Abraham Arose Early

'Now it came to pass after these things that God tested Abraham, 

and said to him, Abraham!" 

And he said, "Here I am." 

He said, "Take now your son, 

your only son Isaac, 

whom you love, 

and go to the land of Moriah, 

and offer him there as a burnt offering 

on one of the mountains of which I shall tell you."

So Abraham rose early in the morning and saddled his donkey, 

and took two of his young men with him, and Isaac his son; 

and he split the wood for the burnt offering, 

and arose and went to the place of which God had told him. 

(Genesis 22:1-3)

Yesterday, as I pondered submission, Abraham came to mind. 

This is the most extreme request made of a man.

Consider how he received it:

with swift, silent obedience.

It's stunning.

Earlier in his life, before the birth of this beloved son, 

Abraham had a remarkable conversation with God.

God came to him, to give him the promise of this son, 

who would be born through his barren wife, Sarah.

'And the LORD said, "Shall I hide from Abraham what I am doing,

since Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, 

and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him?

For I have known him, in order that he may command his children 

and his household after him, that they keep the way of the LORD, 

to do righteousness and justice, 

that the LORD may bring to Abraham what He has spoken to him."

And the LORD said, "Because the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is great, 

and because their sin is very grave,

I will go down now and see 

whether they have done altogether according to the outcry against it 

that has come to Me; 

and if not, I will know."'

Abraham's response to this announcement is notable.

First, he doesn't launch into his own words in the presence of the other two who were there.

That's interesting to me.

'Then the men turned away from there and went toward Sodom, 

but Abraham still stood before the LORD.

It appears that when they were alone, he appealed to Him with his concerns.

'And Abraham came near and said, 

"Would You also destroy the righteous with the wicked?

Suppose there were fifty righteous within the city; 

would You also destroy the place and not spare it 

for the fifty righteous that were in it?

Far be it from You to do such a thing as this, 

to slay the righteous with the wicked, 

so that the righteous should be as the wicked; 

far be it from You! 

Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?"

God wants Abraham to know His heart, to know His mind.

He wants His character to be known by His friend -- 

that he might pass that knowledge on to his children.

And He brought this announcement as an opportunity to Abraham.

And Abraham rose to it.

The sheer audacity of his bargaining gives me chills every time I read it.

My heart fills, and I love them both:

the Lord, who lets his friend drive a hard bargain with Him;

and the bold but gentle man who keeps pushing for just ten more.

Read on, and learn His nature for yourself. It's in Genesis 18.

'So the LORD went His way as soon as He had finished speaking with Abraham; 

and Abraham returned to his place.'

This is not a man who withheld his requests from the Lord.

On another occasion, when God came to him 

and told him He was his shield, and his great reward,

Abraham immediately responded with,

"What will You give me since I have no heir?"

This man is an intercessor.

He asks for what he wants, and God has already given him his heart's desire, 

though He made him wait long for it.

And the day comes where God asks of him the unthinkable.

But something has happened to Abraham in his long waiting on God.

In his years of holding onto the promised fruitfulness 

that only grew more barren as the years went on.

Imagine watching your wife wither and wither, and your own vigor drain, 

and believing on year after year in spite of it.

And then, beyond all hope, laughter entered their empty arms.

They saw life come from their good-as-dead bodies.

Joy from ashes.

His name finally had a meaning that wasn't a mockery of his dreams.

And God asked him for it.

"Give Me your son,

your only son.

The one you love."

Give Me back the laughter.

And we don't hear a word of protest from Abraham.

Not one word of intercession.

He just gets up early to obey.

Hebrews tells us he offered Isaac by faith, 

concluding that God was able to raise him up, 

even from the dead.

But I think there was also just a quiet trust he had learned 

in all these years of doing business with God.

He trusted HIM.

So much so, that a request for his life's hope, 

and the crowning joy of his years 

was offered with an open hand.

He doesn't have any hesitation 

in giving all his most precious loves into the hands of the Lord.

He knows God is good.

And he knows God is good for every word that He's said to him.

No wonder God loves him so much.

