A Mind Full of Empty Nets

On the shore of the Sea of Galilee,
which I remember from Capernaum,
He borrowed a boat from Simon.
A little way from the beach, He taught them.
The day I visited was calm,
and it was a pleasant place to sit.

I wonder what it was
that made Him turn His attention to fishing after He taught.
Maybe He saw Simon distracted,
politely letting Him use his boat,
and moving it to where He requested,
but his mind full of his empty nets,
of the day getting away from him,
of the tired disappointment of the night's labor.
Maybe he wondered what his wife would say about there being no fish.
I've got things to do.

Maybe, when Jesus was finished saying eternal things,
He cared that Simon was obsessed with the temporal,
and wanted to help him see.
He didn't rebuke him for inattention,
or shame him for impatience.
He did something in the temporal
that shocked Simon into seeing the eternal.

Let's catch some fish, Simon.
Still polite, Simon obliged Him,
even though he knew his business better, he thought.
And now his nets were breaking;
his boat nearly sinking;
his partners' boat nearly sinking.
In the face of this blessing, he was afraid.
It brought him to his knees,
and in mind of his sins.

"Please leave me -- I'm too much of a sinner to be around You!"
And Jesus, now the center of these working men's attention,
as He had not been before,
said, "Don't be afraid! You'll catch men, now."
And these fishermen,
these entrepreneurs,
these distracted margin-listeners --
left it all and followed Him.

If You Didn't Put the Pepper in it...

The people are to take some of the blood 
and put it on the doorposts and above the doors of the houses 
in which the animals are to be eaten.
That night the meat is to be roasted, 
and eaten with bitter herbs and with bread made without yeast.  
~Exodus 12:7,8

My brother-in-law introduced me to tea
made from fresh ginger and black pepper.
I was skeptical.
I was not a big ginger fan,
and adding black pepper to it really lowered its appeal to me.
But I felt miserable the day he offered it to me,
and he said how much it soothed his muscles,
lessened his aches, and opened up his airways.
I found it helps me immensely.

My little Silas has been coughing.
He told me his throat hurt,
and he likes "the regular kind of cough better,
the kind that doesn't hurt right here," he said, with his hand on his chest.
I poured him some ginger and black pepper tea.

"Mom... if you didn't put the pepper in it, I would like it," he said.
"I know, honey. But the pepper is part of the medicine of it.
You have to drink it all."
He sat at the table, taking a sip, grimacing,
and measuring the tea level with a ruler.
"The pepper makes my tongue spicy."

Don't we all wish He would not add the pepper?
That we could eat the sweet without the bitter?
As we eat the bitter, though, we must say,
"Praised are you, Adonai our God, 
Ruler of the universe, 
who makes us holy through Your commandments, 
and commands us to eat bitter herbs."

This Reminds Me of Summer

We walked out of the house this morning,
and my New England-acclimated daughter said,
"This reminds me of summer!"
The sun was shining, the snow banks were receding (a little),
and a phoebe was calling out her name.
We got in the van and drove south.

In a town founded in 1623, we found a cemetery.
(Which was a 'dormitory' to the early church -- I like that.)
The cemetery was in full sunlight, and on a hill.
We parked the car and got out to walk.
Yes, we like to bring our children to graveyards to play.
The children ran, but I walked.
Away from the others, I walked in silence,
looking at the Polish and Italian and Irish surnames on the stones,
and at the words Rest In Peace,
and enjoying the feel of the sun warming my back.

I looked at the rhododendron buds awaiting resurrection,
and up at the bare branches of a deciduous tree with small buds formed,
awaiting resurrection,
and at the snow-covered ground hiding all those dead bones.
I thought about my own grave.

Elisa came and walked with me, and pointed at evergreen trees
someone had planted over a tombstone.
"Don't plant those over my grave," I said,
"and don't put fake flowers by my grave, either."
I told her I wanted them to plant bulbs over my grave.
"Every year they will die back,
but every spring they will bloom,
and you can remember that there is a resurrection."
"That is what I was planning to do!" she said.
And I could not help but look out over all those stones
and think about the men and women who have lived and died
and will live again.

I will join them: uncurling myself in the warmth of the Son,
and stretching out the stiffness of the long winter,
and no longer unadorned and bare of glory.

Who's Wasting Now?

And being in Bethany in the house of Simon the leper, 
as He sat at meat, there came a woman 
having an alabaster box of ointment of spikenard very precious; 
and she brake the box, and poured it on His head. 
And there were some that had indignation within themselves, 
and said, Why was this waste of the ointment made? 
For it might have been sold for more than three hundred pence, 
and have been given to the poor. 
And they murmured against her. 
And Jesus said, Let her alone; why trouble ye her? 
she hath wrought a good work on Me. 
For ye have the poor with you always, 
and whensoever ye will ye may do them good: 
but Me ye have not always. 
She hath done what she could: 
she is come aforehand to anoint My body to the burying. 
Verily I say unto you, 
Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached 
throughout the whole world, 
this also that she hath done 
shall be spoken of for a memorial of her. 
And Judas Iscariot, one of the twelve, 
went unto the chief priests, to betray Him unto them. 
And when they heard it, they were glad, 
and promised to give him money. 
And he sought how he might conveniently betray Him.
~Mark 14:3-11

Indignation.
"Why waste such expensive perfume?!
It could have been sold for a year's wages
and the money given to the poor!"
The economic value they placed on worship --
it was of far more value than that.

Here is a woman who, like the widow and her half penny,
gave of her substance.
She gave what cost her to give.
Her worship took tangible and fragrant form.
Spiritual worship poured out in material goods.
And not poured out in a way that could be benefited from physically.
This was no meat sacrificed and then served to all as a feast.
It was just dumped on Him to complete 'waste'.
She didn't even have an IRS form
that would let her claim the loss against her taxes.

