I’m traveling this weekend for Grandpa’s 101st birthday. Thought this would be a great time for Isaac to put up his guest post. Isaac is an 8th grader who sometimes exhibits insight beyond his years. He’s starting to learn to see the way God speaks through the sometimes ordinary things of life. Encourage him and comment him up, would you please? — Lyla
::
Heyheyhey, it’s me, Isaac, you know, Lyla’s son? Of course you have no clue who I am. Well, She told me I could do a guest post, and well I guess that’s what I’m doing. I have nothing else to do anyway… it’s a friday night and I don’t have a girlfriend
.
:: <— heh heh, I’m taking after my mom already…
Last Christmas we (my mom, my little brother JP, and I) were in Minneapolis to visit relatives. The second (I think) day we were up there, my mom and I went to a theater to see the newly released movie Valkyrie. (Great movie.) Well, we got in there about 5 minutes before the movie and we got one of the last remaining seats. She turned to me and asked. “Is it alright if I sit with you?”
I looked around and jokingly told her, “Don’t worry, Mom, I don’t know anyone here,” so we sat down and waited for the movie to start.
Photo by Janusz Gawron
::
Well, I’ve gotten to thinking, is that the same way with Jesus? Him asking, “Can I shine through now?” and us answering the typical response, “Not now, there are people here I know, I don’t want them to know. I want to be ‘cool’,” and He goes back to waiting.
Mark 8:34-38 says:
Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? If anyone is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will be ashamed of him when he comes in his Father’s glory with the holy angels.”
::
Instead of brushing Him back, we should respond with, “Yes God, whatever you need me to do for (you may replace with because, but it sounds cooler with for) you know what the best thing to do is.”
::
So there’s my story, and my lesson, and even the :: between thoughts, so I guess this concludes my 15 minutes of fame that never was
.
::
I’m traveling this weekend for Grandpa’s 101st birthday. Thought this would be a great time for Isaac to put up his guest post. Isaac is an 8th grader who sometimes exhibits insight beyond his years. He’s starting to learn to see the way God speaks through the sometimes ordinary things of life. Encourage him and comment him up, would you please? — Lyla
::
Heyheyhey, it’s me, Isaac, you know, Lyla’s son? Of course you have no clue who I am. Well, She told me I could do a guest post, and well I guess that’s what I’m doing. I have nothing else to do anyway… it’s a friday night and I don’t have a girlfriend .
:: <— heh heh, I’m taking after my mom already…
Last Christmas we (my mom, my little brother JP, and I) were in Minneapolis to visit relatives. The second (I think) day we were up there, my mom and I went to a theater to see the newly released movie Valkyrie. (Great movie.) Well, we got in there about 5 minutes before the movie and we got one of the last remaining seats. She turned to me and asked. “Is it alright if I sit with you?”
I looked around and jokingly told her, “Don’t worry, Mom, I don’t know anyone here,” so we sat down and waited for the movie to start.
::
Well, I’ve gotten to thinking, is that the same way with Jesus? Him asking, “Can I shine through now?” and us answering the typical response, “Not now, there are people here I know, I don’t want them to know. I want to be ‘cool’,” and He goes back to waiting.
Mark 8:34-38 says:
Then he called the crowd to him along with his disciples and said: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me and for the gospel will save it. What good is it for a man to gain the whole world, yet forfeit his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? If anyone is ashamed of me and my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, the Son of Man will be ashamed of him when he comes in his Father’s glory with the holy angels.”
::
Instead of brushing Him back, we should respond with, “Yes God, whatever you need me to do for you know what the best thing to do is.”
::
So there’s my story, and my lesson, and even the :: between thoughts, so I guess this concludes my 15 minutes of fame that never was .
::
2009/02/28 | Categories: Finding Life, Guest Posts, My Kids | Tags: guest post, Sharing Life, Valkyrie | 1 Comment »
The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it. (Matthew 13:44)
::
Back when we were kids (I like it when I can sound so ancient, makes me feel like I might have something wise to say), having to do a color poster for a school project was absolute heaven to some, a death sentence to others. It meant painstakingly drawing out the design on tag board, lightly in pencil lest one erred and had to erase. Either endless cutting of shapes and letters from construction paper or drawing in magic marker and hoping not to go out of the lines or smear the ink. It took hours. If you messed it up, you started over.
And no matter what, unless it was that annoying girl who sat in the front row with her glasses and pigtails and little pleated skirt, the end result always looked just like a kindergartner made it.
Even in the tenth grade.
I had some debatable artistic ability. Enough to debate at least.
But my homework still turned out looking like a preschool project gone bad.
So despite how much fun I can have with technology, it always chafes me just a little when my kids come home with an assignment, spend five minutes on Google and ten minutes later upload a twenty minute Power Point presentation to a flash drive, complete with audio and animations.
::
Isaac finished one such project last night. He came to apologize for accidentally printing out two color copies of his poster to advertise his newly developed Utopian real estate. I took a look at the poster and chuckled. These are the times I like to have my side of the family take credit for him.
Along with palm trees and sunshine, the promise of blood, sweat and tears beckoned would be travelers to Kavat. And then I saw the promotional tagline.
“See the world. Learn valuable life skills. Possibly die.”
(If you look closely, you’ll also see the certain marks of the child of a casualty claim adjuster. There is a disclaimer for idiots, complete with exculpatory language for the hosts.)
::
I suppose a more normal parent might have been concerned that he was talking about death. Particularly in such a cavalier way. But I liked it.
I know he’s fourteen and the idea of death has not fully formed for him. And I know it was more his wicked sense of humor than giving serious attention to the weightier issues of life. But I liked it nonetheless.
I liked that when he offered a great life adventure, he recognized the risk that joins to it. Loss is a part of it. Death is a part of it.
If you’re going to on a big huge adventure, to see the world and live a full life, you might possibly die.
You might possibly lose a limb. You might possibly come to ruin.
You might possibly have to give up everything.
To get the one thing.
Not to get Utopia. We’ve all read enough Utopian novels to know they always end badly.
To get the one thing we all crave. The one thing we all yearn for.
The one adventure worth giving it all up for.
::
The treasure.
The pearl.
The Kingdom.
Might I consider possibly giving it all, or even just giving a little, to gain the pearl of great price? What are you afraid to give up to reach for what is truly treasure?
::
The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field. Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it. (Matthew 13:44)
Back when we were kids (I like it when I can sound so ancient, makes me feel like I might have something wise to say), having to do a color poster for a school project was absolute heaven to some, a death sentence to others. It meant painstakingly drawing out the design on tag board, lightly in pencil lest one erred and had to erase. Either endless cutting of shapes and letters from construction paper or drawing in magic marker and hoping not to go out of the lines or smear the ink. It took hours. If you messed it up, you started over.
And no matter what, unless it was that annoying girl who sat in the front row with her glasses and pigtails and little pleated skirt, the end result always looked just like a kindergartner made it.
Even in the tenth grade.
I had some debatable artistic ability. Enough to debate at least.
But my homework still turned out looking like a preschool project gone bad.
So despite how much fun I can have with technology, it always chafes me just a little when my kids come home with an assignment, spend five minutes on Google and ten minutes later upload a twenty minute Power Point presentation to a flash drive, complete with audio and animations.
::
Isaac finished one such project last night. He came to apologize for accidentally printing out two color copies of his poster to advertise his newly developed Utopian real estate. I took a look at the poster and chuckled. These are the times I like to have my side of the family take credit for him.
Along with palm trees and sunshine, the promise of blood, sweat and tears beckoned would be travelers to Kavat. And then I saw the promotional tagline.
“See the world. Learn valuable life skills. Possibly die.”
If you look closely, you'll also see the certain marks of the child of a casualty claim adjuster. There is a disclaimer for idiots, complete with exculpatory language for the hosts.
::
I suppose a more normal parent might have been concerned that he was talking about death. Particularly in such a cavalier way. But I liked it.
I know he’s fourteen and the idea of death has not fully formed for him. And I know it was more his wicked sense of humor than giving serious attention to the weightier issues of life. But I liked it nonetheless.
I liked that when he offered a great life adventure, he recognized the risk that joins to it. Loss is a part of it. Death is a part of it.
If you’re going to on a big huge adventure, to see the world and live a full life, you might possibly die.
You might possibly lose a limb. You might possibly come to ruin.
You might possibly have to give up everything.
To get the one thing.
Not to get Utopia. We’ve all read enough Utopian novels to know they always end badly.
To get the one thing we all crave. The one thing we all yearn for.
The one adventure worth giving it all up for.
::
The treasure.
The pearl.
The Kingdom.
Might I consider possibly giving it all, or even just giving a little, to gain the pearl of great price? What are you afraid to give up to reach for what is truly treasure?
::
2009/02/27 | Categories: Finding Life, My Kids | 1 Comment »
I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:11-13)
::
We have the same conversation countless times every day.
“How are you?” we ask.
“Fine, just fine” (or some variation), most will say.
The more exuberant among us might say something like, “If I were any better, I’d be a twin!”
The steady ones reply, “Can’t complain.”
And those with a tale to tell, but who aren’t sure you’re ready to hear it, simply say, “Oh, you wouldn’t want to know.”
::
I heard a new one early Sunday morning as I finished checking out at the convenience store.
I picked up my change from the counter and fumbled with the icy cold can of Mountain Dew (always from a can) and Mickey’s Mini Donuts. (Yes, I know, the dried out little crusts covered with chocolate colored wax are as gag-worthy as you say, but they remain a sad, strange part of my Sunday morning routine.) I was distracted, mentally walking through the various tasks I had yet to complete for my Sunday School class and to set up the worship graphics while I chided myself for once again failing to to be better prepared (also a part of my Sunday morning routine).
