When Treasure Holds Us
i.
He greeted me at the door, cell phone to his ear, and motioned me in before walking off to finish his business. I wound my way around boxes that crammed the entry, layers of dust telling me they’d been there for years, untouched.
I squeezed past the kneeler, thinking it awkward there in a room meant for storage. A cloud swirled up from the floor as I slipped through to the dining room, and I wondered if I looked like that Peanuts character. (more…)
Shortening God’s Arm
Indulge me another repost? I’m regrouping a bit. Some of these from the archives have much more to say than I do at the moment.
::
Just how long is Your arm, Father? How long is long enough for me?
The question formed as I knelt beside a queen bed in a hotel squeezed between Iowa cornfields. I rose early and lingered there before joining the growing crowd of family in the breakfast nook downstairs. I flipped through thin pages looking for Isaiah 59, wanting just one thing. I felt hungrier for the sustaining words of this one short verse than for an AmericInn breakfast no matter what the ads say. (more…)
When Treasure Holds Us
i.
He greeted me at the door, cell phone to his ear, and motioned me in before walking off to finish his business. I wound my way around boxes that crammed the entry, layers of dust telling me they’d been there for years, untouched.
I squeezed past the kneeler, thinking it awkward there in a room meant for storage. A cloud swirled up from the floor as I slipped through to the dining room, and I wondered if I looked like that Peanuts character. (more…)
When the Blind See, the Seeing . . . Don’t
John 9:8-9
We walked the seven blocks from campus to the house with her hand resting lightly on my forearm. We said little as the snow began to cover the sidewalk. Me, still young and so oppositional* and she, always provoking — we’d learned it was just better that we stay quiet on our walks home and save the spirited discussions for later when the coffee brewed and buttery popovers, well, popped over in the oven.
I spoke only when needed.
Curb.
Stopping.
Ice. Move right with me.
Crossing left.
Calvin’s (and Hobbes) Guide to Sin and Confession
The day Bill Watterson hung up his Calvin-drawing pencil was a sad one. I still get my daily Calvin and Hobbes on my Google homepage and he still makes me laugh as hard as he ever did.
Once upon a time I had another blog that about 2.37 of you knew about. I posted this piece on Calvin’s Guide to Sin and Confession there last year in honor of John Calvin’s 500th birthday. The air has been pretty heavy around these parts lately and I thought this might be a good way to lighten it up a little.
::
Medicate or Mourn?
I called my dentist and asked him if he could meet me at his office. He was kind enough to agree.
Yes, it was a Sunday morning. Yes, I left church just before the worship service started. But had I waited until the next day, regular office hours, that small area of swelling would have looked more like I’d sprouted a second head out of my neck.
Isaac’s elbow-plant to the right side of my face the night before during a tickle fight (this was several years ago) turned out to be well placed. It released to the surface the mysterious origin of two long years of pain and discomfort.
:: (more…)
Ice
I grimace a little.
The sound makes me.
Is it the rubbing? Kind of like metal on metal.
But not really.
More like the squeak-shriek of a clown twisting a skinny yellow balloon into a poodle.
Only different.
Maybe fingernails on a chalkboard.
Except not quite.
:: (more…)
No Other Argument
The mornings are a little lighter now, but it seems I still rise while it’s dark.
Habit, I suppose. Or perhaps my joints are just growing older and less tolerant.
I don’t have to get up early any more, but sleep still leaves me at the usual time.
This morning I pulled back the warmth of downy covers and slipped out of bed into a darkness that filled the room but seemed also to envelop my soul. Even as the lights went out last night I sensed the darkness encroaching. Not the darkness of space that invites sleep, but that of spirit which steals rest clean away.
I swatted at it with a weak threat to doze off and thought to pretend it away. But by morning, it had its grip.
It held me with a firm hand.
:: (more…)
Unredacted: A Page from the Journal
Thoroughly enjoyed my reading of 103 earlier this week and thought I’d give this to you straight out of the journal.
