Who Are We, Anyway?

Someone sent me a mask for Christmas. It came from Italy, almost halfway around the world, and I keep looking at it. It wasn't until this morning that I started to understand why.

It started out on New Years Eve, and a talk about the lives we'd built for ourselves over these 50 or 60 years, and not our dissatisfaction with them, but our downright confusion. We've become, in great parts, what we've set out to be--capable, thoughtful, faithful in measures more than we'd ever expected--but now, well, now it all seems a bit silly and out of place.

Oh, we still mess up (and I did, spectacularly, later that same night) but that's not the problem.
We recognize our instances of falling short with ease. It's the instances of success that make us pause. Our successes haven't taken us where we know we have to go. In fact, they seem to take us farther from it.

That's where the mask comes in.
The mask reminds me that we are still trying to figure out who we were meant to be.
 You'd think that, by now, we'd have gotten farther in this basic truth, but well, we haven't. And this is why--

After spending our whole lives learning and building, it seems like our business now is to dismantle it--to take apart the entire construct we've worked so hard on, looking for that essence, that kernel of what's really important.

The mask doesn't represent something that's fake--it's the layers of our life. 

credit: www.miraclefruitusa.com

It's the good things we've made day by day that, suddenly, we don't need any more. In fact, they've become hindrances. It's the taking charge, the steadfast patterns, the suddenly useless knowledge that's beginning to weigh us down rather than propel us through our days.

It's God saying, 'I've shown you what I can make of you, but I'm not done yet. Now I'm going to show you what I've put in you.'

He warned us about this, you know.
I will put my Spirit in you...--Ezekiel 36:27 

Somebody asked me on New Years Eve for one wise saying to share to take us into 2016 and I, clumsy and self-conscious, said that God wants to show us that He is in us. What I should have done is gotten out the mask, because that's the whole point.

God has made us wonderful, but what we've had to do to build our lives has covered it up. 

credit:holdinholden.com

Now, it's time to strip all that away. Now, He wants to help us uncover the kernel He's deposited, that Spirit He's incomprehensively given and nurtured. He's asking us to take off the outer shell we no longer need, to pare down to the simple, unguarded core.

It's taken Him all our lives to teach us to trust Him. 
Now, He wants to show us who we really are in Him.

So they asked him, "What are you? Are you Elijah?" And he said, "No, I am not." "Are you the prophet?" He answered, "No." So they said to him, "Who are you so that we can give an answer to those who sent us? What do you have to say for yourself?"  He said, "I am the voice of one crying out in the desert, 'Make straight the way of the Lord.'"--John 1

All the Saints

From: galleryhip.com

Today is All Saints Day, one of the sweetest festivals of the church. It is when we remember our place among all those of faith who have come before and those destined to come after. The line is long, the crowd very dense and they are all so, well, so great. They have done so much, suffered so much. Many still do. How can we measure up to that? What kind of place in heaven can we find compared to them?

Mechthild of Magdeburg (1208-1282) expressed it well:

To the extent we desire that God be praised, recognize that we have been given, and properly carry out God's will, we are like the prophets and the holy fathers who through great virtue overcame themselves in God.

To the extent that we learn wisdom and through it change other people and stand true to God in all trials we resemble the holy apostles who went out of themselves even unto death.

To the extent that we are patient in all distress and in the measure that we hold fast to our Christian faith, even in the face of death, we resemble the holy martyrs, who have marked out for us through the shedding of their blood the true path to heaven.

To the extent that we bear resolutely the difficulties of Holy Christianity, both those of the living and those of the dead, we are like the holy confessors, who remained watchful in great toil and heard confessions with sympathy.

To the extent that we remain unconquered in battle and preserve our maidenly honor we are like the holy virgins, who have not lost true victory.

To the extent that we have deep sorrow and to the extent that we perform many kinds of holy penance we are like those holy widows who, after sinning, attained such great honor.

To the extent that we have all the virtues about us we are like God and all His saints, who have followed God with complete devotion.*

We are not asked to be saintly in the context of someone else's life. We are asked to become saints within the life God has given to us. The opportunity for martyrdom that put another man or woman in a den of lions or in front of an assault rifle may never come to us. We may never encounter the victims of a earthquake or a deadly virus or desperate hunger. We may never meet a people unreached by the gospel.

