Archive for December, 2008

More About Expectation

In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. (Psalm 5:3)
::
My granddad is a man of few words. He observes a lot, but reserves his spoken observations for when it matters. So when he’s got something to say, it seems the whole world stops and takes notice. And more often than not, it’s to the world’s benefit that it did. 
Grandpa Al, or George as he’s known to some, is looking forward to his 101st birthday in a few months. All the more reason to stop and listen. 
Big fan of the NBA and especially Shaq, Grandpa got to see the Miami Heat play last year for his 100th birthday.
::
I was thinking the other day as we celebrated Christmas with my family that Grandpa Al reminds me some of Enoch, the fellow who “walked with God for 300 years.” I sometimes get the idea that Grandpa wouldn’t mind being just like him. I need to be careful here, because Grandpa’s a regular reader, and I don’t want to say something that would be taken the wrong way. Last Christmas he told us he’d heard the first hundred years were the hardest and he was looking forward to the next hundred.
Obviously my 300-year reference is in part about age, but moreso it’s a reflection of his longstanding relationship with God. He’s walked with God for nearly a third as long as Enoch. And to my mind, his reputation is at least as sound. He’s a man of the Word, and he’s a man of prayer, and he’s been providing a godly example to all kinds of folks around him for a very long time. 
Not the least of which are the three generations of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren who span out in front of him. 
He’s passed down an amazing heritage of faith to those generations, and I’m so grateful for that. But I don’t mind telling you he also passed down a sharp wit and a fabulous sense of humor. If you’ve met any of George’s descendants and wonder where they get it, look no further. There are all kinds of apples on the ground that fell not so far from that brilliant tree.
::
So then it comes as no surprise that at family gatherings when Grandpa makes it known that he’s ready to start telling stories and jokes, whatever we’re all doing comes to a screeching halt, and everybody pulls their chairs in a little closer to hear what he has to say and get a good laugh. Grandpa’s always told a good story. But when he’s a hundred and tells the story, it’s a hundred times better.
This year at our Christmas gathering, Grandpa didn’t disappoint. Among the stories he told was one about which I promptly made some notes. I’m hoping I can do his storytelling justice. He told of a woman, who from the day she and her husband had been married, worried about a burglar entering their home. So each night, she insisted that her husband go and check to be sure the doors were locked before they could go to bed. Even when they’d been married for thirty years he was still faithfully checking the locks at her nightly urging. One night, she heard a noise and dispatched her husband back downstairs to investigate. 
“It must be a burglar!” she exclaimed. 
So her husband went downstairs, and flipped on the light, only to find a man standing there with a gun pointed at him. “Just hold on right there!” the husband said. “I want you to come upstairs and meet my wife. She’s been expecting you for thirty years!”
::
The other day we talked about Simeon’s lifelong expectation and anticipation for the Messiah, fulfilled when he at last held the Child in his arms. I’ve continued to ponder the thought of expectation as the days of Christmas have continued on. Maybe because of Simeon’s all consuming sense of expectation. Maybe because of my earlier neglect of any sense of expectation. 
Or maybe it was just because of Grandpa Al’s story of a wife’s expectation, a husband’s gracious attending to it, and a burglar’s long awaited arrival.
Expectation. 
::
I just wonder sometimes what I truly expect of God. Sure, I expect Him to be good to me. I expect Him to have expectations of me. I expect of Him in a very general sense.
But in the every moment? In the very specific details? Do I really expect Him to come through? Am I as convinced of Him as the wife in Grandpa’s story was of the burglar? 
Convinced enough that I would go and check each and every night? 
David writes in the Psalm that he lays his requests before God every morning, and then waits in expectation. He waits in expectation because He knows God will come through. He knows God will deliver. David might have to wait, but he knows He will come through. He’s not wishing, he’s expecting. You expect when you’re confident of the outcome.
I think my granddad knows some things about waiting in expectation too. He’s been waiting on God more years than I can imagine. He knows God comes through. And he expects Him to. 
Even if it takes thirty years. Or a hundred years.
::

In the morning, O LORD, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. (Psalm 5:3)

My granddad is a man of few words. He observes a lot, but reserves his spoken observations for when it matters. So when he’s got something to say, it seems the whole world stops and takes notice. And more often than not, it’s to the world’s benefit that it did. 

We took this 100-year old NBA fan to see the Heat & Timberwolves for the big birthday.

We took this 100-year old NBA fan to see the Heat & Timberwolves for the big birthday.

Grandpa Al, or George as he’s known to some, is looking forward to his 101st birthday in a few months. All the more reason to stop and listen. 

::

I was thinking the other day as we celebrated Christmas with my family that Grandpa Al reminds me some of Enoch, the fellow who “walked with God for 300 years.” I sometimes get the idea that Grandpa wouldn’t mind being just like him. I need to be careful here, because Grandpa’s a regular reader, and I don’t want to say something that would be taken the wrong way. Last Christmas he told us he’d heard the first hundred years were the hardest and he was looking forward to the next hundred.

Obviously my 300-year reference is in part about age, but moreso it’s a reflection of his longstanding relationship with God. He’s walked with God for nearly a third as long as Enoch. And to my mind, his reputation is at least as sound. He’s a man of the Word, and he’s a man of prayer, and he’s been providing a godly example to all kinds of folks around him for a very long time. 

Not the least of which are the three generations of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren who span out in front of him. 

He’s passed down an amazing heritage of faith to those generations, and I’m so grateful for that. But I don’t mind telling you he also passed down a sharp wit and a fabulous sense of humor. If you’ve met any of George’s descendants and wonder where they get it, look no further. There are all kinds of apples on the ground that fell not so far from that brilliant tree.

::

So then it comes as no surprise that at family gatherings when Grandpa makes it known that he’s ready to start telling stories and jokes, whatever we’re all doing comes to a screeching halt, and everybody pulls their chairs in a little closer to hear what he has to say and get a good laugh. Grandpa’s always told a good story. But when he’s a hundred and tells the story, it’s a hundred times better.

This year at our Christmas gathering, Grandpa didn’t disappoint. Among the stories he told was one about which I promptly made some notes. I’m hoping I can do his storytelling justice. He told of a woman, who from the day she and her husband had been married, worried about a burglar entering their home. So each night, she insisted that her husband go and check to be sure the doors were locked before they could go to bed. Even when they’d been married for thirty years he was still faithfully checking the locks at her nightly urging. One night, she heard a noise and dispatched her husband back downstairs to investigate. 

“It must be a burglar!” she exclaimed. 

So her husband went downstairs, and flipped on the light, only to find a man standing there with a gun pointed at him. “Just hold on right there!” the husband said. “I want you to come upstairs and meet my wife. She’s been expecting you for thirty years!”

::

The other day we talked about Simeon’s lifelong expectation and anticipation for the Messiah, fulfilled when he at last held the Child in his arms. I’ve continued to ponder the thought of expectation as the days of Christmas have continued on. Maybe because of Simeon’s all consuming sense of expectation. Maybe because of my earlier neglect of any sense of expectation. 

Or maybe it was just because of Grandpa Al’s story of a wife’s expectation, a husband’s gracious attending to it, and a burglar’s long awaited arrival.

Expectation. 

::

I just wonder sometimes what I truly expect of God. Sure, I expect Him to be good to me. I expect Him to have expectations of me. I expect of Him in a very general sense.

But in the every moment? In the very specific details? Do I really expect Him to come through? Am I as convinced of Him as the wife in Grandpa’s story was of the burglar? 

Convinced enough that I would go and check each and every night? 

David writes in the Psalm that he lays his requests before God every morning, and then waits in expectation. He waits in expectation because He knows God will come through. He knows God will deliver. David might have to wait, but he knows He will come through. He’s not wishing, he’s expecting. You expect when you’re confident of the outcome.

I think my granddad knows some things about waiting in expectation too. He’s been waiting on God more years than I can imagine. He knows God comes through. And he expects Him to. 

Even if it takes thirty years. Or a hundred years.

::

2008/12/30 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: | Leave A Comment »

Shine Like Stars

Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life -— in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor for nothing. (Philippians 2:14-16)

::
We shine like stars in the universe. 
There’s something about stars. We can see them from literally years away. They’re that bright. Even so, from here they seem to be a disconnected bunch of bright spots. Sure, there’s a constellation here and there, but really, not that many of us can just shoot a look up at the sky and see Orion or even the Big Dipper without a little coaching. 
But if we can get up close, we see some pretty amazing stuff in that big huge universe. Check out this set of photos I borrowed from Hubblesite.com — stunning photographs of space taken from the Hubble telescope. 
Now, you tell me what shining like stars really looks like. 
Shining like stars blows people away. 
::
These are just photographs. None of us could stand in the actual presence of these shining heavenly bodies. They’re overpowering. 
So when Paul tells us to shine like stars, is this what he means? He tells us here that we are to a crooked and depraved generation what the stars are to the universe. As they shine there, so we shine here. The shining of the stars points directly back to the Creator. We marvel. We stand in complete awe and wonder. 
Yet our impact, our shining, can be just this powerful. 
::
How do we do it? How do we shine like stars?
Look at the text. Paul makes it pretty straightforward, really. “Do everything without complaining or arguing.” He’s just finished talking about how Jesus did this very thing. He took on the form of man, giving up everything He had and everything He was entitled to. He became not just a man, but a servant. He gave up all His rights.
Where do our complaining and our arguing come from, anyway? Isn’t it from our sense that we’ve been ripped off somehow? Our rights were violated? We didn’t get what we bargained for? Somebody is taking advantage of us? 
We tend to think we have a lot of rights. The right to be comfortable, the right to not be inconvenienced, the right to have resources, the right to be healthy, the right to be important, the right to feel valuable, the right to not be alone, the right to be left alone, the right to be right. When we don’t feel quite free to exercise those rights, when we sense that someone is preventing us from doing so, we complain. We argue. We demand that we be treated as (we think) we deserve. 
Jesus didn’t do that. Not ever.
And Paul challenges us here not to as well. Jesus did not consider equality with God to be something to be grasped (though He had every right — He was part of the Godhead for heaven’s sake). He humbled Himself (willingly), and He made Himself a servant (willingly). He gave up all His rights as God, and by the time it was all over, He would also give up all His rights as man. 
And never once complained. 
::
We’re challenged to do the same — so that the world can see the shining of the stars. So that in the midst of all the depravity of the world, all the darkness and despair, His light shines out through us. 
We recognize in our humility that defending our rights — or complaining and arguing — pales in comparison to the opportunity to hold out the word of life. 
To shine like stars. 
Stars that draw those who are seeking light. 
::

We shine like stars in the universe. 

