It's A Sweater

I started a new pattern a few days ago.
My husband took one look at the thirteen inch long
by one-inch wide piece of knitting hanging off my needles,
and said, "What is it?"
"What do you think it is?" I asked.
"A doll scarf?"
"Nope. It's a sweater."
Right now, it's mostly a ball of yarn.

But somehow, as I thought about it,
and thought about those things that God has begun,
and this unfathomable piece of work in my hands,
I thought about His faithfulness to complete the work He has begun,
and knew I could say with confidence, "It is a sweater."
I do not have the steadiness that He has,
or guaranteed existence of myself until it is finished,
but should I remain alive, and able to do the work, this is a sweater.

I've been pondering fruit a lot this year.
Human fruit. Blossoms. Zygotes.
Swelling but unripe apples.
Seeds.
All fruit is a sign of life and union.
Communion. Intercourse.
And it grows at its own rate.
And I am due on Friday, but I don't know her birthday yet.
I know she's alive, because she keeps kicking me.
But she will be born in God's time.

And she will have things in common with all of us,
and things that mark her uniquely, too.
And she will be smaller than her siblings,
and weaker, and more dependent.
Further from reproducing than some of them are.
At a different stage of development.
And 100% one of the family.
As much the future of our family as they are.
They are my future grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Of course, to produce them, they will have to be living and unified.

"Abide in Me," He said, "and you will bear much fruit."

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.

A Mark of Healing

I caught myself staring at a scar the other day.
Something maybe you would look at and think how ugly it is.
But looking at it, I thought,
"That looks good. It's healthy. It has mended well."
My mind summoned up its beginning,
and I remembered the events leading up to its making.
How the unhealth that eventually ended in an open gaping wound
was so much worse than this healthy distortion of my skin.

And I thought about how we judge things, and how He judges things.
Because to an untrained person,
maybe that slight discolored swelling with unbroken skin
looks healthier than a draining incision.
But the incision has a future of life and healing,
and the swelling has nothing but death in its path.

And don't we sometimes look at each other and judge each other wrongly?
We see the surgeon's wound, and judge the patient dying.
Or we see the unbroken skin, and judge the patient well.
Or we see the scar, and we don't think,
"How beautiful! She's healthy and whole and functional!"
And the one with the unbroken skin, we pronounce unspotted,
though they are being eaten up by uncleanness.

The scars of healing are not unclean. 
"But if the bright spot stay in its place, and be not spread, 
it is the scar of the boil; 
and the priest shall pronounce him clean."
Leviticus 13:23

"Thou art all fair, my love; And there is no spot in thee." 
Song of Solomon 4:7

Still Walking in a Promise

"We're not the people that we used to be," she had answered.
It was a conversation that happened some time back,
when someone who loved them had come and asked them to help.
To reenter something they had been a part of in the past.
But they had gotten bruised, and scarred,
and they were still walking with a limp in a sense.
When she told us about it, she had tears in her eyes.
I nodded, understanding completely.
In fact, I cried, too.
Have you been there:
wary of joining the group?
Maybe knowing better that this might cost you big.
That your feet will be hurt in the journey:
probably blister and bleed.
Maybe someone will accost you in the road.
Maybe you'll be too weary to make the top of the next hill.
That happens sometimes.

In my youth, I did the high jump.
Briefly.
I started out pretty well.
I liked it.
It was not that difficult to run and leap and twist and land on that big cushion.
At first, to get the form down, we did it without the bar up.
Just to give us boldness in what action we needed to learn.
Then, the bar was put in place, and we ran at that.
That was fun, too.
But one day, with the bar a little higher,
I ran and jumped, and twisted, and landed on my back on the bar.
I landed just enough on it, and not into it,
that I hung suspended for a second before it came down with me on the cushion.
That hurt.
The next time I tried to do it,
I couldn't get the message from my brain to my body to jump.
I gave it a few attempts, and walked away.

I found myself thinking again about Jacob in his old age after this conversation.
So beaten down, with losses and deaths he'd mourned.
Separation he had not wanted brought on him by jealous family members.
It seems like it had been awhile since he'd been on the road
when the call came that he had to make another journey.
A message from the son he had mourned:
"I will provide for you. There's only hunger where you're living."
He saw the carts sent for him, and his spirit revived.
He packed up and went down to Egypt,
stopping to worship on the way.

The place he stopped to worship was where his grandfather had worshiped.
Abraham had planted a tree there.
His father Isaac's enemies had made a vow there with him,
recognizing that the Lord was with him.
The Lord had spoken to Isaac there: "I am with you."
And he too had built an altar and worshiped the Lord.
It was the place Jacob had left when he began his long travels.
The place he had spoken of when he said to the Lord,
"If I return safely to my father's home,
then the LORD will be my God."
It appears he hadn't been back there yet.

The place of promises, and altars, and hope.
The place of his youth, of his quest for a bride.
Where he had not gained yet all the things he lost on the way back.
He arrived back weary, bent over and limping: widowed.
But there he was, come back to worship.
Because all those losses had not changed the Unchanging One.
His promises stood, even though Jacob stooped and limped.

And the Lord spoke to him again.
"I'll go with you, and bring you back again."
And that weary old man set out once more on the long road in his old age.
Probably a lot slower.
But still walking in a promise.