The indignant ones were angry that they didn't get to control the largesse.
They didn't get to be the distributors of someone else's generosity.
So they berated her 'wastefulness'.

Is it possible to waste any good thing given to Him?
He notices widows who give half pennies.
He rewards cups of water that cost so little to share.
Alms come up as a memorial to Him.
He eavesdrops on the words of those who love Him,
and has them recorded in a book of remembrance.
He keeps a diary of words of love and worship.
Collects our tears in a bottle.
Counts our hairs.
Keeps track of sparrows who fall, and clothes lilies.
He waits anxiously for the prodigal,
ready to throw a lavish party at the return of the waster.
Killing the fatted calf over him -- to feed the wasted son.
Pouring out His own life to redeem thieves and murderers.
Talk about excess.
A year's wages is nothing to Him.
But He weighs the heart in the gift.
And hers poured it all out on Him.

Judas's response to this?
To sell Jesus for silver.
This woman 'wastes' a year's wages on Him.
Judas sells Him for thirty pieces of silver.
Four months' wages for a skilled laborer.
Who's wasting now?

The Day the Kings Shut Their Mouths

Behold, My Servant shall rule well; 
He shall be exalted and extolled, 
and be very high. 
Just as many were astonished at You 
(so much was the disfigurement from man, 
His appearance and His form from the sons of mankind); 
so He sprinkles from many nations; 
the kings shall shut their mouths at Him; 
for they will see that which was not told to them; 
yea, what they had not heard, nor understood.
~Isaiah 52:13-15

It will be at the sight of Him;
at the sprinkling of many nations;
at His rule, and His exaltation.

That at the name of Jesus 
every knee should bow, of things in heaven, 
and things in earth, 
and things under the earth; 
And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, 
to the glory of God the Father.
~Philippians 2:10,11

First silence, and then truth from the rulers of the earth.
I am looking forward to it.

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.

In Among the Ruined

Main Street, Beit Shean

 

Wherever He went --

in villages, cities, or the countryside --

they brought the sick out to the marketplaces.

They begged Him to let the sick

touch at the least the fringe of His robe,

and all who touched Him were healed.

~ From Mark 6

It's a true story.

But Jesus told another about a man who'd been accosted 

and left bleeding on a road. 

On a road with plenty of space 

for the 'holy' men to cross to the other side 

before they became unclean with the touch of bleeding death.

Unlike those men, our Jesus waded in among the ruined.

He let His clothes and Himself be grasped at by the desperate;

by the ones dragged and carried to Him;

the ones who limped to Him;

and the ones who crawled along the way,

trying to stay out from under the trampling feet of the healthy.

There were, I am sure, those who had earned their misery.

They had done what ought not to have been done,

and were suffering in themselves the due penalty for their sins.

And there were those who had been sinned against by others,

or failed in some way by those who ought to have been more careful.

He was a magnet for them all.

For the broken and the damaged.

The ones forbidden from the sanctuary.

The ones forbidden from society.

The fringe of His robe would be where the dirt collected.

Where the dust of His feet was kicked up in a cloud.

Maybe I can touch some of the dirt that touched Him. 

I waited patiently for the Lord to help me,

and He turned to me and heard my cry.

He lifted me out of the pit of despair,

out of the mud and the mire.

He set my feet on solid ground

and steadied me as I walked along.

He has given me a new song to sing,

a hymn of praise to our God.

Many will see what He has done and be amazed. 

They will put their trust in the Lord.

~From Psalm 40

I was so foolish and ignorant;

I was like a beast before You.

Nevertheless I am continually with You;

You hold me by my right hand.

You will guide me with Your counsel,

and afterward receive me to glory.

~ From Psalm 73

Practice Makes Perfect

It's been one of those days.
They started in on each other early,
griping and ordering each other about.
Over and over again, I corrected wretched behavior,
and wretched words,
and ugly expressions.

While I cut up meat for the crock pot dinner this morning,
I heard a tumult arise in the living room.
One of them had unleashed frustration and smacked another.
The one who was smacked had been forcing a foot into the other one's face.
But it had been in retaliation for the smacker's foot rudely placed.

Part of training to be family, is being a family in training.
"This is not kind, and you will speak kindly to your sister."
"That is rude, and you will not do it."
"You speak nicely to him."
"No. Try again. That was the wrong way to do that."
"Be respectful. Speak politely."
Over and over and over again.

They are siblings already.
But they must practice brotherly love.
Years of practice and discipline
will (hopefully) one day be worked out in real love.
You see, my dear siblings and I
did not start out with our arms wrapped around each other's waists,
and longing to be together when we are apart.

We practice how we ought to behave,
and we mature to feel what we ought to feel.
We cry with joy over each other's babies,
and share our food willingly,
and stay up all night long waiting for good news,
or praying our fears into help,
and coming to the rescue when lives break down.

We stop responding to offered help with a punch in the eye,
and we grow to accept the massage,
or the steadying arm,
or the help dressing when we've become too weak to do it ourselves.
Because that is what brothers do.

On Election Day in a Foreign Land

The new king makes pretty speeches:

He crowns himself with gold.

My King comes in frankincense,

His bloody death foretold:

In thorny crown and naked flesh,

Himself my treasury.

The new one offers years of wealth 

and false prosperity.

But my King says, "Here, take this Bread --

I'll break Myself for thee."

The new, in pomp and circumstance,

establishes his throne.

But my King, carrying all my shame,

conquered death alone.

When He had put to death my sins,

the ones that conquered me,

His living, breathing righteousness

resurrected me.

Before Leaving Them to Sleep

I laid down on my nephew's sleeping bag with him last night to visit before leaving them to sleep.  He was trying to tell me about an event, and referenced the timing of it by mentioning an event in the life of a woman we both know.

"What is the thing when we worship when someone dies?" he asked with his five-year-old pronunciation.
"Um... a funeral?" I said.
"Yes. A funeral."
I like that.
Yes, a funeral.
Where we worship the One who is Resurrection and Life
even in the face of death.

