You Need To Tear Back

 

It was the first thought I had this morning, before I'd opened my eyes.

"You need to tear back that sock."

My heart sank.

The sock is one I've had on the needles for months and months.

There is nothing wrong with the sock.

It was beautifully knitted, and I was nearly to the toe.

It is a second sock, which means the first one has been finished 

and waiting for its mate for some time.

 

The problem is this: I knitted the first with a good plan. 

These socks would have reinforced heels and toes.

These socks are for me.

The yarn is wonderful: I love it.

The first one was finished easily, and it is perfect.

 

I was eager to begin the second sock, so I could wear them.

I knitted away busily during piano lessons, 

which is a wonderful way to make efficient (and pleasurable) use of my time. 

I knitted so busily I neglected to put the reinforcement yarn into the heel, 

and I didn't notice until I was well on my way to the toe.

I held the two socks in my hands, and felt the heels, and thought, "NO!"

 

The heels were different.

One is nice and cushy (and far more durable), and the other is nice and thin.

I laid the sock aside.

 

Periodically I pulled it out and looked at it sadly.

I considered attempting duplicate stitch darning on it 

to simulate the same effect, 

but I knew in my heart it wasn't going to be a solution for me. 

So I ignored it.

"I'm not changing ANYTHING!" my heart said, stiffening its neck.

And we just didn't talk about it or think about it anymore.

Sometimes I missed knitting on it, 

and the hope of owning the socks I had been working on with such anticipation.

But why should I lose all that work? 

The work was flawless.

It was the other sock that had a problem with it.

 

And it was this sock I sensed the Lord telling me to rip back this morning, 

before I was even awake to defend it,

and weeks after I had even thought about it.

I opened my eyes knowing I had a task to accomplish today.

A painful task, but a necessary one. 

Something I didn't want to do.

I had actually wondered to myself if I had enough of this yarn on hand 

to knit two more, just to avoid doing what I knew I needed to do.

But I had an order.

 

So, while I sat in my daughter's piano lesson, 

I frogged my perfect knitting in order to conform it to its mate.

It took me the full half hour to do it, 

and to get it put neatly back on the needles, 

carefully checking each stitch for twists, and correcting them.

Hours of knitting lost as I pulled back each row of two thirds of my sock.

 

And my mind has been working on it all day:

On the necessity of our conformity to Christ, our True Mate.

On the pruning back of what does not fit Him.

There are many things in each one of us 

that do not conform to His heart, His attitude, or His actions, 

and He will not leave them alone in us.

He's not going to settle for a slapdash fix.

He will undo us to set us right.

And all those hours of perfecting ourselves 

will have to be undone in order to make us truly His handiwork.

Give Him free reign to do it.

The sooner you stop fighting Him, 

the sooner you'll be fit for His use again.

"For whom He foreknew, 

He also predestined 

to be conformed to the image of His Son, 

that He might be the firstborn among many brethren."

(Romans 8:29)

"For our citizenship is in heaven, 

from which we also eagerly wait for the Savior, 

the Lord Jesus Christ, 

who will transform our lowly body 

that it may be conformed to His glorious body, 

according to the working by which 

He is able even to subdue all things to Himself."

(Philippians 3:20,21) 

 

"Beloved, now we are children of God;

and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be,

but we know that when He is revealed,

we shall be like Him,

for we shall see Him as He is.

And everyone who has this hope in Him

purifies himself, just as He is pure."

(1 John 3:2,3) 

 

And so I ask you: 

is there anything He is asking you to rip back 

that it might be made to conform to His purpose?

Tearing Back

You Shall Rest

"Six days you shall work,
but on the seventh day you shall rest;
in plowing time and in harvest you shall rest."
~ Exodus 34:21

It is not only when the work is done,
or when there is nothing to do
that the Lord's people are to rest.
It is at the appointed time for rest.

In plowing time --
when we work because there is nothing to show yet,
and because our needs are great --
we must rest.

And in harvest time --
when our work is demanded because the time is short,
and delay could mean loss --
we must rest.

Rest is an act of faith.
It is a willful act of trust and hope.
Just as we must plow in hope,
we must rest in hope.

We rest because we are the Lord's people,
and He instructs us to rest
in plowing time
and in harvest.

"When no fruit is on the vine, I will trust in You."

God has blessed our rest.
It honors Him when we cease our striving --
and cease from driving others --
servants though they may be.
Our very animals are to be given rest.
Resting in faith is holy.