You may not be what you thought you were when you first began to walk.
The sun has baked lines into your countenance.
The tricks others played on you have left you disillusioned.
The son who disappeared left you grieving all these years.
Maybe one child dishonored you unthinkably.
Your daughter came home crying and ashamed.
And it's been a lot of drudgery in the eighteen chapters that passed
from when you went out to when you came back to this place.
But He hasn't changed.
His promises stand.
And although you may say,
"Few and evil have been the days of the years of my life,
and they have not attained to the days of the years of my fathers,"
God is with you in this return.
And Jacob blessed Pharaoh, the most powerful king of his time.
And the lesser is blessed by the greater.
And God is still interested in your journey.

On This Last Day of 2013

Anyone who knows me knows I hate New Year's Resolutions.
Perhaps it began as rebellion against pointless school homework.
Maybe it's because I generally hate change.
Or my inborn anxiety of the future.
I'd like to think it has more to do
with a distaste for navel-gazing, and self aggrandizement.
Also, I never saw the point of sitting around
thinking about all the ways I am not good enough yet,
and how to really buckle down and be perfect.

This year brought massive unforeseen changes into our life as a family.
I am writing this from the other coast,
and mere weeks from giving birth to a surprise baby.
My parents and siblings have been geographically scattered this year.
We began last year in only two places: New England and Africa.
By fall we were scattered into five.
I didn't see that coming.

I hoped some day we could take our kids to see the country.
We took the 4700 mile route to the new state,
stopping in various places to spend the night and eat a meal or two with family.
My kids told me that Niagara Falls was even more amazing than Disneyland --
both of which they got to visit this year.

I dreamed of train travel,
and in the spring my daughter Elisa and I got four days of train travel
like heroines of old.
That was not in my plans.

Christmas Day, I dug out the four journals that covered 2013, and began reading.
These are where I write things down.
Funny things the kids said;
devastating fears that I pour out and beg God for rescue from;
Scriptures He soothes me with;
hopes for my family;
confessions of failure and my need of mercy;
prayers for my husband, children, parents, grandparents,
brothers, sisters, in-laws,
brothers and sisters in the Lord,
churches on three continents,
friends who are suffering,
enemies who are hurting me;
anxieties that are overwhelming me;
praises for answered prayers;
inadequate thanks for blessings I don't deserve;
records of phone calls received out of the blue;
and notations of positive pregnancy tests,
and movements of new life felt.

You see, I have a story to tell.
A story that has been going on a long time, and that isn't ended yet.
A story of weakness and loss
filled with strength and hope.
A story of infertility crowned with children.
A story of trembling faith going forward anyway.
Of unexpectedly expecting.
Of saying 'yes' in spite of fear.
Of God's faithfulness and light.

It has encouraged my mind and my heart to read my fears and prayers,
the promises of God I wrote down,
and how He helped me this last year.
I have few resolutions for this coming year.
I hope I trust Him better,
because He is trustworthy.
I hope I love Him better,
because He has loved me so.
I hope I know Him better,
because He knows me: all my fears, all my failures, and all my hopes.
He has been faithful to me,
and He astounds me with His kindness.
And all my fruit is found in Him.

Perhaps I will continue this useful practice --
looking over the year as I recorded it,
taking note of fearful expectations and merciful realities,
of my prayers and His helpings,
and marking the lessons He taught me.

A Chosen Part

After reading my Bible the other morning,
I guess my mind drifted off.
I wasn't reading anything about them,
but I found myself daydreaming about Mary and Martha,
just pondering what happened that day.

Now it happened as they went 
that He entered a certain village; 
and a certain woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house.
And she had a sister called Mary, 
who also sat at Jesus' feet and heard His word.
But Martha was distracted with much serving,
and she approached Him and said, 
"Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? 
Therefore tell her to help me." 
And Jesus answered and said to her, 
"Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. 
But one thing is needed, 
and Mary has chosen that good part, 
which will not be taken away from her."

I have heard many teachings on this over the years,
usually at women's events.
And while mentally I gave assent to the need to sit at His feet and hear Him,
I have always had this confused appreciation for Martha's position.
I mean, the woman just had Jesus and His entourage drop in for food and rest.
What: is she supposed to let the food prepare itself?
Mary's not helping -- how will it get done?
How does Martha even have a choice in it?
And, being the woman of my house,
and the oldest of a large family
(where I was often pressed into service I would happily have forgone
to sit with people and talk),
I sympathize with Martha's annoyance at her sister.
So it's with some troubled crinkling of my brow
that I ponder this story, always.

Martha was engaged in frantic service of her own contriving 
for the purpose of caring for the Lord.
I have to conclude from what Jesus said to her,
that she chose her part.
This is obviously a woman who does much.
A hospitable woman.
A woman with food on hand.
She is a responsible lady.
And as I thought about her, I thought,
Surely she had some pita and hummus on hand.
Olive oil for dipping.
A bowl of olives.
A store of wine.
Dates. Almonds... you get the idea.
But I think she wanted to Pinterest out the spread.
And her zeal for tasks she chose for herself
was making her angry and judgmental,
and keeping her from His presence.

Jesus said Mary had chosen a better part.
She had chosen quietness at His feet.
Open ears.
Fellowship while it was available.

