain tasks my husband was responsible for but as far as being taken care of?  I felt like I had to do that on my own.  I resented that I had to do that, but you do what you gotta do, right?  So I started kickboxing early in our marriage and felt imbued with this power that spoke to me, saying, "You can do anything.  You don't need anyone."  And I was proud of the fact that I could take care of my own damn self.

But recently, I've suddenly felt that it's okay for me to embrace being a woman, with all the girly stuff involved, including crying and being sentimental and all that jazz.  For some reason, I don't feel that it's necessary to maintain the tough-girl persona.  I've even started dressing in more feminine ways, doing my hair and make-up more often.  I'm drawn to brighter, more cheerful colors and prints too.  I actually feel a desire to be a woman.  I even feel beautiful sometimes.  I wore a dress last weekend with flowers on it!  Flowers!  Pink flowers, no less! Those of you who know me, know that I mostly wear black and grey and very plain clothes.  But recently I have added color to my closet and even wore a white sweater last week.  White!  It's like the world is upside-down suddenly.  But also like the sun has come out and the night is over.  This change in me is about a new perspective on life and a new understanding of who I might really be.

In addition to the more cheerful clothes, the tasks that I was so proud of accomplishing (like using tools, and building stuff and fixing toilets) doesn't appeal to me anymore.  I used to get pleasure from revving up my saw or drill, but suddenly it has become a burden; something that no longer identifies who I am.  (I still have to do these tasks, of course, but I feel differently about them.)

I woke up this morning with these thoughts playing out in my head and caught a mental glimpse of my punching bag that I have in my garage.  Although I have other fitness equipment in there as well, the punching bag sits at the center of the mats, making a bold statement to me.  It has always been there for me when I need to just scream at the world and yet can't.  It bears the scars of all my frustration and anger and hurt and pain.  In the last few years, I've used it primarily for when I wanted to beat the crap out of something, not really for exercise.

I've always loved the fact that I used to be a bad-ass kickboxer. Because when one kickboxes properly, they do not do it as a lady, they do it as a warrior.  It's in the power of the punches and the force of the kicks, with your guard always up and your head dipped while you maintain a glare in your eyes that says, "Don't. Mess. With. Me."  But this morning when I thought about my bag it was almost as if some air was let out of that attitude.  Like a little balloon deflating a bit.  And I struggled with that because being a kickboxer is what I have identified with for the last 16 years as a secret source of power and strength.  I don't want to lose a love I've had for so long and yet it doesn't seem that God wants me to embody that "tough-as-nails" attitude anymore.

But if I don't, then I take the risk of being a weepy, delicate little flower of a woman, but I'm so not.  I know that I'm not.  Because I know I've walked through dark parts of hell with Jesus at my side and He has made sure I walk out victorious.

Ohhhh, I see it now...



I'm a bad-ass warrior because of His strength.  I'm not a delicate flower.  I'm tough by His design, but in the areas in which it matters, in the spiritual sense.  And taking on Christ's strengths for spiritual battles will enable me to stand strong in the face of daily battles as well.  Perhaps my source of strength was misguided, before.  It was too self-centered and self-dependent.

Okay, that totally makes sense now.  And I like it.  I embrace it.

But now what do I do with my punching bag?  I have really suddenly lost all my desire to beat the crap out of it.  I have this strange peace that says I can rest now.  I can sit down and cross my legs as a lady and just.....rest.  There may come a day when God puts a godly man into my life and whispers, It will be okay; you can just be a woman now; I've given you someone who will care for you.  And that's a promise worth dwelling on.

But even more than that future promise is the reality of now.  God is my hero and my strength.  He is the Man that takes care of me and the one that says, Shhhh, you can rest now.  I've got this.  Put away your boxing gloves and just let me be your protector.  And that's just beautiful.

He is also the warrior inside of me that will always exist because Christ lives in me and that automatically makes me a victor.

Through your name we will trample down those who rise up against us.  Psalm 44:5

The LORD is my strength and my shield; My heart trusts in Him, and I am helped.  Psalm 28:7

We now have this light shining in our hearts, but we ourselves are like fragile clay jars containing this great treasure.  This makes it clear that our great power is from God, not from ourselves.  We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed.  We are perplexed, but not driven to despair.  We are hunted down, but never abandoned by God.  We get knocked down, but we are not destroyed.  2 Corinthians 4:7-9

Wow!  If that Corinthians verse is not a fitting example of a bad-ass warrior, then I don't know what is!

So maybe it's okay that I don't identify with these earthly sources of strength anymore.  What a comfortable resolution I've come to.  I'm at peace with it.  God is my strength.

falling in love

What does it mean to fall in love?  The world thinks that falling in love is feelings and romance and excitement and whatnot.  But the world's love does not often last.  The world's love is superficial and at risk of fading away without warning.  That doesn't mean that people of the world can't have meaningful love experiences. It just means that without the Author of Love at the foundation, it is rarely (if ever) certain.