"Come to Me, all ye that labor
and are heavy laden,
and I will give you rest.
Take My yoke upon you,
and learn of Me;
for I am meek and lowly in heart:
and you shall find rest unto your souls.
For My yoke is easy,
and My burden is light."
~ Matthew 11:28-30

 

On Visible Mending and the Handiwork of God

A skirt I made from a vintage tablecloth
caught on something while my daughter wore it,
and a big, 90 degree tear resulted.
I thought about letting the work of my hands go, but it bothered me.
The tablecloth had been stained, and had holes in it when I found it.
I had carefully cut around some of the leaves in the border,
and applique-patched them over the holes.
I dyed the skirt a soft gray, which hid the stains.
I liked how I had taken an object that could not be used as it was created,
and repaired and restored and remade it
into what I thought was a lovely garment.
Now it was torn, and the tear was not able to be hidden.
I have heard my whole life that if a seam tears, you can repair it.
But this wasn't a seam.
It was ruined.

I set it aside for weeks, not willing to toss it,
but not knowing exactly how to fix it.
The cloth I made it from was long gone.
There was nothing to patch it with.

One day, looking for an embroidery project for a friend,
I came across visible mending on Pinterest.
Oh, my!
People were doing this on purpose, and loving the mended project
even more than something new and pristine.

I pulled the skirt back out, and sat down to make it useful again.
Instead of trying to hide my repair,
and pretend the damage had never been done,
I used embroidery floss with its subtle shine,
and stitched far more stitches than were necessary for usefulness,
enjoying every one.
That particular rip would not likely rip again.
When I finished, somehow I loved this handiwork
even more than I had loved it before.

I looked the skirt over, and found a couple of worn places
and a small hole I'd not noticed before.
I added a spiral of stitches over a worn place.
An embroidered rose to fill a small hole.
I'm too invested in this fabric now to toss it lightly aside.
I'd rather repair it.
Restore it.
Redeem it.

The useful has become a work of creativity and art.
A poetry of stitches instead of an exercise book sentence.
A painted portrait instead of a police sketch.
This shows the soul of the image -- not just its hair color and mouth shape.

This morning I was reading Nehemiah 9:17:
"[They] refused to obey, 
neither were mindful of Thy wonders that Thou didst among them; 
but hardened their necks, 
and in their rebellion appointed a captain to return to their bondage: 
but Thou art a God ready to pardon, 
gracious and merciful, 
slow to anger, 
and of great kindness, 
and forsookest them not."

I looked up several words, but it was that last phrase that arrested me.
He forsookest them not.
He didn't leave them.
He didn't depart from them.
He didn't leave them behind, let them alone, abandon them or neglect them.
He didn't let them loose, set them free, or let them go.
They were not deserted.
All those things come under the first meaning of the word.
There was a second meaning.
To restore, repair.

"For we are His workmanship, 
created in Christ Jesus for good works, 
which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them."
(Ephesians 2:10) 

Oh Lord -- I am so full of torn places --
stains and holes. 
My flaws are all in the body of the fabric, not the seams.
Don't let me go.
Repair and restore me. 

But He does more.
He makes beautiful things -- stitches art into our mending.
We are His workmanship, the Scripture says.
Poema.
His creativity repairs us uniquely.
In places, His handiwork becomes far more visible
than the original fabric was,
His stitches the only thing holding any of it together.
Where we are stitched will not match anyone else's repairs.
Unique to our flaws, His creativity, and the material at hand,
each one becomes a newly-made creative expression in His overall masterpiece.
We are all worked into the whole.
Maybe you've thought of yourself as the worst patch.
But He repairs, remakes, restores --
and places you into the whole
as a trophy of His love and creativity.

The Mind-Numbing Work of Redemption

I do the same things All The Time.
I pick up the dirty clothes, and sort them into the hampers.
I button the buttons, and turn the socks right side out.
I spray the stains, and I fill the washing machine.
I take the wet clothes out, and straighten them,
and hang them on the clothesline to dry.
I take them down, and fold them, and send them to be put away.
And then I sort them out into the hampers again.

I rinse dirty plates, and stack them,
and I fill the dishwasher with them.
I unload the clean dishes, and put them in the cupboards,
and then do it again.
Sometimes three times a day.

I nurse the baby in the middle of the night,
and I feed him again in the morning.
In the late morning.
At noontime.
In the afternoon.
In the late afternoon.
At dinner.
In the late evening, just before he goes to bed.

I change diapers.
And again.
And again.
The progress of my days
is marked by piles of used diapers,
moved bookmarks,
dirty dishes, 
and clothes that need another washing.

I told my husband, "I don't know what purpose I have right now."
A friend asked me how I am doing, and I said, "I feel dull."
And I do.
I mean, seriously,
what point is there
in washing and washing and straightening
what is never clean,
and never straightened out?
You would think I do nothing at all
if you looked at the crumbs on my floor.
Because if I vacuum three times a day,
there are still crumbs on my floor.