Martha had a misplaced urgency.
The time was short, but it wasn't meal time that was the pressing matter.
It was time spent with Him before He was gone from them.
She became a critic in her self-ordered anxiety to serve.
She pointed her finger, and unleashed her tongue,
and complained about her sister.
And idle Mary, who wanted to hear Him,
heard Him defend her presence at His feet.

Even in the Unsuccessful Things

I was out all afternoon outfitting children with snow boots that fit them,
and generally making sure they wouldn't suffer frostbite tomorrow.
I picked my husband up after a few hours,
and having succeeded in finding at thrift stores
boots for two of the three who needed them,
we headed over to another store
to attempt finding an economical pair for the last one.

I was not successful, but we wandered into the grocery section,
where samples of pear slices were being handed out.
The children wanted some, so we stopped and waited
while the sample lady sliced some for them.
We smiled and thanked her, and went on our way.
About fifteen minutes later,
we passed her again headed another direction, and she called out to us,
"Do they want anymore pears?"
They did, so I stopped again, and thanked her again.

We had not been able to locate the day old bread rack,
although we were looking for it.
So I turned back to her, and said,
"Maybe you know... where is the day old bread rack?
I haven't been able to locate one."
She left her station, and came and showed me where it was.

A few minutes later, we were still looking the rack over,
when she came back and gestured to Jeff and I to come over to her.
The kids started to follow, and she said, "I don't want your kids to know,"
so Jeff stayed back with them, and I followed her around the corner.
"Give me your address," she said.
I was confused by this direct demand from a stranger.

She started talking kind of fast, obviously excited.
She told me she goes around and does these sample things all over,
and she did one last week where her product didn't arrive until a day late,
and when she talked to the company,
they told her she was just going to have to dispose of it herself.
"What am I going to do with 600 of these?!" she said.
"So I have been praying about who to give them to," she told me.
And I know I am supposed to give them to you for your kids."
I started to tear up at this sweet little reminder
that the Lord sees us and cares for us,
and I pulled out a notepad and wrote down my name and address for her.

"You're a Christian, aren't you?" she said.
"Yes, I am," I answered, "I just moved here."
"See? The Lord wanted me to give you this," she said. "I can tell.
The Spirit is all over me, and I know."
I hugged her, and said, "Thank you," yet again.
I told her where I live, I didn't even get her name.

And walking away, I thought about how He leads us,
even in the unsuccessful things.
My daughter can wear her brother's old boots:
they'll do for a day.

Together as Friends

I have always dreaded reading some of the letters
to the churches in Revelation.
I want so much to be a included in a letter to a good church,
and not one of the ones so fearfully rebuked.
But in my Bible reading this morning,
I read two letters -- the one to Philadelphia,
and the one to Laodicea.
I was surprised to find myself encouraged.
To Philadelphia, He said,
"I know the things you do, 
and I have opened a door for you that no one can close. 
You have little strength, 
yet you obeyed My word and did not deny Me."
Philadelphia is one of the good churches.
But here He mentions their weakness.
Could I be weak and still an obedient child He is pleased with?
Could I be too small to open doors for myself,
but He opens them for me anyway?
He goes on,
"Because you have obeyed My command to persevere,
I will protect you...
I am coming soon.
Hold on to what you have,
so that no one will take your crown."

To me, perseverance is great strength.
Pressing on through pain, and adversity.
But He has already mentioned their small strength.
Can you see it?
This is one of the weak things through which He displays His strength.
One of the things which are not.
This church is a conqueror that is not strong.
Isn't He wonderful?

And then I came to Laodicea.
This was a church that felt it had arrived.
They knew how to live.
They were spiritually rich, they thought.
Stockpiled larders: no needs.
Self-sufficient and self-righteous.
Clothed in their own righteousness,
their perfect coverings and medicinal applications.
Somehow they saw themselves as something they weren't.
In reality, they were wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked.
(Just to set the scene I remind you of this background.)
But this morning I noticed the promises.

"Buy gold from Me," He says to them.
"Then you will be rich."
"Also buy white garments from Me 
so you will not be ashamed by your nakedness,
and ointment for your eyes so you will be able to see."

It's funny (or maybe tragic) how we revel in us.
Our righteous accomplishments,
our righteous coverings,
and our righteous contrivances for spiritual health.
But compared with His real righteousness,
we stand there naked and blind and unhealthy.
Completely exposed because our coverings don't change us.
They only look good to other blind men.
Anyone with His healing in their eyes can see the holes.
But He offers Himself -- the Lord our Righteousness --
the Light of the world, come into the darkness.
The Treasury of Heaven there for our plundering.
"If you hear My voice and open the door, 
I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends."
Open ears and open doors, and fellowship with Him.

He Sees How We Calculate

Two children sat sniping at each other,
though each had work assigned
that was not getting accomplished while they criticized.
Said one to the other,
"You are never going to finish your work or get ahead,
because you are behind in your readers,
and I know you are behind where you should be in school."
The instructor was brought into the conversation
by the tears of the one who felt stupid.
The assignments accomplished so far by the 'behind' one
were exactly what the child had been given to do by the instructor.
More was not expected, but the child was ashamed
when compared to someone else's standard.
The one doing the mocking was actually two years behind in math,
but had not been made aware of that,
because the instructor knew the diagnosis,
and was happy enough to see progress, even if it was slow.
But the mocking was mean, and wasn't going to be tolerated.
"If you want to make others feel like they are stupid and less
because of something that is not your business to evaluate,
you ought to know that you are two years behind in your math,
and you have no business judging the shortcomings of those
who are doing exactly as I told them.
Your business is to encourage and love one another,
not to tear each other down."
The instructor heard a genuine apology a few minutes later --
not the one that had been forced
before the child understood its own failure.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said something so hypocritical."