I Want to be Real Bread

I've been reading Matthew again,
toward the middle, where Jesus speaks in parables
about the kingdom of heaven.
And as I have been reading them alone in the mornings,
and then to my children later in the day,
I find myself reflecting on them.

A very short one:
The kingdom of heaven is like leaven, 
which a woman took and hid in three measures of meal 
till it was all leavened.

There is more than one section in my cookbook on bread.
One is labeled Quick Breads.

There are chemical leavens, and biological leavens.
The biological leavens are not used in quick breads.
"Chemical leavening was first publicized
by Amelia Simmons in her American Cookery."
Ahh: the truth is out.
American innovation and production -- whip that lazy bread out faster!
That is not the kind Jesus was talking about.
This one takes time.
This leaven is alive: baking soda is not.

Who needs to wait around for the bread to rise?
For something living to work its way through grain
that has been ground to powder?
For the water and leaven to biologically change the chemistry of the flour?

With a chemical leavening agent, chemical expertise is necessary
to create a functional leavener,
that doesn't leave a chemical flavor in the bread.
Biological leavening agents improve the flavor as they work.
The very process itself makes it good.
The fermentation transforms the dead and tasteless food
into something good to eat.

"Unlike chemical leavening,
which usually activates
as soon as the water combines the acid and base chemicals,
yeast leavening requires proofing,
which allows the yeast time to reproduce
and consume carbohydrates in the flour.
Yeast can unhydrate itself and then rehydrate itself later."
Hmm. Time to reproduce.
Time to eat.
And if the water is absent, it waits until there's water again.

Yeast can be used to make wine.
And the cast off yeast from the wine -- can be used to make bread.
Bread and wine.
We remember His body with unleavened bread,
but it is leavened bread to which He likens the kingdom of heaven.

There is one other worth mentioning: the mechanical.
You can beat air into something and then bake it,
and it is a form a leavening.
It creates a kind of puffiness.
Obviously Jesus wasn't referring to that.
Mechanically leavened foods are a lot of work.

"The Chorleywood Bread Process
uses a mix of biological and mechanical leavening to produce bread;
while it is considered by food processors to be an effective way
to deal with the soft wheat flours characteristic of British Isles agriculture,
it is controversial due to a perceived lack of quality in the final product."
My children always complain about store-bought bread.
"It has no flavor! It's not like real bread."

Processes related to living organisms must be waited for.
Conception is a moment, but gestation takes awhile.
Longer for some than for others.
My mother's children were all born early. Mine were all late.
One contraction does not make a birth.
Labors differ in length, too.
One cry does not make an eloquent orator.
And some kids have speech impediments.
Living things take time to reproduce, and to eat, and to grow.
And they need a supply of water.

I want my being to be consumed by the kingdom of heaven.
I want my chemistry changed by the living, reproducing, breathing Word.
I want His Life to work in mine in such a way that it enhances my flavor.
To be more than just me -- but united with Him and with you
in something altogether better.
I want to be real bread.

The Harmony of One

It is the number we understand first, at least vaguely.
My daughter has been prime factoring lately,
and the question came up: "Is one prime?"
I don't often feel the need to look up something
I have been working with since before I could read,
but I looked up 'the number one' to read about it.
I couldn't help but marvel as I read about it.
'It is sometimes referred to as unity.'

Unity.
The quality or state of not being multiple: oneness.
A condition of harmony: accord.
Continuity without deviation or change (as in purpose or action).
The quality or state of being made one: unification.

"One is its own factorial, its own square, its own cube..."
What is it made of?
It is its own factor.
No other natural number goes into it.
But it goes into every number.
It is neither prime nor composite.
"One is the only positive integer divisible by exactly one positive integer": itself.
Divisible only by itself: multiplied, it remains the same.
It is unique (which, consequently, means 'being the only one').

"In the philosophy of Plotinus,...The One is the ultimate reality 
and source of all existence...
"Philo of Alexandria regards number one as God's number, 
and the basis for all numbers."  

Hear O Israel, the Lord our God the Lord is One.

Beyond the Jagged Questions and Through the Darkness

From my reading today in Diary of an Old Soul:

January 2

A dim aurora rises in my east,
Beyond the line of jagged questions hoar,
As if the head of our intombed High Priest
Began to glow behind the unopened door:
Sure the gold wings will soon rise from the gray!
They rise not. Up I rise, press on the more,
To meet the slow coming of the Master's day.

And from the hymnal:

Holy, holy, holy!
Though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man
Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy --
there is none beside Thee
Perfect in power,
in love and purity.

A Last Minute Gift

I stayed up until 4:20 this morning, praying and waiting to hear good news.
The news came five minutes after I went to bed, worried.
My little brother, the first one I remember the gestation of,
has had his first child.
His wife labored long, and my breath was short in sympathy.
Last night, while I waited, I thought about him when he was so fat,
and when my sister thought he was her two-day-late birthday present.
When he sat in his highchair,
and Mom let the new puppies play on his high chair tray.
Supervised, of course.
He was delighted, and is married to a woman who loves dogs,
and they love their dogs together.
I have been waiting for him to be a daddy for years.

Years ago, when we would urge him to fatherhood, he would brush us off,
and say things like, "I don't know if I want children."
We stopped urging, but we didn't stop hoping.
We knew the value of the gift ourselves,
although for years he hadn't recognized it yet.
But his heart changed.
He started talking about the future differently.
Our hopes were raised.
And when he called me to tell me they were expecting,
and he sounded so happy about it, it was a precious expectation.

I think our Father has beautiful gifts in store for us,
gifts we would treasure above everything we owned --
if we could just get our hearts in line to want them and allow them first.
How many good gifts He has, and we are saying "I don't know if I want that."
I think if we would trust His good will toward us,
we would see the value in what He has,
and accept it with joy and hearts that overflow.
Thank You, Father, for the sweet gift.