There’s something about stars. We can see them from literally years away. They’re that bright. Even so, from here they seem to be a disconnected bunch of bright spots. Sure, there’s a constellation here and there, but really, not that many of us can just shoot a look up at the sky and see Orion or even the Big Dipper without a little coaching. 

But if we can get up close, we see some pretty amazing stuff in that big huge universe. Check out this set of photos I borrowed from Hubblesite.com — stunning photographs of space taken from the Hubble telescope. 

Now, you tell me what shining like stars really looks like. 

Shining like stars blows people away. 

::

These are just photographs. None of us could stand in the actual presence of these shining heavenly bodies. They’re overpowering. 

So when Paul tells us to shine like stars, is this what he means? He tells us here that we are to a crooked and depraved generation what the stars are to the universe. As they shine there, so we shine here. The shining of the stars points directly back to the Creator. We marvel. We stand in complete awe and wonder. 

Yet our impact, our shining, can be just this powerful. 

::

How do we do it? How do we shine like stars?

Look at the text. Paul makes it pretty straightforward, really. “Do everything without complaining or arguing.” He’s just finished talking about how Jesus did this very thing. He took on the form of man, giving up everything He had and everything He was entitled to. He became not just a man, but a servant. He gave up all His rights.

Where do our complaining and our arguing come from, anyway? Isn’t it from our sense that we’ve been ripped off somehow? Our rights were violated? We didn’t get what we bargained for? Somebody is taking advantage of us? 

We tend to think we have a lot of rights. The right to be comfortable, the right to not be inconvenienced, the right to have resources, the right to be healthy, the right to be important, the right to feel valuable, the right to not be alone, the right to be left alone, the right to be right. When we don’t feel quite free to exercise those rights, when we sense that someone is preventing us from doing so, we complain. We argue. We demand that we be treated as (we think) we deserve. 

Jesus didn’t do that. Not ever.

And Paul challenges us here not to as well. Jesus did not consider equality with God to be something to be grasped (though He had every right — He was part of the Godhead for heaven’s sake). He humbled Himself (willingly), and He made Himself a servant (willingly). He gave up all His rights as God, and by the time it was all over, He would also give up all His rights as man. 

And never once complained. 

::

We’re challenged to do the same — so that the world can see the shining of the stars. So that in the midst of all the depravity of the world, all the darkness and despair, His light shines out through us. 

We recognize in our humility that defending our rights — or complaining and arguing — pales in comparison to the opportunity to hold out the word of life. 

To shine like stars. 

Stars that draw those who are seeking light. 

::

2008/12/29 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment »

Prayerful & Purposeful Expectancy

 

Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel. (Luke 2:29-32)
::
So many people had life altering encounters with the Child that first Christmas. We know Mary did. No question there. From the moment the angel first visited and told her she would bring the Messiah into the world, her life was never the same. She faced the shame of an unmarried pregnancy, was mother to the most phenomenal Child ever to walk the earth, and faced a deeper loss than any of us can possibly imagine when her Son hung, battered and lifeless on rough hewn wooden beams.
Joseph did. He was called upon to stand by his betrothed, while all around would see their shame and dishonor, and he would have no reasonable explanation. Yet he would love the Child as his own, teach Him his trade, pour his heart into Him and protect Him into adulthood.
The shepherds, privileged to be amongst the first to hear of His arrival, had an experience that was beyond their wildest imagination. The Magi would travel miles and miles to see Him, never giving up on their journey. 
They were all touched in such significant ways. Life changing ways. 
But there was one other guy that has caught my attention this time around. A guy that doesn’t get a lot of attention. If we read Luke’s account of the Child’s arrival, we hear of him, albeit very briefly.
Simeon. 
::
I have a new appreciation for Simeon this season. 
What’s so great about Simeon? He gets all of eleven verses in the Gospel of Luke. What’s all the fuss?
Take a look at those eleven verses. Simeon was quite a guy. And he had an experience I can only dream of.
(I just read a great piece of poetry at Treasures of Darkness on Simeon and Anna — check it out.)
He was, according to Dr. Luke, a “righteous and devout” man who was waiting for the consolation of Israel. He feared God and he had his eyes on one prize and one prize only: the consolation of Israel. I love how the Message translation tells it, that he was “a man who lived in the prayerful expectancy of help for Israel.”
Prayerful expectancy. 
This was his purpose. He awaited the arrival of Messiah.
::
But wait, there’s more.
The Holy Spirit was upon this man, something that didn’t happen in that time to just anyone. It happened for a particular purpose. Simeon was all about the purpose. He had just the one.
Prayerful expectancy of the arrival of the Messiah.
The Holy Spirit told Simeon that he would, in fact, see the Messiah before he died. Before he breathed his last, he would see the Messiah. He was all about the waiting, all about the expecting. He hadn’t seen him yet, but he knew that he would. He would continue in prayerful expectancy until it happened and until his purpose was fulfilled.
And on that amazing day, forty days after that other amazing day, he was led by the Holy Spirit to be in the temple — presumably to be there when the young parents would bring the Child according to the law. He took Jesus in his arms (that’s another story altogether — he took Jesus in his arms! What was that like?), and before he pronounced his famous blessing, he praised God for fulfilling the promise. He knew, from the moment he saw and held the Child, that this was the One. This was the Messiah. God made good on His promise, and the one who waited in prayerful expectancy now had seen the object of his lifelong hope. 
This was the moment he lived his life for. 
How do I know that? Listen to what he tells God: “Sovereign Lord, as You have promised, You now dismiss Your servant in peace.” He knew this was the One. “For my eyes have seen Your salvation.” Here, in the eyes of this Child, Simeon knew that he had seen the Messiah. He knew that redemption was close at hand. 
::
And he knew this was all he needed. 
The moment he had lived for had come. And he was done.
“You now dismiss your servant in peace.”
Simeon lived for a single purpose. And when that moment came, he knew. He was complete. He was done.
I want to live for a single purpose. I want to know when that purpose is being fulfilled.
And when it’s done, I want to be dismissed in peace.
I want to know that I’ve completed what I was made for.
::

Sovereign Lord, as you have promised, you now dismiss your servant in peace. For my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the sight of all people, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel. (Luke 2:29-32)

So many people had life altering encounters with the Child that first Christmas. We know Mary did. No question there. From the moment the angel first visited and told her she would bring the Messiah into the world, her life was never the same. She faced the shame of an unmarried pregnancy, was mother to the most phenomenal Child ever to walk the earth, and faced a deeper loss than any of us can possibly imagine when her Son hung, battered and lifeless on rough hewn wooden beams.

Joseph did. He was called upon to stand by his betrothed, while all around would see their shame and dishonor, and he would have no reasonable explanation. Yet he would love the Child as his own, teach Him his trade, pour his heart into Him and protect Him into adulthood.

The shepherds, privileged to be amongst the first to hear of His arrival, had an experience that was beyond their wildest imagination. The Magi would travel miles and miles to see Him, never giving up on their journey. 

They were all touched in such significant ways. Life changing ways. 

But there was one other guy that has caught my attention this time around. A guy that doesn’t get a lot of attention. If we read Luke’s account of the Child’s arrival, we hear of him, albeit very briefly.

Simeon. 

::

I have a new appreciation for Simeon this season. 

What’s so great about Simeon? He gets all of eleven verses in the Gospel of Luke. What’s all the fuss?

Take a look at those eleven verses. Simeon was quite a guy. And he had an experience I can only dream of.

He was, according to Dr. Luke, a “righteous and devout” man who was waiting for the consolation of Israel. He feared God and he had his eyes on one prize and one prize only: the consolation of Israel. I love how the Message translation tells it, that he was “a man who lived in the prayerful expectancy of help for Israel.”

Prayerful expectancy. 

This was his purpose. He awaited the arrival of Messiah.

::

But wait, there’s more.

The Holy Spirit was upon this man, something that didn’t happen in that time to just anyone. It happened for a particular purpose. Simeon was all about the purpose. He had just the one.

Prayerful expectancy of the arrival of the Messiah.

The Holy Spirit told Simeon that he would, in fact, see the Messiah before he died. Before he breathed his last, he would see the Messiah. He was all about the waiting, all about the expecting. He hadn’t seen him yet, but he knew that he would. He would continue in prayerful expectancy until it happened and until his purpose was fulfilled.

And on that amazing day, forty days after that other amazing day, he was led by the Holy Spirit to be in the temple — presumably to be there when the young parents would bring the Child according to the law. He took Jesus in his arms (that’s another story altogether — he took Jesus in his arms! What was that like?), and before he pronounced his famous blessing, he praised God for fulfilling the promise. He knew, from the moment he saw and held the Child, that this was the One. This was the Messiah. God made good on His promise, and the one who waited in prayerful expectancy now had seen the object of his lifelong hope. 

This was the moment he lived his life for. 

How do I know that? Listen to what he tells God: “Sovereign Lord, as You have promised, You now dismiss Your servant in peace.” He knew this was the One. “For my eyes have seen Your salvation.” Here, in the eyes of this Child, Simeon knew that he had seen the Messiah. He knew that redemption was close at hand. 

::

And he knew this was all he needed. 

The moment he had lived for had come. And he was done.

“You now dismiss your servant in peace.”

Simeon lived for a single purpose. And when that moment came, he knew. He was complete. He was done.

I want to live for a single purpose. I want to know when that purpose is being fulfilled.