The cashier’s voice cut into my self-absorbed thoughts as she spoke to the woman waiting patiently for me to pick up my stuff and move. “How are you doing today?”
“Well, I think I’m getting used to it,” the woman said.
I’m getting used to it.
::
My first thought was, “What a defeated thing to say.” It sounded depressed, as though she were thinking, “I can’t make it better, so I may as well just get used to it. I’ve given up.”
She sounded distinctly like someone who had thrown in the towel.
But as I carried my dried up little donuts to the car, I thought about it a little more. And I changed my mind. I decided this was not a dejected response but rather, an admirable perspective.
I don’t know what was happening in this nice woman’s life. She didn’t offer enough detail to know whether there was a particular difficult circumstance she was learning to get used to, or if she was speaking more generally. But either way, it occurred to me, she was learning to be content with whatever it was.
(At least that’s what I chose to believe was going on. See, I’m telling the story here, and I get to make stuff up when it’s necessary to get where we’re trying to go. But I’ll always kind of tip you off just in case you can’t tell when we move into the making stuff up realm.)
::
Being content, no matter what.
Paul said he’d learned the secret of this contentedness thing. He’d experienced life on both ends of the spectrum.
Having, not having.
Comfort, suffering.
Freedom, prison.
Food, hunger.
He’d seen it all. He’d had it all.
And come flogging or shipwreck, he’d learned the secret of being content.
He’d learned the secret of “getting used to it.”
::
It was a secret. A lesser known thing. Yet he discovered it, and once knowing, he was free to go about life being “used to it.”
This secret, this key that he was not born with but had to learn just like us, was knowing not only that he could be content, but also how he could be content. There are those who would say to Paul, “That’s fine for you. You’re an apostle. That’s why they call you Apostle Paul. You met Jesus Himself on your way to Damascus. You will always get these things better than us.”
And to those folks, us folks, Paul would say, “You can be content. You can learn the secret. The secret is that we can do everything through Jesus, who gives us the strength to do all kinds of things we think are outrageous.”
::
Being content is not impossible. But neither is it something we muscle.
“Getting used to it” is something that we can do, if we let Him do it in us.
What are you getting used to these days? What do you need from Him to help you get used to it?
::
I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength. (Philippians 4:11-13)
We have the same conversation countless times every day.
“How are you?” we ask.
“Fine, just fine” (or some variation), most will say.
The more exuberant among us might say something like, “If I were any better, I’d be a twin!”
The steady ones reply, “Can’t complain.”
And those with a tale to tell, but who aren’t sure you’re ready to hear it, simply say, “Oh, you wouldn’t want to know.”
::
I heard a new one early Sunday morning as I finished checking out at the convenience store.
I picked up my change from the counter and fumbled with the icy cold can of Mountain Dew (always from a can) and Mickey’s Mini Donuts. (Yes, I know, the dried out little crusts covered with chocolate colored wax are as gag-worthy as you say, but they remain a sad, strange part of my Sunday morning routine.) I was distracted, mentally walking through the various tasks I had yet to complete for my Sunday School class and to set up the worship graphics while I chided myself for once again failing to to be better prepared (also a part of my Sunday morning routine).
The cashier’s voice cut into my self-absorbed thoughts as she spoke to the woman waiting patiently for me to pick up my stuff and move. “How are you doing today?”
“Well, I think I’m getting used to it,” the woman said.
I’m getting used to it.
::
My first thought was, “What a defeated thing to say.” It sounded depressed, as though she were thinking, “I can’t make it better, so I may as well just get used to it. I’ve given up.”
She sounded distinctly like someone who had thrown in the towel.
But as I carried my dried up little donuts to the car, I thought about it a little more. And I changed my mind. I decided this was not a dejected response but rather, an admirable perspective.
I don’t know what was happening in this nice woman’s life. She didn’t offer enough detail to know whether there was a particular difficult circumstance she was learning to get used to, or if she was speaking more generally. But either way, it occurred to me, she was learning to be content with whatever it was.
(At least that’s what I chose to believe was going on. See, I’m telling the story here, and I get to make stuff up when it’s necessary to get where we’re trying to go. But I’ll always kind of tip you off just in case you can’t tell when we move into the making stuff up realm.)
::
Being content, no matter what.
Paul said he’d learned the secret of this contentedness thing. He’d experienced life on both ends of the spectrum.
Having, not having.
Comfort, suffering.
Freedom, prison.
Food, hunger.
He’d seen it all. He’d had it all.
And come flogging or shipwreck, he’d learned the secret of being content.
He’d learned the secret of “getting used to it.”
::
It was a secret. A lesser known thing. Yet he discovered it, and once knowing, he was free to go about life being “used to it.”
This secret, this key that he was not born with but had to learn just like us, was knowing not only that he could be content, but also how he could be content. There are those who would say to Paul, “That’s fine for you. You’re an apostle. That’s why they call you Apostle Paul. You met Jesus Himself on your way to Damascus. You will always get these things better than us.”
And to those folks, us folks, Paul would say, “You can be content. You can learn the secret. The secret is that we can do everything through Jesus, who gives us the strength to do all kinds of things we think are outrageous.”
::
Being content is not impossible. But neither is it something we muscle.
“Getting used to it” is something that we can do, if we let Him do it in us.
What are you getting used to these days? What do you need from Him to help you get used to it?
::
2009/02/26 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: Contentedness | 1 Comment »
For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,”made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. (2 Corinthians 4:5-6)
::
“You think the only reason that I’m here is to clean your house.”
When Steven Baldwin’s wife Kennya suggested to her cleaning lady that she might try singing some songs that were not about Jesus, Augusta, the cleaning lady, responded with laughter. She was amused that her employer had so drastically missed the point of her presence in their home. And so, she said, “You think the only reason I’m here is to clean your house.”
She went on to tell the Baldwins of a vision she’d had that they would become born again Christians with their own ministry, just about the most outlandish thing anyone could have told them at that point in their lives.
But, it turned out to be exactly what happened.
::
A few weeks ago I posted a link here to I Am Second, an amazing collection of video testimonies of celebrities and ordinary folks, all changed by God. Steven Baldwin was one. I watched several of the clips, but did not watch Steven Baldwin’s until today, when a friend pointed out this great statement by the Baldwins’ housekeeper.
“You think the only reason that I’m here is to clean your house.”
::
This statement brought me up short today. I’m not so concerned that other people know why I’m here. But I find this is the very thing of which I must be reminded. To be sure that I know and remember why I’m here. I need to say this to me.
“You think you’re only here to adjust claims.”
It’s way more than that. When I think that, I need someone to laugh in my face, as the housekeeper did to Steven’s wife.
::
We fill all kinds of roles in our lives. I am a wife. A mother. A daughter. A sister. An employee. A church volunteer. A consumer. A friend.
I am a lot of things.
In all those roles, I must be reminded that there is something bigger than the role. Being a wife is not just about being a wife but about living out what God has dreamed about our marriage.
Being a mother is not just about making meals and doing laundry and handing out money and laying down rules and driving boys hither and yon. It’s about pouring my life into my kids as I do those things so they can see Jesus and follow Him.
Showing up for work isn’t just about doing my job and bringing home a paycheck. It is about letting God do what He wants through me in my workplace. Yes, as you know already, my friend Debbie used to say that being here at work isn’t so much about adjusting claims as it is about advancing the Kingdom.
::
She was right, you know.
It never really sunk in until she was gone. But she was so very right.
She could just as well have laughed in my face like the housekeeper and said, “You think you’re only here to adjust claims. You think you’re only here to send people checks. You think you’re only here to earn a living.”
We’re here for so much more.
::
For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus’ sake. For God, who said, “Let light shine out of darkness,”made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ. (2 Corinthians 4:5-6)
You think the only reason that I’m here is to clean your house.
When Steven Baldwin’s wife Kennya suggested to her cleaning lady that she might try singing some songs that were not about Jesus, Augusta, the cleaning lady, responded with laughter. She was amused that her employer had so drastically missed the point of her presence in their home. And so, she said, “You think the only reason I’m here is to clean your house.”
She went on to tell the Baldwins of a vision she’d had that they would become born again Christians with their own ministry, just about the most outlandish thing anyone could have told them at that point in their lives.
But, it turned out to be exactly what happened.
::
A few weeks ago I posted a link here to I Am Second, an amazing collection of video testimonies of celebrities and ordinary folks, all changed by God. Steven Baldwin was one. I watched several of the clips, but did not watch Steven Baldwin’s until today, when a friend pointed out this great statement by the Baldwins’ housekeeper.
You think the only reason that I’m here is to clean your house.
::
This statement brought me up short today. I’m not so concerned that other people know why I’m here. But I find this is the very thing of which I must be reminded. To be sure that I know and remember why I’m here. I need to say this to me.
You think you’re only here to adjust claims.
It’s way more than that. When I think that, I need someone to laugh in my face, as the housekeeper did to Steven’s wife.
::
We fill all kinds of roles in our lives. I am a wife. A mother. A daughter. A sister. An employee. A church volunteer. A consumer. A friend.
I am a lot of things.
In all those roles, I must be reminded that there is something bigger than the role. Being a wife is not just about being a wife but about living out what God has dreamed about our marriage.
Being a mother is not just about making meals and doing laundry and handing out money and laying down rules and driving boys hither and yon. It’s about pouring my life into my kids as I do those things so they can see Jesus and follow Him.