Gleaning Grace

From the time I was a child, the end of December held dread for me.
There was Christmas to look forward to,
but the end of Christmas was such sadness.
There was no more fun to be had for the year.
Nothing to expect, but a return from vacation to that long stretch of school.
New Year's is my most hated holiday.
It has always felt like a dismal foreboding approaching.
And it made me sad even about Christmas itself.

Over the years, I have noticed that the news itself
conspires against hope particularly at this season:
The end of the world is approaching.
The wicked have come out in force to assert their evil wills over the innocent.
Again.
Only in worse ways than you imagined.
The bottom is about to fall out of the economy.
The only solution to these perplexing problems
is to surrender the freedom of law-abiding citizens
(and the tools of self defense),
to pay higher taxes,
and to live in the eternal dark.

But this year, although the darkness of the season
and of the world does oppress me,
I feel a hopeful flutter in my heart.
I am looking forward, though the new year promises no improvement.

One of my Christmas gifts is a book which I anticipate comfort from.
Comfort from one who was comforted in so much grief.
Two children lost within months of each other,
after bouts of miserable sickness which he also suffered.
And while that sounds like a terrible beginning,
he gleaned grace in it,
and offers it up for our edification.
And I intend to eat it.

The book is called Diary of an Old Soul by George MacDonald.
It is a book of poetry he wrote, seven lines every day,
while he wept over his children's deaths.
It is arranged as a devotional.
It is one long poem-prayer
broken into a short seven lines a day.

It is reverent, honest, grieving, and hopeful.
It looks in faith toward Him who conquered death.
And He is the only hope we have in the face of death and sin.

Although it is not January first yet, I cheated and read the first three poems.
And what I read made me, for the first time in my life,
look forward to the new year.

The very first one:

Lord, what I once had done with youthful might,
Had I been from the first true to the truth,
Grant me, now old, to do-- with better sight,
And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth;
So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth,
Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain,
Round to his best-- young eyes and heart and brain.

Is that not beautiful?
Does it not urge you to get out your dictionary and look up ruth?
I ought to have looked it up long ago -- it is my mother's name.
Compassion for the misery of another.
And yet, all that remains of this sweet word's usage in our culture
is the word ruthless.
Let's change that.

All That Glory

Although the message we so often receive
is to despair and lose heart,
God's heart toward you and your families is a heart of peace,
and of good will.
His love extends so far as to offer His Son, His beloved Son.

Every time I think of Him
submitting to a human birth in bodily fluids
I am in awe all over again.
All that glory concentrated in a squalling infant.
Carried in human arms by night
to escape the murderous rage of a power hungry tyrant
who turned his wrath on the innocents who remained.

Hands that touched the sick and lame and blind,
and broke the bread and fish to give to the hungry,
and held the children whose mothers begged a blessing of Him
nailed through with a spike.

Feet that grew tired on earth-dirt roads,
ignored by those who ought to have washed them,
wept over by sinners and wiped off with hair.
They pierced His feet, too.

His head, anointed with costly oil,
and crowned with painful thorns.

The body His mother wrapped at His birth
was beaten and bloodied and hung on display.

The voice which He used to speak life to the dead,
to call out Lazarus from his grave,
to remind the weeping women:
"I am the Resurrection and the Life,"
to say to the dead girl, "Little girl, get up,"
is the same voice that said while He died,
"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do,"
and, "It is finished."

Merry Christmas!

Love Materialized

The complaints at this season about the 'materialization of Christmas'
have some merit.
But my husband and I were talking the other day,
and he expressed that he thinks it's right
to give to those we love in celebration of Him.
God loved the world so much He sent His own Son --
the most lavish gift ever given.
He gave Him freely to us,
His beloved son,
His peace on earth,
His goodwill toward men.
Love materialized.

Jesus said, "If you being evil
love to give good gifts to your children,
how much more will your Heavenly Father
give the Holy Spirit to him who asks?"
Our children ought to have demonstrated to them
that we love to give them good gifts.
Though they fail us,
and turn cartwheels in the dining room,
and spill water all over the bathroom,
and cry over nothing.
I want them to know that their parents
(who are not the equal of God in goodness, or in love)
love to give to them.
Because I want them to recognize that their Heavenly Father
loves to give to them, too.

Gold, a Treasure From the Heavens

Because of the financially unstable base of fiat currency,
many people invest in gold.
It does not oxidize in air or water.
One of the least reactive chemical elements,
it is solid under stable conditions.
From the beginning of recorded history, men have sought it.

It conducts electricity: energy moves through it.
It can be pounded so thin that light passes through it.
It resists corrosion.
It makes a good heat shield.
The vast majority of gold discovered by men
is thought to be deposited by meteorites.
Not of this world.
Very little of it has remained near enough
to the surface of the earth to be retrieved by men.
Its density has caused it to sink to the core,
hidden out of the sight and reach of men.

Its chemical symbol Au, comes from the Latin word aurum:
shining dawn, or perhaps glowing dawn.
A fitting gift for our Dayspring from on high.
For our Light come into the darkness.

Strangely, gold also has also been used medicinally from ancient times.
It is anti-inflammatory, and used in nuclear medicine in some cancer treatments.

Wars have been fought over it.
Discoveries of new lands inspired by it.
Much of the gold mined throughout history is still in circulation;
perhaps as much as 85%.
I wonder how many hands my wedding band has passed through.

The town I grew up in was a Gold Rush town.
We drove past mines that my mother used to play in regularly.
It shaped my state, and built my town.
It brought the groups of people whose grandchildren grew up with me.
My uncle used to gold pan, and show me his vial of gold dust.
There were still old timers in the hills trying to strike it rich.

We crown our kings with it.
Accompanied by sacred oil,
it is supposed to represent the shining light of heaven.
We face our temples with it.
Make it into thread and embroider beauty into royal gowns.
The mercy seat on the ark of the covenant was covered in it.