And when it’s done, I want to be dismissed in peace.

I want to know that I’ve completed what I was made for.

::

2008/12/23 | Categories: Christmas | Tags: , , | 1 Comment »

Isn’t There Anyone Who Can Tell Me?

“Isn’t there anyone…who knows what Christmas is all about?” (Charlie Brown, A Charlie Brown Christmas)

::
My Christmas tree is up. Since Saturday. And only because the guys broke down and got it set up for me. But it’s not decorated. And under the tree still looks pretty sparse. 
They’re starting to get a little worried since there are only two shipping days left until Christmas and there are still a few known gifts out there that they’ve ordered, but have not yet been delivered. (No typo there, remarkably. I meant shipping, not shopping. We do most of our Christmas shopping online.)
When I asked at dinner yesterday what we should have for Christmas dinner, I was told a few things that folks didn’t want, and had one bet five bucks he could go the whole day without eating a thing, suggesting we just skip Christmas dinner.
Christmas has been a little slow in coming to our house this year. 
::
Between work, blizzards and a short season since Thanksgiving, we’re just running a little bit behind. Even the Christmas program at church got postponed for a couple of weeks.
Tonight, as I debate spending some time on Christmas preparation and going back to the office, the thought I’ve had frequently in recent days returns to me, that I’ve not only postponed the material preparation for Christmas, but also the greater preparation. 
The pondering. The meditating. The reflection.
::
In all the static buzzing around me, mostly not even related to Christmas, I throw up my hands in a last ditch effort to try to connect to the specialness of the season, and call to the heavens, much like Charlie Brown, “Isn’t there anyone…who knows what Christmas is all about?” Isn’t there anyone who can tell me?
Truth is, there are plenty who can tell me. The angels can tell me.  The shepherds can tell me.
Mary can tell me. Joseph can tell me. 
Simeon can tell me. 
My kids can even tell me. 
But two videos I watched today told me. Two videos as different as night and day. But they both tell me something so very important. Two videos remind me in vastly divergent ways just what Christmas is all about. 
::
First, Linus can tell me. It doesn’t get any simpler than this. 
Thanks to Steve Norris at Thy Grace Is Sufficient for reminding me of this great embodiment of the story. 
::
But then, Jesus can also tell me. He tells us, He shows us. In a way that nobody else could. 
Thanks to The Rogue Angel for pointing out this powerful video. (Note this video contains graphic scenes from The Passion of the Christ; view at your discretion.)
::
The significance of Jesus’ arrival into our world. 
Don’t  delay its hold on you.
::

My Christmas tree is up. Since Saturday. And only because the guys broke down and got it set up for me. But it’s not decorated. And under the tree still looks pretty sparse. 

They’re starting to get a little worried since there are only two shipping days left until Christmas and there are still a few known gifts out there that they’ve ordered, but have not yet been delivered. (No typo there, remarkably. I meant shipping, not shopping. We do most of our Christmas shopping online.)

When I asked at dinner yesterday what we should have for Christmas dinner, I was told a few things that folks didn’t want, and had one bet five bucks he could go the whole day without eating a thing, suggesting we just skip Christmas dinner.

Christmas has been a little slow in coming to our house this year. 

::

Between work, blizzards and a short season since Thanksgiving, we’re just running a little bit behind. Even the Christmas program at church got postponed for a couple of weeks.

Tonight, as I debate spending some time on Christmas preparation and going back to the office, the thought I’ve had frequently in recent days returns to me, that I’ve not only postponed the material preparation for Christmas, but also the greater preparation. 

The pondering. The meditating. The reflection.

::

In all the static buzzing around me, mostly not even related to Christmas, I throw up my hands in a last ditch effort to try to connect to the specialness of the season, and call to the heavens, much like Charlie Brown, “Isn’t there anyone…who knows what Christmas is all about?” Isn’t there anyone who can tell me?

Truth is, there are plenty who can tell me. The angels can tell me.  The shepherds can tell me.

Mary can tell me. Joseph can tell me. 

Simeon can tell me. 

My kids can even tell me. 

But two videos I watched today told me. Two videos as different as night and day. But they both tell me something so very important. Two videos remind me in vastly divergent ways just what Christmas is all about. 

::

First, Linus can tell me. It doesn’t get any simpler than this. 

::

But then, Jesus can also tell me. He tells us, He shows us. In a way that nobody else could. 

Click here to watch.

::

The significance of Jesus’ arrival into our world. 

Don’t  delay its hold on you.

::

2008/12/22 | Categories: Christmas | Tags: , , | 1 Comment »

Anti-Lock Brakes

 

We live by faith, not by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:7)
::
We’re in full blizzard mode here in South Dakota. We had a few days of respite this past week, just bitterly cold temperatures but not so much falling and blowing snow. But now we’re right back at it. A thick new layer of soft white powder is blowing around now, leaving mountainous drifts and obscuring visibility. And it’s so blistering cold that a person really wouldn’t want to be out in it. I realize blistering is usually associated with heat. But this is the kind of cold that burns.
Nevertheless, we were out in it. We had to go out to collect children at the theater and take care of a friend’s cat. As we drove down the ice packed highway, the stoplight turned yellow. Lane applied the brakes. And then we cringed and listened to that excruciating grind. And felt the Tahoe keep sliding. And sliding. And grinding. 
Grinding. 
Sliding. 
Intersection growing closer.
And then, the vehicle stopped. Right at the edge of the crosswalk. Just like it was supposed to. 
Antilock brakes make me crazy.
::
All the way through driver’s ed, at least in my part of the country, they hammer into your head that you never just hold down your brakes when you are stopping on ice. You pump your brakes. 
Don’t hold ‘em. Pump ‘em.
But not antilock brakes. Once you put ‘em down, you just hang on and wait for the vehicle to stop. You fight every urge to let up and pump the brakes. And remarkably, the vehicle stops. 
You’ve got to trust the ABS. And nine times out of ten (remember, I’m a claims adjuster — I’ve seen too much to be able to say 100 percent), they come through. 
But only if you trust them enough not to pump the brakes. 
Only if you trust them enough not to take matters into your own hands.
Only if you trust them enough to let them do what they were made to do.
::
How many times do I act like God is the old fashioned brake system? He tells me to apply the brakes and hang on. He’ll stop the car. But it doesn’t feel like He’s going to come through. I can hear the grinding and I can see the sliding. I want to pump the brakes. I want to make sure I maintain some control. 
I can’t turn it over to a brake system I don’t understand. 
We live by faith, not by sight. This is what Paul stressed so earnestly to the Corinthian church. What we see can throw us off. It can make us think God is not coming through. It can make it look like we’re going to crash right into that car coming into the intersection. It can make us only hear the grinding and see the sliding. 
But faith, faith is something different. The Message translation puts it like this: “It’s what we trust in but don’t yet see that keeps us going.” It’s our trust that the antilock brakes don’t need to be pumped that keeps us holding the pedal down. When we rely only on what we can see, we’re surely going to pump the brakes. And in all likelihood, crash.
::
We live by faith, not by sight. Our trust in what we don’t yet see (oh, but one day we will) keeps us going. 
Don’t pump the brakes. Fight the urge to take things into your own hands.
Hold on through the grinding and sliding, and trust the brakes to work like they are supposed to. 
No matter what you see.
Let what you don’t yet see keep you going.
::

We live by faith, not by sight. (2 Corinthians 5:7)

We’re in full blizzard mode here in South Dakota. We had a few days of respite this past week, just bitterly cold temperatures but not so much falling and blowing snow. But now we’re right back at it. A thick new layer of soft white powder is blowing around now, leaving mountainous drifts and obscuring visibility. And it’s so blistering cold that a person really wouldn’t want to be out in it. I realize blistering is usually associated with heat. But this is the kind of cold that burns.

Nevertheless, we were out in it. We had to go out to collect children at the theater and take care of a friend’s cat. As we drove down the ice packed highway, the stoplight turned yellow. Lane applied the brakes. And then we cringed and listened to that excruciating grind. And felt the Tahoe keep sliding. And sliding. And grinding. 

Grinding. 

Sliding. 

Intersection growing closer.

And then, the vehicle stopped. Right at the edge of the crosswalk. Just like it was supposed to. 

Antilock brakes make me crazy.

::

All the way through driver’s ed, at least in my part of the country, they hammer into your head that you never just hold down your brakes when you are stopping on ice. You pump your brakes. 

Don’t hold ‘em. Pump ‘em.

But not antilock brakes. Once you put ‘em down, you just hang on and wait for the vehicle to stop. You fight every urge to let up and pump the brakes. And remarkably, the vehicle stops. 

You’ve got to trust the ABS. And nine times out of ten (remember, I’m a claims adjuster — I’ve seen too much to be able to say 100 percent), they come through. 

But only if you trust them enough not to pump the brakes. 

Only if you trust them enough not to take matters into your own hands.

Only if you trust them enough to let them do what they were made to do.

::

How many times do I act like God is the old fashioned brake system? He tells me to apply the brakes and hang on. He’ll stop the car. But it doesn’t feel like He’s going to come through. I can hear the grinding and I can see the sliding. I want to pump the brakes. I want to make sure I maintain some control. 

I can’t turn it over to a brake system I don’t understand. 

We live by faith, not by sight. This is what Paul stressed so earnestly to the Corinthian church. What we see can throw us off. It can make us think God is not coming through. It can make it look like we’re going to crash right into that car coming into the intersection. It can make us only hear the grinding and see the sliding. 

But faith, faith is something different. The Message translation puts it like this: “It’s what we trust in but don’t yet see that keeps us going.” It’s our trust that the antilock brakes don’t need to be pumped that keeps us holding the pedal down. When we rely only on what we can see, we’re surely going to pump the brakes. And in all likelihood, crash.

::

We live by faith, not by sight. Our trust in what we don’t yet see (oh, but one day we will) keeps us going. 

Don’t pump the brakes. Fight the urge to take things into your own hands.

Hold on through the grinding and sliding, and trust the brakes to work like they are supposed to. 