Unedited.
Unadulterated.
Unredacted. (Yeah, that’s not a word. But I like it.)
If this is the first time you’ve ventured this far, my humble apologies. I do write better on days when I’m not talking to myself.
Wait a sec . . . for all I know, that’s what I do here all the time. Hello . . . ?
This is a hair scattered. When it comes to the Psalms, I like it that way. And please forgive all the shouting CAPS. I got excited.
:: (more…)
Business Up Front, Party in the Back (or, Samson Was a Nazir-what?)
Five posts into the Samson series, and we still haven’t made it to the really big deal, the thing everybody likes to talk about: his hair.
I’m pretty sure we made his hair the big deal about the same time as the flannelgraph and modern Sunday School came on the scene. (Sorry to burst anybody’s bubble, but nope, John Stamos wasn’t really the father of the mullet; Samson was. And yes, I’ve been known to watch too much TV and movies. But I promise, not lately.)
My theory is the prospect of explaining Samson’s whole story for young kids came off a little daunting and so we took the shears to the story, not to his hair, clipping away to something that felt easier to teach.
To prove out my hunch, I did a little Googling and found that after we trim away the sideburns and hard questions, we’re left with Sunday School lesson plans that have learning objectives looking a little something like these:
- Students will recognize that girls are sneaky.
- Pupils will learn not to listen to sneaky girls.
- Learners will discover that sneaky girls will destroy them.
- Students will remember that girls named Delilah are sneaky and deceitful.
- Learners will be reminded not to cut their hair because it makes them more vulnerable to the wiles of sneaky girls named Delilah.
This is what I remember about Samson too. His hair was a really big deal, and he was a sucker for a sneaky girl.
Samson had it all, and lost it all when a sneaky girl tricked him and cut his hair.
But is this it? Have we taken away all we can from Samson’s story when this is all we see?
What about his utter lack of self control? What about his short fuse and relentless drive for vengeance? What about his superficial motion-going with his Nazirite vow?
His Nazir-what?
:: (more…)
Repost: Truth, Lies & Snidely Whiplash
I sit with several unfinished drafts in my folder, none of which I’m able to complete. Somehow, it appears I forgot how to write over the weekend. Begging your pardon while I repost and try to regain my bearings. Only two and a half of you probably caught this anyway when it posted during my first full week of blogging.
And if you happen to see me out wandering around, laptop dangling and drool on my chin, point me back home?
::
I grew up watching Rocky and Bullwinkle and loving it.
My favorite is a Dudley DoRight episode. In case you weren’t so enchanted with talking moose and flying squirrels (or too young to know better), let me fill you in.
Snidely Whiplash is the show’s villain, and with his handlebar moustache and black hat is perhaps even the caricature on which so many other villains are based.
The episode opens with Snidely lamenting what a pathetic, disgusting creature he’s become. You see, he has a nasty habit of tying helpless young ladies to railroad tracks. (“I have this thing,” he explains.)
His favorite victim is the delightful Nell Fenwick, a beautiful damsel with lovely blonde curls who is always rescued just in the nick of time by her brave and daring boyfriend, Dudley DoRight of the Royal Canadian Mounties.
:: (more…)
Standing in the Water
Stepping aside just briefly from Samson.
If you haven’t had the opportunity to read
the first two, I’d love for you to catch up
with Rhythm and The Wasteland
if you can spare the time.
::
I’ve stood three times in the baptismal waters.
Once, I stood in the baptismal tank at the front of my childhood church to make my own confession of faith at the tender age of eleven. Fully submerged, I sputtered back through the water’s surface to hear the congregation sing as one voice.
Jesus my Lord will love me forever, from Him no pow’r of evil can sever . . .
Again in my twenties I stood waist deep in a Twin Cities lake, humbled to hold a dear friend as she descended under the water. She, with hundreds of others, emerged from the cool water proclaiming the joy of her salvation. She stood back on her feet to the cheers and applause of hundreds more on the shore.