Showing up for work isn’t just about doing my job and bringing home a paycheck. It is about letting God do what He wants through me in my workplace. Yes, as you know already, my friend Debbie used to say that being here at work isn’t so much about adjusting claims as it is about advancing the Kingdom.
::
She was right, you know.
It never really sunk in until she was gone. But she was so very right.
She could just as well have laughed in my face like the housekeeper and said, You think you’re only here to adjust claims. You think you’re only here to send people checks. You think you’re only here to earn a living.
We’re here for so much more.
::
2009/02/24 | Categories: Finding Life | Tags: Debbie, Finding Life, I Am Second, purpose, Sharing Life, Steven Baldwin | 1 Comment »
The islanders showed us unusual kindness. They built a fire and welcomed us all because it was raining and cold. (Acts 28:2)
::
I spent yesterday in a little school tucked away in the farm land of west central Minnesota. If you’ve done the weekend basketball tournament circuit, you know that occupying yourself between games can stretch your creative muster. Now, living in a small town myself, I’m not poking fun, just stating facts. There’s no point in leaving the building, as there’s nowhere to go save for a convenience store or two. And they get a little uncomfortable if you spend too much time wandering the aisles.
So after partaking of as much concession stand food as one dares, the next best option is meandering through the halls. I find I enjoy this, seeing what’s going on in the classrooms. I’d pretty well worn out my options last weekend. I’d walked everywhere I could in the school building, read all the names on the trophies and plaques and discovered what letter of the alphabet the kindergartners were learning. Then I looked up, maybe wondering if God might share some new vision to occupy me until the next game. Some enterprising art teacher had taken the center row of panels from the suspended ceiling, hauled them to the art room, and had the students paint them. They were amazing. Some were funny, some were beautiful, and some were kind of a mess. But there, running down the center of the hallway ceiling, was a wonderful display of artistic wonder.
Yesterday in the lull I wondered what I’d find. I’d had my hotdog and a very tasty bar of some sort with chocolate and peanut butter (two very vital parts of any good diet). I stood and watched the folks trying out the Wii fitness check. And then began my tour to learn what the students were learning.
::
I helped my mom with the dishes.
I told Nick he was going to trip.
I helped Mike with homework.
I complimented Kara on her hair.
I gave Katie a sucker she was craving.
I taught Sunday School.
I sat by Sophie at lunch.
I loaned Alex a pencil.
I threw away Adam’s trash.
I loaned Justin a pencil.
I told Becky she’s beautiful.
I learned that the students at this school were learning to be kind on purpose. They were learning to intentionally carry out acts of kindness. Towards their friends, family members, teachers, even total strangers. They’d done all kinds of kind little things and then posted them all over a bulletin board in the lunchroom.
There must have been a few hundred acts of kindness memorialized on this board.
::
A group of islanders surprised Paul with their kindness when the prison ship he on which he was traveling broke apart in a storm. The passengers and prisoners made it to shore where they were welcomed by the residents of the island, who made them a fire to help them get warm and dry.
They were kind, in a surprising sort of way. They went out of their way to be kind on purpose. They didn’t pass up the opportunity to show a little kindness.
::
The kids in the school weren’t building houses or running food drives or finding cures for horrible diseases. They were doing small things, but kind things, throughout their day.
Making a difference in someone’s day.
Now I wonder how many opportunities I have during the day to do kind things, helpful things, for another. And I wonder how often I either act on them or pass them up.
And how about you? Would you have a chance this week to show someone a little kindness?
Get out there and do something, and then tell us here in the comments. What did you do? No need to leap tall buildings or stop a runaway train. Just do something nice for somebody. If you folks will cooperate with me on this I’m working on a way to match your kindness myself.
So put me on the spot.
See how kind you can make me be.
What kind of kind thing (or things) did you do?
::
The islanders showed us unusual kindness. They built a fire and welcomed us all because it was raining and cold. (Acts 28:2)
I spent yesterday in a little school tucked away in the farm land of west central Minnesota. If you’ve done the weekend basketball tournament circuit, you know that occupying yourself between games can stretch your creative muster. Now, living in a small town myself, I’m not poking fun, just stating facts. There’s no point in leaving the building, as there’s nowhere to go save for a convenience store or two. And they get a little uncomfortable if you spend too much time wandering the aisles.
So after partaking of as much concession stand food as one dares, the next best option is meandering through the halls. I find I enjoy this, seeing what’s going on in the classrooms. I’d pretty well worn out my options last weekend. I’d walked everywhere I could in the school building, read all the names on the trophies and plaques and discovered what letter of the alphabet the kindergartners were learning. Then I looked up, maybe wondering if God might share some new vision to occupy me until the next game. Some enterprising art teacher had taken the center row of panels from the suspended ceiling, hauled them to the art room, and had the students paint them. They were amazing. Some were funny, some were beautiful, and some were kind of a mess. But there, running down the center of the hallway ceiling, was a wonderful display of artistic wonder.
Yesterday in the lull I wondered what I’d find. I’d had my hotdog and a very tasty bar of some sort with chocolate and peanut butter (two very vital parts of any good diet). I stood and watched the folks trying out the Wii fitness check. And then began my tour to learn what the students were learning.
::
I helped my mom with the dishes.
I told Nick he was going to trip.
I helped Mike with homework.
I complimented Kara on her hair.
I gave Katie a sucker she was craving.
I taught Sunday School.
I sat by Sophie at lunch.
I loaned Alex a pencil.
I threw away Adam’s trash.
I loaned Justin a pencil.
I told Becky she’s beautiful.
I learned that the students at this school were learning to be kind on purpose. They were learning to intentionally carry out acts of kindness. Towards their friends, family members, teachers, even total strangers. They’d done all kinds of kind little things and then posted them all over a bulletin board in the lunchroom.
There must have been a few hundred acts of kindness memorialized on this board.
::
A group of islanders surprised Paul with their kindness when the prison ship he on which he was traveling broke apart in a storm. The passengers and prisoners made it to shore where they were welcomed by the residents of the island, who made them a fire to help them get warm and dry.
They were kind, in a surprising sort of way. They went out of their way to be kind on purpose. They didn’t pass up the opportunity to show a little kindness.
::
The kids in the school weren’t building houses or running food drives or finding cures for horrible diseases. They were doing small things, but kind things, throughout their day.
Making a difference in someone’s day.
Now I wonder how many opportunities I have during the day to do kind things, helpful things, for another. And I wonder how often I either act on them or pass them up.
And how about you? Would you have a chance this week to show someone a little kindness?
Get out there and do something, and then tell us here in the comments. What did you do? No need to leap tall buildings or stop a runaway train. Just do something nice for somebody. If you folks will cooperate with me on this I’m working on a way to match your kindness myself.
So put me on the spot.
See how kind you can make me be.
What kind of kind thing (or things) did you do?
::
2009/02/22 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: Kindness | Leave A Comment »
In God I trust; I will not be afraid;
What can man do to me? (Psalm 56:11)
::
I’m reminded of one of the reasons I don’t see a lot of television lately. It’s mostly because it sucks me in and all of a sudden I realize that I’ve just given away a half hour . . . or an hour . . . or more that I just can’t get back. And it’s given me nothing to show for it.
The tv is on in the background now, weaseling my attention away. I’ve just seen two completely unrelated incidents of people losing their heads.
Literally.
Sort of.
::
The first instance was an episode of Punked. A guy got on a bus and his head fell off into his hands. But it was ok. He put it back on his shoulders and staggered to the back of the bus. Where his head fell off again. When the bus finally stopped, a whole bunch of people ran screaming from the bus.
Somehow, his fellow passengers couldn’t get their heads around the idea that real heads don’t fall off and still permit folks to walk around holding them.
Talk about losing your head.
Then, a few moments later, a commercial came on for a headache reliever. To demonstrate how much her head hurt, the lady in the ad ripped her head off (not in a bloody way, just as though tearing paper). And then she stood in the produce aisle casually holding a torn off picture of her head telling us how she was affected by light and sound.
All the while, a torn hole in the video gaped at the viewer reminding us that her head was missing.
People keep losing their heads.
And they make it look so easy.
Almost commonplace.
::
I don’t think it’s supposed to be like that. I think we’re supposed to keep our heads.
Paul told Timothy that God didn’t give him a spirit of fear, but one of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). And here the psalmist reminds us that man is powerless to do us real harm. Nor can anything else for that matter.
Does it mean nothing bad ever happens?
Hardly.
I’m pretty sure we’ve all see enough of life to know better. Bad things happen. But God stays with us no matter what. With Him, we can persevere. We can hold on. We can keep our heads.
Stuff happens.
But it’s no reason to lose our heads.
::
In God I trust; I will not be afraid;
What can man do to me? (Psalm 56:11)
I’m reminded of one of the reasons I don’t see a lot of television lately. It’s mostly because it sucks me in and all of a sudden I realize that I’ve just given away a half hour . . . or an hour . . . or more that I just can’t get back. And it’s given me nothing to show for it.
The tv is on in the background now, weaseling my attention away. I’ve just seen two completely unrelated incidents of people losing their heads.
Literally.
Sort of.
::
The first instance was an episode of Punk’d. A guy got on a bus and his head fell off into his hands. But it was ok. He put it back on his shoulders and staggered to the back of the bus. Where his head fell off again. When the bus finally stopped, a whole bunch of people ran screaming from the bus.
Somehow, his fellow passengers couldn’t get their heads around the idea that real heads don’t fall off and still permit folks to walk around holding them.
Talk about losing your head.