No matter what you see.

Let what you don’t yet see keep you going.

::

2008/12/20 | Categories: Belief & Doubt | Tags: , , | Leave A Comment »

Advanced Darkness

In him was life, and that life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:4-5)

::
I’m a big Spongebob Squarepants fan. I hope that doesn’t invalidate anything I’ve said up until now. One morning JP and I almost forgot to leave for school and work because there was a new episode on, and it was really funny. Really, it was. I don’t have much opportunity these days to just throw back in a chair and watch the show, but I do hear it blaring in the background while I’m doing things around the house or catching up on reading or writing. The other day I heard a line that found itself a place in my head. I don’t even know what the context was on the show, because I was too busy grabbing a gadget to type the line into to save it for later.
Spongebob was talking to his friend, Patrick Star (a rather dim-witted starfish), when he said, “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday darkness. This is advanced darkness.” (Emphasis added.)
Not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
::
That’s the kind of darkness we encounter every day, isn’t it? 
Extraordinary darkness.
Greed. Hate. Murder. Envy. Rage. Gossip. Mockery. Deceit. Betrayal.
Shame. Pain. Loss. Grief. Ruin. Despair.
Advanced darkness.
::
But…
John says something rather illuminating about darkness. Despite the darkness we face each and every day, there is a light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t get to overcome it. Even advanced darkness doesn’t overcome this kind of light.
What kind of light is that? This is super-advanced light. Read the progression in that verse, but backwards. This light that shines in darkness is the light that comes from the life that is in Him. In Him is life. And not just life but then light. Light that is not your ordinary, everyday light, but the light that will not be overcome by advanced darkness. Light that will not be undone by the dark. Light that shines in the darkest of dark places.
Even when it’s not your ordinary, everyday darkness.
::
No matter how dark, no matter how advanced, the light is sufficient. This light is light because it is life. 
It shines in the darkness.
And the darkness does not overcome it. 
::

I’m a big Spongebob Squarepants fan. I hope that doesn’t invalidate anything I’ve said up until now.

spongebobOne morning JP and I almost forgot to leave for school and work because there was a new episode on, and it was really funny. Really, it was. I don’t have much opportunity these days to just throw back in a chair and watch the show, but I do hear it blaring in the background while I’m doing things around the house or catching up on reading or writing. The other day I heard a line that found itself a place in my head. I don’t even know what the context was on the show, because I was too busy grabbing a gadget to type the line into to save it for later.

Spongebob was talking to his friend, Patrick Star (a rather dim-witted starfish), when he said, “This isn’t your ordinary, everyday darkness. This is advanced darkness.” (Emphasis added.)

Not your ordinary, everyday darkness.

::

That’s the kind of darkness we encounter every day, isn’t it? 

Extraordinary darkness.

Greed. Hate. Murder. Envy. Rage. Gossip. Mockery. Deceit. Betrayal.

Shame. Pain. Loss. Grief. Ruin. Despair.

Advanced darkness.

::

But…

John says something rather illuminating about darkness. Despite the darkness we face each and every day, there is a light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness doesn’t get to overcome it. Even advanced darkness doesn’t overcome this kind of light.

What kind of light is that? This is super-advanced light. Read the progression in that verse, but backwards. This light that shines in darkness is the light that comes from the life that is in Him. In Him is life. And not just life but then light. Light that is not your ordinary, everyday light, but the light that will not be overcome by advanced darkness. Light that will not be undone by the dark. Light that shines in the darkest of dark places.

Even when it’s not your ordinary, everyday darkness.

::

No matter how dark, no matter how advanced, the light is sufficient. This light is light because it is life. 

It shines in the darkness.

And the darkness does not overcome it. 

::

2008/12/16 | Categories: Finding Life | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment »

Debbie Gets It

Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, NIV)

For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what’s coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we’re tired of it! We’ve been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, MSG)

 

For some reason, I’ve really been missing my friend Debbie the last couple of days. Not that I don’t miss her other times, but lately it’s been a little closer to the surface. 

debbie.jpg

Might have been unexpectedly seeing this amazing picture of her on a friend’s Facebook page.

Might have been that things have been a little challenging at work lately, and that Debbie always had a way of helping me keep my head and remember why I come to the office. (Here’s a secret: it’s not just about the paycheck.) 

I counted on that, and I just don’t have it any more.

Or it might have been that I found myself wondering what it must be like for her now, walking on a beach that might just look a lot like this picture, basking in true sunlight, and already understanding something that I’ve been struggling to get my mind around lately: This life just ain’t what it’s all about. 

:: (more…)

2008/12/12 | Categories: Finding Life | 1 Comment »

Scabies

 

Jesus, worn out by the trip, sat down at the well. It was noon. A woman, a Samaritan, came to draw water. Jesus said, “Would you give me a drink of water?” (His disciples had gone to the village to buy food for lunch.)
The Samaritan woman, taken aback, asked, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” (Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.)
Jesus answered, “If you knew the generosity of God and who I am, you would be asking me for a drink, and I would give you fresh, living water.”  (John 4:6-10)
::
My first few months out of college, I worked for a social service agency that served the migrant farmworker population in Minnesota and North Dakota. I was attached to a mobile health screening unit that traveled throughout central Minnesota providing basic health services and referrals to folks who had extremely limited access to health care otherwise. I made barely enough money to survive much better than the laborers we were serving, but got a chance to rub shoulders with the Latino community and keep my language skills from getting too rusty. 
I remember one morning the nurse assigned to our unit came in to work visibly upset. She’d been having some problems and went to the clinic to get things checked out. What she learned was that somehow or other, she had contracted scabies, unfortunately most likely in a home visit to one of the crowded makeshift trailers our clients called home.
Scabies. 
::
As you might expect, recalling this story kind of started to make my skin crawl. There’s a reason for that. That’s exactly what scabies does. According to the Centers for Disease Control, scabies is an infestation of the skin that results when the microscopic scabies mite burrows into the skin to live and lay eggs. What happens next is a lot of itching and discomfort, as well as a lot of work to disinfect bedding and clothing in your home to prevent the spread of a very easily transmitted infestation.
We noticed that when my colleague would tell people she had scabies, folks would take a couple of steps back. They didn’t want to get too close. Still, she felt obligated to let them know, given the ease with which the thing could spread. It was almost like those days when the Hebrews had to isolate themselves outside the city gate and call out “unclean, unclean” when they had one of any number of infectuous diseases. 
It seemed to me that the biggest thing that scabies did was make you scary, friendless and alone.
::
What struck me most about this story was how my friend’s eyes filled up with tears as she recounted how the doctor came into the examination room, and immediately reached out to shake her hand. Since she’d walked into the facility, the clinic staff had been stepping away from her and noticeably avoiding any contact as soon as they realized why she was there.
Everyone was suddenly afraid of her. Afraid of catching what she had. 
Afraid that she might get herself all over them.
They were all afraid except the doctor, who warmly greeted her and wasn’t afraid to touch her. 
::
When Jesus sat down at Jacob’s well in the middle of that hot day, after a long and tiring walk, the Samaritan woman who came along to draw water didn’t have scabies. But she was a woman. And a Samaritan. Two strikes. She may as well have had scabies. No Jewish man in his right mind would have talked to her. Look at the text of The Message translation above: “Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.” 
Jesus took the risk. He took the chance. 
He talked to the Samaritan woman.
::
Even she was “taken aback.” She was startled. This was very unexpected. Here was a Jewish man, one who ought to know better, speaking to her, a Samaritan woman with a very, very colored history. There she had her strike three. She was taken aback. 
Perplexed, she asked him, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” Aren’t you afraid of what people will think? Aren’t you concerned that I’ll get something on you? It was, perhaps, not unlike what my colleague may have inquired of the doctor: Aren’t you afraid of me? Don’t you worry you’ll catch something? Isn’t your skin starting to crawl?
::
We read on and find that Jesus had a transformational encounter with the woman, offered her living water and told her everything about herself. He won her over with this visit, and she ran away to tell others about this man she met at the well. There was a lot that happened when Jesus sat down to talk to her. But it all started because he was willing to talk to her at all. 
He wasn’t afraid of what might happen. He didn’t worry about what she might get on him. He had no concern about the discomfort and itching that may result. 
He wanted to win her heart.
And because He crossed all the boundaries, real or imagined, to reach out and touch her, he did.
::

Jesus, worn out by the trip, sat down at the well. It was noon. A woman, a Samaritan, came to draw water. Jesus said, “Would you give me a drink of water?” (His disciples had gone to the village to buy food for lunch.)

The Samaritan woman, taken aback, asked, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” (Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.)

Jesus answered, “If you knew the generosity of God and who I am, you would be asking me for a drink, and I would give you fresh, living water.”  (John 4:6-10)

My first few months out of college, I worked for a social service agency that served the migrant farmworker population in Minnesota and North Dakota. I was attached to a mobile health screening unit that traveled throughout central Minnesota providing basic health services and referrals to folks who had extremely limited access to health care otherwise. I made barely enough money to survive much better than the laborers we were serving, but got a chance to rub shoulders with the Latino community and keep my language skills from getting too rusty. 

I remember one morning the nurse assigned to our unit came in to work visibly upset. She’d been having some problems and went to the clinic to get things checked out. What she learned was that somehow or other, she had contracted scabies, unfortunately most likely in a home visit to one of the crowded makeshift trailers our clients called home.

Scabies. 

::

As you might expect, recalling this story kind of started to make my skin crawl. There’s a reason for that. That’s exactly what scabies does. According to the Centers for Disease Control, scabies is an infestation of the skin that results when the microscopic scabies mite burrows into the skin to live and lay eggs. What happens next is a lot of itching and discomfort, as well as a lot of work to disinfect bedding and clothing in your home to prevent the spread of a very easily transmitted infestation.

We noticed that when my colleague would tell people she had scabies, folks would take a couple of steps back. They didn’t want to get too close. Still, she felt obligated to let them know, given the ease with which the thing could spread. It was almost like those days when the Hebrews had to isolate themselves outside the city gate and call out “unclean, unclean” when they had one of any number of infectuous diseases. 