To a rich church, Jesus wrote a letter in Revelation:
I counsel you to buy gold from Me.
It probably brought to mind something else He had said to them once:
Consider the lilies how they grow: 
They toil not, they spin not; 
and yet I say to you, that Solomon in all his glory 
was not arrayed like one of these.
If then God so clothe the grass, which is to-day in the field, 
and to-morrow is cast into the oven; 
how much more will he clothe you, O ye of little faith?
And seek ye not what ye shall eat, 
or what ye shall drink, 
neither be ye of doubtful mind.
For all these things do the nations of the world seek after: 
and your Father knoweth that ye have need of these things.
But rather seek ye the kingdom of God, 
and all these things shall be added to you.
Fear not, little flock; 
for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom.
Sell what ye have, and give alms: 
provide yourselves bags which become not old, 
a treasure in the heavens that faileth not, 
where no thief approacheth, 
neither moth corrupteth.
For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Frankincense: Perfume of the Sanctuary

Slashing the bark of the frankincense tree is called 'striping'.
It, too, results in a resin bled out.
Tears form.
The hardiest species is the Boswellia sacra.
It is unusual in that it grows in unforgiving environments,
sometimes directly from solid rock.

'The means of initial attachment to the stone is not known
but is accomplished by a bulbous disk-like swelling of the trunk.
This disk-like growth at the base of the tree
prevents it from being torn away from the rock
during the violent storms that frequent the region they grow in.
This feature is slight or absent in trees grown in rocky soil or gravel.
The tears from these hardy survivors are considered superior
for their more fragrant aroma.' (Wikipedia)

Used to treat arthritis, to heal wounds,
and to drive germs from the environment,
it has been valued for many centuries.
It suppresses cancer cells.
The incense relieves depression and anxiety, healing the mind.

It accompanied the meat offering.
Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world.
It was presented with the showbread.
It was given with thanksgiving.

Herodotus claimed it was dangerous to harvest
because of the venomous snakes which resided in the trees.

Perfume of the sanctuary,
emblem of prayer,
symbolic of the Divine Name,
its Hebrew name means 'white'.
Come now, let us reason together, says the Lord, 
though your sins be as red as scarlet, 
they will be white as snow.

The Weight of Myrrh

Gold, frankincense, and myrrh.
Among His gifts, the aromatic resin of a repeatedly wounded tree,
cut to bleed.
Medicine for bruises, for injuries and sprains.
All My bones are out of joint.

Bitter.
It means bitter.
Like Mara, who ate bitterness,
and cried her heart out, and had nothing.
The tree that is cut to bleed out its healing is full of thorns.
Thorns that cursed our existence.
By His stripes we are healed.

It looks like the one I stepped on when I was eleven,
that pierced my shoe, and entered my foot,
and threw me to the ground in tears and howls so loud
that a nearby construction worker came looking to see what was wrong,
and pulled it out, and carried me to his car,
and drove me to my house, and got my mother.

I wonder if His crown was myrrh.
The thorns that pierced Him,
were they healing thorns?
Was its scent familiar to Him?
Had it perfumed His childhood?

It is antiseptic.
Washes out infectious material.
Analgesic.
It relieves the pain of the wounds so treated.
You can drink it in wine.
This is My blood which is poured out for you.

It is good for the heart.
A related species is considered one of the best substances
for the treatment of circulatory problems,
nervous system disorders
and rheumatic complaints.

The Egyptians embalmed the dead with it.
The Jews burned it as incense in the temple.

At times historically more valuable than gold by weight.
More valuable than gold?
The wounded-tree medicine?
The incense of worship?
The annointing for the dead?
The wound-cleansing, heart-healing, pain-relieving,
prayer-rising perfume of death?
How do I value it?
How do I value Him?

All thy garments smell of myrrh, 
and aloes, and cassia, 
out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad. 
~ Psalm 45:8 

On Earth

The question screams: if God is good, how...?!

But Jesus told us to pray,
"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Your name. 
Your kingdom come. 
Your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven... 
And do not lead us into temptation, 
but deliver us from the evil one. 
For Yours is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. 
Amen."

So much evil.
So many tears here.
Our Father is holy.
His will is done in heaven.
And He wants us to pray His kingdom comes here, to the earth.
That His will would be accomplished here, on earth.
Which makes it very clear that other things than His will
are being accomplished here on earth.

Deliver us.
We need His deliverance from the evil one.
We need Him to assert His kingdom, His power, and His glory forever.
Amen.
So let it be.

"We know that we are of God, 
and the whole world lies under the sway of the wicked one." (1 John 5)
If we are of God, we ought to be engaged in acts of civil disobedience
while we live here in this world,
which is under the sway of the evil one.
Love is the weapon to revolt with.
The law of His kingdom is love.
Love the Lord Your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength.
And love your neighbor as yourself.
"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)

Father, please pour Your love into our hearts,
that we may do Your will here on earth,
where all the world is in slavery to the will of the evil one.
Deliver us from him and his kingdom of darkness.
Deliver our neighbors from the darkness of his wickedness,
and into the Kingdom of Your Son, our Light.
In the name of Jesus, who displays Your love and Your light to us,
we who were born in darkness.

What Did They Not Understand?

Two stories about Him are closely connected in three gospels.
I was only reading the second, a story that has always puzzled me.
Mark gives us the briefest account of most things it relates about Him.
A mere sixteen chapters to summarize Immanuel; God with us.
What a remarkable thrift of words.

He made them get in a boat and go without Him.
He saw them straining to obey, because the wind was against them.
He came to them, walking on the sea, and would have passed them by.
They thought He was a ghost, were troubled, and screamed.
To which He replied, "Be of good cheer! It is I: do not be afraid."
He got into the boat: the wind ceased.
They were were stunned, shocked, amazed --
because they hadn't understood the loaves,
because their hearts were hardened.