But we can be saints within the circumstances God has marked out for us to the extent that we yearn for righteousness with the same fervor as those who have done these things. We can love with the same compassion. We can work with the same zeal. We can rejoice with them in the same holy God.

All Saints Day. My day. Your day.

*From The Flowing Light of the Godhead

Mary and Elizabeth: the Heart of Friendship

credit: www.heartofavagabond.com

Hey, girlfriend!
A hug, sometimes a kiss, and smiles all around. We love our friends and love being with them. It doesn't get any better than this...or does it? We laugh, have fun, and enjoy each other, but  is there more? Are we missing the best of what our friendships can bring? 

Fun and affection sometimes relegate God to a back seat and our friendships are no exception. The sheer enjoyment we find in one another's company can leave us forgetting that these encounters, so often full of pleasure, have a higher purpose, too. We can get more than pleasure out of our friendships. We can dedicate them to God.

And we have an example.
At that time, Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, where she entered Zechariah's home and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary's greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. In a loud voice she exclaimed, "Blessed are you among women..."--Luke 1: 39-42

Wouldn't it be wonderful if our friendships brought not only a feeling of contentment and well being, but an encounter with the holy? I'm convinced that they can, and more. They should.

We come together, after all, from different places, different lives. We meet to share out stories, our songs. We come to laugh together, and to cry. God has afforded us a privilege unique to women. He has made us want strong bonds with close friends, but we don't often honor them as such. Like all of our life's encounters, our friends are intentional parts of our lives. God sent them to us for a purpose--the same purpose as He sends every other circumstance and person--to draw us nearer to Him.

So what does a godly friendship encounter look like? It looks like Mary and Elizabeth's. 

First, we enter one another's homes. We visit each other in the places we live our lives. These are our intimate places, the ones we breathe and eat and love in. They expose us just by the looking. But we share them with our friends.

Then we greet one another. Not just a Hi, or even an embrace, but a greeting heartfelt enough to make a baby leap in the womb. A greeting that acknowledges that we are special to one another. Not "Wassup, girlfriend" but more like a sincere "How wonderful to see you."

Then we share. We listen to one another. Casual friends are not very good at this. Casual acquaintances talk mostly about themselves. Have you listened to your conversations? Most relationships have a giver and a taker, an alpha and a beta. True friendships share equally. Friends listen to one another as often as they tell.

Then we bless one another. We hardly ever do this. I have one relationship in which a friend prays for me every time before we part. Every time. I can't tell you what this adds to my life. I feel blessed every time. Truly blessed. What more can we do for a friend than to bless them?*

Mary and Elizabeth's love for each other wasn't substantially different from the love I feel for my own friends. As women, we are given a heart to love with--husbands, children, and friends. We spend so much time learning to love husbands and children properly, but don't think nearly often enough about what a truly godly friendship can bring.

If I really care about my friends, I will do these things for them, and with them because, each in our own way, we are all truly
blessed among women.

*Sister Fran Ferder, Enter the Story, Give Us This Day, May 31, 2014

God Never Says "Oops"

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Whenever something bad happens to me, my first reaction is to think that I don't belong in my situation. Surely, there's been some kind of mistake.
My son shouldn't be sick. I shouldn't have constant conflict with my boss. I'm not supposed to have broken my mother's prized china. My husband wasn't supposed to be downsized out of a job. Our car shouldn't have broken down. I wasn't supposed to lose my wallet. I wasn't intended to burn the turkey.
Wrong.
Wherever I am, I belong there.

No, no, you might say. The bad things that happen are the result of evil in the world. God doesn't want bad things to happen to you. He loves you. He wants you to be happy.

Hmm.
Is God really God, then?
Is He all powerful, all knowing? Does anything take Him by surprise? Is He unable to stop evil?
Um. I don't think so.

Regardless of what I want to believe about my situation, I am in it for one of only two reasons:
Either God has willed it, or He has allowed it.
Period.
If I do not admit this, then God becomes subservient to my will, to the devil, to chance, or to something else. And He can't. If He does, He is not God.
Whatever I or someone else has done to cause my present circumstances, God did not stop them. They happened. They may not look good, but my loving, perfect God has permitted them.
And this is where I get stuck.
Either God is perfect or He's not.
Either He can do anything, or He can't.