It seemed to me that the biggest thing that scabies did was make you scary, friendless and alone.

::

What struck me most about this story was how my friend’s eyes filled up with tears as she recounted how the doctor came into the examination room, and immediately reached out to shake her hand. Since she’d walked into the facility, the clinic staff had been stepping away from her and noticeably avoiding any contact as soon as they realized why she was there.

Everyone was suddenly afraid of her. Afraid of catching what she had. 

Afraid that she might get herself all over them.

They were all afraid except the doctor, who warmly greeted her and wasn’t afraid to touch her. 

::

When Jesus sat down at Jacob’s well in the middle of that hot day, after a long and tiring walk, the Samaritan woman who came along to draw water didn’t have scabies. But she was a woman. And a Samaritan. Two strikes. She may as well have had scabies. No Jewish man in his right mind would have talked to her. Look at the text of The Message translation above: “Jews in those days wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Samaritans.” 

Jesus took the risk. He took the chance. 

He talked to the Samaritan woman.

::

Even she was “taken aback.” She was startled. This was very unexpected. Here was a Jewish man, one who ought to know better, speaking to her, a Samaritan woman with a very, very colored history. There she had her strike three. She was taken aback. 

Perplexed, she asked him, “How come you, a Jew, are asking me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” Aren’t you afraid of what people will think? Aren’t you concerned that I’ll get something on you? It was, perhaps, not unlike what my colleague may have inquired of the doctor: Aren’t you afraid of me? Don’t you worry you’ll catch something? Isn’t your skin starting to crawl?

::

We read on and find that Jesus had a transformational encounter with the woman, offered her living water and told her everything about herself. He won her over with this visit, and she ran away to tell others about this man she met at the well. There was a lot that happened when Jesus sat down to talk to her. But it all started because he was willing to talk to her at all. 

He wasn’t afraid of what might happen. He didn’t worry about what she might get on him. He had no concern about the discomfort and itching that may result. 

He wanted to win her heart.

And because He crossed all the boundaries, real or imagined, to reach out and touch her, he did.

::

2008/12/09 | Categories: Finding Life | Tags: , , | Leave A Comment »

Opposable Thumbs

 

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:15-16, NIV)
::
Saturday morning I went to the office to see if I could make sense of my desk, stopping at a convenience store on the way for a caffeine injection. I walked back to soda cooler and reached down to the very bottom shelf where they stock the Mountain Dew (why must they make me work for it so?), but just couldn’t get a grip on the can. I’d kind of get ahold of it, start to lift it up and then it would slip back out of my fingers. I may as well have been trying to pick it up with a ping pong paddle. I tried a few more times before I had to give up. 
With an annoyed grunt, I yanked my glove off so I could free my hand to grab the can. At the same time, a thought passed through my mind. 
Having an opposable thumb does you no good if you’re wearing big heavy gloves.
::
While I was standing in line with my precious green can of carbonated life, it happened. You guessed it. That thought traveled on through to my weird filter, and I thought, “I think there’s something Jesus said about that one time.”
Turns out He did say something about that. Not with gloves and opposable thumbs. But with light and buckets. 
Jesus told His followers in Matthew 5 that they were light. Purposeful light. The light He has put in us, the light He has made us to be, is designed to shine before others so that they will see God. The Message tells us that by keeping our light visible, by being open and generous with our lives, we’ll “prompt others to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.”
::
There’s something about light that’s almost a little passive. I won’t say that we aren’t to actively show God’s love to the world. But think about this light thing. How hard does a flame work to be bright? How much racket and commotion does a lightbulb cause to emit its golden glow? You light the flame, and it just calmly, quietly cuts through the dark. You screw in the light bulb, and in its blinding tranquility opens up everything in the room. Light just is, or else it’s dark. 
That is to say, the lamp doesn’t work itself into a lather trying to be bright. It is, by its very nature, light. It’s what it was made for and it’s what it does. It doesn’t suck it up and grit its teeth and force itself to be light. Light is light. 
Jesus understood this. When He told the disciples they were light, He didn’t command them to be light. He just told them that’s what they were. “You are the light of the world.” Because He lives in us, we are light. There is something that happens just because we are. His light shines.
::
Light is hard to hide, but it can be done. Photographic darkrooms are designed to seal out even a sliver of light. During the air raids of World War II, it was normal practice to seal off all the windows with heavy shades to prevent any light from sneaking out.
Because we are light, in order not to shine we actually have to work at it. We have to hide the light, seal it off somehow. That’s what He’s talking about when He says that when someone lights a lamp, they don’t put it under a bowl. Or as The Message says, “hide you under a bucket.” 
::
What’s the point of having light if you’re just going to cover it up?
What’s the point of having an opposable thumb if you’re just going to wear a big heavy glove?
Do I work to seal off the light shining through me? Or do I aim to put the light in the most visible place possible?

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven. (Matthew 5:15-16, NIV)

Saturday morning I went to the office to see if I could make sense of my desk, stopping at a convenience store on the way for a caffeine injection. I walked back to soda cooler and reached down to the very bottom shelf where they stock the Mountain Dew (why must they make me work for it so?), but just couldn’t get a grip on the can. I’d kind of get ahold of it, start to lift it up and then it would slip back out of my fingers. I may as well have been trying to pick it up with a ping pong paddle. I tried a few more times before I had to give up. 

With an annoyed grunt, I yanked my glove off so I could free my hand to grab the can. At the same time, a thought passed through my mind. 

Having an opposable thumb does you no good if you’re wearing big heavy gloves.

::

While I was standing in line with my precious green can of carbonated life, it happened. You guessed it. That thought traveled on through to my weird filter, and I thought, “I think there’s something Jesus said about that one time.”

Turns out He did say something about that. Not with gloves and opposable thumbs. But with light and buckets. 

Jesus told His followers in Matthew 5 that they were light. Purposeful light. The light He has put in us, the light He has made us to be, is designed to shine before others so that they will see God. The Message tells us that by keeping our light visible, by being open and generous with our lives, we’ll “prompt others to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven.”

::

There’s something about light that’s almost a little passive. I won’t say that we aren’t to actively show God’s love to the world. But think about this light thing. How hard does a flame work to be bright? How much racket and commotion does a lightbulb cause to emit its golden glow? You light the flame, and it just calmly, quietly cuts through the dark. You screw in the light bulb, and in its blinding tranquility opens up everything in the room. Light just is, or else it’s dark. 

That is to say, the lamp doesn’t work itself into a lather trying to be bright. It is, by its very nature, light. It’s what it was made for and it’s what it does. It doesn’t suck it up and grit its teeth and force itself to be light. Light is light. 

Jesus understood this. When He told the disciples they were light, He didn’t command them to be light. He just told them that’s what they were. “You are the light of the world.” Because He lives in us, we are light. There is something that happens just because we are. His light shines.

::

Light is hard to hide, but it can be done. Photographic darkrooms are designed to seal out even a sliver of light. During the air raids of World War II, it was normal practice to seal off all the windows with heavy shades to prevent any light from sneaking out.

Because we are light, in order not to shine we actually have to work at it. We have to hide the light, seal it off somehow. That’s what He’s talking about when He says that when someone lights a lamp, they don’t put it under a bowl. Or as The Message says, “hide you under a bucket.” 

::

What’s the point of having light if you’re just going to cover it up?

What’s the point of having an opposable thumb if you’re just going to wear a big heavy glove?

Do I work to seal off the light shining through me? Or do I aim to put the light in the most visible place possible?

2008/12/08 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , | 1 Comment »