The Unlovely Valentines

I actually didn't expect hearts and candy to define my marriage.
I am a realist.
At least, that's what I think of myself as.
(You sunshine and unicorns people would call me a pessimist.)
Best case scenarios don't often occur to me.

Anyway -- it's Valentines Day.
I see all the posts from friends celebrating a renewal of their love,
a remembrance of the beginning of their romance.
I love that.

One friend mentioned in her love story
that they have lost as many babies as they have living children.
That's four.
I love these people dearly.
She said something about not having chosen the things they've walked through.
And it rings so true.

I found myself thinking through the unlovely valentines.
The markers of love that you've walked through together.
The hurts.
The waiting.
The pressure.
The labors.
Each one another bond, a shared grief.
The lost jobs, lost relationships, lost children.
The death of parents, of friends, of dreams.
The infertility.
The miscarriages.
The months without income.
The depressions.
The failures.
The frustrations.
The sleepless nights with sick children.
The frozen pipes.
The wound packing.
The wheelchair pushing.
The broken down cars.
The financial hardships.
The baffling parenting dilemmas.
The hormonal swings of pregnancy.
The things you don't take pictures of to share on Instagram.
The choking on tears together.
The desperate prayers.

Those parts of the vows we made --
the for poorer, for worse, and in sickness parts --
they have value.

The forgivenesses, and bandaging,
and helping each other dress because we are too injured to dress ourselves.
I would not trade them for other people's cruises.
Flowers are romantic,
but this morning my husband said that of course he had time
to rub juniper oil into my stiff neck and shoulder before he left:
a smelly, messy valentine.

And That Is No Insult

My husband is not
The Most Amazing Husband in the World(!!!).
And my children are not
The Most Brilliant and Incredible People you will ever Meet(!!!).
I am not The Kindest, Most Patient, and Loving Woman(!!!)
my children have ever had the privilege to know.
And I am not the Best Wife Ever(!!!).
And that is no insult to any one of us.

I struggle with The Best People Awards.
The Most Amazing People.
The Awesome Ones.
I find myself wanting to ask
(regarding The Best Husband and The Most Amazing Wife),
"To Whom?!
How many husbands do you have?
Have you tried them all?
Because, um, that's not okay."

Family love isn't just for the lovely.
It's for the crybabies, and the irritable women, and the cranky men.
I have wonderful parents.
Exceptional parents, even.
But I will not tell you they were Perfect, or The Most Amazing.
I can remember failures.
Things they later apologized for.
Parenting mistakes.
Mature love doesn't require amazingness to validate its affection.
And mature love has something to forgive.
That's hard to do when you live with The Beautiful People.

My husband doesn't have to be
The Most Amazing, the Wisest, the Strongest, or the Manliest.
He's mine.
I love him because he's mine.
Because we're one.
Because our kids are ours, we treasure them.
Not because they're smarter than all the other (stupid?) children in the world.

I am proud of their efforts
whether they beat all the other (losers?) in the contest or not.
When they draw me pictures,
I don't have to tell everyone they are The Best Pictures Ever Drawn(!!!)
to acknowledge their specialness.

I can admire those I love without making everyone else less.
I can honor those around me
without painting them as giants among grasshoppers.

Because otherwise, when they aren't the best anymore, then what?
What if the Woman with the Most Beautiful Smile loses her teeth?
What if The Best Provider loses his job
and can't be The Most Amazing Provider anymore?
What if you're married to one of the other spouses in the room--
you know: the ones who forget birthdays;
who lose their tempers periodically;
who get depressed and cry for a few days;
or who can't afford to take you to Hawaii?
Are our bonds dissolved
when our spouses turn out to be some of the lesser people?
Or do our obligations to bring up our children in love end
when said children turn out to be intellectual dunces or uncoordinated nerds?

I can tell you I love my husband, and admire him,
and he blesses me with kind and thoughtful behavior,
and I am proud of my children,
without declaring that your husband is, in fact, a second class runner up,
and my children surpass yours in every area:
their natural abilities which they haven't even had to work at
far outshine your children's accomplishments
bought with hard work and long hours of practice.