I have been meditating on the Proverbs 31 woman,
whose equal I am not.
And I've been thinking about how she wraps herself up in food prep,
and laundry maintenance.
And I was contemplating two questions the other morning:
What is God doing in my life?
And how do I join God in His work?

What is God doing in my life?
He's drawing me into fellowship with Himself and with others.
He's refining me.
He's making me new in Christ.
He cares for me and my concerns.
He redeems me.
He washes me.
He comforts me.
He heals me.
He plants, waters, weeds, prunes...
He fills my darkness with His light.
He's working resurrection in me.

And how do I join Him in His work?
Kissing hurts, and healing wounds.
Mending what's broken.
Washing what is dirty.
Straightening what is crooked.
Feeding the hungry.
Planting and weeding and watering.
Bleaching out the stains.
And returning what has become unusable to a state of usefulness. 

Suddenly the laundry stains are meditative.
And the dishes, endlessly worthless with grime,
are also endless reminders of the restorative work He does in me.
The children needing comfort,
and the babies needing baths --
are praiseworthy reminders of the comfort He gives,
and the washing of the Word.

The dishes and the laundry are in constant need of redemption--
as I must constantly be redeemed from the sin that soils me.
My usefulness depends on my washing.

I looked down at the pants I was wearing -- a thrift store purchase.
A cast-off redeemed.
I put the same things back in their places every single day.
I bring order out of chaos.
And while I work in the kitchen, the toddler is trashing the living room.
And the shoes are scattered out of their baskets in the laundry room.
And it isn't going to end.
But as they mature (and we have other areas in disarray to set right),
they'll lend their hands to the work.

The material matters.
These mind-numbing, repetitive tasks that I do again and again
are the very same tasks He has set for Himself in me.

That We Might Hear It Later

Flipping through a book on my shelf this morning,
I found notes from something I wrote down about five years ago
on the back of an overdue notice from the library:
"Simon was so convinced of himself, that he couldn't hear the Lord."

I am thankful that the Lord speaks anyway:
that although our self-confidence shuts our ears to truth spoken to us,
He speaks it that we might 'hear' it later,
once we've failed in our estimation of ourselves;
denied Him, and cursed to emphasize our lie;
and run away just as weak and fearful
as all the weaklings we set ourselves up as stronger than;
and wept bitterly at our own inconstancy;
and our failed love and diminished strength.
That His love holds on to us through our failure to hold on to Him.

"But I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith will not fail.
And when you turn back to Me, you must strengthen your brothers."
'When you are converted,' some versions say.
When you've done a 180.
When you've come around.
When you repent,
you'll be in a position to not just be strong for you,
but to make others stronger.
Real strength does that.
It makes others stronger.
It doesn't just rejoice in its own authority,
its own ability to conquer.
But it pulls strength out of grace, having failed,
and makes other people's hands stronger.
It stands beside the tired-armed, and helps them hold their arms up.
It doesn't just yell at others to Stop Limping!
It digs out the splinters as painlessly as possible,
so weak little feet can walk again.

He sees weakness and future failure,
and prays faith and strength into it.
And that very failure becomes the strengthener of the weak.
He is the Lifter of our heads, and the only good we have to boast of.

And turn your eyes and look at Him:
knowledge of coming failure in His friends
is met with hope, prayer, mercy, love, and forgiveness.
Though He is leaving them,
He does not fret that they are not what they ought to be.
I fret about those I consider it my duty to perfect.
But our Jesus isn't fretting.
He trusts the work of the Holy Spirit in Peter.
He prays for him, and speaks to him what he needs to hear,
and although He knows perfectly well Peter can't hear Him,
trusts His words will hit their mark
and do their work even after He's gone. 

Living With Transition

My mother posted pictures of a remodel they are working on
in response to water damage in their laundry room.
The repair goes beyond the laundry room, into the kitchen
because of future plans for the house.
She said this, after explaining what they were doing,
"Don't know when we'll be able to completely finish the kitchen 
but we're willing to live with transition to save steps later."

I grew up walking on splintery plywood subfloors,
and writing Scripture verses on exposed sheetrock,
because the walls were unfinished, too.
We lived in a number of different houses.
Sometimes my parents bought places that needed a lot of work,
and although they were 'finished', they weren't quite right,
and they were promptly plunged into an unfinished state.
I remember when they ripped out the living room and kitchen floors,
subfloors and all, and I had to jump down in between the studs
onto the pea gravel in my bare feet outside my bedroom door
before they poured a foundation right through the big picture window.
When it was finished, it had become an appropriate home for people,
and no longer a haven for snakes and banana slugs, and spiders.
They left every house they ever owned better than they had received it.
But quite often that meant we lived in it with some lack for awhile,
while we waited for the resources to finish.