The Vice President of Indulgence

Don’t run up debts, except for the huge debt of love you owe each other. When you love others, you complete what the law has been after all along. The law code — don’t sleep with another person’s spouse, don’t take someone’s life, don’t take what isn’t yours, don’t always be wanting what you don’t have, and any other “don’t” you can think of—finally adds up to this: Love other people as well as you do yourself. You can’t go wrong when you love others. When you add up everything in the law code, the sum total is love.
But make sure that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted in taking care of all your day-by-day obligations that you lose track of the time and doze off, oblivious to God. The night is about over, dawn is about to break. Be up and awake to what God is doing! God is putting the finishing touches on the salvation work he began when we first believed. We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence, in sleeping around and dissipation, in bickering and grabbing everything in sight. Get out of bed and get dressed! Don’t loiter and linger, waiting until the very last minute. Dress yourselves in Christ, and be up and about! (Romans 13:8-14 MSG)
We’ve made quite a mess of the economy — yep, you read right. I said we. Wasn’t just Washington, wasn’t just big corporations and CEOs with big fat wallets, and AIG running off with the taxpayers’ bailout money to nurse their wounds in a spa. While I say “Curses, AIG,” I still have to recognize that you, and I, and that guy down the street — most of us helped them create the disaster it is today. You don’t want to read an economics lesson from me, but I will say this. I think all the way from the CEOs to me, we got pretty greedy. Even so, it seems that the whole fiasco has given me a much needed opportunity to take a look at my own habits and tweak them a bit where it might be sensible. And the uncertainty has perhaps motivated some of us to take a look at what and whom we trust.
I had a chance recently to visit my old church (Church of the Open Door in Maple Grove, MN) and was plenty challenged by a sermon that addressed the uncertainties and where our hearts are. During his message, Pastor Dave Johnson referred to an executive at Mars Inc. whose job title is Vice President/Indulgence. I wasn’t honestly sure if he had made this up as a joke or if this was the real deal, so I Googled it. Sure enough, this is a real guy with a real title. Roger Cohen of The New York Times has a fascinating article you can read in its entirety. He tells how M&Ms have been producing a “premium” version that costs about double the original “common folk” M&Ms. And sales are going through the roof.
Cohen says this: “Now, in these times of plunging stock prices and falling sales, you’d think [the Vice President/Indulgence] might be struggling to get people to indulge. It makes sense to drop needless pleasures when cash is short. But this is a recession in which indulgence is thriving, a phenomenon that says much about our world.” This is interesting. At a time when folks could reasonably be expected to cut back on nonessentials, it doesn’t appear that we are. We’re still inclined to run straight for the luxuries, big and small, even though we maybe can’t afford them, we clearly don’t need them, and it’s pretty debatable whether they ultimately add any real value to our lives.
Paul had no idea what a recession was when he wrote to the Roman church.He hadn’t even been through the Great Depression. But yet his counsel is as appropriate for us as it was for them. Don’t forget, the Word was breathed alive by God Himself. Even though Paul didn’t know what might be happening in the U.S. (and global) economy in the year 2008 (I scarcely think Paul even believed there would be a year 2008), God knew. God knew we would be here. God would know how we got here. And God would grieve that we didn’t pay attention to so many important things He’s tried to teach us for generations — and that not just because the economy is messed up.
Right off the bat here in verse 8, Paul says something pretty big: “Don’t run up debts.” 
Don’t run up debts. He follows that with “Don’t always be wanting what you don’t have.” A lot of times, that’s why we end up running up the big debts, isn’t it? I know, sometimes it’s to pay basic bills when times are just plain tough. But often, too often, it’s because we got to wanting something we didn’t have (and couldn’t afford) so much that we went ahead and went into debt to get it.
He goes on to warn us about getting so caught up in our stuff that we lose track of God. He tells us of a huge urgency — “Be up and awake to what God is doing! …We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence…” The urgency to be awake to what God is doing and God is calling us to do gets lost in our indulgence. Cohen explains that indulgence is a thriving business even in the wake of global economic crisis because we have come to believe so deeply within us that we are defined by what we purchase and what we eat. “Tell me how you shop,” he says, “and I’ll tell you who you are.”
I checked the dictionary to make sure I knew what I was talking about when I used the word indulgence. I didn’t want anyone to be able to say to me, as Inigo would say to Vizzini, “I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Here’s what I found:
indulgence
noun
1. an inability to resist the gratification of whims and desires 
3. the act of indulging or gratifying a desire 
4. foolish or senseless behavior [syn: folly] 
Any one of those speaks directly to our seemingly endless ability to pursue the delight of ourselves into our absolute ruin. We can scorn guys like the VP of Indulgence, but the truth is that if we weren’t buying it, he wouldn’t be selling it. M&Ms would only pursue a ripe market. We ask to be treated this way by continuing to respond favorably to their advances.
As he usually does, Paul gives us an alternative. We don’t have to die pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to pursue self indulgence. We don’t have to rack up outrageous debt pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to go wanting all kinds of stuff we don’t have and don’t need.
He tells us to go ahead and run up one debt. And one debt alone: “the huge debt of love you owe each other.” This is a debt he’s good with. Because this is a debt not created by our inability to resist gratifying our own whims and desires. This is a debt created by our love for God and our love for one another. 
Why be defined by what we buy and what we eat? 
Why not be defined by how we love one another?
This would allow us the freedom to pursue the missing definition above. 
2. a disposition to yield to the wishes of someone
We could devote ourselves to yielding to others, submitting to others, loving others. Paul says that kind of debt, and that kind of indulgence, is a much better way.
::
indulgence. Dictionary.com. WordNet® 3.0. Princeton University. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/indul

 

Don’t run up debts, except for the huge debt of love you owe each other. When you love others, you complete what the law has been after all along. The law code — don’t sleep with another person’s spouse, don’t take someone’s life, don’t take what isn’t yours, don’t always be wanting what you don’t have, and any other “don’t” you can think of—finally adds up to this: Love other people as well as you do yourself. You can’t go wrong when you love others. When you add up everything in the law code, the sum total is love.

But make sure that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted in taking care of all your day-by-day obligations that you lose track of the time and doze off, oblivious to God. The night is about over, dawn is about to break. Be up and awake to what God is doing! God is putting the finishing touches on the salvation work he began when we first believed. We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence, in sleeping around and dissipation, in bickering and grabbing everything in sight. Get out of bed and get dressed! Don’t loiter and linger, waiting until the very last minute. Dress yourselves in Christ, and be up and about! (Romans 13:8-14 MSG)

We’ve made quite a mess of the economy — yep, you read right. I said we. Wasn’t just Washington, wasn’t just big corporations and CEOs with big fat wallets, and AIG running off with the taxpayers’ bailout money to nurse their wounds in a spa. While I say “Curses, AIG,” I still have to recognize that you, and I, and that guy down the street — most of us helped them create the disaster it is today. You don’t want to read an economics lesson from me, but I will say this. I think all the way from the CEOs to me, we got pretty greedy. Even so, it seems that the whole fiasco has given me a much needed opportunity to take a look at my own habits and tweak them a bit where it might be sensible. And the uncertainty has perhaps motivated some of us to take a look at what and whom we trust.

I had a chance recently to visit my old church (Church of the Open Door in Maple Grove, MN) and was plenty challenged by a sermon that addressed the uncertainties and where our hearts are. During his message, Pastor Dave Johnson referred to an executive at Mars Inc. whose job title is Vice President/Indulgence. I wasn’t honestly sure if he had made this up as a joke or if this was the real deal, so I Googled it. Sure enough, this is a real guy with a real title. Roger Cohen of The New York Times has a fascinating article you can read in its entirety. He tells how M&Ms have been producing a “premium” version that costs about double the original “common folk” M&Ms. And sales are going through the roof.

Cohen says this: “Now, in these times of plunging stock prices and falling sales, you’d think [the Vice President/Indulgence] might be struggling to get people to indulge. It makes sense to drop needless pleasures when cash is short. But this is a recession in which indulgence is thriving, a phenomenon that says much about our world.” This is interesting. At a time when folks could reasonably be expected to cut back on nonessentials, it doesn’t appear that we are. We’re still inclined to run straight for the luxuries, big and small, even though we maybe can’t afford them, we clearly don’t need them, and it’s pretty debatable whether they ultimately add any real value to our lives.

Paul had no idea what a recession was when he wrote to the Roman church.He hadn’t even been through the Great Depression. But yet his counsel is as appropriate for us as it was for them. Don’t forget, the Word was breathed alive by God Himself. Even though Paul didn’t know what might be happening in the U.S. (and global) economy in the year 2008 (I scarcely think Paul even believed there would be a year 2008), God knew. God knew we would be here. God would know how we got here. And God would grieve that we didn’t pay attention to so many important things He’s tried to teach us for generations — and that not just because the economy is messed up.

Right off the bat here in verse 8, Paul says something pretty big: “Don’t run up debts.” 

Don’t run up debts. He follows that with “Don’t always be wanting what you don’t have.” A lot of times, that’s why we end up running up the big debts, isn’t it? I know, sometimes it’s to pay basic bills when times are just plain tough. But often, too often, it’s because we got to wanting something we didn’t have (and couldn’t afford) so much that we went ahead and went into debt to get it.

He goes on to warn us about getting so caught up in our stuff that we lose track of God. He tells us of a huge urgency — “Be up and awake to what God is doing! …We can’t afford to waste a minute, must not squander these precious daylight hours in frivolity and indulgence…” The urgency to be awake to what God is doing and God is calling us to do gets lost in our indulgence. Cohen explains that indulgence is a thriving business even in the wake of global economic crisis because we have come to believe so deeply within us that we are defined by what we purchase and what we eat. “Tell me how you shop,” he says, “and I’ll tell you who you are.”

I checked the dictionary to make sure I knew what I was talking about when I used the word indulgence. I didn’t want anyone to be able to say to me, as Inigo would say to Vizzini, “I don’t think it means what you think it means.” Here’s what I found:

indulgence

noun

1. an inability to resist the gratification of whims and desires 

3. the act of indulging or gratifying a desire 

4. foolish or senseless behavior [syn: folly] 

 

Any one of those speaks directly to our seemingly endless ability to pursue the delight of ourselves into our absolute ruin. We can scorn guys like the VP of Indulgence, but the truth is that if we weren’t buying it, he wouldn’t be selling it. M&Ms would only pursue a ripe market. We ask to be treated this way by continuing to respond favorably to their advances.

As he usually does, Paul gives us an alternative. We don’t have to die pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to pursue self indulgence. We don’t have to rack up outrageous debt pleasing ourselves. We don’t have to go wanting all kinds of stuff we don’t have and don’t need.

He tells us to go ahead and run up one debt. And one debt alone: “the huge debt of love you owe each other.” This is a debt he’s good with. Because this is a debt not created by our inability to resist gratifying our own whims and desires. This is a debt created by our love for God and our love for one another. 

Why be defined by what we buy and what we eat? 

Why not be defined by how we love one another?

This would allow us the freedom to pursue the missing definition above. 

2. a disposition to yield to the wishes of someone

We could devote ourselves to yielding to others, submitting to others, loving others. Paul says that kind of debt, and that kind of indulgence, is a much better way.

::

 

 

indulgence. Dictionary.com. WordNet® 3.0. Princeton University. http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/indulgence (accessed: December 04, 2008).