Beloved, let us love one another,
 for love is of God,  
and everyone that loves is born of God,
and knows God.
Oh, Lord -- help me to love better,
even though they aren't The Best Ever(!!!)

Make Her Beautiful

We listen to a song often that was done by Hillary and Kate.

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

It's such a lovely song, with such a simple truth.
And I think of the scripture that tells husbands
to love their wives as Christ loved the church:
how He gave Himself for her,
sanctifies her, 
and washes her with the water of the Word.
The church does not come perfect to the Savior's arms.

Sometimes I read Christian marriage advice and it's so cardboard.
I get especially annoyed by the advice to wives
that tells them how to be perfect.
To get perfect hair and exercise more and wear lipstick.

I'm a tomboy at heart, and not a trophy.
And I have never wanted to be a glossy beauty.
I wanted to be loved.
I wanted to be wanted.
But not wanted because I looked like someone else's idol.

When I met my husband, I was going out of my way to not be glossy.
Imagine this beauty, (which was a regular ensemble):
overall shorts and a t-shirt,
a braid pulled through a baseball cap pulled down low,
and thick socks with work boots.
I had some assets I could play up,
but I wasn't exactly in the frame of mind to catch anyone.
In fact, I was tired of being noticed physically.
It felt more like an insult than a compliment to be thought pretty. 

The first time I met him, I wasn't quite so off-putting in my dress
as described above.
I was wearing a hippy skirt with the work boots.
I guess in a small way, the skirt said 'feminine'.
We were praying in a group for a mutual friend
who was suffering from LSD flashbacks.
He openly stared at me through the prayer.
He didn't look away when I looked at him.

One day, a couple of weeks later,
I got off duty in the kitchen
when everyone else had eaten their dinner already,
and he sat down with me while I ate my dinner.
He asked me what I was going to do that evening.
"I thought I'd go up to the cafe and read poetry," I said. "What are you doing?"
"I thought I'd go up to the cafe and read poetry," he answered.
It was just plain -- I'm going to hang around you and be with you.
No pretending to run into me.
No begging to join me.

My husband makes me feel beautiful.
I am 32 and a half weeks pregnant.
I'm big.
And I'm older and tired.
My skin is drying out, and my lips have faded.
My hands are getting kind of papery.
My hair is frizzier than it used to be.
But he treats me like I'm beautiful.
It's my sixth child I am pregnant with.
He doesn't say things like,
"Have you thought about maybe getting a gym membership 
and getting back what you once had?"
Or, "Maybe you could get laser treatment 
for some of those scars that are marking you up now."
I cannot imagine that he does not see these flaws.
They are glaring realities to me.
But he doesn't seem to see these flaws --
even though he packed the wounds that left them for me.

I think I'd even rather have the scars that mar me
just to see how he looks at me like I am beautiful anyway.
The reality is that I am not more beautiful than I was
in my young, strong, healthy, unmarred body.
But weirdly, I feel more beautiful to him now than I did then.
I'm more confident in his love than I was.
I don't feel like I have to hide from his eyes,
in order to maintain the illusion of perfection.
If, in his eyes I am perfect, I will accept his verdict.
And where perfection was lacking,
he helped bring it about with his own hands.
Not the perfection of an airbrushed photo,
but the perfection of healed flesh and whole skin.
Of function where there was brokenness.
When I first saw the damage, I cried.
I couldn't look until it was nearly done healing, and I still cried.
But he saw it in every stage, and he never recoiled.
He didn't cry, and he didn't criticize, and he didn't complain.
He changed bandages twice a day.
And he did the dishes while I laid there.

Husbands:
if you want to be married to a beautiful woman,
let your love make her beautiful.
Don't compare her to the unflawed women you see.
The ones who haven't borne your children in their bodies.
Don't shame her for the thing that she is.

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

I Needed You

I needed you.
I needed you to wreck my world.
To yell into my quiet life,
and smear your sticky fingers on my windows,
to highlight how dirty they are anyway.
It was easy to be the perfect mother when there was no one talking back to me.
When my theoretical children showed off my parenting theories.