Then, a few moments later, a commercial came on for a headache reliever. To demonstrate how much her head hurt, the lady in the ad ripped her head off (not in a bloody way, just as though tearing paper). And then she stood in the produce aisle casually holding a torn off picture of her head telling us how she was affected by light and sound.
All the while, a torn hole in the video gaped at the viewer reminding us that her head was missing.
People keep losing their heads.
And they make it look so easy.
Almost commonplace.
::
I don’t think it’s supposed to be like that. I think we’re supposed to keep our heads.
Paul told Timothy that God didn’t give him a spirit of fear, but one of a sound mind (2 Timothy 1:7). And here the psalmist reminds us that man is powerless to do us real harm. Nor can anything else for that matter.
Does it mean nothing bad ever happens?
Hardly.
I’m pretty sure we’ve all see enough of life to know better. Bad things happen. But God stays with us no matter what. With Him, we can persevere. We can hold on. We can keep our heads.
Stuff happens.
But it’s no reason to lose our heads.
::
2009/02/20 | Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: Fear, Trust | 1 Comment »
Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates. (Deuteronomy 6:4-9)
::
I looked around my cluttered workstation yesterday and realized that my cubicle is jam packed full of reminders. Reminders of things great and small, personal and work related, sacred and otherwise. Take a look at what I found:
C.S. Lewis reminds me that admitting a mistake is going forward, not going backwards.
My Google Reader reminds me that I have some good reading yet to do.
The verse of the day reminds me of God’s truth.
A daily Calvin and Hobbes cartoon reminds me that playing and imagining is very, very important. And that a good laugh never really hurt anybody, unless they have a fractured rib.
The verse across the top of my left monitor reminds me that “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21) If I forget that one day, I am nothing.
The To-Do list on my iGoogle homepage reminds me of things I haven’t done yet.
The yellow Post-It reminds me of information I need to ask from people because Medicare requirements are pretty wacky.
A note buried under some other notes reminds me to “ruthlessly eliminate hurry.” Funny how it got buried, probably in a rush one day.
The verse across my right monitor reminds me that “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” (Romans 12:18) With all the conflict in my daily work, this is so important for me to see all the time.
My calendar reminds me of when there are holidays.
This prayer from Ephesians 1 reminds me specific things to pray during the day for a friend: that Jesus might help her know Him better and know the hope to which she has been called, the riches of His glorious inheritance and His incomparably great power. How can you go wrong praying that for someone?
My Outlook calendar reminds me every hour to go check for new claims. You’d think a claim handler would know to do that. You’d be surprised what I don’t know.
This quote from Heaven’s Wager reminds me of how much I like to read Ted Dekker. Like I have to be reminded of this.
This little bottle reminds me that the world is a germy place. And sanitized hands are happy hands.
A Reese’s peanut butter cup reminds me that I don’t need one. As long as I can have one, what fun is it?
This John Ortberg quote reminds me that “Life counts” so I remember act like it does.
A daily quote from Albert Einstein reminds me that even guys with crazy hair can say some brilliant things.
A quote from John Lynch’s True Faced reminds me that “agreeing I’ve done something wrong is not the same as trusting God with what I’ve done.”
The program from my friend’s funeral reminds me of all the things she used to tell me about the meaning of my work. Things that God wants me to believe. And it reminds me of how much I miss her on the other side of my cubicle wall. Next to that, where I forgot to draw an arrow, is a picture of a cane. It reminds me to pray for a friend with a serious and sometimes debilitating illness.
This list pinned on my wall reminds me of the statute of limitations for various types of claims in the states I handle claims. You’d think I’d know these by now.
Another yellow Post-It just has a simple little word: Raca. It reminds me to bite my tongue when I’d rather say something unkind. (Read more about that here.)
These pink notes from a Mother’s Day gone by remind me that my kids like me sometimes.
A note from Argentine friends reminds me to seek after what God wants.
A photo reminds me to pray for my missionary friends in North Africa.
Eye drops and pain relievers remind me that sometimes my eyes get really dry and my head hurts.
These pictures remind me of how much I love my family and miss them during the day.
A Bible on my desk reminds me God’s Word is foundational. For everything.
A bunch of fancy certificates reminds me that I’ve read a lot of books. And taken a lot of exams. And probably am a bona fide insurance geek.
A little card reminds me of my company’s goals.
My kids’ basketball schedules remind me of how busy they are but also how blessed they are to have their health and abilities.
The red and white target JP made for me reminds me of where I should place my head when I need to bang it on the wall.
Books full of policy forms remind me of the terms of our contracts.
A thermometer reminds me that it’s not really as cold as it feels in my cubicle.
::
A person could get lost in all those reminders. And some of them don’t work that well. Sometimes they get lost too. Take Raca for example. That little note doesn’t do the best job of keeping me from saying obnoxious things when I finish a frustrating phone call.
But others are very effective. When I see them, I take note. I can’t look at my kids’ pictures without smiling.
I can’t see the cane without praying.
And I can’t look at Debbie’s picture without missing her.
::
Being reminded is getting to be a big deal for me. I am looking purposefully for ways to be reminded throughout the day, throughout my comings and goings, of who God is and why I’m here. Just like God told the Israelites in Deuteronomy, I have to be intentionally reminded or I will lose track of these things.
Even though there is nothing more important.
It’s still, sadly, easy to forget. It’s easy to get lost.
::
A couple of weeks ago, I started to give myself a different kind of reminder. One I couldn’t overlook. One that doesn’t get lost in the clutter of a thousand papers pinned up on the wall.
It’s almost like a wake up call.
Every morning at 9:00, my phone buzzes, just like a phone call or email or text coming in. I rarely ignore my phone.
This message is there just to remind me of who God is and why I’m here.
“Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”
At other times during the day, a different verse pops up to help ground me.
::
Last Friday started badly and got progressively worse. Without boring you with a lot of details, let me assure you that neither my office nor my cubicle were good places to be. By mid-morning, I’m sure my blood pressure was as high as it ever is for me. I was in new claims up to my knees, with the phone ringing continually, I couldn’t see beyond piles of mail that seemed higher than me, and I’d just learned that the cafeteria had forgotten to make “Friday Bars,” a gooey mess I count on every Friday for breakfast.
And then it was 9:00.
My phone buzzed. I growled. I didn’t want to read any emails. I had no time to be dealing with outside issues.
I reluctantly took the phone anyway and lit it up. There it was.
God sent me a reminder. My morning reminder.
So I took a deep breath. And I relaxed.
I talked to Him a while.
I remembered who He is.
And I remembered why I’m here.
::
Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates. (Deuteronomy 6:4-9)
I looked around my cluttered workstation yesterday and realized that my cubicle is jam packed full of reminders. Reminders of things great and small, personal and work related, sacred and otherwise. Take a look at what I found:
C.S. Lewis reminds me that admitting a mistake is going forward, not going backwards.- My Google Reader reminds me that I have some good reading yet to do.
- The verse of the day reminds me of God’s truth.
- A daily Calvin and Hobbes cartoon reminds me that playing and imagining is very, very important. And that a good laugh never really hurt anybody, unless they have a fractured rib.
- The verse across the top of my left monitor reminds me that “God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21) If I forget that one day, I am nothing.
- The To-Do list on my iGoogle homepage reminds me of things I haven’t done yet.
- The yellow Post-It reminds me of information I need to ask from people because Medicare requirements are pretty wacky.
- A note buried under some other notes reminds me to “ruthlessly eliminate hurry.” Funny how it got buried, probably in a rush one day.
- The verse across my right monitor reminds me that “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” (Romans 12:18) With all the conflict in my daily work, this is so important for me to see all the time.
- My calendar reminds me of when there are holidays.
- This prayer from Ephesians 1 reminds me specific things to pray during the day for a friend: that Jesus might help her know Him better and know the hope to which she has been called, the riches of His glorious inheritance and His incomparably great power. How can you go wrong praying that for someone?
- My Outlook calendar reminds me every hour to go check for new claims. You’d think a claim handler would know to do that. You’d be surprised what I don’t know.
- This quote from Heaven’s Wager reminds me of how much I like to read Ted Dekker. Like I have to be reminded of this.
- This little bottle reminds me that the world is a germy place. And sanitized hands are happy hands.
- A Reese’s peanut butter cup reminds me that I don’t need one. As long as I can have one, what fun is it?
- This John Ortberg quote reminds me that “Life counts” so I remember act like it does.
- A daily quote from Albert Einstein reminds me that even guys with crazy hair can say some brilliant things.
- A quote from John Lynch’s True Faced reminds me that “agreeing I’ve done something wrong is not the same as trusting God with what I’ve done.”
- The program from my friend’s funeral reminds me of all the things she used to tell me about the meaning of my work. Things that God wants me to believe. And it reminds me of how much I miss her on the other side of my cubicle wall. Next to that, where I forgot to draw an arrow, is a picture of a cane. It reminds me to pray for a friend with a serious and sometimes debilitating illness.
- This list pinned on my wall reminds me of the statute of limitations for various types of claims in the states I handle claims. You’d think I’d know these by now.
- Another yellow Post-It just has a simple little word: Raca. It reminds me to bite my tongue when I’d rather say something unkind. (Read more about that here.)
- These pink notes from a Mother’s Day gone by remind me that my kids like me sometimes.
- A note from Argentine friends reminds me to seek after what God wants.
- A photo reminds me to pray for my missionary friends in North Africa.
- Eye drops and pain relievers remind me that sometimes my eyes get really dry and my head hurts.
- These pictures remind me of how much I love my family and miss them during the day.
- A Bible on my desk reminds me God’s Word is foundational. For everything.