And once more, barely a day ago, I stood in the algae green waters of a lake that splits Minnesota from South Dakota. This time, the waters lapped only at my ankles, soaking the hems of Levis I’d failed to roll quite high enough.
Would it trouble anyone if I said that it gets a little sweeter each time I step in?
:: (more…)
I’ll Meet You in the Morning
I don’t believe I spent nearly enough time with Ernie. That’s to my loss.
Whenever their battle worn bodies allowed them to come to town for services, she would scoot to the tech booth to give me the one of the best parts of my Sunday morning. Braced with one hand on her walker, she’d stretch the other up to greet me, barely able to reach over the wall surrounding my elevated platform. I’d stand and lean over the short wall of my pen to clasp her hand and absorb the light of the most gorgeous smile on the most tested — and found faithful — woman I know.
She’ll catch you off guard, Marge will. Her petite and sometimes unsteady frame belies the rock she houses within.
But if Marge faithfully started my Sunday mornings, Ernie finished them. Our paths would cross week after week as I’d leave the booth and he’d come to return their hearing devices. Always a handshake, more often a hug and for certain an encouraging word. He’d tell me how they were weathering life’s bumps and bruises, which were plenty, and he’d always draw a smile as he prodded me to keep on with whatever it was I needed to keep on with.
I don’t remember when was the last time I shook Ernie’s hand. The last few months kept him pretty close to hospital and home. But whenever it was, I sure didn’t know at the time that I’d not get another big grin from that old cowboy.
:: (more…)
Remind Me Again
Crazy week going on.
We’re on night three of four consecutive nights of baseball, which will be followed immediately by three straight days of basketball. Number One son headed off in the middle of it for three days of football camp.
Remind me again why I thought having my kids out of school for the summer was a good thing.
My desk makes me downright claustrophobic as more and more files usurp the open space in bigger and bigger piles.
Remind me again why I thought it was a good idea to take Friday off.
I can’t for the life of me get my head around why, after all he’d seen God do for him and for Israel, Gideon turned out to be such a dork. In one breath he told the people he would not be their ruler — they needed to accept only God’s rule. But then he made like Aaron, collected a bunch of gold and crafted an ephod which became the next best thing in Israel’s little-g god prostitution ring.
Remind me again why I thought I’d be done with Gideon after today.
:: (more…)
Rerun: Either Way, I Win
This post originally appeared in March . . . not that long ago to repost already, I suppose. But it remains an important one for me as God continues to drive home the reality of our – of my — finite and uncertain journey here. Contrasted with the infinite wonder of our eternity with Him, it’s a curious thing we do, holding on to withering sprigs.
I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! (Philippians 1:20-22)
One of the dear saints in my church told of her upcoming surgery to clear what even she would call a ginormous aneurysm from way too close to her heart. The surgery is risky, and complicated by other troublesome health conditions. “I’d like to continue on,” she said. “But if I don’t, well, that’s o.k. too. I know where I’m going. And I’ll see Jack again. I haven’t seen my husband since I was, what, 35 years old.”
Either way, she wins.
Either way, a glorious outcome.
Two such excellent choices. One hardly knows which to choose.
:: (more…)
Asleep in the Light
When he returned to his disciples and found them sleeping. “Simon,” he said to Peter, “are you asleep? Could you not keep watch for one hour? (Mark 14:37)
New moms think all kinds of wondrous things when their babies are born. How precious they are. What a miracle is childbirth. All the hopes and dreams that have been percolating over the last nine months. How much they love to just hold the little one, feel his tiny heartbeat, listen to his little breaths.
While I had a lot of those thoughts, I recall having a few others.
Like the one I had when the nurse brought him to me at about 2:00 in the morning, suggesting that I might have something for him to eat.
In that moment, I had thoughts that new mothers don’t write in the baby books. I closed my eyes tight against the bright fluorescents she’d just flipped on, wondered if there were any way to pretend I wasn’t there, and sighed in resignation as I thought a very unnurturing, unmotherlike thing.