Sometimes the changes were to enlarge,
or to make it more functional for the family we were at the time.
Sometimes they were repairs of things that had worked well
when they were put in, but something malfunctioned,
and damage had been done.
As an adult living in my own home, my dad also helped us sometimes.
I bought a house that had leaked behind a bathtub wall,
and mold had become a problem.
Over and over again the previous owners
had added new caulking over the mildewed old.
The mold kept overtaking the shaggy mess.
My dad helped me rip it all out.
New sheetrock was in order before the tile surround could be put in.
Stripping back is part of building up.
Without the stripping back, the same problem will again seep through in time.

One time I was surprised with a new laundry room when I got back from a trip.
It was so beautiful, and functional.
But a few years later, a flood from my broken washing machine
necessitated tearing out the brand new floor and laying a new one again.
Homeownership involves responding to problems at hand
before going forward with dream projects.

Buying a home wisely includes getting problems assessed before you buy.
The last home we bought had a list of issues we needed to consider.
None of them were dealbreakers -- it was a house worth buying --
but some had to be addressed before we could fix other things.
The electrical had to be replaced
before I bothered painting the upstairs hallway.
The house had plenty of power,
but the way it was arranged meant that we were constantly blowing fuses.
It required redistribution, and it needed new wiring.
Replacing wiring sometimes doesn't look like anything is happening.
Just a few new holes in walls, and little piles of drill dust, and little by little,
a change in how the power is being supplied.
The power becomes less noticeable, because it's responding as it should.
But once it's finished, the insurance rates go down,
because a danger has been eliminated.

Living with transition requires patience from the dwellers.
The laundry room cannot function while it is disconnected for remodeling.
And leaving things undone for a little longer may save steps later.
You see, that laundry room-- the one that had to have its floor replaced again?
The subfloor had been rushed to meet the deadline for the surprise.
As we were fixing it, I heard a comment:
"This should have had cement board for a subfloor."
The plywood couldn't take the water.
It swelled up and broke the grout when it flooded.
Another day spent preparing it properly (and living with the transition)
would have meant not replacing it again later.

Come Together Again

Every successful marriage
has had thousands of choices to come together again.
To be joined.
To come home to her every night,
and to say yes to his advances.
To try again, even if she gave you the cold shoulder.

It isn't the vows that bring the intimacy --
those only begin the marriage.
We speak words of love to one another,
but they must be said again.
And we must choose to yield ourselves to one another.

We long to commune, to lessen our loneliness, to be joined in community.
Paul advised that each man should have his own wife,
and each woman her own husband,
because of sexual immorality.
"Let the husband render to his wife the affection due her, 
and likewise also the wife to her husband."
This is apostolic marriage counseling.
That we would have a spouse, and give ourselves to them.

"Do not deprive one another 
except with consent for a time, 
that you may give yourselves to fasting and prayer; 
and come together again 
so that Satan does not tempt you because of your lack of self-control." 
So much about this passage is so practical.
Have sexual intercourse with your spouse.
This is one very specific way we can serve their spiritual needs.

The intercourse of marriage--
sexual, emotional, financial, spiritual--
is a mysterious display of Christ and the church.
That abiding in the vine that Jesus spoke of is a plant life display.
They are both about connection, unity, exchange--
intercourse resulting in fruit.
In human intercourse, it is a choice that presents itself again and again.
We Christians are presented again and again
with the option to interact with Him intimately, or to shut Him out.
If we want to bear His fruit,
if we want our union with Him to be successful,
we must yield.

Perhaps you have said 'no', and it has become a habit to say 'no'.
I'm too tired.
I have a headache.
We've grown too far apart.
I've washed my feet; how can I defile them again?
Seek Him again, because His heart is still for you.

Or perhaps it is worse than just not opening up when He came to you.
Maybe you called Him 'master', and lived in His house,
but never saw Him as your husband.
Maybe you have never been close,
and all your children have been someone else's.
And He is broken-hearted over your infidelity,
but you are hard-hearted.
Make a choice to be His for real.
He'll buy you back from the auction block of your whoring shame,
and call you His own,
and let you bear His children.

I will heal their backsliding, and love them freely,
 for My anger has turned away... 
I will be like the dew to Israel; 
He shall grow like the lily, and lengthen his roots like Lebanon...
Those who dwell under His shadow shall return; 
they shall be revived like grain, and grow like a vine. 
Their scent shall be like the wine of Lebanon.