2008/12/04 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment »

Things I Learned from the Layoffs

 

Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes; when they die, their projects die with them. Instead, get help from the God of Jacob, put your hope in God and know real blessing! God made sky and soil, sea and all the fish in it. He always does what he says —    he defends the wronged, he feeds the hungry. God frees prisoners — he gives sight to the blind, he lifts up the fallen. (Psalm 146:3-9a, MSG)
This picture was not actually in front of my office this week, but for some of my coworkers, this is what it may well have felt like.  
My employer, for the first time in its long and storied history, cut some positions this week. Laid people off. (Actually, the first thing I learned about the layoffs is that we don’t call them that. We eliminated positions. All a matter of semantics if you ask me, and if you were one who was eliminated, it still had to feel like you were voted off the island. I find layoffs to be a less clumsy term. And since I’m not in management, I’m going to take the liberty of using the word I prefer.) 
Some pretty crazy things happen when a whole bunch of people lose their jobs all at one time. It’s hard. No big fancy words for that. (Some may have thought of plenty, but I won’t use them here.)
It’s just hard.
Folks who get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They worry about paying their bills, feeding their kids, keeping their homes, affording insurance, keeping their pension. They wonder what they did wrong. They wonder how they couldn’t see it coming. They wonder what they do next. 
Folks who don’t get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They feel horrible for their friends and coworkers. They worry about what’s going to happen to them. They feel relieved that they survived the carnage. But then they feel selfish about that, guilty even, for having their job to go back to. But then, they don’t know how long they can trust that now.
Nothing like pulling the rug out from under folks to make the whole world feel like a pretty shaky place.
So over the past couple of weeks, waiting for the shoe to drop and then sitting and looking at it all busted apart on the floor, I’ve had a couple of overriding thoughts. The “things I learned from the layoffs.” Everybody has learned important stuff from the layoffs. I don’t know that this is necessarily any smarter than what everybody else has learned. But this is definitely one of those times for me where the Word — God’s love letter to us — and life really collide hard. They smack together with a huge crash and really make you sit up and take notice.
Before I say much more, I need to say this: I’m not going to comment on the company’s decision. Right decision, wrong decision. Good execution, bad execution. Doesn’t matter at this point for my purpose here. It’s done. And anything you read here is not intended to reflect bitterness or anger on my part, nor is it intended as a commentary on anyone’s reaction in particular. This is no more than a couple of pertinent observations about how we face life in the wake of very unexpected, very devastating circumstances, and really, that applies to all kinds of things that have nothing to do with jobs and cuts.
So here we go. Things I Learned From the Layoffs:
Lesson No. 1: Don’t Give Your Life to the Company
Now, when I say that, I don’t mean specifically to my company. I mean to any company. Businesses are businesses. They exist to earn profits. Unfortunately, very few businesses are in the business of taking care of employees. They take care of employees to the extent that it enables them to have the employees they need to be profitable. I don’t say that to slam companies and corporations. I say it simply because it’s true. Companies who focus solely on the needs and wishes of their employees cease to exist after a while, in which case they no longer have employees to be concerned with. 
And I think it’s fair to say that the converse is true most of the time. Not all, but most of the time. If an opportunity presented itself that offered something better — whether in pay, benefits, job description, satisfaction — the vast majority of people would leave their current employer. 
What I’m trying to say, and perhaps poorly, is this: No company deserves your life. They deserve your best effort for a solid day’s work. That’s the relationship that we have. I agree to do my job to the best of my ability day in and day out. The company agrees to pay me the salary and benefits they offered and I accepted. Once in a while we’re known to kick in a little extra effort. And once in a while, employers are known to give out a little extra. But as Jesus instructed His disciples, “the workman is worthy of his meat.” (Matthew 10:10 KJV) More simply, the worker is worth his wages. 
But to give my life to something that isn’t worthy of it sells us all short. My life belongs to my family. And most importantly, because I recognize my utter need for Him and His lordship over me, my life belongs to Jesus. While I’m grateful for my current job and past jobs I’ve had with a variety of organizations, some of which I’ve even really loved, I can’t see any one of them stacking up next to my family and my God. My life belongs to them and they are infinitely worthy of all of it.
A business, by its very nature self absorbed and committed first and foremost to itself, is not worthy of my life.
Lesson No. 2: Don’t Get Your Life From the Company
Way too often we look to our boss or our job or our company to provide us with things that they simply cannot. As I’ve said already, our relationship is limited. The company doesn’t owe me life any more than I owe mine to it. I owe the company my work effort. The company owes me my compensation. That’s it. No company can provide me with security, and when I look there for it, I will be woefully disappointed, as many of us have been in these past several days. My job, my boss, my company simply cannot bestow security or certainty or stability. It’s not their job and it’s not within the realm of their capability. 
Jobs cannot bestow life. They just can’t.
Here’s the thing. And this is the only thing I’m going to say today that really matters. There is only one sure thing. There is only one source of life. There is only one person in all the world that can give us everything we really need. Life, love, security. No, I have not been reading any new self-help books and so I’m not going to tell you that you’re the only one who can do that for yourself. I will not say “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” Trusting in ourselves for life and security makes about as much sense as trusting in an insurance company for those things. We just don’t have it.
There’s one source of life, only one, like it or not, and it’s my Father God. Listen to the words of Psalm 146 above: “Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.” Companies are run by . . . mere humans. But only God can provide the sure foundation when the rug gets pulled and when the walls start shaking. He’s the only one that not only knows what He’s doing but actually has the resources to come through. People and organizations, mere humans, sometimes make honest mistakes and sometimes honestly take advantage. Either way, they are destined to let us down. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.
But the Psalmist says we can put our hope in God. “He always does what he says.”
And what does He say He does? 
He defends the wronged.
He feeds the hungry.
He frees prisoners.
He gives sight to the blind.
He lifts up the fallen.
That’s a lot. But He can do it. He does do it. He will do it. He’s a sure thing.
Good lessons from the layoffs for me. God is worthy of my life. God is the only one who can give me life.
He’s worthy of my trust in every possible sense.
The last verse of Psalm 146 says it all for me. If I will just let it be so.
“God’s in charge — always. Zion’s God is God for good!”
::

 

Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes; when they die, their projects die with them. Instead, get help from the God of Jacob, put your hope in God and know real blessing! God made sky and soil, sea and all the fish in it. He always does what he says —    he defends the wronged, he feeds the hungry. God frees prisoners — he gives sight to the blind, he lifts up the fallen. (Psalm 146:3-9a, MSG)

not hiringThis picture was not actually in front of my office this week, but for some of my coworkers, this is what it may well have felt like.  

My employer, for the first time in its long and storied history, cut some positions this week. Laid people off. (Actually, the first thing I learned about the layoffs is that we don’t call them that. We eliminated positions. All a matter of semantics if you ask me, and if you were one who was eliminated, it still had to feel like you were voted off the island. I find layoffs to be a less clumsy term. And since I’m not in management, I’m going to take the liberty of using the word I prefer.) 

Some pretty crazy things happen when a whole bunch of people lose their jobs all at one time. It’s hard. No big fancy words for that. (Some may have thought of plenty, but I won’t use them here.)

It’s just hard.

Folks who get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They worry about paying their bills, feeding their kids, keeping their homes, affording insurance, keeping their pension. They wonder what they did wrong. They wonder how they couldn’t see it coming. They wonder what they do next. 

Folks who don’t get laid off are pretty shocked and devastated. They feel horrible for their friends and coworkers. They worry about what’s going to happen to them. They feel relieved that they survived the carnage. But then they feel selfish about that, guilty even, for having their job to go back to. But then, they don’t know how long they can trust that now.

Nothing like pulling the rug out from under folks to make the whole world feel like a pretty shaky place.

So over the past couple of weeks, waiting for the shoe to drop and then sitting and looking at it all busted apart on the floor, I’ve had a couple of overriding thoughts. The “things I learned from the layoffs.” Everybody has learned important stuff from the layoffs. I don’t know that this is necessarily any smarter than what everybody else has learned. But this is definitely one of those times for me where the Word — God’s love letter to us — and life really collide hard. They smack together with a huge crash and really make you sit up and take notice.

Before I say much more, I need to say this: I’m not going to comment on the company’s decision. Right decision, wrong decision. Good execution, bad execution. Doesn’t matter at this point for my purpose here. It’s done. And anything you read here is not intended to reflect bitterness or anger on my part, nor is it intended as a commentary on anyone’s reaction in particular. This is no more than a couple of pertinent observations about how we face life in the wake of very unexpected, very devastating circumstances, and really, that applies to all kinds of things that have nothing to do with jobs and cuts.

So here we go.

Things I Learned From the Layoffs:

Lesson No. 1: Don’t Give Your Life to the Company

Now, when I say that, I don’t mean specifically to my company. I mean to any company. Businesses are businesses. They exist to earn profits. Unfortunately, very few businesses are in the business of taking care of employees. They take care of employees to the extent that it enables them to have the employees they need to be profitable. I don’t say that to slam companies and corporations. I say it simply because it’s true. Companies who focus solely on the needs and wishes of their employees cease to exist after a while, in which case they no longer have employees to be concerned with. 

And I think it’s fair to say that the converse is true most of the time. Not all, but most of the time. If an opportunity presented itself that offered something better — whether in pay, benefits, job description, satisfaction — the vast majority of people would leave their current employer. 

What I’m trying to say, and perhaps poorly, is this: No company deserves your life. They deserve your best effort for a solid day’s work. That’s the relationship that we have. I agree to do my job to the best of my ability day in and day out. The company agrees to pay me the salary and benefits they offered and I accepted. Once in a while we’re known to kick in a little extra effort. And once in a while, employers are known to give out a little extra. But as Jesus instructed His disciples, “the workman is worthy of his meat.” (Matthew 10:10 KJV) More simply, the worker is worth his wages. 

But to give my life to something that isn’t worthy of it sells us all short. My life belongs to my family. And most importantly, because I recognize my utter need for Him and His lordship over me, my life belongs to Jesus. While I’m grateful for my current job and past jobs I’ve had with a variety of organizations, some of which I’ve even really loved, I can’t see any one of them stacking up next to my family and my God. My life belongs to them and they are infinitely worthy of all of it.

A business, by its very nature self absorbed and committed first and foremost to itself, is not worthy of my life.

Lesson No. 2: Don’t Get Your Life From the Company

Way too often we look to our boss or our job or our company to provide us with things that they simply cannot. As I’ve said already, our relationship is limited. The company doesn’t owe me life any more than I owe mine to it. I owe the company my work effort. The company owes me my compensation. That’s it. No company can provide me with security, and when I look there for it, I will be woefully disappointed, as many of us have been in these past several days. My job, my boss, my company simply cannot bestow security or certainty or stability. It’s not their job and it’s not within the realm of their capability. 

Jobs cannot bestow life. They just can’t.