I would never, ever sleep in again.
Not ever.
::
For the first few years, my kids helped this prophetic bit of wisdom flourish. They never slept in. So neither did we. If we made it until 6:30, it was a pretty late morning. I decided that I had finally arrived as a parent when one summer the boys started to sleep in later. And later. And later.
As they approached teenagerness, they learned the wonder of staying in bed longer.
And I relish every moment.
::
A few weeks ago, Lane turned on Isaac’s light and gently woke him for the day. In practiced adolescent style, Isaac grunted. Maybe even rolled over. But he didn’t get up.
Several minutes later, he shot up in his bed and called out, “Who turned my light on?”
Lane answered, “I did. It’s time to get up.”
“But when?” Isaac asked.
He had no idea that anyone had been in his room, spoken to him and turned on his light.
As I walked down the hall, I thought to myself, “Poor kid. He’s asleep in the light.”
::
And then, of course, I wondered if the same could be said for me.
That I’m asleep in the light.
And like it was some television musical production playing out in my living room, I heard the sound of Keith Green pounding the keyboard and singing out hard.
The world is sleeping in the dark
That the church just can’t fight
‘Cause it’s asleep in the light
How can you be so dead
When you’ve been so well fed
Jesus rose from the grave
And you, you can’t even get out of bed
It’s a bit of a harsh song, I suppose. But it makes its point. I so often get caught up in saying “bless me Lord, bless me Lord,” making sure I get what I want and I need, getting myself fed and nourished.
But when we look at it honestly, I think we find that well nourished doesn’t automatically mean mature.
Blessed doesn’t automatically mean compassionate.
And living in the light doesn’t automatically mean that we see at all.
I have so much at my fingertips. I have exceedingly more than I can ask or imagine.
But why? Why has God blessed me the way that He has? Or blessed you for that matter? So we can settle in and be content? Rest comfortably on the sofa and be so grateful for all He’s done?
I’ve never been comfortable with the idea that He blesses just so we can possess. I’m convinced He wants us use that blessing to bless others. To seek and save.
At one concert, Keith introduced this song with these words: “I’ve seen the world, folks. I’ve seen that it’s lost. And there’s billions of people out there that don’t know God. Now either it’s His fault or ours.”
Being in the light should never give me excuse to lie down and forget about the dark.
Let’s make sure we get out of bed.
::
One Way and One Way Only
Thomas said to Him, “Lord, we don’t know where You are going, so how can we know the way?”
Jesus answered, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew Me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know Him and have seen Him.” (John 14:5-7)
I lost my temper today.
I guess maybe that isn’t so unusual. But I did it at work. On the phone.
A little role reversal. Usually it’s me listening to someone else rant on the other end of the line.
The volcano erupted while on the phone with an unnamed government agency. The hapless customer service rep who was assisting me took the brunt of months of irritation after countless, fruitless, calls to this agency.
Here’s my problem. I need the cooperation of this bureaucratic monstrosity in order to resolve a couple of injury claims for some very kind and decent fellows. Each time I call to elicit the needed assistance, a customer service representative gives me a series of steps to follow. I contact the injured parties, they do precisely what I ask them to do (which, incidentally, is exactly what this agency has instructed me to do), and I call again to move forward.
::
Each time, I learn of a different process. Not the process we followed. Not the process they told me to follow. An entirely different process.
Each time, I am assured that I was regrettably misinformed, but that this is, in fact, the correct procedure. The truly correct procedure.
Each time, I am persuaded that I am talking to a competent employee. The only competent employee.
Each time, I am sadly wrong.
::
When I dared question the process, one of these employees, my tour guide through the hurricane in real-time, told me that this taxpayer-funded red tape superstore has “one way, and one way only,” to do things.
One way, and one way only.
Really. (You might read that with one eyebrow slightly raised.)