Apparently I hadn't understood the loaves, either,
because I sat there not understanding as I read it.
I mean, I know about the loaves.
I know He fed those five thousand people with a pittance of food,
and that His disciples passed it out to everyone,
and then they gathered up the leftovers in baskets and were sent off in a boat.
But how are the two related?
How does bread have anything to do
with this odd miracle that seems to have no purpose?
Why is it recorded so many times
like there's something He wants me to know from it?
What, Lord? How come I don't get it either?

I turned to the passage in Matthew 14:22-33 and read it there.
I read about the bread before it, and made note of a few additional details.
In the margin of my Bible, it says that He said literally, "I am."
Not that strangely awkward, "It is I."
Hmm. A clue.
Matthew tells me this is when Peter walked on the water, in that wild wind.
And that when He got into the boat and the wind ceased,
they came and worshiped Him.
"Truly You are the Son of God!" they noticed.

The John passage tells me another notable fact:
the response to the multiplied bread was,
"This is truly the Prophet."

Their hardened hearts had hidden His divinity from them,
even in the multiplication of the bread.
There is no record of their worship or marveling at Him
when He fed the five thousand.
It seems they just passed out the bread, gathered up the leftovers,
and got into the boat to leave.

They handled the bread He had multiplied;
they served Him in passing it out;
and they failed to worship, even as they gathered up the excess.

As my children's teacher,
I sometimes leave them with longer exposure to a problem
to let their minds work it over, in hope of their understanding.
One of these passages says He told them to gather up the leftovers,
so that none of it would be lost.
Why would Someone who could do this miracle
care about saving every scrap?
What good is a leftover miracle?
I think He had hoped that in handling it again, they might notice Him.
The indicator of their hardened hearts
was that they did not recognize Him, and they did not worship Him.

So He sent them into a wild wind,
where their God-blind eyes terrified them at the sight of Him.
Where the presence of their salvation prompted screaming.
And where their fear pushed Him to communicate to them.
Take courage! I am. Don't be afraid.
When He joined them and the wind ceased, they saw Him.

Truly, You are the Son of God: Immanuel: God with us.
And we do not recognize it.
We do not understand with our hardened hearts.
We handle Your work with dull hearts and stupid hands,
passing out manna, and gathering back miracles without any worship.
Please forgive me for my silent tongue.
For the fear that panics and does not praise.

Brothers

"Behold, how good and how pleasant it is 
for brethren to dwell together in unity!" 

"And there was also a strife among them, 
which of them should be accounted the greatest.
And he said unto them, 
'The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them; 
and they that exercise authority upon them are called benefactors. 
But ye shall not be so: 
but he that is greatest among you, let him be as the younger; 
and he that is chief, as he that doth serve.'" 
~Luke 22:24-26

There is a beautiful dynamic between brothers who love one another that does not exist in other human relationships where one 'outranks' another. I love to watch my sons when they are being kind and getting along. The older, who is eleven, helps his five-year-old brother with an understanding of how it is to be a little boy. He carries him around piggy-back, and wrestles with him gently, since he is half his size. The younger one, in his minuscule manliness, is not ridiculed for his weakness, but built up in his masculine identity. I see my older son slow a little, to allow his little brother to beat him in a foot race. I see him limit himself for the sake of togetherness. He plays games that are younger than his interests because they interest his little brother. He is 'being as the younger'. When his attitude is good, he cheerfully assists his brother in brushing his teeth, putting the toothpaste on for him. He oohs and ahhs over Lego creations that are not that amazing, even while he assembles his own designs that have gears and moving parts. And while he is older, and in a sense has more authority, they are both subject to the authority of their Dad and me. As they age, their relationship to each other becomes more and more equal.

One of the things I love the most about family dynamics over the holidays is the easy relationship that exists between the siblings in my family and our spouses. Some of us are older, and some younger, but we're all adults now. The first thing among us is our brotherhood. It isn't our age. There is a freedom to disagree, because we are all secure in our place in the family. I hear my husband and my brothers and brothers-in-law in loud, good-humored discussions on subjects that in many circles result in breaches. But they are brothers. And that ought to be the case among believers. Because they are brothers, there isn't that constant undertone of who is in authority, and who is subject to them. They shift from theological discussion to passing the salt -- to showing each other better ways to keep rhythm while playing the guitar and playing ping pong with the children. Three or four gather in one corner to sing, and two more go back and forth in Wii golf, since it is now too late to play real golf. One goes out to load the wood stove, and another joins him to help. We are one family. Many members. And the older ones are the ones making the meals, and cleaning up the spills, and picking up the ones who have scraped their knees, and rocking the cryers to sleep and running the vacuum cleaner. Over the three days we spent together, I saw three or four people vacuuming at various times. (Thirty-four people track a lot of sand in and out.) Two of the vacuumers were men. And the foremost among us, the one of highest rank -- my Dad -- was one of them.

"But you must not be called Rabbi," Jesus said, 
"for One is your teacher, Christ, and you are all brothers."

Anniversary Thanks

What to say on this anniversary of her homecoming?
Looking back on my memories of her,
I look forward to realities she's already living in.
When next I see her, her eyes will sparkle more
than they always did when she arrived for a visit.
I expect she'll have a bag to unpack full of gifts of another kind.

"Give thanks in all circumstances," it says.
Grandma did that.
Here we are on the eve of Thanksgiving,
and many of us have suffered loss,
and perhaps only look forward to more losses.
In all these things, we are more than conquerors.
Our prize is already waiting.
The Son of God has crossed the finish line for us.
In Him, all the promises of God are 'yes' and 'amen'.
So remain in Him.
In Him we have Life.
Live in Him.
In all our sorrows, He has shared.
And we will share His joy.
Thank You, Jesus, for the fellowship of the Spirit,
the communion of the saints.