I needed you.
I needed you to struggle through sounding out r-a-t,
so the impatience could rise up in my chest,
and I would know I need my Father to be patient with me, too.
Because sometimes, the simple things in His Word
are the ones I'm stuck on, too.
Love-one-another.

I needed you.
I  needed you to come late into my life,
later than we wanted you,
after we knew we were failures.
A little gift of grace we couldn't earn.
A gifted miracle.

I needed you.
I needed you to stare up at the sky and shriek that you saw an airplane,
because I was too old to look up
and wonder at the impressiveness of flight until you reminded me.

I needed you.
I needed you to hold me while you sucked your fingers
and laid your head against my chest,
and sighed and fell asleep and drooled on me:
to watch your belly rise and fall with your sweet baby breaths.

I needed you.
I needed to learn to give,
and to pray,
and to hope the best for you when your spelling was atrocious,
and your writing was behind.
I see you in your future -- perfected in the things you practice doing now,
and I never saw anyone like that before you.
Love believes all things.

I needed you.
I needed your trust to teach me about trust;
your fears to help me to lay mine down;
your bickering so I would value peace.
In correcting you, I correct myself.

I needed you.
I needed to hear you laugh until you couldn't breathe;
I was serious, and you were carefree.
You taught me to laugh at myself.
To see the person with the sparkly eyes
behind the milk mustache, and the dirty clothes.

I needed you.
I needed you to forgive me for blaming you for taking what I lost myself.
To throw your short arms around my neck and kiss me
even though I got it wrong and made you cry.
You've borne with me, and taught me grace;
how families have to choose over and over again to love and to forgive,
because in being family, we have much to forgive each other for,
and we aren't always so lovable.
But we always need it, don't we?
And sometimes the one with the loudest voice needs the most gentle handling.

If I Had Been Alone

A man told us his story -- well, a very small part of it, anyway --
and it touched my heart.
He is a farmer.
And he's seen a lot of trouble.
Financing through bankers, and at the mercy of the weather and the markets.
This crash and that crop,
and lenders who suddenly demanded payment.
I looked at his boots while he spoke.
He'd been hurting, but there were trees to trim.

He started in the past, telling about the bankers,
and the stress, and the trouble.
And he said, "I would have given up, if I had been alone."
But he wasn't alone in his trial.
Someone else would have suffered worse if he had given up.
And he hung in there for their sake.
He kept planting and kept working,
and filled out more paperwork than anyone should have to fill out,
and he looked down and saw the name of a lender
whose card had been sitting on a desk for five years longer
than the man had been gone from the company.

But he called the company, and the president asked to meet him.
And he had been hurting when he went,
but they called in some other men,
and they laid hands on him and prayed for him,
and then they lent him a hand, too.
And a big crop came in -- with prices he'd never seen in his life.
And he offered a deal to some sharks
and against all odds, they took it,
and he was free.
And he thought he had lost the farm, but it was not lost.

And all I could think about while he spoke was how having a fellow sufferer,
and that fellowship of suffering
had given him endurance to keep working.
To plow in hope, when it was hopeless.
To trim the trees that hadn't put out enough fruit.
Or whose fruit had been badmouthed by celebrities,
and no one would buy it and eat it.
To work another day and pray another prayer,
and reap a harvest of mercy.
And how two are better than one,
because one loses heart.

Sometimes, faith plods on,
but it gains the strength to do it through fellowship.
And maybe you are the strong one, who wanted to give up,
but you had someone at home who was sick in bed,
and you couldn't let them bear the cost of your quitting.
Or maybe you're the weak one, who couldn't do the work,
but your very presence lent strength and purpose of heart
to the younger man who could --
if only he had a reason.
Let's be each other's reason to work another day,
even if we can't be the one sweating in the field.

They held each other up.
The one stuck behind in pain
and the one working through the pain
both benefited because of the love there was between them.
And that is looking out for the interests of another more than oneself.
You see, he said, "He was more heavily invested than I was."
And he couldn't let him bear it all himself.