- A bunch of fancy certificates reminds me that I’ve read a lot of books. And taken a lot of exams. And probably am a bona fide insurance geek.
- A little card reminds me of my company’s goals.
- My kids’ basketball schedules remind me of how busy they are but also how blessed they are to have their health and abilities.
- The red and white target JP made for me reminds me of where I should place my head when I need to bang it on the wall.
- Books full of policy forms remind me of the terms of our contracts.
- A thermometer reminds me that it’s not really as cold as it feels in my cubicle.
::
A person could get lost in all those reminders. And some of them don’t work that well. Sometimes they get lost too. Take Raca for example. That little note doesn’t do the best job of keeping me from saying obnoxious things when I finish a frustrating phone call.
But others are very effective. When I see them, I take note. I can’t look at my kids’ pictures without smiling.
I can’t see the cane without praying.
And I can’t look at Debbie’s picture without missing her.
::
Being reminded is getting to be a big deal for me. I am looking purposefully for ways to be reminded throughout the day, throughout my comings and goings, of who God is and why I’m here. Just like God told the Israelites in Deuteronomy, I have to be intentionally reminded or I will lose track of these things.
Even though there is nothing more important.
It’s still, sadly, easy to forget. It’s easy to get lost.
::
A couple of weeks ago, I started to give myself a different kind of reminder. One I couldn’t overlook. One that doesn’t get lost in the clutter of a thousand papers pinned up on the wall.
It’s almost like a wake up call.
Every morning at 9:00, my phone buzzes, just like a phone call or email or text coming in. I rarely ignore my phone.
This message is there just to remind me of who God is and why I’m here.
“Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God, the LORD is one. Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”
At other times during the day, a different verse pops up to help ground me.
::
Last Friday started badly and got progressively worse. Without boring you with a lot of details, let me assure you that neither my office nor my cubicle were good places to be. By mid-morning, I’m sure my blood pressure was as high as it ever is for me. I was in new claims up to my knees, with the phone ringing continually, I couldn’t see beyond piles of mail that seemed higher than me, and I’d just learned that the cafeteria had forgotten to make “Friday Bars,” a gooey mess I count on every Friday for breakfast.
And then it was 9:00.
My phone buzzed. I growled. I didn’t want to read any emails. I had no time to be dealing with outside issues.
I reluctantly took the phone anyway and lit it up. There it was.
God sent me a reminder. My morning reminder.
So I took a deep breath. And I relaxed.
I talked to Him a while.
I remembered who He is.
And I remembered why I’m here.
::
2009/02/17 | Categories: Reminders | Tags: purpose, Reminders | 1 Comment »
When times are good, be happy;
but when times are bad, consider:
God has made the one
as well as the other.
Therefore, a man cannot discover
anything about his future. (Ecclesiastes 7:14)
::
Calvin and Hobbes cartoons have always had me rolling on the floor. Recently I discovered a website listing Calvin and Hobbes quotes. The cartoons aren’t there, just the quotes. It’s like reading through philosophy class. The Calvin conversations stand up remarkably well even without the little characters nearby.
I ran across this one which seemed to fit well with the verse of the day that popped up on my iGoogle homepage yesterday. Calvin’s dad said, “The world isn’t fair, Calvin.”
Calvin replied, “I know. But why isn’t it ever unfair in my favor?”
::
Seems we know that life isn’t fair. We tell people that, especially our kids, all the time. We even believe it ourselves sometimes.
But isn’t there a little Calvin in us too? We wonder why we can’t be on the other end of the unfairness just once in a while.
In his endless – and seemingly fruitless – quest for meaning, Solomon came to the conclusion that there would be good times and there would be bad times. So he encouraged us to make the most of the good times, but keep in mind that the bad times would come as well. Life is made up of both. The Message translation puts it this way: “On a good day, enjoy yourself; on a bad day, examine your conscience. God arranges for both kinds of days so that we won’t take anything for granted.”
Centuries later, Paul encouraged the believers at Philippi to be content no matter the circumstance, whether life seemed fair or unfair. He told them, “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)
::
If you’re like me, fairness or unfairness isn’t the biggest question. What tears us apart instead is just wanting to understand it.
Wanting to make sure the uncertain.
Wanting to nail down Jell-O.
Solomon has a word for us on that as well. Try as we might, we just won’t get it. We won’t figure it out. We weren’t meant to. The New American Standard Bible finishes that verse this way, “so that man will not discover anything that will be after him.”
I figure God already knows that the more I think I comprehend, the less I sense my need to trust.
::
Life’s not fair.
And sometimes we just won’t understand.
I’m learning to live with this.
::
When times are good, be happy;
but when times are bad, consider:
God has made the one
as well as the other.
Therefore, a man cannot discover
anything about his future. (Ecclesiastes 7:14)
Calvin and Hobbes cartoons have always had me rolling on the floor. Recently I discovered a website listing Calvin and Hobbes quotes. The cartoons aren’t there, just the quotes. It’s like reading through philosophy class. The Calvin conversations stand up remarkably well even without the little characters nearby.
I ran across this one which seemed to fit well with the verse of the day that popped up on my iGoogle homepage yesterday. Calvin’s dad said, “The world isn’t fair, Calvin.”
Calvin replied, “I know. But why isn’t it ever unfair in my favor?”
::
Seems we know that life isn’t fair. We tell people that, especially our kids, all the time. We even believe it ourselves sometimes.
But isn’t there a little Calvin in us too? We wonder why we can’t be on the other end of the unfairness just once in a while.
In his endless – and seemingly fruitless – quest for meaning, Solomon came to the conclusion that there would be good times and there would be bad times. So he encouraged us to make the most of the good times, but keep in mind that the bad times would come as well. Life is made up of both. The Message translation puts it this way: “On a good day, enjoy yourself; on a bad day, examine your conscience. God arranges for both kinds of days so that we won’t take anything for granted.”
Centuries later, Paul encouraged the believers at Philippi to be content no matter the circumstance, whether life seemed fair or unfair. He told them, “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Philippians 4:12)
::
If you’re like me, fairness or unfairness isn’t the biggest question. What tears us apart instead is just wanting to understand it.
Wanting to make sure the uncertain.
Wanting to nail down Jell-O.
Solomon has a word for us on that as well. Try as we might, we just won’t get it. We won’t figure it out. We weren’t meant to. The New American Standard Bible finishes that verse this way, “so that man will not discover anything that will be after him.”
I figure God already knows that the more I think I comprehend, the less I sense my need to trust.
::
Life’s not fair.
And sometimes we just won’t understand.
I’m learning to live with this.
::
2009/02/12 | Categories: Jesus is Enough | Tags: Calvin and Hobbes, Contentedness, Trust | 1 Comment »
That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. (2 Corinthians 12:10)
I spend a lot of time on bleachers. My kids’ basketball season started in October, right after football season. It’ll run until sometime in July, overlapping baseball and golf and ending . . . just in time for football. My heroes play on the sixth and eighth grade teams, while their dad coaches the seventh graders. Having an extra team in between grants me an unexpected privilege this year.
I have new hero on the seventh grade team.
Number 41.
:: (more…)
2009/02/10 | Categories: My Kids | Tags: basketball, Courage, hardship | 1 Comment »
Joshua said to the two men who had spied out the land, “Go into the prostitute’s house and bring her out and all who belong to her, in accordance with your oath to her.” So the young men who had done the spying went in and brought out Rahab, her father and mother and brothers and all who belonged to her. They brought out her entire family and put them in a place outside the camp of Israel.
Then they burned the whole city and everything in it, but they put the silver and gold and the articles of bronze and iron into the treasury of the LORD’s house. But Joshua spared Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, because she hid the men Joshua had sent as spies to Jericho—and she lives among the Israelites to this day. (Joshua 6:22-25)
::
Rahab was nobody special.
Not the way we like to look at folks anyway.
She was your run of the mill Jericho prostitute, selling what she had just to make ends meet. In those days, girls like her must have been a dime a dozen. Nobody special.
She had a pretty busy life. A working girl in the days when girls didn’t usually hold down jobs. Still, she kept up with current events as best as she was able. At least well enough to have heard the amazing – and terrifying – tales of the destruction of those who opposed the advancing ragtag people of Israel. Seemed that everywhere they went, nations were laid waste. Nothing that stood in their way ever stood for very long.
Imagine her fright when two of these Hebrew fellows showed up at her door. Surely they weren’t there for what men usually stopped for. What were they doing? What did they want?
Why did they have to come to her house?
::
Word travels fast in a walled-in city. They no sooner arrived when the king heard there were spies. And he heard they were at the prostitute’s house. So he sent his men to retrieve them.
The prostitute lied. Rahab told the soldiers they’d been there but had since fled. Even though they were hiding under the stalks on her rooftop as they spoke.
She suddenly appears even less special than we thought. She was not only a prostitute but a liar too.
What kind of girl was this?
::
Rahab and the Hebrew spies struck a deal. She saw what was coming. She knew Jericho would be the next target. She knew they’d all be destroyed.
But she was a survivor. She wouldn’t accept that.
The lying prostitute may not have been well educated. But she had the street smarts it took to keep her alive. She’d seen enough to know that the Hebrews were no ordinary folks. They had a God working on their side. A God that had turned them all to mush in their fear. Rahab knew that this God of theirs was the one true God.
“When we heard of it, our hearts melted and everyone’s courage failed because of you, for the LORD your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below,” she said (Joshua 2:11-12).
She knew she’d seen the One at work.
The only One.
Why else would she risk her life for two guys she didn’t know? Guys that weren’t even there to do business.