God is not selectively perfect. He is not selectively knowing. He is not selectively loving.
God is these things all the time.
He does not make me do stuff, but He does work all things together for good. He can turn my bad decisions, eventually, into good. He can turn evil inside out. He does it all the time.
He can do this because He does not live in moments of time. We do.
I see only this moment--this nasty tangle, this unfair circumstance.
God, however, sees the end of all things. He knows how a given set of circumstances works out not only for me, but for everybody everywhere. He has a plan and I can't, no matter how I mess stuff up, change it.

In fact, I am part of it:
From one man He made every nation of men that they should inhabit the whole earth, and He determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek Him, and perhaps reach out for Him and find Him, for He is not far from each one of us.--Acts 17:26-27

That's His plan.
For us to seek Him and find Him.
And, if I have to lose my wallet in the meantime, it's not God saying "Oops", it's Him working His plan.
I can live with that.

No Baggage, Not Even a Carry-On

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Pack light.
We get that advice everywhere, and not only for vacations. Did you ever try it? It's not easy.
Even Jesus gave that advice to His apostles:
These were His instructions: Take nothing for the journey except a staff. No bread, no bag, no money in your belts. Wear sandals, but not an extra shirt. --Mark 6:8,9

Well.
Now that's something to think about.
Nothing to eat. Nothing to wear. Nothing to spend to get either of them.
Why would He tell them to do such a thing?
Not because they wouldn't need them. They would. They would need to eat and find a place to sleep and, eventually, change their clothes.
Maybe He told them not to pack anything because the things they brought would hinder them.
No baggage, He told them. You may bring no baggage.
Not even a carry-on.

They were going out on their life's journey, accomplishing the task Jesus set them to do.
Well, I'm doing that, too, aren't I?
Maybe I don't get to pack anything for the trip, either.
Nuts.
And I thought I was doing pretty good, limiting myself to a single carry-on for a vacation, one junk drawer, a half a clothes closet. Guess not.

Take nothing for the journey, Jesus says. It's only stuff. 
That's true, but I don't think He's talking only about stuff.  I think He's talking about other baggage--the crippling guilt from my past, a sad longing for childhood or where I used to live, a petrifying desire to regain what God has clearly removed--situations, friendships, jobs, even loved ones.
Leave them behind, He says. You'll be OK. Honest.

Let the dead bury the dead--Luke 9:60
See, I am doing a new thing--Isaiah 43:19
Don't worry about anything--Philippians 4:6
Consider the lilies...--Luke 12:27

So what do I need?--a staff and sandals. What does that mean today?
It means, I think, the stuff, both interior and exterior, that facilitates my walk.
It's not another pair of shoes or another book or even another Bible study or community event--it's what I get today that helps me gain a firm hold on Christ right now.

Christ has appointed a way for every one of us. What are our own staff and sandals? What brings us closer to our goal?
We need to figure this out, because we're not supposed to take anything else.
For one of my friends, her day care business is her staff and sandals. That is what takes her before the Lord, both physically and spiritually. Through that, she not only ministers, but is ministered to. Not only children, but entire families, see God's light through her.
Another of my friends, a widow, is putting on her staff and sandals by selling her house and moving closer to her grandchildren. There, she will finish the work Christ has so evidently begun in her as a helper, a mentor, and a companion, but also provide a platform from which she is loved.
Both of these women are leaving behind the freedom that comes with maturity and investing where God has pointed them. Both are leaving behind lots of easier choices, opening themselves up to a life over which they have less control, not more. In short, they are dropping what supports an old world, leaving each known thing behind and picking up an unknown. They are emptying their bags of stuff, both physical and emotional, and in the process, I watch them both being changed and changing the world around them.

And, in the process, what they get is Christ.
Leave it all behind, He says, and you'll still have me. 
Leave it all behind. Eventually, you won't even miss it.
I am a light burden. You can carry me in your heart.
 