Quiet Ambition

I have been asked the question before,
"So... what are you doing now?"
Actually, they started asking me shortly after I got married.
I think I have finally come to the answer.
"We are living quietly."

There are circles of Christianity for whom quiet living is a failure.
Because we adopt the values of our culture.
And quietness and rest are not American values.
American values have to do with productivity.
With sweat and effort and efficiency.
With action and movement and full schedules.
If we aren't working hard, we strive to play hard.
But Christians ought not to be known for their tumult. 

God did not call us to live in immorality, but in holiness. 
So then, whoever rejects this teaching 
is not rejecting a human being, but God, who gives you his Holy Spirit. 
There is no need to write you about love for each other. 
You yourselves have been taught by God 
how you should love one another. 
And you have, in fact, behaved like this 
toward all the believers in all of Macedonia. 
So we beg you, our friends, to do even more. 
Make it your aim to live a quiet life, 
to mind your own business, 
and to earn your own living, just as we told you before. 
In this way you will win the respect of those who are not believers, 
and you will not have to depend on anyone for what you need. 
1 Thessalonians 4:7-12

I exhort therefore, first of all, 
that supplications, prayers, intercessions, thanksgivings, 
be made for all men; for kings and all that are in high place; 
that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life 
in all godliness and gravity. 
This is good and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior; 
who would have all men to be saved, 
and come to the knowledge of the truth.
1 Timothy 2:1-4 

But the wisdom from above is pure first of all; 
it is also peaceful, gentle, and friendly; 
it is full of compassion and produces a harvest of good deeds; 
it is free from prejudice and hypocrisy. 
And goodness is the harvest that is produced 
from the seeds the peacemakers plant in peace.
James 3:17-18

It's a tall order in a loud world.
Let us not be the noise.

Then justice shall dwell in the wilderness; 
and righteousness shall abide in the fruitful field. 
And the work of righteousness shall be peace; 
and the effect of righteousness, 
quietness and confidence for ever. 
And my people shall abide in a peaceable habitation, 
and in safe dwellings, 
and in quiet resting-places.
Isaiah 32:16-18

One of the differences between the aged and the young
is their level of activity.
The youth in any society are the ones who speed around,
climbing and racing, and moving between their furious pursuits.
As men mature, they slow their steps,
and they lessen their speech,
and they value peace and home and family.
Their testosterone levels fall,
allowing the oxytocin they naturally produce
to work its magic in nurturing others.
Their aggression fades, and they take up gardening.
There is a good reason the church ought to be headed up by older men.
Older men don't need to fight with everyone.
They aren't off conquering the world, and beating their opponents.
They are accessible to younger men, to women and children.
Their ambitions have grown quiet.
They don't agitate for war.

A Thursday Prayer

Please will You move in my nation and in the world?
I pray for my nation, 
that You would turn the hearts of the people 
away from murder and sexual immorality.
Lord, You have done it before in this land.
I pray You would do it again.
Have mercy on Your people.
Show Yourself strong and merciful, and full of lovingkindness.
About the election: I do not know what to pray for.
Will You please have Your will in this election?
I believe in You; in Your sovereignty in human affairs.
You don't need 'Your man' to run anything.
You can accomplish Your will 
through even the hatred and disobedience of Your enemies.
Their very sins can be made to serve You, 
though they intend them for Your destruction.
Please forgive my sins.
The sins of my heart, and the sins of my hands.

A 100% Return

His uncle offered him a deal:

lend him $10 for the night,

and he'd give him $20 in the morning.

A 100% return.

He had already offered the deal to my suspicious daughter.

She had refused to take it.

She was not going to be taken in by a sweet-seeming deal.

"I don't know him enough to trust him," she told me.

But Isaiah is more inclined to take a risk,

and more willing to take the word of someone he trusts.

"If he is honest in what he is offering,

and he can be trusted to keep his word,

that's too good a deal to pass up," I advised.

He thought about it for a minute,

and then went and got his money and handed a ten to his uncle.

And then everyone waited to see:

would he really double his money?

To his uncle's credit, he kept his word.

He had told him, "I am a Christian, and I am not lying."

In fact, he made Isaiah sit down and write a contract for him to sign,

signed it, and then paid him back about twelve hours early.

He told him, "Sometimes being willing to take a risk pays off."

Trusting the One who always speaks truth

is a worthwhile investment.

Normally, I would advise my son against these kind of deals.

Just trusting someone's word is pretty risky

in these days of phishing scams and banking scandals.

But I believed his uncle would follow through,

and I thought perhaps it would be something he pondered in the future.

And maybe he would remember it,

and take a step of faith one day,

trusting the word of Him who promised.

"...God, more abundantly willing to shew to the heirs of the promise 

the immutability of his counsel, did interpose by an oath,
that through two immutable things, 

in which it is impossible for God to lie, 

a strong comfort we may have 

who did flee for refuge to lay hold on the hope set before us, 

which we have, as an anchor of the soul, 

both sure and steadfast, and entering into that within the veil..."

All I Ever Got

"All I ever got from them was love.
They made no difference between us and their own kids," she told me.
She was talking about her aunt and uncle,
who took her and her brother in when they needed a home.
"They've always been like that," she said.
Becoming family to people who need one.
She went on to tell me
about the many strays she and her husband took in over the years.
Kids who had been on the streets, and didn't have anywhere to go.
Her husband died when her youngest was fifteen.
Alone, she kept taking kids in.
Her grandmother did that, too.
 
I knew a little of her story from her cousins,
who spent years living as siblings under the same roof as children.
I've seen her in the family photographs, tall and smooth-haired.
She's seen too many sad things,
but she smiles and helps others who hurt.
We keep looking at each other.
"You look like your mother," she tells me.
I see my great-grandmother in her cheekbones, and her dark eyes.
I was recently given copies of so many old pictures.
Pictures that show my sister's resemblance to my great-grandmother,
and that seem to have come alive in her.
And I see her uncle in her eyes, too.
I can hear my great-aunt's voice in some small measure when she speaks.
And I even hear how it passed down partly to my aunt.
And those eyes... like my great-great-grandfather's sister's.