Would that it were true. But it was not, I explained. Because every time I call, “one way, and one way only” looks more like “forty-seven ways, and ninety-three ways only.”
“One way, and one way only” my eye.
::
After my tantrum, which served only to embarrass me slightly and give my colleagues a few moments of entertainment in an otherwise uneventful day, I had a more reasoned discussion with the representative. Even so, I was disappointed. This call yielded no better results than any previous call.
But the words “one way, and one way only” stayed with me. I so wished it were true.
I recalled Another who had said such an audacious thing. Only in His case, it was completely true. “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.”
Jesus said, “There is one way, and one way only. And by the way, I’m it.”
::
Every time I read the Word, it’s the same. Nobody comes along and changes the required forms. Nobody offers up an alternate road that leads to nowhere.
When Thomas was confused about how to get to where Jesus would be, Jesus didn’t give him an address on the Web where he could find a handy illustrated flow chart with steps 1 through 12B. Unless you really need the chart that goes through step 13C. (Seriously. If you are over age 65, or work in either the insurance or health care industry, you know my pain.) He didn’t add step to hoop or invoke little known regulations and protocols.
He just said there was one way. One way, one way only, and that Thomas was looking right at it. “Want to know how to get to the Father? Want to go where I’m going? It’s Me. I’m it. I’m the only way there.”
When He said “one way and one way only,” He meant it.
For today, and for all eternity.
::
It’s not confusing. It’s not designed to generate frustration. It’s not a big tangled and sticky wad of red tape.
It’s one way, plain and simple, and it’s never going to change.
::
Either Way I Win
I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! (Philippians 1:20-22)
“Either way, I win.”
One of the dear saints in my church told of her upcoming surgery to clear what even she would call a ginormous aneurysm from way too close to her heart. The surgery is risky, and complicated by other troublesome health conditions. “I’d like to continue on,” she said. “But if I don’t, well, that’s o.k. too. I know where I’m going. And I’ll see Jack again. I haven’t seen my husband since I was, what, 35 years old.”
Either way, she wins.
Either way, a glorious outcome.
Two such excellent choices. One hardly knows which to choose.
::
This gentle warrior would tell us of the ultimate win-win scenario. And while I nod in agreement, I marvel at how she has grasped this in such a tangible way.
For me, it’s much more abstract. I don’t have a daily sense my finite condition. I read in God’s word that our lives are but a vapor, that we are as grass that withers and fades. And of course I agree. But all the while I agree, I don’t see that vapor dissipating today or tomorrow. I expect that the green grass of summer will hold out a few more seasons before it fades.
Would I nod so readily if I sensed that withering to be closer at hand?
::
Paul wrestled with the choice (though it was not his to make). “What shall I choose? I do not know!” He saw the beauty in living on in his body for he knew how God would continue to use him mightily. Yet the tug of kick starting his eternity in the heavenly realms had a certain appeal.
It left him wondering.
What’s the better choice? Which will I love more?
Which will exalt my Redeemer the most?
::
While we may not sense that the choice rests so closely on the horizon, it’s still important that our grip on this mist we call life is not so tight. Not that all the clenching in the world could make us any more able to hold the vapor in our fist.
Holding tight makes withering grass crumble.
::
Will I see the joy in both options today?
And will you join me in praying for this sweet saint and the challenges she faces in the days ahead?
::
Guest Post: Isaac’s Fifteen Minutes of Fame
. .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 .
::
Possibly Die
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?
::
You Think I’m Only Here to Clean Your House
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.
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The Scarlet Cord
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?
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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I Am Second
I lack words to describe this, except to say that you should check it out. Probably good, so I don’t detract from the message. The stories (from Korn’s Brian Welch to baseball’s Josh Hamilton and a lot of ordinary folks in between) give me reason to believe — in my core — what God says is true.
And that’s good for me these days.
Bring a cup of coffee, plan to stay for a while, and just listen to God change lives.
That’s what He does when we are second.
He is first.
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The Conversation