How often we gloat over our 'accomplishments' which are natural abilities,
not knowing how far behind we are in areas others sail through.
We begin to look around, thinking we're ahead of the game,
and we discourage those who are doing their best
at the task assigned to them
by the One who knows their needs and abilities.
He may be quite happy with them,
even knowing their grade placement and their age.
And He may be quietly keeping us from knowing how far we fall short,
since we are progressing toward His goals for us --
even if the tasks are far below our grade placement and age averages.

How much better for both if they had been merciful to each other,
encouraging each other and rejoicing over the good.
Comparing ourselves against each other is no way to improve.
Our Teacher, our Helper, our Father
knows our needs, our shortcomings, our progress
(even if it looks like a shortfall to others).
Our eyes should be toward Him for our assignments.
For our correction.
For our promotion.
He knows better than we do -- and better than our fellow students --
where we are at in His estimation.
He's seen our test scores.
He sees the areas of brilliance,
even while He works to improve where we appear to be fools.
He hears the good reasoning we used to come to a wrong conclusion,
and has a plan for how to train our minds to calculate better.
He knows the calculating was done in our heads,
and it was a complicated problem,
and we don't have the skills to jot down our thoughts
because our hands need training and strengthening.
And our math will improve with our handwriting.
Practice this 'a' again.
He sees how we calculate with nearly perfect outcomes,
but don't understand what any of it means --
and He's concerned that our high scores don't reflect real knowledge,
just memorized formulas.
He knows we're behind because we took a slower path,
because there were others who needed help, too,
and our pace was matched to theirs.
And He knows that once the basics are mastered, we're going to excel.
So He isn't troubled by our grade level,
though we are now troubled by someone else's chiding.

For we do not make bold to rank or to compare ourselves 
with certain of those commending themselves, 
but they, among themselves measuring themselves, 
and comparing themselves with themselves, are not wise, 
and we in regard to the unmeasured things will not boast ourselves, 
but after the measure of the line 
that the God of measure did appoint to us--to reach even unto you; 
...not boasting of the things not measured, 
in other men's labors, 
and having hope--your faith increasing--in you to be enlarged, 
according to our line--into abundance,
...and he who is boasting--in the Lord let him boast; 
 for not he who is commending himself is approved, 
but he whom the Lord doth commend.
2 Corinthians 10:12 -18

Another child, who speeds through the work assigned
with time to spare every day, came and said,
"She is having trouble with math. Would it be alright if I helped?"
"Why, yes. Yes, it would. And I am so glad you would like to."

Among Those Who Had Not Dared

I read another chapter in The Making of a Man of God this morning.  
Vanquishing the Enemy, it was titled.
It was about David's conquering of Goliath.
These things ministered to me:

'Saul's idea was to dress him up and make him as much like Goliath as he could.

'Of course, the most wonderful thing of all is this: that the victory of David was the victory of Israel. Every Israelite -- mark this carefully, and may the Lord give you the thrill of it in your soul -- became a conqueror that day because of David's triumph. They all shared in his victory.

'In Saul's mind, God was absent from the whole conflict; He didn't enter into it.

'David was strengthened and sustained by the Word of God, and by faith he was successful in the battle. He knew perfectly well it was no use imitating the enemy by dressing up like him and going out in Saul's armor -- he saw the futility of that. Rather, he must put on the whole armor of God that he might stand his ground in that evil day.

'In our concluding glimpse of this story, have you noticed that there was a spectator? His name was Jonathan, the son of Saul, who naturally watched the whole battle with great concern. He had been among those who had not dared launch out into the fight, but as he watched David go out and fight Goliath in the name of the Lord, his soul was knit to David's, and he loved him as he loved his own soul...

'Then Jonathan "stripped himself of the robe that was upon him, and gave it to David, and his garments, even to his sword, and to his bow, and to his girdle". In other words, that day he saw the principle of victory, and he was identifying himself with that principle by which David had won. He was giving away all the carnal weapons of Saul's armor that he might cast himself in faith upon David.'

Jonathan was a man who had already had victory before.
But he found himself standing as a spectator
who didn't venture out against the giant.
I love that Redpath pulled this in to this chapter,
because sometimes we too, stand back and tremble
even though we've fought before.
And it is just so stunning to me to think of this warrior
taking the robes of his status, and his weapons of victory,
and everything that identified him as the son of Saul,
the flesh-king of Israel,
and stripping them off and giving them to David,
the shepherd who was not a warrior but conquered anyway.
He threw away the inheritance of the flesh.
He threw away his right to the throne.
He cut off his privileged kinship to become David's brother.
Redpath goes on:

'We have nothing except -- and what glorious exception -- the Word of God, the power of His Spirit, the anointing of the Holy Ghost upon a life which has surrendered all confidence in the flesh.

'Child of God, you may have victory yet, in spite of defeat, as you recognize the power of Goliath and his tremendous strength, if you, like Jonathan, love the Lord Jesus with all your soul and just put down at His feet every weapon, every confidence in technique and program, and recognize that the battle is won not by might, nor by power, but by the Spirit. If you come to Him in total submission, He will give you power from on high, because the Lord's victory is your victory.'