And you will find yourself saying,
"What have I to do anymore with idols? 
I have heard and observed him. 
I am like a green cypress. 
Your fruit is found in me."

Broken and Gilded

We took our children to the Museum of Fine Arts on Saturday,
where there was much to wonder at.
In the Asian arts section, a strange shape across the room caught my eye,
and I walked over to look at it.
It was unusually shaped, glazed and gilded pottery of some kind.
I read the plaque explaining about it.
The artist (Yee Sookyung) had collected potters' discarded fragments --
so many pieces that were broken and tossed out
by those who knew what they were doing.
Professionals with tasks at hand had done their work,
and when a piece did not measure up, sent it to the trash pile.

But an artist had a plan.
Collecting these useless broken pieces,
she set out to use an ancient technique for pottery repair.
Gluing each piece together carefully,
she formed a misshapen vase out of those pieces rejected by their owners.
But she wasn't finished when she glued them.
Each broken edge, glued to other broken edges,
made one by her skill, was gilded.
All the breaks were painted with gold.

The finished piece
was certainly not what any potter would have set out to form.
But an artist did.
It is called a "Translated Vase".
And while the pots those professionals made
were probably sold in shops to be used in households,
the artist's work is displayed in an art museum.
Every day, hundreds of people walk past it,
and they look at the gilded edges of broken discarded trash
and they read the name of the artist.

God, being rich in mercy, 
for his great love wherewith he loved us, 
even when we were dead through our trespasses, 
made us alive together with Christ (by grace have ye been saved), 
and raised us up with him, 
and made us to sit with him in the heavenly places, in Christ Jesus: 
that in the ages to come 
he might show the exceeding riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus: 
for by grace have ye been saved through faith; 
and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; 
not of works, that no man should glory. 
For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, 
which God afore prepared that we should walk in them.
~Ephesians 2:5-10

Caught

Early the next morning he went back to the Temple. 
All the people gathered around him, 
and he sat down and began to teach them. 
The teachers of the Law and the Pharisees brought in a woman 
who had been caught committing adultery, 
and they made her stand before them all. 
"Teacher," they said to Jesus, 
"this woman was caught in the very act of committing adultery. 
In our Law Moses commanded 
that such a woman must be stoned to death. 
Now, what do you say?" 
They said this to trap Jesus, so that they could accuse him. 
But he bent over and wrote on the ground with his finger. 
As they stood there asking him questions, 
he straightened up and said to them, 
"Whichever one of you has committed no sin 
may throw the first stone at her." 
Then he bent over again and wrote on the ground. 
When they heard this, they all left, one by one, the older ones first. 
Jesus was left alone, with the woman still standing there. 
He straightened up and said to her, 
"Where are they? Is there no one left to condemn you?" 
"No one, sir," she answered. 
"Well, then," Jesus said, "I do not condemn you either. 
Go, but do not sin again."
~John 8:2-11

I was reading about this woman this morning.
It's revealing to me of His heart that,
although He did assent to the 'justice' of her death sentence,
He, the Only Just Judge, remained inactive in her judgement,
stooping down with His hands on the dirt, and not on the stones. 
Refusing to condemn.
We are told to be like our Father in heaven,
who sends rain on the just and the unjust alike.
Raining mercy: indiscriminate blessings.

But also, that woman walked away knowing two things:
she was guilty as charged, and deserving of death,
but uncondemned, and given instruction
by the only One who could justly sentence her to stop it.
Stop this wickedness.
And doesn't it stun you that He works life and liberty out of such material?
That He speaks righteousness into the unrighteous?
That He makes of those who are not, something real and living?
His words have the power to rearrange our chaos into order.
To give life to the dead, and power to the powerless.
To make sons out of slaves, and foreign ones, at that.

In Ceasing Activity

I read an article about the effects of sleep deprivation on physical health.
I was wondering what the body does while it's sleeping.
I've noticed over the last few years
that I have a lot of pain in surgical sites that grows when I am tired,
and it fades when I am rested.
As I get older and acquire more history (medically speaking),
sleep feels more and more restorative to me.
And the lack thereof feels more destructive.

The body corrects chemical imbalances while we sleep.
It regulates blood sugar, cleans up its memory files.
In ceasing activity, it maintains memory.
Without sleep, we become a danger to ourselves and others.
Daily maintenance and healing occurs in deep sleep.
If we don't go through enough REM cycles, healing won't take place.
(Night nurses, take notice.)
Pain is intensified by lack of sleep.
It weakens the immune system.
Healthy young men have blood sugar levels
that resemble those of diabetics
after only six nights of reduced sleep.
It spikes cortisol levels -- cortisol is a stress hormone.
That leads to hypertension.
And obesity.
They grow old before they are old.