When I think about falling in love I replace the word love with the definition of love: Jesus.  So I fall into Jesus.  Falling into Jesus is a powerful experience that creates relationships of oneness and eternity.  I can fall into Jesus with so many people; it's not exclusive to a romantic relationship.  And yet if I told people I was "falling in love" with others I would be viewed rather strangely, because they would interpret my meaning through society's meaning of love.  That's too bad because I'm not sure I can find a better way to describe my experience of loving people with whom I share Christ.

Paul understood what I'm talking about.  Look how he talked to the Philippians.

It is right for me to feel this way about all of you, since I have you in my heart and, whether I am in chains or defending and confirming the gospel, all of you share in God's grace with me.  God can testify how I long for all of you with the affection of Christ Jesus.  Philippians 1:7,8

Um... Paul was longing for them?  Seems like a pretty strong word to use for someone with whom he's not romantically involved.  But I get the feeling Paul was a very passionate man, he was always longing for his churches.  He said the same thing to the Romans and the Corinthians and to Timothy and the Thessalonians.  Oh, and it's fun to note that the Greek word used for longing (epipothei) is the same one that James uses to describe how the Spirit of God longs for us.  (James 4:5).

So, in the spirit of Paul's words...it is right for me to feel this way about all of you.

Additionally, Paul was always going around crying and kissing everyone and encouraging others to do likewise.  Keep in mind, he is no pansy, either.  This guy is proudly bearing chains for Christ and yet he has a love and a devotion for God's people for which our society would be leery.  (Acts 20:37, Romans 16:16, 1 Corinthians 16:20, 2 Corinthians 13:12, 1 Thessalonians 5:26)

Because the enemy is so intent on destroying everything good that God has made, he has twisted the idea of love into a self-centered experience that gratifies our own earthly desires.  And that makes me so sad.

This is the month of love and lovers and chocolates and flowers and all things romantic.  And one could look at my situation and feel sorry for me because I don't have a Valentine.  But I so do!  I have a better grasp on the concept of love now more than I ever have.  I am in love.

And over the last few months, especially, I have fallen in love (in Jesus) a lot.  I even fell into Jesus with a woman I met in a dressing room a couple weeks ago!  We were just trying stuff on, offering encouragements to each other and sharing and laughing.  And then before you know it, I mention a devotion to Jesus and there is a light in her eyes and a smile on her face and an "Amen!" on her lips and we talk for another hour, in front of the mirror, about God's direction, God's love, our hope and our joy.  We hug a couple times, we make plans to visit again soon and my heart is full.  I saw her again this Saturday night and was so happy to be able to talk about our love for Jesus again.

And what about all the people that have recently entered my life from my new place of worship?  Powerful Jesus-centered connections with so many of them!  I'm overwhelmed and overcome with praise for God who allows me to share in this Oneness with His people.

I know that in this society it is difficult to love people with this kind of passion without misleading some of them.  I realize that and I do pray about it.  The love that two people would share, exclusively, goes beyond what I'm talking about with fellow believers.  But since so many people have never experienced such a powerful exclusive love, a devoted Jesus-centered agape love can throw them off balance and confuse them.

There is only one assurance we can have in this world of broken promises and shattered relationships.  And that assurance is the foundation of Jesus.  If two people can love God more than they love each other, their love for each other is just an extension of God and He will be the anchor that holds them and the Father that guides them.  So even when all else fails, Jesus never does.  Cliché?  Yes.  Yet also quite true.   But in the meantime, the unity we can share with each other in the name of Jesus is the bond that will preserve our friendships through the challenges the enemy will use to try and destroy us.

Do not be like I used to be.  Do not be afraid to love people.  Do not be afraid to see them through God's eyes.  Do not be afraid to long to be with His people.  And to cry with them when they hurt and to ache when they are apart and to pray for them with a fervor that brings you to your knees.  Because at that point, you may finally catch a tiny glimpse of how Jesus longs for us.  And when you realize how he desires us - each one of us - then you will see the value in everyone and then you will treat them accordingly and the cycle of love will continue.

Jesus is in heaven, desperately longing to physically hold us and love us and yet He is limited to Spirit.  But we are not just spirit, we are flesh too.  And in His stead, He has asked us to perpetuate His love so that we can be one as He and His Father are one.  We are His arms for His children and so it is our privilege to love one another.

So, yes, it's true; I am in love.  In love with what Jesus is offering me.  In love with the people He's placed in my life.  In love with the beautiful and satisfying experience of Christ-centered love.  And so in love with hope, because my hope is in the definition of Love - Jesus.  So although this may sound strange to you, this is the most satisfying Valentine's day I have ever experienced.

Love one another, 

as I have loved you...

by this everyone will know 

that you are my disciples. 

John 13:34, 35; John 15:12