Putting It Together

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Once a year, I work a jigsaw puzzle. My son buys it for me as a Christmas gift, and we spread it out on the dining room table and lay in one piece at a time until it's done. I like laying the pieces in, watching the picture form slowly. It always seemed like a fitting activity for the dark of winter at the end of one year and the beginning of another, and now I know why.

A jigsaw puzzle is a metaphor for life.

Think about it.
A thousand pieces or more that make up a design someone else conceived. Each piece a day that I can only add one at a time. 

The edges first--a framework for everything else.  God, the law, my conscience, the place and time ordained for me above all others. I have to start there.

Then I look for big patterns--the side of a barn, a bunch of flowers, a face, a doorway--and I gather the pieces up, again one at a time, to see whether they fit. Some do. They are a job, marriage, children--the things around which all else must fit. And the easily recognizable parts begin to take shape.

These usually go together fairly quickly. Yes, I look at them one by one, but not always too closely. They come almost automatically. But then I have to join them. I have to piece together a sidewalk, a brick wall, a lake, a bookcase. This is when it gets harder and slows down. The pieces all look so much alike. Raising kids. Going to work day after day. Learning my spouse does not exist to make me happy. These are the days we learn to live with mistakes. I get frustrated when this phase starts, not liking the forced slowdown. I have to individually examine every one of these pieces for size and shape and color, in order to figure out where it fits. I find a place in the puzzle for some. Some I put aside for later. Some I try to force--surely it goes in this spot. But it doesn't. This is when I am most likely to lose or bend a piece.

But all the while, the picture builds. I see more of it every day, become familiar with each region of it. The brown pieces go in the upper right. The green ones go near the door. The ones that look like mottled eggshells are a sandy beach and go next to the water.
I dream about every detail, excited to see where the next piece will go.

And always, always, I see the end approaching. The pile of loose pieces shrinks, but I feel no panic. The empty places in between begin to disappear and I stand back occasionally to see what all those small pieces have wrought.

It is then I see what I am making. One by one, day after day, piece by piece, the overall design, made long ago by my Father in heaven, finally comes together and I can see it, and remember. This is when I did this or this is what happened on that day. This is not a painting, beautiful only for the finished product. It is gradual assimilation of detail, forever made of small things bound together into the finished whole it was always meant to be.

The puzzle only goes together one way and, eventually, I hold only one piece in my hand. The box is empty, all other places filled in. I am finished.

My last day.
And I lay my final piece into place and stand back to look. So that is what I am. That is what You planned for me all along. 
Thank you. It is beautiful.

Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom--Psalm 90:12

Believing It Will Rain

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Noah. Almost everybody knows his story.
God told him to build a boat and, in it, put all the animals two by two because He planned to flood the earth. And Noah did.
It wasn't an easy job, though. The boat had to be one and a half football fields long. It took Noah 100 years to finish the job. His neighbors made fun of him, of course, but he remained faithful to the task.
I always thought Noah was an example of perseverance, but I was wrong.
Noah is an example of faith.

By faith, Noah, being warned by God concerning events as yet unseen, took heed and constructed an ark for the saving of his household; by this he condemned the world and became an heir of the righteousness which comes by faith.--Hebrews 11:7

Remember, faith is believing in what we have never seen. So what was Noah's leap of faith?
He had never seen rain.
In his experience, water had never fallen from the sky.
Now, that gives the whole boat building thing a new twist. How could he explain to anyone--his wife, his kids, everyone he knew--what he was doing? There was no way. It would make more practical sense for me to build a rocket ship in my backyard. At least I'd be able to point to the sky and the stars and say, "See? I'm going there!"  Not Noah.

So that begs the question, if Noah is an example of faith, what is my ark? Where is my promise of rain?
That is easier.
A God I can't see. A heaven I can't touch. An inner knowledge I can't explain.
My ark. My rain. My faith.

Put the Book Down, Will You?

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So--we're watching "The Mummy", you know, the first one. The movie's about 2/3 over--Evie is defending herself against the just-revived, dessicated Anck-Su-Namun, Rick O'Connell is whacking away at dusty but determined Egyptian priests, and then there's Jonathan. Oh yes, Evie's aimless brother. He's on the periphery of the action with the all-important Book of the Dead, the book that holds the key to destroying the scary and dangerous Imotep. And Jonathan is, well, irritating.