::
They agreed to spare her and her family, provided she held her end of the deal. And that she hung a scarlet cord in her window. Without that cord, she was as good as dead.
So when the walls came down, Joshua remembered her. He sent his guys into the city to rescue her first. Before the army destroyed the rest of the city.
She hung the scarlet cord in her window.
And she was spared.
::
She was nobody special. A common prostitute and liar.
But she had the scarlet cord.
The scarlet cord that meant the difference between living and dying.
Salvation and destruction.
Life hung in the balance while the cord hung in the window.
::
Of course, Rahab wasn’t saved by a scarlet cord.
The cord was the sign, nothing more. It was the way they could know who she was. Like the blood over the doorframes for the Hebrews, it pointed her out.
“Over here! She’s the one. The one who’s been spared. I can see the cord!”
Rahab’s faith was such that she was counted among those in the writer of Hebrews’ “Hall of Faith.” The faith of this nobody special, this lying prostitute, put her in the company of the likes of Abraham. Moses. Joseph.
The cord was a sign of that faith in the one true God.
::
I’m looking for those kinds of signs.
Signs, markers, posts, stones.
A cord.
Ways to remind me of Who God is. What we’re here for. Tangible reminders. They might seem contrived. But I’m looking lately for ways to put up the signs and markers.
So I can remember all day long.
I’m not a common prostitute like Rahab. But I’m just like her. Nobody special. Going on with life doing my own kind of sin when God stepped in and gave me the chance to put my faith in Him.
Gave me the chance to be rescued from certain destruction.
::
I have a scarlet cord now. Well, not quite scarlet. That’s kind of bright for me. But from the family of red anyway. JP helped me make it this afternoon so I can wear it on my wrist (carrying a window is just not practical).
(You get a little shout-out for Voice of the Martyrs campaign to pray for China too.)
::
I’ll wear it to remember that He’s the one true God.
The one that spared me.
::
Joshua said to the two men who had spied out the land, “Go into the prostitute’s house and bring her out and all who belong to her, in accordance with your oath to her.” So the young men who had done the spying went in and brought out Rahab, her father and mother and brothers and all who belonged to her. They brought out her entire family and put them in a place outside the camp of Israel.
Then they burned the whole city and everything in it, but they put the silver and gold and the articles of bronze and iron into the treasury of the LORD’s house. But Joshua spared Rahab the prostitute, with her family and all who belonged to her, because she hid the men Joshua had sent as spies to Jericho—and she lives among the Israelites to this day. (Joshua 6:22-25)
Rahab was nobody special.
Not the way we like to look at folks anyway.
She was your run of the mill Jericho prostitute, selling what she had just to make ends meet. In those days, girls like her must have been a dime a dozen. Nobody special.
She had a pretty busy life. A working girl in the days when girls didn’t usually hold down jobs. Still, she kept up with current events as best as she was able. At least well enough to have heard the amazing – and terrifying – tales of the destruction of those who opposed the advancing ragtag people of Israel. Seemed that everywhere they went, nations were laid waste. Nothing that stood in their way ever stood for very long.
Imagine her fright when two of these Hebrew fellows showed up at her door. Surely they weren’t there for what men usually stopped for. What were they doing? What did they want?
Why did they have to come to her house?
::
Word travels fast in a walled-in city. They no sooner arrived when the king heard there were spies. And he heard they were at the prostitute’s house. So he sent his men to retrieve them.
The prostitute lied. Rahab told the soldiers they’d been there but had since fled. Even though they were hiding under the stalks on her rooftop as they spoke.
She suddenly appears even less special than we thought. She was not only a prostitute but a liar too.
What kind of girl was this?
::
Rahab and the Hebrew spies struck a deal. She saw what was coming. She knew Jericho would be the next target. She knew they’d all be destroyed.
But she was a survivor. She wouldn’t accept that.
The lying prostitute may not have been well educated. But she had the street smarts it took to keep her alive. She’d seen enough to know that the Hebrews were no ordinary folks. They had a God working on their side. A God that had turned them all to mush in their fear. Rahab knew that this God of theirs was the one true God.
“When we heard of it, our hearts melted and everyone’s courage failed because of you, for the LORD your God is God in heaven above and on the earth below,” she said (Joshua 2:11-12).
She knew she’d seen the One at work.
The only One.
Why else would she risk her life for two guys she didn’t know? Guys that weren’t even there to do business.
::
They agreed to spare her and her family, provided she held her end of the deal. And that she hung a scarlet cord in her window. Without that cord, she was as good as dead.
So when the walls came down, Joshua remembered her. He sent his guys into the city to rescue her first. Before the army destroyed the rest of the city.
She hung the scarlet cord in her window.
And she was spared.
::
She was nobody special. A common prostitute and liar.
But she had the scarlet cord.
The scarlet cord that meant the difference between living and dying.
Salvation and destruction.
Life hung in the balance while the cord hung in the window.
::
Of course, Rahab wasn’t saved by a scarlet cord.
The cord was the sign, nothing more. It was the way they could know who she was. Like the blood over the doorframes for the Hebrews, it pointed her out.
“Over here! She’s the one. The one who’s been spared. I can see the cord!”
Rahab’s faith was such that she was counted among those in the writer of Hebrews’ “Hall of Faith.” The faith of this nobody special, this lying prostitute, put her in the company of the likes of Abraham. Moses. Joseph.
The cord was a sign of that faith in the one true God.
::
A shout out for Voice of the Martyr's campaign to pray for China during the Olympics. Another reminder.
I’m looking for those kinds of signs.
Signs, markers, posts, stones.
A cord.
Ways to remind me of Who God is. What we’re here for. Tangible reminders. They might seem contrived. But I’m looking lately for ways to put up the signs and markers.
So I can remember all day long.
I’m not a common prostitute like Rahab. But I’m just like her. Nobody special. Going on with life doing my own kind of sin when God stepped in and gave me the chance to put my faith in Him.
Gave me the chance to be rescued from certain destruction.
::
I have a scarlet cord now. Well, not quite scarlet. That’s kind of bright for me. But from the family of red anyway. JP helped me make it this afternoon so I can wear it on my wrist (carrying a window is just not practical).
I’ll wear it to remember that He’s the one true God.
The one that spared me.
::
2009/02/05 | Categories: Finding Life, Reminders | Tags: Finding Life, Rahab, Reminders | 1 Comment »
Suddenly, GOD, your light floods my path,
GOD drives out the darkness.
I smash the bands of marauders,
I vault the high fences.
What a God! His road
stretches straight and smooth.
Every GOD-direction is road-tested.
Everyone who runs toward him
Makes it. (2 Samuel 22:29-31, The Message)
::
I work in a local landmark.
Here on the South Dakota prairie you can see for miles and miles and miles without standing on your tip toes. In an almost startling way, a seven story building rises against the horizon in the middle of nowhere. A virtual skyscraper in a humble farming town of 3,500.
A traveler approaching from any direction sees the tower, stretching out to the sky, a beacon by day and night.
And the lights never go out.
Well, almost never.
::
I start work before daylight. A week ago when I pulled into the lot, it seemed darker than usual. Instead of the dreamy midnight blue that surrounds me most mornings, it was thick black. It took a moment before I realized there wasn’t a flicker of light anywhere.
(Memo to my company: The week following the announcement of significant job cuts is not a good time to lose power to your building.)
The lights had gone out.
Baby, it was dark.
::
A few of us wandering outside in the dark and cold finally ventured inside to find out what was happening. The doors were unlocked and there were already a few brave souls inside the building.
(Memo to self: Consider the half-baked wisdom of entering a vacant, dark building not knowing how long the security system has been inactive.)
A couple of folks were trying to figure out why the power was out and the generator was not working. A few others were trying to figure out how long it would be and whether it was worth the trip back home. And some, to my amusement (and admiration) were in their cubicles, diligently trying to match incoming mail with open files.
In the dark.
By the light of a cell phone.
::
Before I turned around to go home I did walk down the long row of blackened matchbox workstations and around the corner to my own. I hung just a bit toward the far wall, a safe distance from what now just seemed to be cold, square caves with spiky shadows and hunched shapes in every stack of paperwork. It seemed a wise precaution, just in case some unknown person or being lunged out unexpectedly.
I knew no such thing would happen, but who wants to be caught unprepared?
Oddly, I had no difficulty marching straight to my desk, though there was no clearly lit path. I couldn’t see my way. And there was really nothing to hold to grope my way there.
I just walked it.
Straight in.
::
I thought about that today as a friend and I visited over lunch. We talked about the uncertainty of the future. Our circumstances are different, but we both face some crazy uncertainty in the days, months, even years to come.
Don’t we all?
We talked about the assurance that God has a plan. And that God is good.
But just what does He mean by good? Will it be the same as what I mean by good? We’ve seen Him work His plan before, and though we could both see such clear examples of His unexpected workings in our lives, so far beyond our wildest imaginations, we wouldn’t trade what He’s done for anything in the world. Though we may have questioned Him at times, we’ve could agree that we’d come to see that what He’d done was good. Good by anyone’s definition.
But it took trusting Him to lead in some dark places.
::
I found my way effortlessly to my workstation in the pitch black because I’ve walked that way so many times before. I know how many cubicles stack up down the row. I know where the doorways stand. I even know where the cabinets jut out so I didn’t smack right into them.
Because every day, I walk that same way.
Only I walk that way in the light.
::
Walking that way daily, in the light, prepared me to walk that way one day in the dark.
Who God is didn’t change a few weeks ago because somebody flipped off the lights in my otherwise bright and secure future. God didn’t stop being good because I can’t see my hand in front of my face at the moment.