Here’s the thing. And this is the only thing I’m going to say today that really matters. There is only one sure thing. There is only one source of life. There is only one person in all the world that can give us everything we really need. Life, love, security. No, I have not been reading any new self-help books and so I’m not going to tell you that you’re the only one who can do that for yourself. I will not say “we are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” Trusting in ourselves for life and security makes about as much sense as trusting in an insurance company for those things. We just don’t have it.

There’s one source of life, only one, like it or not, and it’s my Father God. Listen to the words of Psalm 146 above: “Don’t put your life in the hands of experts who know nothing of life, of salvation life. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.” Companies are run by . . . mere humans. But only God can provide the sure foundation when the rug gets pulled and when the walls start shaking. He’s the only one that not only knows what He’s doing but actually has the resources to come through. People and organizations, mere humans, sometimes make honest mistakes and sometimes honestly take advantage. Either way, they are destined to let us down. Mere humans don’t have what it takes.

But the Psalmist says we can put our hope in God. “He always does what he says.”

And what does He say He does? 

He defends the wronged.

He feeds the hungry.

He frees prisoners.

He gives sight to the blind.

He lifts up the fallen.

That’s a lot. But He can do it. He does do it. He will do it. He’s a sure thing.

Good lessons from the layoffs for me. God is worthy of my life. God is the only one who can give me life.

He’s worthy of my trust in every possible sense.

The last verse of Psalm 146 says it all for me. If I will just let it be so.

“God’s in charge — always. Zion’s God is God for good!”

::

2008/12/03 | Categories: Finding Life, Jobs, Work | Tags: , , , , | 1 Comment »

Fortunately, God Is Not Like Me

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ. (Ephesians 1:3-10)
When my kids are unappreciative of their dad’s efforts to help them see the upside of what they prefer to see as only unfavorable circumstances, they often deride him as one of those “optimists.” Those folks, as they say, who having had an arm severed by an angry (and hungry) crocodile would say something like “Unfortunately, an angry crocodile just ate my right arm . . . Fortunately, I am left handed.”
Let this serve as my contribution to the “Unfortunately . . . Fortunately” game. Unfortunately, Sanchez Is a Lot Like Me . . . Fortunately, God Is Not So Much Like Me. This is the good news angle produced by my reflection the other day on Sanchez-is-like-me.
It all started one day when someone said something to me about “my cat.” I replied that “Sanchez is not my cat. Sanchez is the cat that I permit to live at my house.” When I said it, there seemed to be a familiar ring to it that I just couldn’t place. But it came back to me the other day when she had belly crawled across the living room floor, stalking me. Once she reached the chair where I was sitting, she looked up at me with her pupils dilated almost bigger than her eyes, and kept twitching as she held herself back from a full frontal attack. I began to speak to her, telling her mean and hateful things, but in a kind and soothing voice. I realized in that moment (just before the bloodletting began) that what was so familiar was that it seems to me that I often view God and me like me and Sanchez. That I seem to think God views me the way I view this menace that is systematically taking over my home. (Think I’m kidding? She took a nap in the kitchen sink tonight.)
I sometimes fall into a seemingly bottomless pit of thinking that God sees me just like I see her. I don’t love Sanchez. I tolerate her. I abide her.
I don’t love her.
I did not one day announce my desire to have a cat and go to the animal shelter to choose her. I did not have my choice of everything in the heavens and the earth and choose her. I do not treasure her. I do not enjoy her fellowship. I do not delight in her.
But these things are all true of how the Father views me. (Well, minus the animal shelter part.)
When she had her first visit to the vet, we got some of her shots for free because we had taken in an orphan. We were foster parents. Even then, we had no intention of adopting her as our own. She was still a temporary boarder, an alien to whom we were providing sanctuary until her permanent home materialized. I put up with her, but I did not want her, did not love her, and did not wish to keep her around.
So here I am finding myself thinking that God often sees me the same way that I see Sanchez. He had a momentary lapse in judgment and He let me in before He realized what He was doing, and now He’s stuck. He puts up with me. He tolerates me. He has to; it’s in the covenant. But if He could find a loophole, He be through with me in a heartbeat. It’s as though He’s like me when I say “Sanchez is not my cat.”
This is often a daily, hourly struggle for me, to recognize on a continuous basis that this is simply not the truth. That the truth is that God would never say that I am not His child. He would never say that He does not love me but only endures me because He signed on to a covenant in a moment of weakness. God does not tolerate me. He loves me with an everlasting love, all the while that He sees the Sanchez-like sin in my life, the selfishness and unrepentance in my heart, He also pours out His love, through the riches of His grace. It was not in a moment of weakness that He chose me, but in a moment of outrageous love.
He does not permit me to stay in His home until He finds a suitable alternative for me. Listen to the words of Ephesians 1:  In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons (and daughters). Predestination doesn’t smack at all of a hasty decision made at the end of a long and stressful day.
He knew, before He lit up the stars and before He poured water into the sea, that He would choose us, and He would adopt us as His own. This wasn’t something He did when He was tired and not thinking clearly. He did it in accordance with His pleasure — it pleased Him to adopt us. It has yet to please me to care for Sanchez. But the Father made me His in His good pleasure.
I took in Sanchez out of obligation. He takes us in freely.
We give Sanchez the food and water she needs and we clean her litter box when we must. He gives us redemption through the blood of Jesus out of His riches, and He lavishes His grace on us.
He lavishes His grace on us. That’s an outpouring. Not a drizzle. Not a smidgen. Not the required amount. An outpouring that washes over us.
An outpouring of grace is a far cry from just putting up with me because He has to
So, fortunately, God is not so much like me. He doesn’t see me the way I see Sanchez.
The trick, I suppose, is to keep that contrast between being stuck with me and pouring out buckets of grace on me because He just loves to do it.
::

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will— to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment—to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ. (Ephesians 1:3-10)

When my kids are unappreciative of their dad’s efforts to help them see the upside of what they prefer to see as only unfavorable circumstances, they often deride him as one of those “optimists.” Those folks, as they say, who having had an arm severed by an angry (and hungry) crocodile would say something like “Unfortunately, an angry crocodile just ate my right arm . . . Fortunately, I am left handed.”

Let this serve as my contribution to the “Unfortunately . . . Fortunately” game.

Unfortunately, Sanchez Is a Lot Like Me . . . Fortunately, God Is Not So Much Like Me.

This is the good news angle produced by my reflection the other day on Sanchez-is-like-me.

::

It all started one day when someone said something to me about “my cat.” I replied that “Sanchez is not my cat. Sanchez is the cat that I permit to live at my house.”

When I said it, there seemed to be a familiar ring to it that I just couldn’t place. But it came back to me the other day when she had belly crawled across the living room floor, stalking me. Once she reached the chair where I was sitting, she looked up at me with her pupils dilated almost bigger than her eyes, and kept twitching as she held herself back from a full frontal attack.

I began to speak to her, telling her mean and hateful things, but in a kind and soothing voice. I realized in that moment (just before the bloodletting began) that what was so familiar was that it seems to me that I often view God and me like me and Sanchez.

That I seem to think God views me the way I view this menace that is systematically taking over my home. (Think I’m kidding? She took a nap in the kitchen sink tonight.)

I sometimes fall into a seemingly bottomless pit of thinking that God sees me just like I see her.

I don’t love Sanchez. I tolerate her. I abide her.

I don’t love her.

::

I did not one day announce my desire to have a cat and go to the animal shelter to choose her.

I did not have my choice of everything in the heavens and the earth and choose her. I do not treasure her.

I do not enjoy her fellowship.

I do not delight in her.

But these things are all true of how the Father views me. (Well, minus the animal shelter part.)

::

When she had her first visit to the vet, we got some of her shots for free because we had taken in an orphan. We were foster parents. Even then, we had no intention of adopting her as our own. She was still a temporary boarder, an alien to whom we were providing sanctuary until her permanent home materialized.

I put up with her, but I did not want her, did not love her, and did not wish to keep her around.

So here I am finding myself thinking that God often sees me the same way that I see Sanchez.

He had a momentary lapse in judgment and He let me in before He realized what He was doing, and now He’s stuck.

He puts up with me. He tolerates me.

He has to; it’s in the covenant.

But if He could find a loophole, He be through with me in a heartbeat.

It’s as though He’s like me when I say “Sanchez is not my cat.”

::

This is often a daily, hourly struggle for me, to recognize on a continuous basis that this is simply not the truth. That the truth is that God would never say that I am not His child. He would never say that He does not love me but only endures me because He signed on to a covenant in a moment of weakness.

God does not tolerate me.

He loves me with an everlasting love, all the while that He sees the Sanchez-like sin in my life, the selfishness and unrepentance in my heart, He also pours out His love, through the riches of His grace.

It was not in a moment of weakness that He chose me, but in a moment of outrageous love.

He does not permit me to stay in His home until He finds a suitable alternative for me. Listen to the words of Ephesians 1:  In love He predestined us to be adopted as His sons (and daughters).

Predestination doesn’t smack at all of a hasty decision made at the end of a long and stressful day.

He knew, before He lit up the stars and before He poured water into the sea, that He would choose us, and He would adopt us as His own.

This wasn’t something He did when He was tired and not thinking clearly. He did it in accordance with His pleasure — it pleased Him to adopt us.

It has yet to please me to care for Sanchez.

But the Father made me His in His good pleasure.

I took in Sanchez out of obligation.

He takes us in freely.

We give Sanchez the food and water she needs and we clean her litter box when we must.

He gives us redemption through the blood of Jesus out of His riches, and He lavishes His grace on us.

::

He lavishes His grace on us.

That’s an outpouring.

Not a drizzle. Not a smidgen. Not the required amount.

An outpouring that washes over us.

An outpouring of grace is a far cry from just putting up with me because He has to

So, fortunately, God is not so much like me. He doesn’t see me the way I see Sanchez.

The trick, I suppose, is to keep that contrast between being stuck with me and pouring out buckets of grace on me because He just loves to do it.

::

2008/12/02 | Categories: grace, Sanchez the cat | Tags: , , | 1 Comment »