Though I be the offspring of Saul, Lord,
accept me as Your own flesh and blood,
and make my offspring Your own, crippled though they are.
You are the rightful King --
the victorious Champion and Defender of Your people.
You fought the battle we had no strength to fight.
You won the victory we could not even attempt.
Help us to lay down all the weapons of flesh
and go in Your strength, and not our own --
to be clothed in Your favor and Your anointing --
to gain victory through Your Word, Your power, and Your anointing.
Amen.

We May Magnify The Grace

I picked up an old book this morning I've been thinking about lately.
Opened to the forward and read this: 

"The Bible never flatters its heroes. 
It tells us the truth about each one of them 
in order that against the background of human breakdown and failure 
we may magnify the grace of God 
and recognize that it is the delight of the Spirit of God 
to work upon the platform of human impossibilities. 
As we consider the record of Bible characters, 
how often we find ourselves looking into a mirror. 
We are humiliated by the reminder of how many times we have failed. 
Great has been our stubbornness 
but greater still has been His faithfulness... 
My own heart has been searched to its depths 
as I have been brought face to face with my own frailty 
and the abundant mercy of my Savior... 
The conversion of a soul is the miracle of a moment, 
the manufacture of a saint is the task of a lifetime. 
It is the matchless marvel of the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ 
to take a life from the dunghill and set it among princes -- 
to replace the bias of degeneration by the bias of regeneration, 
and to cause a man who has sunk to the depths to cry to God, 
'Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me... 
Then I will  teach transgressors Thy ways; 
and sinners shall be converted unto Thee.'"

~Alan Redpath, 
Forward to The Making of a Man of God, Studies in the Life of David

The Power of His Inscription

My grandmother had a habit
of discounting complaints about people when I voiced them.
It wasn't just me she did it to.
There was something about tearing other people down
that she just didn't want to join in on.
Even if the ugly about them was obvious,
she would pipe in with something good --
no matter how small and insignificant the good was.

There is yet another story circulating about some unnamed Christians
who mistreated their 'homeless' pastor.
These stories bother me.
Because we are so quick to tear down our brothers and sisters,
in an attempt to stir them up.
(Or is it just to judge them?)
But the story is put out there with a false picture,
and a false narrative,
and whatever good it aims for is darkened by its untruth.

Have you ever read the story of Noah?
He was a man who had the grace of God upon him,
who had escaped the judgment that was the end of his world,
and whose family had escaped by his faith, too.
There he was: he had managed to take in a harvest of grapes
after so much loss.
So much change.
Perhaps the atmosphere of the new environment
had changed the nature of wine.
Or maybe the elevation he was at
affected him differently than where he lived before the flood.
Maybe it felt like his harvest was the only good thing on the face of the earth
after so much devastation:
and he'd worked hard to grow it,
and he was tired,
and he just wanted a little more of it.
Whatever it was, when he drank the wine, he got drunk.
And the very son saved by his father's faith and his righteousness,
and his uniquely personal friendship with God,
found him uncovered and mocked him.
Wanted to write a news story about it.
To take pictures of his foolishness,
and laugh about it with his brothers:
to shame his father.
He was cursed for it.

Another story comes to mind.
One of exposure.
There was a woman who had a trap set for her.
And she was caught in it.
Guilty and uncovered.
And the trappers dragged her in shame
before the Son of God to get judgment.
But He looked down.
And He bent lower.
And He put His hands in the dirt
and wrote things there.
And we don't know what He wrote.
But the power of His inscription
caused the damning stones to fall from the hands of her accusers,
and embarrassment to inspire them to slink away.
It seems they had been reminded of their own uncleanness.
"Where are your accusers?" He asked her.
"They've all gone," she choked out.
Neither do I condemn you;" He said, "go and sin no more."

The apostle Paul was complained against by the Corinthians
(a truly remarkable thing, considering the state of that church).
His ministry was judged
and his delivery unfavorably compared with the eloquence of Apollos.
Paul said, "But with me it is a very small thing 
that I should be judged of you, 
or of man's judgment: yea, I judge not mine own self. 
For I know nothing against myself; 
yet am I not hereby justified: 
but He that judgeth me is the Lord. 
Wherefore judge nothing before the time, 
until the Lord come, 
who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness, 
and make manifest the counsels of the hearts; 
and then shall each man have his praise from God. 
Now these things, brethren, 
I have in a figure transferred to myself and Apollos for your sakes; 
that in us ye might learn not to go beyond the things which are written; 
that no one of you be puffed up for the one against the other. 
For who maketh thee to differ? 
and what hast thou that thou didst not receive? 
but if thou didst receive it, 
why dost thou glory as if thou hadst not received it?"

I marvel that in the very thing that men wrongly judge,
Paul said the judged would receive commendation --
that the Lord, in examining motives,
would have anything good to say about those judged of men.
Perhaps because He sees our faith,
where others only see our fumbles.
Paul encouraged the Corinthians
to stop passing judgment on things
that weren't their business to evaluate.
All our gifts are gifts from Him,
and it is His business to evaluate our use of them.
And if I may use the term:
judging from history,
it would appear that Paul's 'contemptible speech'
left their beloved eloquence silent.

