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…)
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…)
Rerun: Debbie Gets It
I’m shooting for wrapping up the move over the weekend. I’m sitting on the urge to write so I can pay attention to that and be done with it. So in the meantime, I’ll put up a few reruns. Hope you don’t mind.
(As to the move, I may go dark for several hours, maybe longer. Give me some time and come on back. And remember you may need to update your RSS subscriptions and all that technical stuff.)
This first piece was originally published in December. As we approach a year since she went home, Debbie’s on my mind often. She’s a big part of why I blog, and I’m reminded today of the impact of her life on me and so many others, right up to the very last.
Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked. For while we are in this tent, we groan and are burdened, because we do not wish to be unclothed but to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. Now it is God who has made us for this very purpose and has given us the Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, NIV)
For instance, we know that when these bodies of ours are taken down like tents and folded away, they will be replaced by resurrection bodies in heaven—God-made, not handmade—and we’ll never have to relocate our “tents” again. Sometimes we can hardly wait to move—and so we cry out in frustration. Compared to what’s coming, living conditions around here seem like a stopover in an unfurnished shack, and we’re tired of it! We’ve been given a glimpse of the real thing, our true home, our resurrection bodies! The Spirit of God whets our appetite by giving us a taste of what’s ahead. He puts a little of heaven in our hearts so that we’ll never settle for less. (2 Corinthians 5:1-5, MSG)
For some reason, I’ve really been missing my friend Debbie the last couple of days. Not that I don’t miss her other times, but lately it’s been a little closer to the surface.
Might have been unexpectedly seeing this amazing picture of her on a friend’s Facebook page.
Might have been that things have been a little challenging at work lately, and that Debbie always had a way of helping me keep my head and remember why I come to the office. (Here’s a secret: it’s not just about the paycheck.)
I counted on that, and I just don’t have it any more.
Or it might have been that I found myself wondering what it must be like for her now, walking on a beach that might just look a lot like this picture, basking in true sunlight, and already understanding something that I’ve been struggling to get my mind around lately: This life just ain’t what it’s all about.
:: (more…)
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?
::
Landlord and Tenant
“The land must not be sold permanently, because the land is mine and you are but aliens and my tenants. Throughout the country that you hold as a possession, you must provide for the redemption of the land. (Leviticus 25:23-24)
The little treasures that are buried within the sometimes mind-numbing and sometimes stomach-turning (for me) pages of Leviticus really make my day. I read along, wondering when I might get to read something that has a little more zip, and wondering what God really thinks about what I think of this part of His Word, and all of a sudden He just picks something up off the page and whips it at my forehead. Right between my glassed over eyes. Here you go, He says. I’ve got something for you. See if this doesn’t keep you going a while.
In Leviticus 25, God is talking about the Sabbath and Jubilee years, which are really some cool concepts when you break them down. The concept of the Sabbath rest is so important to God. He even calls for the land to get a rest. We all do our best when we’re given a rest. Including the land. And to make it happen, He blesses the land the sixth year with enough of a harvest to last three. And after seven Sabbath years, they are to observe the Jubilee. In the Year of Jubilee, each would return to his original land.
The Year of Jubilee became a very important factor in pricing land for sale. God tells the people not to take advantage of one another when buying and selling land, and to price the land based on the Jubilee year. That is, if you were buying land, you were to consider the price based on how many years since the Jubilee. And if you were selling, you priced it based on how many years were left to harvest before the Jubilee.
Because the land would revert to its previous owner at the time of the Jubilee, the selling price was based on how many years the buyer would have left to work it, or how many years the seller had already gained from it.
And why? Here’s the part that planted itself in my head for the day. The land must not be sold permanently, because the land is Mine (God’s) and you are but aliens and tenants. Aliens and tenants. That’s what we are. The land is God’s. I’m a tenant. When He asks for it back, I have to surrender it. As a benevolent landlord, He allows us full use of all He owns. But He still owns it. We are just the tenants.
I know that all I have is His. I know that I have nothing that He has not given me. And I know that I am expected to use what I have to earn dividends for His kingdom (or face the fate of unproductive vending machines).
But the tenant imagery brings it into even clearer focus.
I am but a tenant.
What makes me think that I can so tightly hold onto what I have for fear of losing it? To keep me from sharing it? To keep me from using it? What makes me think that getting my needs met is more important than someone else’s? Or my wants for that matter? What makes me think that it’s at all ok to be self-protective and closed off?
I am but an alien.
What makes me think I can live like I’m going to be here forever? That I’m in a place that’s even my own? That this is ultimately my home? What makes me think I can live like things that don’t matter really do? What makes me think that the things of this world are what are really important?
I am but a tenant. What I have is not my own.
I am but an alien. Where I live is not my home.
::
The Conversation