As We Actually Are

"He had always managed, somehow, to follow a canonized saint when he was called to a parish, someone who had worn a halo and been surrounded by seraphim, even when walking to the corner for a newspaper.
   In his first parish, it had taken a full year to be forgiven his green innocence in the wake of a priest who, mellowed by age, was wise and all-knowing, not to mention full of truth and light.
   Though he was again and again the leading choice among the candidates, the frost inevitably came as his congregations sized him up.
   One parish had chosen him because he was unmarried but later wished he were married with children.
   Another liked him because he was unaffected but decided he needed more charisma.
   One search committee thought that being slightly under five feet nine inches in his sock feet was a characteristic that lent spiritual humility but changed their minds and wished he were taller."

My husband recently accepted a request to pastor a church far from where we live. I read this in one of the Mitford books last night, and it made me laugh. If you could build the perfect pastor, complete with every quality you ever liked in a human being, I am sure the result would not be whatever you actually got in a pastor. I mean, really: we don't even get to choose every quality we want in our spouse. My list would be so long, that no living man could fulfill it. It would include many things that would disqualify the father of my children. And I also would not meet every item on his list. We don't get to cherry-pick our children's beings, our spouse's, our sibling's, or our fellow church member's. And yet:

The Scripture tells us to love one another with a fervent love,
to forgive one another,
to bear with one another.
None of those things have to be instructed
when we are complete in perfection.
We don't have to forgive those who are never offensive.
We don't have to bear with those who don't annoy.
And no one has to tell us to love those who are lovable beyond all measure.
One of the things I appreciate so much about God's Word
is that it acknowledges us as we actually are -- not just what we should be.

From the Deeps

April, Ten and Eleven

Might I but scatter interfering things--
Questions and doubts, distrusts and anxious pride,
And in Thy garment, as under gathering wings,
Nestle obedient to Thy loving side,
Easy it were to love Thee. But when Thou
Send'st me me to think and labor from Thee wide,
Love falls to asking many a why and how.

Easier it were, but poorer were the love.
Lord, I would have me love Thee from the deeps--
Of troubled thought, of pain, of weariness.
Through seething wastes below, billows above,
My soul should rise in eager, hungering leaps;
Through thorny thicks, through sands unstable press--
Out of my dream to Him who slumbers not nor sleeps.

~ George MacDonald, Diary of an Old Soul

It's so beautiful, I hardly know what to add.
But it resonates, does it not?

We want so much for our service
to be without doubts, distrusts, anxieties of any kind.
We want it to be there,
close enough to hear His heartbeat,
reclining at His table,
clean and fed.

We don't want to stand,
having lost our outer garment,
at the foot of the cross with the weepers.
But the words of the vows echo in our hearts:
in sickness and in health;
for better or for worse;
richer or poorer...

Loving Him from the deeps
of troubled thoughts and pain and weariness,
of seething wastes and tossing waves,
of thorny thickets and quick sands.

O Lord...
That we would love You as You love us.
You sweat blood
and suffered hunger and sleeplessness.
You intercede for us when You're out of sight,
and touch our wounds to heal when You're near.
From depths we can't even comprehend You have loved us.
From the cup You shuddered to drink,
and the nails You stretched Your hands to,
and the thorns pounded into Your brow.
From nakedness and sorrow You loved us.
From homelessness and rejection.
From thirst and mockery.

Now Abide

Love

suffers long

and is kind;

Love

does not envy;

Love

does not parade itself,

is not puffed up;

does not behave rudely,

does not seek its own,

is not provoked,

thinks no evil;

does not rejoice in iniquity,

but rejoices in the truth;

bears all things,

believes all things,

hopes all things,

endures all things.

Love never fails.

But whether there are prophecies,

they will fail;

whether there are tongues,

they will cease;

whether there is knowledge,

it will vanish away...

And now abide faith,

hope,

love,

these three;

but the greatest of these is love.

Pursue love...

It is one of the most read chapters in the Bible, 

even by those who do not revere the Bible.

It separates love from knowledge, 

from prophetic utterance, 

from the words of men and of angels,

from the understanding of mysteries,

from great faith,

from generous giving,

and intentional martyrdom.

It strikes me that the first thing it says 

in its description of love is that it suffers long.

This isn't a Disneyland love story:

it isn't syrupy at all.