There he is, book in hand, essentially out of danger, and his only job is to READ SOMETHING. I mean, how hard can it be? And he's COMPLAINING about it. And while he's doing it, and slowly, mind you, Rick and Evie are subduing real bad guys--dismembering them and scattering them to the winds. And what are they doing at the same time? HELPING JONATHAN.

That's right. Here they are, swords flying, giving the guy who risks nothing hints and help, all while keeping flesh-hungry mummies at bay. And while they do it, they are patient, articulate, and brave. Duh. What's wrong with this picture?

Well, nothing as it turns out. This, ladies and gents, is the way of our world. We are Jonathan. Yes, we are. I mean, really....when was the last time you ever had to really defend anything or anyone? When have you been in any real danger?

In your struggle against sin, you have not yet resisted to the point of shedding blood.--Hebrews 12:4

No we haven't. And we're still complaining.
It's too hard, Lord.
Why me, Lord?
Give me, Lord!
Help....Help....Help....

And there's our God, sword in hand, defending us, or hands stretched out on the cross, dying for us.
We ought to have only one thing on our lips.
Humble thanksgiving.
Really.

We don't necessarily have to put down our own work, but maybe we ought to recognize what's really going on outside our little world, don't you think?

Quick to Judge: A Study in Black and White

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It just seems so easy for some people.
Right and wrong, I mean. Some just see it so clearly, with no fuzzy edges, with no confusing alternatives, with no options to reconsider.

Deciding right from wrong sounds like it should be easy, but it isn't. Not for a lot of us.
Most people will tell you that lying, for instance, is wrong.
But what about lying to save someone's feelings or their reputation or their life? Is it still wrong?
And how about harming someone? Is that always wrong?
How about protecting someone from attack? How about the times when civil courts exonerate the obviously guilty? Who protects their next victim?
And then there's obedience to authority--when can a child question? When a parent instructs them not to tell? When they teach a child to buy them drugs? When they say it's OK, just this once?

I think there's a reason some of these questions seem so easy for some and so hard for others--
People who judge quickly have often had to.
Some of us have grown up with the luxury of relative ease and security. Not so with everyone. Some people are born into a battle that they have to engage day by hard day, even from childhood. Their antennas always have to be up. Survival can depend on it.
The more often a person has had to make hard, life-changing, even life-saving decisions, the quicker they judge. They have had to. 
Someone in immediate danger can't pause to contemplate. They act.
A hard life can necessitate a habit of fast, hard decisions.

God, for His part, appreciates people of decision:
...he who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed like the wind.--James 1:5
He says He will show us what to do and expects us to do it.
This is the way. Walk in it.--Isaiah 30:21

God is saying that He's given us all we need already. He expects us to do something with it.
Decide. 
Judge when you have to. 
Now.

Yes, some people judge more quickly than others, but before you point an accusing finger and quote a Bible verse, find out why.
Maybe they've lived a life that necessitated extra practice.

Putting Pain in its Place

Sam and Anne

I like to listen to first-time moms when they talk about the pain of childbirth. Really. There is a kind of community in this, something we all share and, as for every intense life experience, we all learn something from it. Some women bear their pain patiently, some resentfully, but like me, most of us try to forget it as soon as possible and, in the wake of the joy that usually follows, we can.

Not my friend Sam, though.

Now, Sam loves her daughter as much as any other new mother. She bubbles with the joy of her. She hasn't however, sidelined the memory of pain in getting there. Instead, Sam continues to stare her pain in the face, to call it by its nasty name, and commands it to its appropriate place in her life. Sam refuses to let her pain pretend to be anything other than what it is--hard, unpleasant, and temporary. 

Sure, she remembers that her labor hurt a lot, but also, defiantly, that it did not hurt forever. The pain never mastered her because she knew it had a purpose and when its purpose was fulfilled, it would end. In doing this, she got to keep the memory of the pain and the lasting gift it left her. Today, she can look at her daughter and say, 'You cost me a great deal, but you were worth it.'

In doing this, I think, she has discovered pain's purpose. What, after all, does pain bring? If we apply it correctly, it brings more than discomfort. Pain, if we let it, can bring sure knowledge that we can endure it and understanding that some things bring a hard cost. It can also bring vision of and hope for a future of health and wholeness.