Things sure look different when the lights go out. But spending time with Him, at His feet, knowing Him deeply while it’s still light gives me what I need to trust Him to show me the way.
Even when the way is dark.
::
Suddenly, GOD, your light floods my path,
GOD drives out the darkness.
I smash the bands of marauders,
I vault the high fences.
What a God! His road
stretches straight and smooth.
Every GOD-direction is road-tested.
Everyone who runs toward him
Makes it. (2 Samuel 22:29-31, The Message)
I work in a local landmark.
Here on the South Dakota prairie you can see for miles and miles and miles without standing on your tip toes. In an almost startling way, a seven story building rises against the horizon in the middle of nowhere. A virtual skyscraper in a humble farming town of 3,500.
A traveler approaching from any direction sees the tower, stretching out to the sky, a beacon by day and night.
And the lights never go out.
Well, almost never.
::
I start work before daylight. A week ago when I pulled into the lot, it seemed darker than usual. Instead of the dreamy midnight blue that surrounds me most mornings, it was thick black. It took a moment before I realized there wasn’t a flicker of light anywhere.
(Memo to my company: The week following the announcement of significant job cuts is not a good time to lose power to your building.)
The lights had gone out.
Baby, it was dark.
::
A few of us wandering outside in the dark and cold finally ventured inside to find out what was happening. The doors were unlocked and there were already a few brave souls inside the building.
(Memo to self: Consider the half-baked wisdom of entering a vacant, dark building not knowing how long the security system has been inactive.)
A couple of folks were trying to figure out why the power was out and the generator was not working. A few others were trying to figure out how long it would be and whether it was worth the trip back home. And some, to my amusement (and admiration) were in their cubicles, diligently trying to match incoming mail with open files.
In the dark.
By the light of a cell phone.
::
Before I turned around to go home I did walk down the long row of blackened matchbox workstations and around the corner to my own. I hung just a bit toward the far wall, a safe distance from what now just seemed to be cold, square caves with spiky shadows and hunched shapes in every stack of paperwork. It seemed a wise precaution, just in case some unknown person or being lunged out unexpectedly.
I knew no such thing would happen, but who wants to be caught unprepared?
Oddly, I had no difficulty marching straight to my desk, though there was no clearly lit path. I couldn’t see my way. And there was really nothing to hold to grope my way there.
I just walked it.
Straight in.
::
I thought about that today as a friend and I visited over lunch. We talked about the uncertainty of the future. Our circumstances are different, but we both face some crazy uncertainty in the days, months, even years to come.
Don’t we all?
We talked about the assurance that God has a plan. And that God is good.
But just what does He mean by good? Will it be the same as what I mean by good? We’ve seen Him work His plan before, and though we could both see such clear examples of His unexpected workings in our lives, so far beyond our wildest imaginations, we wouldn’t trade what He’s done for anything in the world. Though we may have questioned Him at times, we’ve could agree that we’d come to see that what He’d done was good. Good by anyone’s definition.
But it took trusting Him to lead in some dark places.
::
I found my way effortlessly to my workstation in the pitch black because I’ve walked that way so many times before. I know how many cubicles stack up down the row. I know where the doorways stand. I even know where the cabinets jut out so I didn’t smack right into them.
Because every day, I walk that same way.
Only I walk that way in the light.
::
Walking that way daily, in the light, prepared me to walk that way one day in the dark.
Who God is didn’t change a few weeks ago because somebody flipped off the lights in my otherwise bright and secure future. God didn’t stop being good because I can’t see my hand in front of my face at the moment.
Things sure look different when the lights go out. But spending time with Him, at His feet, knowing Him deeply while it’s still light gives me what I need to trust Him to show me the way.
Even when the way is dark.
::
2009/02/04 | Categories: Belief & Doubt, Work | Tags: dark, Faith, light, power outage, Trust, Work | Leave A Comment »
“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies;
and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord,” she told him, “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.”
::
“Take away the stone,” he said.
“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”
Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:21-27, 39-40)
::
And you thought we were done with Lazarus. I did too. Except that it seems to always be true that each time I look at the Word, I see something I didn’t see there before. (If you missed them the first time around, check out the meanderings through John 11 and Learning from Lazarus here. In particular, for today, this one is most helpful.)
::
A few weeks ago my friend Chris and I were having a discussion offline about the ongoing tension between belief and unbelief. It spilled over into an interesting look at Jesus’ encounter with Martha in the painful and twisted time between her brother’s death and his miraculous resurrection. Let’s be clear from the get-go here, I’m going to be reading some between the lines of the text and imagining some things about Martha that aren’t there in black and white. But when we’re done, you tell me if you don’t just think we may have been on to something.
We’ve already looked at these two portions of the chapter before. But look at them again. Martha professes her belief in Jesus, in His power, in the resurrection. She knows Jesus could have saved her brother from earthly death, and she recognizes He will raise him again in the last day.
We talked before about how Jesus wanted her to understand that He was the resurrection and the life, right now. “I am . . .” not “I will be . . .” And this is where it starts to get a little dicey for Martha.
Jesus asks her, “Do you believe this?”
And she replies, “Yes Lord.”
She says that she believes. She explains what she believes. She sincerely believes that she believes.
That’s what I believe. But did she really believe the “right here, right now” part?
I’m not so sure.
::
Just a short while later, as they stand together outside the tomb, remember that Jesus asks that the stone be removed. And Martha’s not so sure that’s a good idea.
“But Lord,” she protests, stifling a gag. “By this time there is a bad odor, for he has been in there for four days.”
No way does she want that tomb opened up. She wants her brother back. And she says believes Jesus is the resurrection and can restore her brother. But don’t open the tomb for heaven’s sake. There’s a stinky dead guy in there.
Her reaction reveals to me a hint of disbelief.
Why open the tomb for no good reason? It’s just going to stink.
And he’s still going to be dead.
::
Chris and I were talking about Philippians 3. Specifically this: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.” And we wondered aloud how we get a glimpse of that right here, right now. Exactly HOW?
That’s how we got back to Martha. For this is what Jesus was telling her too. And she too must have wondered, HOW? She didn’t get the HOW part, and that compromised her ability to believe what He was telling her. Enough that even though she just acknowledged out loud her belief in Him as the right here, right now Resurrection, she didn’t think there was any point in opening the tomb.
Do you remember what we know about Martha from other gospel accounts? One day Jesus went to Martha and Mary’s home, and while Mary sat at the feet of her Lord and friend, Martha busied herself with the preparations. And when she had fretted at these things enough, she came to Jesus and insisted that He send Mary to help her. Martha was a diligent servant, so faithful. So conscientious. So meticulous. Martha was all about the details. So much so that she missed what was going on at the moment. Jesus had to remind her that she needn’t be upset about so many things but that only one thing, in that moment, was really important.
The thing that Mary was doing.
::
Now go back to Martha, standing with her Lord at the tomb of her brother. Martha was at a loss without the details, and the preparation, and the plan. Her need to understand and grasp these things blocked her belief that Jesus really meant that He would raise Lazarus right here, right now.
Contrast that with Mary. So relational, Mary. Even at this time of her brother’s death. Martha was out running around, no doubt taking care of the preparations. She had to send for Mary back at the house when Jesus arrived.
What was Mary doing? What Mary always did. Mary was with her friends. Mary was being relational.
Mary was not helping Martha.
::
What we wondered was what it would have looked like if Jesus had the same conversation with Mary that He did with Martha. Would Mary have grasped more readily that He truly meant right here, right now? I am Resurrection? It’s imagination on my part, but I choose to think she would have.
Here’s a little piece of our back-and-forth on this, for a peek into my head you may not have wanted. I’ve edited slightly from the original for clarity and spelling:
Me: Mary seemed to have a sense, an understanding, a spirit that allowed her to really connect with Jesus. Even though she too chewed Him out when He showed up late, I think that she would have really understood when He said that I am Resurrection right now.
Chris: Probably due to her key-in on relationships, especially with Jesus. I mean, she sat, and sat and SAT at his feet. Didn’t do the dishes . . .
Me: The whole difference between the two made a huge difference in what they saw in Jesus, wanted from Jesus, got from Jesus. That’s not to say that Martha was all wrong. We have to have people that are competent . . . if everybody sat around being relational like Mary, nothing would ever get done. (And of course, that slap at Mary comes from one who would be among the competent – I’m no Martha when it comes to hospitality, but I think the model remains the same – organization, plans, etc.) But somehow or other, the ones who focus on “competent” also need to find a way to sit at His feet and be ok with it and relish it. Without working the list and the plan over in their minds. Drat it all.
::
So where does this all lead? For me, it leads away from a need to know details, three-step plans, and organizing God into utter impotence. It leads to the need to sit at His feet. To relish the time with Him. To just know Him, enjoy Him, bask in the warmth and light that is Him.
Not to have to know everything. And control everything.
Because my faith comes from knowing Him. The disbelief, or the contradiction between what I say I believe and I act like I believe, is overcome as I choose to live consistent with the truth.
Also known as obedience.
::
As I believe Him, I can obey freely. As I obey, my belief is deepened.
They have to be woven together.
And sitting at His feet would go a long way toward weaving that cord.
::
“Lord,” Martha said to Jesus, “if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.”
Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.”
Martha answered, “I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”
Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”
“Yes, Lord,” she told him, “I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.”
“Take away the stone,” he said.
“But, Lord,” said Martha, the sister of the dead man, “by this time there is a bad odor, for he has been there four days.”