...and is kind.

It suffers long and is kind.

That alone would seem to disqualify this passage 

from describing a human relationship.

I know some loving people -- who get provoked.

It bears all things?

All things.

There is nothing it doesn't bear?

Hopes all things?

I am a perpetual foreseer of doom.

You're going to break that. 

You're going to trip over that.

You will definitely screw up.

Disaster is around the bend.

I can't comprehend hoping all things.

I would be better described as

despairing of all things.

Endures all things.

Again, with the impossible.

Love never fails.

When I stopped seeing this passage 

as a list of attributes I hadn't gained,

I started seeing Him.

God is love.

We know love by Him.

He suffers long, and is kind...

He bears all things,

believes all things,

hopes all things,

endures all things.

He never fails.

He continues to intercede on my behalf, 

because He continues to hope for me.

He thinks no evil of me.

Is not provoked by me.

He loved us first.

Incompatible

Several weeks ago I read this:

"Research has shown that every happy, successful couple 
has approximately ten areas of 'incompatibility' 
or disagreement that they will never resolve. 
Instead the successful couples learn 
how to manage the disagreements and live life around them -- 
to love in spite of their areas of difference..."

Put on therefore, as God's elect, holy and beloved, 
a heart of compassion, kindness, lowliness, 
meekness, longsuffering; 
 forbearing one another, and forgiving each other, 
if any man have a complaint against any; 
even as the Lord forgave you, so also do ye: 
and above all these things put on love, which is the bond of perfectness. 
And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, 
to the which also ye were called in one body; 
and be ye thankful.  
Colossians 3:12-15 

You Don't Get To

I have been an observer of my sister's mothering for some time.
She is naturally motherly.
In fact, although she is younger than I am,
I have on occasion referred to her as my second mother.
She is soft-spoken and gentle.
I... have less to work with.
Over the years, I have witnessed her intervention in her children's disputes.
(Yes, although she is a wonderful mother,
her children also display their sin, as all do.)
They fight and argue and rip things out of each other's hands.
And inevitably, I hear my sister say what I've heard from her for years:
"You don't get to do that."
"You don't get to be a jerk."
"You don't get to _____________."
It always amuses me.
Like being a jerk is allowed to some people, but sorry -- you're not in the club.

I was doing the dishes last night, thinking about that phrase,
and thinking about what Jesus commanded His friends.
"Love one another."
And I also found myself thinking about believers I know
who have been hurt by their brothers and sisters,
and are nursing their wounds into bitterness.
And feeding them.
You don't get to do that.

When my sister and I were little and fought, my mom used to say,
"You have to get along.
You have to work it out."

"This is My commandment:
that you love one another, that your joy may be full."

"Beloved, let us love one another.
For love is of God,
and everyone that loves is born of God and knows God.
And he who does not love, does not know God,
for God is love.
...He who does not love abides in death."

You don't get to do that.

Commending Ourselves To God

"Now concerning things offered to idols:
We know that we have all knowledge.
Knowledge puffs up, but love edifies.
And if anyone thinks that he knows anything,
he knows nothing yet as he ought to know.
But if anyone loves God,
this one is known by Him."

It was an interesting approach to the discussion
about the eating of spiritually contaminated foods.
He goes on to say in a few verses,
"Food does not commend us to God;
for neither if we eat are we the better,
nor if we do not eat are we the worse."

But what gave me pause this morning
were the first three verses of 1 Corinthians 8.
Our knowledge is no way to come to God.
It is our love for Him that commends us to Him.
So that the heady apologist nitpicking doctrine
is not the one taken note of in heaven.
The woman with her broken inheritance
and the perfume in her hair has a name with Him.

Our knowledge falls short of what it should know,
and will as long as we inhabit these bodies.
But love never falls short with Him.
Knowledge will be humbled,
but Love is already prostrate at His feet,
forgiven, defended, and first to witness new life.

I want to increase in my love of Him.
Not to sit at the table disdaining Him and disdaining Love:
If He was really a prophet, 
He would know what manner of woman was touching Him, 
that she is a sinner.
There sits Knowledge,
judging the Judge and the recipient of His mercy:
a friend of God.
The greater of these is love.