She tells me stories decades older than my memories,
stories that fill in a little more family history.
I learn about her and her children
and grandchildren
and parents
and grandparents
and great-grandparents.
The ones I have seen in the pictures.
She tells things that they felt the pain of,
but she has her mother's humor, and makes me laugh.

I was afraid it would be uncomfortable.
I haven't grown up knowing her, and I am not an at-ease conversationalist.
But she talked about people I know and love,
and she knows and loves them, too.
And she saw them giving long before I did, and imitated it.
"I don't know what would have happened to me if not for them," she said.

It Will Change Your Life

"If you will change this one thing about how you operate,
it will change your life:
throw garbage in the garbage can."

That is what I said as I sorted and sifted more miniscule bits of tin foil,
broken plastic toys,
used-up glow sticks,
old band-aids,
ripped paper,
bent needles,
pencil sharpenings,
and other debris from the things he actually loves,
and the dirty clothes stuffed in containers.

"Do you see how much work it would have saved
to simply throw trash away once you knew it was trash?"
And it strikes me: this is a good plan for my life.

High and Low

I could be doing something important with my life,
instead of living out the normal --
feeding, sleeping,
working, playing,
going, staying,
fixing, and correcting.
But then I read:
"Do not set your mind on high things, 
but associate with the humble."
And who is more humble than a child?
Their self-importance does not stop them from dancing
when the music plays,
crying when they hurt,
eating when they are hungry,
even though they might get food in their teeth.
When I give them gifts, they wiggle in delight,
and let their faces share the joy with me.
They don't hide their drawings
to save themselves from criticism.
They leave their scraps of poetry littered through my house,
instead of shoved into a binder
in the back of a private shelf.

Perhaps it is for the important people to say,
"I could be wiping someone's nose right now,
or coaching them through using a toilet.
Why didn't I take that chance
to read a book to a five-year-old when I had it?
I could have had conversations about crayons and Play-doh
instead of these mundane philosophies
I have occupied my time with.
My life has been wasted in high places,
when I might have learned more
tying shoes,
and helping people out of their jackets,
and putting lotion on rashes,
and lying on my stomach watching ants,
and rubbing my hands on the bark of a tree,
and folding underwear."

Call me Mara.

She had worked all her life in service to her family.
She birthed those sons in pain and blood.
She packed up her home with her own hands,
and followed her husband out of the drought.
The famine.
Out of the homeland and its inheritance.
They left it all and moved away into Moab.
There in a land not her own, she fed them.
She clothed them.
She took care of them when they were sick.
And then her husband died,
and she had to lead alone.

She began to look forward in hope from all the leaving and the loss,
when her sons were old enough to marry.
She found them wives.
Moabite wives, yes.
That hadn't been her dream.
But these were nice enough girls.
One day soon, maybe the loneliness would fade.
There would be women to share the load with,
and sons who could protect them,
and make their living.
And babies.
Laughing grandbabies she could offer advice about raising,
and rock to sleep,
and pretend away the sadness with.
Maybe it wouldn't all be loss.

For ten years she hoped,
while her daughters-in-law did not conceive.
Every month at first, that hopeful excitement.
Is my grandbaby on the way?
Surely any day now...
But the day did not come.
And then her last living hopes died.

The sons she had birthed in pain and blood were gone.
Their father had led her here to this alien place.
She had no friends.
No sisters a few houses down.
And two barren daughters-in-law.
They probably blamed her.
Everything around her ended in disaster.
Everything she touched turned to dust.
But these women were past their fruitful prime,
and had a ten year record of infertility.
Who would marry them?

Her homeland had good crops again.
It came like a breeze in the market place.
Maybe she bought grain that had traveled the road from her home.
Working it into bread,
perhaps she thought about the fields her young husband had worked.
How they had built their dreams there,
and birthed their sons there,
and harvested life there.
It had been nothing but a harvest of misery for years.
She decided to go back.
She had nothing here to keep her.
Better to die among friends.
Better to cry over losses with friends.
They had known her husband,
and rejoiced over her sons' births.
They could sympathize with her.

She didn't want these poor daughters-in-law
to have the same fate she had suffered.
Bereft in a strange land.
They'd been good girls, but it was too much to ask.
Ruth, odd girl, chose the mourning.
She'd rather stay under the cloud.
It seemed like choosing a curse.
Even her words sounded like she was choosing death.

All those old friends still recognized her.
They were excited to have her home.
Ah, but they remembered her hopeful and pleasant.
They remembered her a landowner.
They remembered her a mother.
They remembered her a wife with a husband who loved her.
They remembered a woman with a future.
There was nothing for her now.
All her fruit lay rotting in Moab.

"Don't call me Naomi.
Call me Mara.
I had full hands when I left,
but the Lord has taken everything away from me.
The Lord afflicts me.
The Lord sent tragedy to me.
Call me Mara."
I've eaten bitterness, and I'm a disaster.

Aren't you glad it doesn't end there?
Because this woman with no hope
and no family
and no property
and nothing to live for
is cuddling her grandson in the last verses,
and her daughter-in-law is better than ten sons to her,
and the future she thought was cut off
is connected to the past by a different branch.
And she embraced it.

Questions And Answers

 "What did God the Father do while Jesus was being baptized, Silas?" I asked.
"He opened up heaven and talked," he replied.
"And what did God the Holy Spirit do while Jesus was being baptized?"
"He sat on Jesus's head." 

And Jesus came to them and spake unto them, saying,  
All authority hath been given unto me in heaven and on earth. 
Go ye therefore, and make disciples of all the nations, 
baptizing them into the name of the Father 
and of the Son 
and of the Holy Spirit: 
teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I commanded you: 
and lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. 
Matthew 28:18-20