I think of my Grandma,
and the praise she was apt to heap on the undeserving,
and I am encouraged to hold my tongue,
or say something nice.

If You Are Wise

I read James 3 this morning.
I expected to be slammed by the things James says about our tongues,
and certainly I did once again take note of them
in hopes of pushing them further into my heart.
From the time I was a child, I knew I was guilty in the face of this passage.
Perhaps if my tongue took a key to unlock,
I would pause long enough to hold it when I should.

But it was verse 13 onward that opened in my mind today.
"If you are wise and understand God's ways,
prove it by living an honorable life,
doing good works with the humility that comes from wisdom."
Some translations call it meekness.
Wouldn't you almost think that wisdom and knowledge
would make you bold and brash?
According to the Scripture, it brings humility with it.
Because really, understanding God's ways
will make me more ready to submit to them.
And wisdom will recognize my own past foolishness.
My lack of understanding that led to the experiential knowledge, perhaps.

"Jealousy and selfishness are not God's kind of wisdom," it says.
"Such things are earthly, unspiritual, and demonic.
For wherever there is jealousy and selfish ambition,
there you will find disorder and evil of every kind."
O Lord -- banish it from among us!

"The wisdom from above is first of all pure."
Clean. Innocent. Modest.
Jealous motives and selfishness are not its motivators.
It doesn't operate to protect me and my kingdom.

"It is also peace loving, gentle... and willing to yield to others."
It loves peace.
It is not hoping for a fight.

"It is full of mercy and good deeds."
This mercy is compassion that acts.
When we lack compassion, we are quick to judge.
We think the worst of other people's motives.
But compassion is quick to feel their pain.
To recognize fear or loneliness or aching hearts
in the actions of others.
It pities and prays and offers a hand,
instead of whispering.

"It shows no favoritism and is always sincere."
The world is a dangerous place to be sincere in.
But it is such a refreshing thing in a world full of lies.
There ought to be no question in our minds
when we are with other believers about their sincerity.
There ought to be genuineness and reality in our interactions --
an honesty about who we are,
not little intrigues and manipulations,
and party loyalties.

"And those who are peacemakers will plant seeds of peace 
and reap a harvest of righteousness."
O Lord; open our eyes to ways in which we can plant peace,
and harvest righteousness.

His Marks Will Cover The Whole

In between daytime and nighttime trips to an observatory for my son's birthday, we stopped to explore the Maryhill Museum. The grounds were beautiful, and I always enjoy looking at art, and the Native American artifacts drew our attention, too. Especially the waterproof parka sewn from seal intestines, and the intricate beadwork with its vivid depictions of flowers and animals.

But we wandered into a display of pottery made by Ken Standhardt that resembled basketry, and had a video playing showing the artist's technique, and that stopped me for awhile. What is it about the process of art that moves me so? I watched as the potter shaped and roughly centered the clay, as he moved it to suit his will, and gave grace to a blob, and symmetry to dirt, and made it into something beautiful. The pot's shape was complete, symmetrical, its future clearly marked out in its form. But he cut it from the wheel, and set it on a shelf. "He is preparing the surface for his mark," the narrator said.

You see, it wasn't ready. It was a pot, and it had purpose, but it was not able to receive the impression he wanted to put on it. It needed to dry out for awhile. It needed the texture of leather before he could mark it. Have you ever felt like you've been set down, and left to dry for awhile?

His tool was a can opener. Mainly. He also used a ball point pen. What common things press my soul, and leave a mark? In His hands, any instrument can work together for my good. Does it feel like He makes the same mark over and over again? But I wanted variety, and uniqueness in the outcome. And again, I feel the same shape pressed into me. Over and over, again and again. And I am supposed to yield. Trust Me: don't be afraid. Trust Me: don't be afraid. I need to mark this side, now. Trust Me: don't be afraid.

The designs he pressed into the pots were mesmerizing. He said people asked him how he got them so perfect, when he had no plan and didn't measure before he began to press his tool in the clay. "There's plenty of imperfection in each individual impression," he said. But the overall body of the work appeared perfect. How often I feel the individual marks made in my life have imperfection in them. But He is the potter, and I am the clay, and in the end, His marks will cover the whole.

You can watch him work here.

Bound Weight

I am getting ready to move.
For months, I have been making decisions about items in my home.
Is this necessary?
Do I love it?
Even if I do love it, can I live without it?
On the other hand; even if I don't love it,
does it serve my family's needs?
And sometimes the things that go and the things that stay surprise me.
The time is getting nearer, and the homeyness of here is fading.

The crocheted blankets in clashing colors?
They stay.
Grandma made them with love, and we are keeping them.
We'll get rid of the nice new one with no purpose, instead.
The glass canisters I love?
Some of them are given away, even though I love them.
I am a book fiend,
but have managed to let go of a few cubic feet of them.
Whoops -- I dropped a plate.
One less thing to pack.
Dang.
I crammed too many papers through my shredder at once,
and it finally gave up serving me after so many years of abuse.
At least I don't have to pack it now.
The curtains I just bought for the windows?
Leave them.
They were bought for this place, to serve these windows.
The air conditioners we couldn't function without?
Our tenants won't be able to function without them, either.