A Divine Romance

I was reading this amazing poem in the category of marriage,
and it blew me away.
Surely its author was referring to our Jesus.
I loved that it so beautifully described the interchange of love.

"...Nor time, nor place, nor chance, nor death can bow
My least desires unto the least remove;
He's firmly mine by oath, I his by vow;
He's mine by faith, and I am his by love;
He's mine by water, I am his by wine;
Thus I my Best-Beloved's am, thus he is mine.

He is my altar, I his holy place;
I am his guest, and he my living food;
I'm his by penitence, he mine by grace;
I'm his by purchase, he is mine by blood;
He's my supporting elm, and I his vine:
Thus I my Best-Beloved's am, thus he is mine.

He gives me wealth, I give him all my vows;
I give him songs, he gives me length of days;
With wreaths of grace he crowns my conquering brows;
And I his temples with a crown of praise,
Which he accepts as an everlasting sign,
That I my Best-Beloved's am; that he is mine."
~Francis Quarles (1592-1644)

I've been reading through Nehemiah with my children lately.
I read chapter 12 in a children's Bible -- I'm not even sure what version.
But its simple language really caused the thanksgiving and praise
that His people put out to stand out.
I started thinking about the place thanksgiving and praise ought to have
in our relationship with Him.

I like how this poem pictures Him crowning me with grace,
and me crowning Him with praise.
Let's praise Him more.
Let's not leave His love unrequited.
He is our altar.
We are His holy place.
Let's be all His.

Who Created You

"I am the LORD who created you;
from the time you were born, I have helped you.
Do not be afraid; you are my servant, my chosen people whom I love.
I will give water to the thirsty land
and make streams flow on the dry ground.
I will pour out my spirit on your children
and my blessing on your descendants.
They will thrive like well-watered grass,
 like willows by streams of running water.
One by one, people will say, 'I am the LORD's.'
They will come to join the people of Israel.
They each will mark the name of the LORD on their arms
and call themselves one of God's people."
~Isaiah 44:2-5

My baby brother is a daddy. 
My nephew is the first of his generation.
Not the first grandchild for my parents, but the first to have my father's name.
The name carries on.

Grief and Mercy

One of the most precious scenes in the Gospels to me is the one where Jesus comes to His friends in their grief. Several times it says that Jesus loved Martha and her sister Mary, and Lazarus.

And it tells us He didn't come when He heard Lazarus was sick. After Lazarus died, Jesus said to His disciples, "Nevertheless, let us go to him."

I love this story for its truth. For the real grief the sisters had. For the honest outbursts. And for Jesus' response to their grief.

It says when He saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her weeping, He groaned in the spirit and was troubled.
And Jesus wept.

I have heard the people who invalidate grief say that He was weeping for their unbelief.
He was not!

The New Testament says to weep with those who weep. And it isn't over their lack of faith. It's what love does.

'Beloved, let us love one another.'
Love weeps, too.
It doesn't say, "Suck it up, wimp."
It brings out the tissues, and sits down to cry. 

We do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses,
but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.
We can come to the throne of grace -- because He has grace.
He is grace.
He'll give mercy.

Our High Priest lets our sicknesses and our griefs and our pain touch Him. And I love Him for it.

Crying

 This life is full of so much grief. There's nothing we can do to remove it from others. But we can cry with them. Let their griefs hurt us, too. Suffer with them.

My friend is crying today. More than one of them, actually. Anniversaries of loss, present losses heaped with them... so much to cry through. I look forward to heaven. To seeing my friends with joy filling their faces, to the touch of His hand as He wipes our faces dry, and to the end of loss. The end of death. The New Testament tells us to weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice.

When my uncle died in July, I went to my parents' house and sat and cried all day with them. It doesn't remove any of the loss, but there is something in knowing we aren't alone in our misery. So many of my friends are on my heart today, and I'm crying, too.