Christ knew this, too--hence, the cross. He endured pain because He had a job to do that overshadowed it. His pain took a back seat to His purpose. He knew that the effects of His purpose would long outlast His pain. It happens the same for us. When God allows us pain, we can, if we choose it, come to know both the cost and the value of its greater purpose. By this knowledge, both the pain and the gift of it, we can join with Christ.

For the joy set before Him, He endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.--Hebrews 12:2

DAD! What are You Doing?!!

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It was hot that day, like most other days.
Nothing special, except that Dad told me we were going to take a trip.
He got me up early, and we took two of our servants, some axes, and went to the grove.
I liked these days. For so many mornings of my 33 years, we had come here to cut wood. The axe felt natural, and its swing so familiar, almost like an extension of my own tight muscles.
And today we would go to Mt. Moriah to make an offering to God, my father and I.
Yes, a good day to begin.
Mom waved to us, smiling, as we walked down the road, and we walked three days before the rocky crags of the mountain rose before us.

Stay here, Dad said to the servants, while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.--Genesis 22:5

The boy. Certainly, I was a man by then. Dad never did get that.
And it took men to climb that mountain, especially with our burdens, the wood and the firepot. But we were missing something.

Father! The fire and wood are here, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?
God himself will provide the lamb, he told me. --Genesis 22:7-8

So we laid the fire, then Dad asked me to climb onto the wood pile, and to lay down on it.
The sun was high and bright, and I closed my eyes for a few minutes. The walk had been long.
I heard Dad murmur and when I opened my eyes, I saw it...his knife raised high right above me.
Dad! Dad! What are you doing?

And then that sound...the booming echo and the blinding light. I never saw anything, but heard it:
Abraham! Do not lay a hand on the boy. Now I know that you fear God because you have not withheld from me your son, your only son.--Genesis 22:11-12

And the knife fell--not into my own flesh, but onto the ground, and my dad beside it. He did not look at me while I climbed down from the pyre, but looked up only when he heard the bray of the ram suddenly come out of the brush.

We had worshiped--we had both obeyed--and God had indeed provided the sacrifice.
Now, every time that I present my own sacrifice to God, I see again the upraised knife ready to pierce my own heart all those years ago. And I remember.
Dad dropped the knife because his own heart was already pierced, so he did not have to cut mine.
And I worship anew my God who is the Lord.

The Baby Will Come

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In 1972, pregnant with my first child, I asked my mother, "How much will it hurt?"
"Don't worry," she told me. "You forget about it after the baby comes."

She was wrong about that.
I didn't forget--not then, and not through my second delivery. I still remember.
I remember the urgency.
I remember the  intensity.
I remember the whole, round, bigger-than-me desire to have the whole thing over with.
I remember how much, partway through, I wanted to give up the whole job.
But, once begun, I was stuck.
Once conceived, once carried, and so long anticipated, the baby would come.

The earth does the same thing.
God implanted in it the perfection of Himself, the pregnancy of His promise, and that child will, with or without our permission, be born.
And we groan in the waiting for it.
Every day, we feel how things ought to be and long for them.

Why do we know so much evil when God is so merciful? we ask.
Birth pangs.
Why do poverty, and sickness, and injustice continually plague us? we ask.
Birth pangs.
Why can't men and women just get along? we ask.
Birth pangs.
Every day, the earth swells with expectation of God's return, it leans into its own pangs of wanting, it opens the way and says, between cries, 
"Come, Lord Jesus!"

Creation was subject to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one Who subjected it, in hope that creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the glorious freedom of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning as if in the pangs of childbirth right up to the present time.--Romans 8:20-22


Do you remember your own pangs of childbirth?
Do they give you any insight about the world's imperfections and what joy might still be in store?

Taking the 'Crazy' out of Busy

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I couldn't say it better than Francis de Sales:

Flies harass us more by their numbers than by their sting. Similarly, great matters disturb us less than a multitude of small affairs. Accept the duties which are entrusted to you quietly, and try to fulfill them methodically, one after another. If you attempt to do everything at once, or with confusion, you will not only burden yourself with your own exertions, and by entangling your mind, you will probably be overwhelmed and accomplish nothing.