I find myself happily tossing or giving away
things I have had for many years.
But some of them are harder.
Goodbye, Christmas cards.
Goodbye, welcome lights.
Goodbye, homemade starter from scratch.

You see, some things won't keep for the journey.
They were made to be used here and now,
and not saved up for future meals.
Non-perishables can come, if they are necessary.
But the perishables will all be left behind.
Shipping charges go by weight and distance.
And we really only want to give weight allowance to things that matter.
It's a long trip.

As I pack, and as I sort, I keep thinking,
"Throw off the weight and the sin that entangles."
And I wonder what that weighed?

I Was Unaware

The drive to church this morning felt like fall.
The sun was shining on the falling leaves
that flashed in the sunlight.
They blew across the road,
and caught all of our attention while we visited outside.
The children chased them,
and I watched them
and thought about how the wind blows where it wills,
and we see its effects.
We see two leaves from the same tree
lifted and swirled in different directions.
And I went into the church knowing it was our last morning there.
Some of our newer friends came in and said,
"We brought a gift for you."
Smiling thanks, and thinking how sweet it was to do,
when she told me, "It's all gluten-free so Isaiah can eat it,"
I broke down and cried.
Because it wasn't just sweet.
It was loving and thoughtful and tailored to us specifically.
And I cried a lot more through the rest of the day.
Because I look at these people,
and I met them in different places,
and I see how the Lord arranged each meeting.
And I was unaware
when I sat next to a girl in my new school
who kept talking about her new Gameboy
that she would be so dear to me
and I would cry to leave her.
And I didn't know when I saw a man
standing in the back of a crowded auditorium in Southern California,
in an army green jacket
that we would serve three churches together on the opposite coast
and he would marry my sister.
And I don't know the next time we will all be together
but they are mine, and I am theirs,
and the communion of saints grows large to me.
And twenty-four years ago,
when my Dad obeyed the Lord's call and moved us here,
it was all loss to me.
It was the time of falling leaves
and soon-to-be cold.
I did not own a coat.
We did not know the gain in store for us.
The friends transformed to family by the blood of Jesus Christ.
The marriages and births -- union and life.
It felt like loss and separation.
I did not love it when I arrived.
"But I am so grateful you came," my friend said.
"I am so grateful, too."
We don't know what gain He has in store
for saying yes when He asks us.
The losses loom large and seem unbearable sometimes.
But what we lose to Him is gain.
We have a choice.
And I shudder to think what we would have missed out on
had we closed our hands and said no.
No, it is too cold there.
No, I don't own a coat.
No, I don't want these friends.
No, I don't need that blessing.
"Surely the Lord is in this place," Jacob said, "and I knew it not."

Tell Every Trembler

"God has been faithful to you.
Tell it to your children. 
Tell them God will save sinners when they come to Him, 
for He saved you... 
Tell them He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins 
if we confess them to Him, 
and to save us from all unrighteousness, 
for He forgave you. 
Tell every trembler you meet with 
that Jesus will in no wise cast out any that come to Him.
Tell all seekers that if they seek, they will find, 
and that to everyone who knocks, 
the door of mercy will be opened. 
Tell the most despondent and despairing 
that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, 
even the very chief..."
(C.H. Spurgeon, The Practice of Praise)

Sometimes the trembler I meet with is the one in my mirror.

In The Multitude of My Anxieties

"Unless the Lord had been my help,
my soul would soon have settled in silence.
If I say, 'My foot slips,'
Your mercy, O Lord, will hold me up.
In the multitude of my anxieties within me,
Your comforts delight my soul."
~Psalm 94:17-19

As a child, I loved flying.
In fact, I loved it until September 11, 2001.
My anxiety increased with each trip taken after that.
In 2010 I stopped flying
when the Obama administration
instituted its new security measures against even innocent American citizens.
Since then, I have taken some long car drives,
and even a long train trip (which I recommend heartily).

But earlier this month, we were asked to come out
and be introduced to the church.
It was an internal wrestling match for me.
I intended to send my husband alone, and stay behind.
I am that courageous.

Some of you fly without anxiety, I suppose.
Perhaps being irradiated in the name of security doesn't bother you.
Perhaps being pulled out for additional screening
every time you've flown (save one) since 2003 doesn't disturb you.
But it has disturbed me.
Maybe you don't mind surly blue-shirts who question your clothing choices,
look suspiciously at your glasses,
yell at you for not knowing where to stand,
and make your children cry.
But I have minded.

I suppose the turmoil was because I felt I ought to do it,
and had no intention of doing it, regardless.
But I love Jesus, and I want to please Him.
In distress, I prayed about it in spite of my determination.
And after praying about it,
I opened up my Chequebook of Faith devotional and read this:

"'Blessed shalt thou be when thou comest in, 
and blessed shalt thou be when thou goest out' 
(Deuteronomy 28:6)
...I have a good deal of work to do within my own soul; 
oh for a blessing upon it all, 
the blessing of the Lord Jesus, who has promised to abide with me.
I must also go out.
Timidity makes me wish that I could stay within doors, 
and never go into the sinful world again.
But I must go out in my calling,
and I must go out that I may be helpful to my brethren,
and useful to the ungodly...
Oh for a blessing upon my going out this day!
Lord, let me go where Thou leadest,
on Thy errands, under Thy command,
and in the power of Thy Spirit."