While we think we are being more productive,
the reality is that death is setting in.
Our relationships suffer,
our memory fails,
and we become chemically imbalanced.

And then there is the effect of light.
Natural light directs the body's sleep cycles.

But artificial light interferes with human health.
It makes us wakeful when we should sleep.
And we stop healing, and remembering what we ought to,
and maintenance of the body fails.
And then we sleep when we ought to wake.

"The body sets its own natural clock by comparing itself to light,
be it the sun or now artificial light from light bulbs.
As a result, the body can get confused
as to when it is supposed to perform the actions necessary during sleep.
Before the invention of electricity,
the body and brain could easily set their own rhythm,
maintaining themselves and warding off
the now apparent physical effects of too little sleep." 

As I read, I marveled.
In quietness and rest, we gain strength.
In standing still, we see the Lord's work accomplished.
Repairing the damage from life here on earth,
restoring the mind, and organizing its learning.
The Lord gives sleep to His beloved.

Furious activity is made possible by artificial light,
but we ought to be walking in His Light.
Measuring ourselves by Him,
and sleeping to be restored;
sleeping to remember.
"I am the Light of the world," He said.
Walking in the Light, and sleeping, and healing;
and blocking out the artificial light that undermines our spiritual health.

Keeping My Brother

Our church assembles in a small building.
There are two joined rooms upstairs where the younger children meet,
and one bigger room downstairs,
and an outhouse.
Five minutes into worship this morning,
my five-year-old nephew came downstairs.
He looked around the room, spotted me and made a beeline for me --
pushing right through a row of people, instead of going around.
I assumed he needed to be taken out to the outhouse,
and his mom was upstairs, and his daddy was up front,
so I reached out my hand and took his
and started walking toward the back with him.

But he was just trying to ask me a question.
I leaned over so I could hear better.
"Is Aliyah okay?"
I made him repeat it, because I hadn't heard well.
When I did understand, I got a little alarmed.
She is my four-year-old niece.
Both her parents were leading worship, too.

"Isn't she upstairs?"
"No."
"Where is she?"
He pointed to the back row, and there she was, sitting with another family.
I'm sure her parents knew where she was.
But her teacher upstairs, who had expected to see her, didn't know.
And she cared.
"Yes, she looks okay."
He ran back upstairs to deliver the news.

Our 'service' was interrupted because of concern over one member.
Because we are family.
And when a member of your family is not where they ought to be,
family members grow worried.
Where is your brother?
Is someone missing who ought to be there?
Cain said, "Am I my brother's keeper?"
But we say, "Is Aliyah okay?"
Is she safe?
Is she wandering outside when she should be together with family?
Do you care? Do you check?
Or is the form of the service of more importance than the members of it?

Maybe a brother has fallen among thieves,
and lies bleeding on the road to Jerusalem.
He was coming from worship.
But he slipped when an enemy assaulted him,
and he can't get himself up.
His wounds have grown infected.
He has nothing left.
And he isn't even decently dressed anymore.
He curses to himself and wishes he was dead.
He's tried to yell for help, but the smell drives them all away.
They are headed to prayer,
and don't want to dirty their hands with his blood and pus.
The naked need is revolting.
Have a little pride, man.
How can you lay there so nakedly needy?
Wash your filth away, so you can enter His courts with praise.

But he cannot rise from the dust.
Which traveler will you be?
One of those who skirt around him?
Or one who is willing to reach out and be bloodied?
To get his dirt on you in the effort to wash his dirt from him?
Are you wearing an outer garment you could cover his nakedness with?
Is there water in your canteen?
Give him a drink.
He can't walk for the beatings.
Wrestle him onto your donkey.
Let your feet grow sore and blistered for awhile.
It will slow you down.
It will delay your business.
It will cost you your traveling money.
You may be in greater danger of being attacked yourself,
walking on your feet instead of riding in your saddle.
But that's a brother bleeding there.
He can't pay you for your help.

You've managed to bring him to an inn,
where you spend your evening giving the man a bath.
You've only got one bedroll -- you give it to him.
He can't feed himself, so you feed him like a baby.
He doesn't even notice you, he's so damaged.
You dig into your savings to pay the innkeeper,
to persuade a fellow human to be kind.

Jesus said that they would know we are His by our love for one another.
A love that washes feet.
A love that bandages wounds.
A love that looks for the wanderer, even if it has to interrupt service.
That applies the hot compresses and releases the infections,
and reaches out beyond its own class to heal.