Then Jesus said, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” (John 11:21-27, 39-40)
And you thought we were done with Lazarus. I did too. Except that it seems to always be true that each time I look at the Word, I see something I didn’t see there before. (If you missed them the first time around, check out the meanderings through John 11 and Learning from Lazarus here. In particular, for today, this one is most helpful.)
::
A few weeks ago my friend Chris and I were having a discussion offline about the ongoing tension between belief and unbelief. It spilled over into an interesting look at Jesus’ encounter with Martha in the painful and twisted time between her brother’s death and his miraculous resurrection. Let’s be clear from the get-go here, I’m going to be reading some between the lines of the text and imagining some things about Martha that aren’t there in black and white. But when we’re done, you tell me if you don’t just think we may have been on to something.
We’ve already looked at these two portions of the chapter before. But look at them again. Martha professes her belief in Jesus, in His power, in the resurrection. She knows Jesus could have saved her brother from earthly death, and she recognizes He will raise him again in the last day.
We talked before about how Jesus wanted her to understand that He was the resurrection and the life, right now. “I am . . .” not “I will be . . .” And this is where it starts to get a little dicey for Martha.
Jesus asks her, “Do you believe this?”
And she replies, “Yes Lord.”
She says that she believes. She explains what she believes. She sincerely believes that she believes.
That’s what I believe. But did she really believe the “right here, right now” part?
I’m not so sure.
::
Just a short while later, as they stand together outside the tomb, remember that Jesus asks that the stone be removed. And Martha’s not so sure that’s a good idea.
“But Lord,” she protests, stifling a gag. “By this time there is a bad odor, for he has been in there for four days.”
No way does she want that tomb opened up. She wants her brother back. And she says believes Jesus is the resurrection and can restore her brother. But don’t open the tomb for heaven’s sake. There’s a stinky dead guy in there.
Her reaction reveals to me a hint of disbelief.
Why open the tomb for no good reason? It’s just going to stink.
And he’s still going to be dead.
::
Chris and I were talking about Philippians 3. Specifically this: “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.” And we wondered aloud how we get a glimpse of that right here, right now. Exactly HOW?
That’s how we got back to Martha. For this is what Jesus was telling her too. And she too must have wondered, HOW? She didn’t get the HOW part, and that compromised her ability to believe what He was telling her. Enough that even though she just acknowledged out loud her belief in Him as the right here, right now Resurrection, she didn’t think there was any point in opening the tomb.
Do you remember what we know about Martha from other gospel accounts? One day Jesus went to Martha and Mary’s home, and while Mary sat at the feet of her Lord and friend, Martha busied herself with the preparations. And when she had fretted at these things enough, she came to Jesus and insisted that He send Mary to help her. Martha was a diligent servant, so faithful. So conscientious. So meticulous. Martha was all about the details. So much so that she missed what was going on at the moment. Jesus had to remind her that she needn’t be upset about so many things but that only one thing, in that moment, was really important.
The thing that Mary was doing.
::
Now go back to Martha, standing with her Lord at the tomb of her brother. Martha was at a loss without the details, and the preparation, and the plan. Her need to understand and grasp these things blocked her belief that Jesus really meant that He would raise Lazarus right here, right now.
Contrast that with Mary. So relational, Mary. Even at this time of her brother’s death. Martha was out running around, no doubt taking care of the preparations. She had to send for Mary back at the house when Jesus arrived.
What was Mary doing? What Mary always did. Mary was with her friends. Mary was being relational.
Mary was not helping Martha.
::
What we wondered was what it would have looked like if Jesus had the same conversation with Mary that He did with Martha. Would Mary have grasped more readily that He truly meant right here, right now? I am Resurrection? It’s imagination on my part, but I choose to think she would have.
Here’s a little piece of our back-and-forth on this, for a peek into my head you may not have wanted. I’ve edited slightly from the original for clarity and spelling:
Me: Mary seemed to have a sense, an understanding, a spirit that allowed her to really connect with Jesus. Even though she too chewed Him out when He showed up late, I think that she would have really understood when He said that I am Resurrection right now.
Chris: Probably due to her key-in on relationships, especially with Jesus. I mean, she sat, and sat and SAT at his feet. Didn’t do the dishes . . .
Me: The whole difference between the two made a huge difference in what they saw in Jesus, wanted from Jesus, got from Jesus. That’s not to say that Martha was all wrong. We have to have people that are competent . . . if everybody sat around being relational like Mary, nothing would ever get done. (And of course, that slap at Mary comes from one who would be among the competent – I’m no Martha when it comes to hospitality, but I think the model remains the same – organization, plans, etc.) But somehow or other, the ones who focus on “competent” also need to find a way to sit at His feet and be ok with it and relish it. Without working the list and the plan over in their minds. Drat it all.
::
So where does this all lead? For me, it leads away from a need to know details, three-step plans, and organizing God into utter impotence. It leads to the need to sit at His feet. To relish the time with Him. To just know Him, enjoy Him, bask in the warmth and light that is Him.
Not to have to know everything. And control everything.
Because my faith comes from knowing Him. The disbelief, or the contradiction between what I say I believe and I act like I believe, is overcome as I choose to live consistent with the truth.
Also known as obedience.
::
As I believe Him, I can obey freely. As I obey, my belief is deepened.
They have to be woven together.
And sitting at His feet would go a long way toward weaving that cord.
::
2009/02/03 | Categories: Belief & Doubt | Tags: belief, doubt, Lazarus, Obedience | 1 Comment »
When his time of service was completed, he returned home. (Luke 1:23)
::
Back to a Christmas verse. Whatever the reason, this verse stayed in my mind throughout the Advent season and now. I pondered Zechariah, serving in the temple on his rotation with the other priests. While there, he learned his wife would bear him a son, though barren these many years. He doubted the angel’s words.
God moved in him and around him.
And struck him dumb.
The angel gave him a time out.
::
And then, what? He completed his work and he went home.
Where, though not by choice, he no doubt spent some long time in the quiet. In the solitude. In the place where he could only speak clearly and freely with the Father. For though his mouth could not utter a word, surely his heart could.
And so he completed his work and he went home.
He had his time out.
::
This week, I intended to follow the path of Zechariah. Since well before Advent, I waited for my time out. I worked, diligently, to complete my work. And I yearned to return home for a long needed time of solitude and rest.
Forces within and without conspired to thwart the plan.
Power outages.
Job cuts.
Storms.
Holidays.
Phone calls.
Emails.
Obligations.
Mail.
Illnesses.
Mistakes.
Distractions.
Locked buildings.
Lost keys.
All my diligent efforts to complete my work felt like slogging through mud, never reaching the end. How could I justify a vacation with so much work left to do?
My shoulders slumped in defeat as my time out slipped through my fingers.
::
Today, my work is not complete. Even so, I reclaimed my time out. At 8:00 this morning, having completed what I could, I set my email to “Out of Office.” I turned off the computer at my desk, tidied the piles of unworked mail, and bid farewell to my coworkers who were just coming in to start the week.
I had not fully completed my time of service, but I did return home. I declared the start of my time out.
A week of solitude and reflection. A week to read and study. A week to drink my morning latte from my stay-at-home mug instead of the traveler.
A week to enjoy the Father’s company.
A week of Sabbath rest.
And yes, perhaps, somewhere in this week, a moment to clean the bathroom.
::
I could not fully follow the path of Zechariah, for his work was done and mine is so very not. But the more important, more compelling part of his journey, I gladly follow starting this morning.
The time out.
::
When his time of service was completed, he returned home. (Luke 1:23)
Back to a Christmas verse. Whatever the reason, this verse stayed in my mind throughout the Advent season and now. I pondered Zechariah, serving in the temple on his rotation with the other priests. While there, he learned his wife would bear him a son, though barren these many years. He doubted the angel’s words.
God moved in him and around him.
And struck him dumb.
The angel gave him a time out.
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And then, what? He completed his work and he went home.
Where, though not by choice, he no doubt spent some long time in the quiet. In the solitude. In the place where he could only speak clearly and freely with the Father. For though his mouth could not utter a word, surely his heart could.
And so he completed his work and he went home.
He had his time out.
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This week, I intended to follow the path of Zechariah. Since well before Advent, I waited for my time out. I worked, diligently, to complete my work. And I yearned to return home for a long needed time of solitude and rest.
Forces within and without conspired to thwart the plan.
Power outages.
Job cuts.
Storms.
Holidays.
Phone calls.
Emails.
Obligations.
Mail.
Illnesses.
Mistakes.
Distractions.
Locked buildings.
Lost keys.
Fires.
All my diligent efforts to complete my work felt like slogging through mud, never reaching the end. How could I justify a vacation with so much work left to do?
My shoulders slumped in defeat as my time out slipped through my fingers.
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Today, my work is not complete. Even so, I reclaimed my time out. At 8:00 this morning, having completed what I could, I set my email to “Out of Office.” I turned off the computer at my desk, tidied the piles of unworked mail, and bid farewell to my coworkers who were just coming in to start the week.
I had not fully completed my time of service, but I did return home. I declared the start of my time out.
A week of solitude and reflection. A week to read and study. A week to drink my morning latte from my stay-at-home mug instead of the traveler.
A week to enjoy the Father’s company.
A week of Sabbath rest.
And yes, perhaps, somewhere in this week, a moment to clean the bathroom.
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I could not fully follow the path of Zechariah, for his work was done and mine is so very not. But the more important, more compelling part of his journey, I gladly follow starting this morning.
The time out.
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2009/02/02 | Categories: Work | Tags: Rest, Work, Zechariah | 1 Comment »
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