Scattered Sheep

I've had something on my mind to write for a week or two, and have been mulling it over. A passage in my children's read aloud today pulled it together in my mind. We were reading from Mountain Born by Elizabeth Yates. A young boy named Peter was sent out to "shepherd" the flock for the first time. (A wise old shepherd remained close by, working at another task.) Peter fell asleep after lunch, the sheep dog was tending to an anxious ewe and her twin lambs, and the sheep scattered. When Peter woke up, the sheep were gone, the dog was gone, and he didn't know what to do. Benj, the wise old shepherd who had not been far, helped him to gather them and right it all.

"It doesn't take much to keep them together," Benj said quietly, "but once they get separated, it's a lot of work to bring them together again."

Jesus commanded us one major thing in regard to how we treat each other. Love one another. He said, "A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:34,35)

Romans 12 says, "Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil. Cling to what is good. Be kindly affectionate to one another with brotherly love, in honor giving preference to one another; not lagging in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; rejoicing in hope, patient in tribulation, continuing steadfastly in prayer; distributing to the needs of the saints, given to hospitality..."

I've been thinking about how love without hypocrisy ought to behave toward the body of Christ. Whenever bitterness comes in, we excuse ourselves from Jesus' commandment to us. "They wronged me. They're hypocrites." We exempt ourselves from this command when our brother or sister has hurt us, or wronged us, or paid us less than we were worth, or just didn't respond to our need that they didn't know we had. Their failure is all too evident to us. We see every flaw, because we're family to them. We know every mistake they've made, every time they've tripped. And we count their sins as worth twice as much as ours, because their mistakes cost us something.

Beloved, let us love one another -- LOVE is of God. Accusing the brethren is not of God. Love is of God. Preferring others over myself is of God. Kind affection toward my brothers and sisters is of God. Patience in tribulation is of God.

I love my husband. Shall I then make a long list of all his failures over the last 11 years of our marriage? Every sin against me? Shall I post them on a website's message board? Who is the hypocrite in love if I do that? I am. Love suffers long, and is kind. Love acts like Shem and Japheth acted toward Noah (they were blessed). Knowing him to be drunk and naked in the tent, they went in backwards to cover him -- to protect him from shame. It doesn't act like Ham, who exploited his father's failure: who mocked -- and told everyone he saw.

Love comes alongside to help lift a heavy burden that his brother is carrying. It doesn't watch him falter under it and post a picture in the news. I may be right in every assessment of my brother's sins, failures, and negligence. Where does that leave me? Will I act like Jesus, reaching out to heal? Or will I grab my camera and my notepad to document their wrongdoing and publish it abroad?

I was sickened to read lists of grievances online by Christians against members of the body of Christ. They probably didn't see it that way, because it was against "the church".

We were forgiven so much. Can't we forgive our brothers? So what if we were wronged? Does nursing my grievance serve Christ? When we forgive, we unite ourselves in action with Christ, who forgave us. When we make lists, and check them twice, and accuse our brothers, we unite ourselves in action with the accuser of the brethren.

There is a place to pour out our hurts and our anger. To our Father in prayer -- not to the world. Pour it out to Him. And if someone has sinned against me, Jesus told me to go to that person.

I am asked by the One who forgave me to forgive. How can I refuse Him? Are even His commands trumped by my measly little owie? Is my dignity of such value to me that when my Savior asks me to forgive my brother I will not? Have I forgotten Him? No one owes me a debt so great that my own debt to Christ is not bigger. And He took it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross. Can't I nail my brother's debts there, too? It may be a real debt I am owed. SO WHAT? I owed more. Christ is worth more to me than the sum of all the debts of every brother who ever stepped on my foot.

"If he has wronged you or owes anything, put that on my account." (Philemon 18)

"Do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by Whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor, and evil-speaking be put away from you, with all malice. And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God in Christ forgave you. Therefore be imitators of God as dear children. And walk in love, as Christ also has loved us and given Himself for us..." (Ephesians 4:30-5:2)

"Now may the Lord direct your hearts into the love of God and into the patience of Christ."

"May the God of patience and comfort grant you to be likeminded toward one another, according to Christ Jesus, that you may with one mind and one mouth glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore receive one another, just as Christ also received us, to the glory of God." (Rom. 15:5-7)