But Today

If you didn't already know, we are a homeschooling family -- which means that my house is messier than I would like, because we have to get to work on school, and when we finish school, I am often drained. We're regularly behind on laundry. We don't have a dishwasher in the house, so I do dishes three times a day. If I skip a time or two, there are a lot of dishes to catch up on. We moved less than a year ago, and my dining room is still full of boxes we haven't unpacked. We updated the living room, the laundry room, the guest room, the fire alarms, much of the electrical in the house, and put in a new furnace. Those boxes have moved in and out of three rooms while we fixed them. Our table is in the kitchen until the dining room is cleaned out and finished. Next week, our downstairs bathroom begins its transformation. It will have its walls removed and replaced. There will be tile on two walls. Clean, white tile. The water damage behind the tub will be repaired. It will get a new floor, and eventually, paint on the cabinet and the untiled walls. A working outlet. The upstairs bathroom will also be getting a new floor. And a section of fencing will be installed shortly.

But today, we will enjoy our first full 'day off' of the summer. We finished our curriculum last Friday. And we finished our testing yesterday. On my plate for the summer: that dining room; finally cleaning out and organizing my bedroom, which has been a depository for extra mattresses and boxsprings, books on makeshift shelves (until the completed bookshelves were installed in the living room), and various other junk that did not yet have a home. I did clean and organize two of the three kids' bedrooms, but you can no longer tell. We will tackle the closets. Eventually. Set up the dining room hutch we were given, and fill it. Find places for the games, and the craft supplies, and the pictures on the walls. There is more painting to do everywhere. Oh, and I need to teach my youngest to read. And of course, the laundry will continue to outstrip us, and the dishes will be constant, and the meals will always need making, and the plants will need watering, and I am not going to go through this summer without tracking in a lot of beach sand which will need sweeping and vacuuming. Half of the family will leave toys in their wake, and every one of us will leave a trail of books through the house. I'll be ordering new curriculum soon, and wondering where I will store the years not being used. And I have those fourteen curtains I have to make for the porch windows.

Some day it will feel like we can just do maintenance and enjoy it. In the meantime, we battle the mess and try to get ahead just long enough to get something lasting accomplished. And sometimes we will close the door on the house, and go appreciate the beauty God gives us for the short season that we have and not miss out on the memories we'll treasure longer than our clean toilets.

Before the Face of the Lord

"Now his father Zacharias was filled with the Holy Spirit,
and prophesied, saying:
'Blessed is the Lord God of Israel,
for He has visited and redeemed His people, 
and has raised up a horn of salvation for us
in the house of His servant David...
That we should be saved from our enemies
and from the hand of all who hate us,
to perform the mercy promised to our fathers
and to remember His holy covenant,
the oath which He swore to our father Abraham:
to grant us that we,
being delivered from the hand of our enemies,
might serve Him without fear,
in holiness and righteousness before Him all the days of our life.

And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Highest;
for you will go before the face of the Lord to prepare His ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to His people
by the remission of their sins,
through the tender mercy of our God,
with which the Dayspring from on high has visited us;
to give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.'"
~ From Luke 1

Personally, I love to read the prophecies spoken of His work,
of the Father's heart of mercy
and peace
and salvation
and love
and reconciliation
and good will toward men.
Oh, how it moves me.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son.
And we mark our history by it.
All  the fullness of the Godhead bodily dwelling in Him.

How?!
How could He contain His glory in a dirt-body?
To be ministered to by sinners?
To be the visible show of God's requirements fulfilled,
the voice of His love to us,
the touch of the Father to the poor.
To the sinner.
To the leper.
To the lame and blind and to the women.
To the 'racially impure' Samaritans.
A friend to fishermen.
To tax collectors and zealots.
The political radicals and the cautious theologians.
The ruined whores of society.
He restored them all.
He put His calloused hands on the contagious outcasts,
and He stretched them out Himself on the cross.

Upon Moving In

We took possession of our new home a week ago.
First, we rented a carpet cleaner for those carpets we were keeping.
We walked in, and the smell was strong.
Animals.
Someone Else's Dog.
A Very Old Cat.

Open the window!
It needs Light.
And the Breath of Wind.
And Clean Water.

Tear down this plastic -- it's suffocating the home.
The walls are dirty, but let's find the smell first.

My sisters came to help us.
My husband went upstairs to sweat and work.
We women stood and looked at the living room carpet, and the stair hall.
Is this the first thing?
Do we rip it out now, while there is no furniture on it?
Or do we do it 'later' -- after life parks itself there and won't move?
I think this should go first.
Obviously owner after owner neglected this one vital undo.
And it's a testament to their bad taste and bad hygiene.
Let's see how easy it will come out.