I flipped through a book by Oswald Chambers that same day,
one I had not looked at in years.
Its title?
So Send I You.
"The stamp of the saint 
is that you can waive your own rights and obey the Lord Jesus."
I told my husband I would go with him.
Knowing me as he does, he had not insisted.

These anxieties are thorns to me.
Painful, irritating limitations.
Messengers of Satan to torment me.
They slow me, and hurt me.
Handicap me.
And as with Paul, who begged the Lord to remove his thorn,
the Lord answers,
"My grace is all you need.
My power works best in weakness."
They hold me down, and make me weak,
but when I lean on Him to walk through them,
they give me power.

Having opted for a pat down instead of being scanned,
and having encountered a very polite and respectful agent
who did not yell at me or act irritated with me,
I walked through the airport toward our gate.
We weren't in a hurry.

As I looked around,
my eyes fell to rest on a display set up on the way to my gate.
"The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in."
(Psalm 121:8)
There was a Bible open in the display case.
Two verses were highlighted in it.
They happen to be significant ones to me.
"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High
shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord,
'He is my refuge and my fortress; my God, in Him will I trust.'"
(Psalm 91:1,2)

And He did preserve our going out and our coming in.
Thank You, Father:
in the multitude of my anxieties within me,
Your comforts delight my soul.

Therefore I Have Hope

I opened my Facebook this morning
and saw one of those things
posted by Christian friends with good intentions,
hoping to stir up in you the perfect parent
and thus lead your family into a state of unmatched perfect outcomes,
never yet seen in the world.
That was how it felt, anyway.

Don't forget: everything depends on you.
If you fail to be perfect in parenting,
husbanding,
wife-ing,
and general citizenry,
all is lost,
and your children will lead the next pagan revival.

Honestly I didn't even read the post.
I have enough anxiety about my performance,
and the results of my performance
without reading it.
Maybe it was a truly helpful post.
But its title looked unbearably guilt-trippy and depressing to me.

And when a child in my house informed me this morning
that I 'was bearing false witness against them!' 
by requesting that the pan cupboard be straightened up,
knowing that particular child
had shoved everything into it topsy-turvy in a haze of daydreaming,
I lost my temper.

The bickering between this one and one other has worn me down.
I am tired of hearing pointless arguments
and contradictions without cause.
And snotty little comments made to provoke tears.
And denials of reality when reality is that the child is a space cadet,
and walks around putting things in odd places,
whether the places and actions are remembered or not.
And it was the last straw.

I did not bake some cookies to correct the misinformed little soul.
I failed to keep my cool.
And probably ruined all future hope of happiness and prosperity for the child.
Maybe of Christianity, too.
Although I did apologize,
and the child apologized,
and we hugged one another and forgave one another.

It says that if your brother has something against you,
go to him and be reconciled.
It doesn't say,
"If your brother has something against you,
you are obviously damned
because Christians never do wrong by each other,
and don't need to ask forgiveness of each other."

It isn't our perfection that sharpens one another, I think.
I think that where it says,
"As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another,"
it's more about friction than lubrication.
Sometimes I wish there was less to sharpen in me.

My husband texted me, "Broken people beget broken people.
If it wasn't for the Lord, what would we do?
He is strong.
He will hold us up."

Feeling like a jerk, I sat down and looked over a few blogs,
hoping to glean a little grace.
And my eyes fell on one of my favorites,
which was quoting a Scripture yesterday:
"This I recall to my mind,
therefore I have hope:
The Lord's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease,
for His compassions never fail.
They are new every morning; great is Thy faithfulness."

And it's from Lamentations -- a bit of grace in itself.
'Compassions' are multiple.
'Lovingkindnesses' are multiple.
Unfailing.
Unceasing.
New every morning.
And strangely enough, though I am a Christian,
I need them again today.
Maybe you do, too.

There is reason to hope.
Though my lovingkindnesses stopped with six words said to me,
and my compassion probably didn't even get out of bed this morning,
His was new again, as ever.
And His faithfulness is great.

Have mercy on us sinners, Lord,
and sanctify our dirt-born lives.

Those Things Which He Lacks

This morning I was praying for my son,
and thanking the Lord for the gift that he is.
Asking for help in nurturing him:
that we would strengthen his weaknesses,
and encourage his strengths.
I was thinking about the way he sees things
and understands ridiculously complex concepts,
while struggling to form written sentences on paper.
And before I knew what I was saying, I prayed,
"Lord, thank you that his brilliant mind is handicapped.
Please cause him to lean on You in trust
for those things which he lacks.
You are good, and You do good."

And it hit home.
"Lord, I also lack much that I need to excel.
In me, I cannot find all that I need."
Ah, but I remembered:
In Him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily.
"In You, I can do valiantly.
Help me, Lord.
Thank You for my lack.
In my helplessness, You make me trust You."

I was thinking about David's prayer,
when he said the Lord had made him to trust
while he was at his mother's breast.
A breastfeeding infant is a powerless person.
But for David it was a place of trust.
Later in his life, he said the Lord had trained his hands for battle,
and taught him to leap walls.
It was the same person who did both:
laid there, helplessly nourished by his mother --
and fought Goliath and lions and bears.
A helpless infant, and a mighty warrior.
A fleeing refugee, and a conquering king.
A cave dweller, and a palace owner.
A hotheaded man bent on revenge,
and a man showing mercy to his enemies.