We began pulling.
Between us three women, we had a hammer, a Wonder Bar, pliers, and a razor blade.
It was sufficient.
The pad underneath was powder.
We thought we saw hardwood under it at first,
but realized in a minute it was laminate
which had been sparingly used around only the edge of the room,
so a rug could trick you into believing it was in the room.
We were thankful again for their poor installation,
as it made fairly easy work of ripping it all up.
The powdered pad puffed into our faces and we threw open more windows.

Encouraged by the ease of the living room, I tackled the hall.
That iniquitous hall.
It was much harder.
When my husband walked through, I accosted him for a little muscle around the doors,
where I had stood on the Wonder Bar for leverage,
and had still been unable to pry up the staple.
I was afraid I would snap it.
He was successful.

It wasn't until the very last section that I thought, "This feels... wet."
I thought it was my imagination.
The house had been empty for several weeks, to our knowledge.
But when my sister came to help me gather it up and get it out, she confirmed it.
It was saturated in dog urine.
The odor was overpowering.
We began mopping.
There were nails and staples catching the mops.
Jeff ran the carpet cleaner over the spot.
Better... but still not gone.

When it comes to restoration, the first part is the grossest, usually.
As with us, I think.
The fifty years of dirty kitchen grease ground into old linoleum.
The dog hair clogging the bathroom sink.
The rodent droppings.
The horrible paneling. 

Throw open the windows!
We need His Light.
His Breath of Wind.
The Water of His Word to scrub us clean.
He knows which the worst thing is -- where to start tearing to bring you to glory. 

And He can see the Tornado Watch porch paint and Granite Dust walls
which will compliment your seven living room windows and divided-light pocket doors.
And the hope of built-in bookshelves ceiling-high.

Long Before It Does

I am still mulling over restoration.

Having lived in many an unfinished house, I am familiar with the lifestyle.
You rejoice over what is done.
You look forward to what's to come.
You bear with the mess and inconvenience.
And you work on another corner.

What is finished is worth taking pictures of and sharing. In fact, sometimes what isn't finished is worth posting. I like to record the whole process -- the horror, the demolition, and the renewal. When we ripped our rotten front porch off, I was excited. Because rot is always better gone. But it wasn't done.

We dug holes around our foundation, and yanked loose stones out of it. I took pictures of that, too. And then we formed and poured support. But we still had no porch. When the porch was done, but not painted, I was too eager to share the beauty of it to wait for paint. And because my family appreciates potential, they enjoyed the pictures as much as I enjoyed sharing them.

Sometimes you have to look past urine-soaked shag carpet, or missing flooring. Someone with no imagination, and no sense of investment in your home may walk in and see nothing but dirt-stained plywood floors, and hideous drop ceilings. But when you look with the eyes of a renovator, you can see it sparkling long before it does.
  
"Now unto Him that is able to keep you from falling, 
and to present you faultless 
before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy,
To the only wise God our Savior, 
be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. 
Amen." 
~Jude 1:24, 25 

He Restores

"He restores my soul."

I like to watch House Hunters. But most of the people on that show are not looking to buy heaps and to renew them to beauty. They want perfection. They reject wrong paint colors.

It has become a tradition in my family to buy homes that need to be restored. You can buy them cheap, because they lack so much. My sister once bought a house that had to be completely gutted  -- because it had a sweet corner cabinet and a beautiful old window in the living room. Every member of our family helped to rip out the bad, to clean up the serviceable, and to build back what could not be repaired.

When you are buying a property to restore,
you aren't looking so closely at its flaws, its failures.
Because you intend to make it what it should be.

Is it ugly?
Yes, but it will be beautiful.
Is it smelly?
Yes, but it will smell good when I am done with it.
Is its foundation sagging?
We'll pour in support.

The skill of the workman is the most important factor.
Can He do the work?
Can He afford the materials?

But what a joy to see restoration.
And our Father, the Master Builder, sees the value of our souls.
When He takes ownership, He sets to work.
He knows how to do it, and He can afford to fix it.
And as much joy as I get in thinking about my house being a beautiful little home instead of the tired old hole it was when I bought it -- I think He is truly delighted to restore our dirty, mold-saturated, maintenance-neglected lives with weak foundations and faulty wiring into the very temple of the Holy Spirit.
And He lives there while He works.

For it is not ourselves that we preach; 
we preach Jesus Christ as Lord, 
and ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake.
The God who said, "Out of darkness the light shall shine!" 
is the same God who made his light shine in our hearts, 
to bring us the knowledge of God's glory shining in the face of Christ. 
~2 Corinthians 4:5,6