In all your affairs, rely on God's Providence, through which alone your plans can succeed. Meanwhile, on your part, work on in quiet cooperation with God, and then rest satisfied that, if you have entrusted your work entirely to God, you will always obtain that measure of success which is best for you, whether it seems so or not in your own judgement.

...When your own work or business is not particularly engrossing, let your heart be fixed more on God than on it; and if the work be such as to require your undivided attention, then pause from time to time and look to God, even as navigators do who set their course for the harbor by looking up at the heavens rather than down at the deeps on which they sail. Doing this, you will see that God will work with you, and for you, and your work will be blessed.

What one task can you begin to intentionally share with God? Mine is dishwashing.
Thanks, Francis.

St. Francis de Sales, Introduction to the Devout Life

What if this is as good as it gets?

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Most of us had heard it--Jack Nicholson (AKA Melvin Udall) asks a room full of psychiatric patients: What if this is as good as it gets?

Good question.
And I have an answer.
This IS as good as it gets.

It doesn't matter where you are or what's going on--whether you are happy or sad, whether sick or well, needy or full to the brim with everything you think you want.
This is as good as it gets.

Why?
Because outside circumstances determine the good-ness of your life less than the inside ones

Not too long ago, One Thousand Gifts by Ann Voskamp hit the best seller list.
Ann showed us how to be grateful with what is happening in life.
Right now.
No matter what it is.
As though whatever is going on will never change.
It might, but don't count on it.

This is the good news:
No matter what is going on, God has your back.
Your situation exists either because He has willed it, or He has allowed it.
It's that simple.
If He is God, He is sovereign over the world. If He isn't sovereign, He isn't God.

And, in case you didn't know it, He's God.
How much better than that can you get?

Oh Lord, God of our fathers, are you not the God who is in heaven? You rule over all the kingdoms of the nations. Power and might are in your hands, and no one can withstand you.--2Chronicles 20:6
I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy; and I will have compassion on whom I will have compassion.--Exodus 33:19
I have loved you with an everlasting love.--Jeremiah 31:3

Frank and Abe, Doing it Their Way

I would not have thought that Frank Sinatra and the biblical patriarch Abraham had much in common, but I would have been wrong:
And Abraham said unto God, 'Oh that Ishmael might live before thee!'--Genesis 17:18

Just when God was promising Abe everything--all he had ever wanted and more, children too many to number and a kingdom by God for God--what does he say?
No, don't do that.
Do it my way.
Don't make everything new. Do it with this stuff, this child I already know, people I already love.
Don't give me a new people, a whole new place.
I'm old, said Abe. I'm tired of new.
Can't you do it my way for once?
And God said no.
And He didn't.

Abe and Frank, who would have thunk it?
But I want my way, too. And I suffer from the same shortsightedness they did.
If he'd gotten his way, Abraham would have missed so much just because he had no imagination for it.
Please, God, let me want your way.

In the Palm of Your Hand

You already have it, you know.
The world in the palm in your hand.
You have God and God has you. You are safe in His arms for all eternity. What more could you want?
Plenty, as it turns out.

There are two ways to live a Christian life:
The first is to experience salvation and live in the freedom of it.
The second is harder. It is the way of sacrifice:

 If I do not intentionally sacrifice, that is, eschew the things of this world I could otherwise enjoy without sinning, I will live a materially-based Christian life.
I will still go to heaven, and while I'm waiting, will enjoy the world, but I will miss something else.
If I intentionally sacrifice what comes naturally to my physical body, I am more likely to attain a full, spiritual relationship with my God.

Abraham had to offer God Ishmael before he was given Isaac.
I have to do the same.
If you would be my disciple, you must deny yourself...--Matthew 16:24

More is required of a disciple than of a believer, or even of a follower and, if I want to be one, I have to deny myself. Becoming a disciple requires discipline.
I cannot pray my way into this. It requires action. My action.
Jesus has already saved me. Now, He has shown me my part.

So, we have the world in the palm of our hand.
Now, it is for us to turn our hand over and dump it out.
In doing so, we are only making room for the better part.

Here is Eternity

The seventeenth chapter of John is one of my favorites in the Bible.
There, we hear Jesus not only proclaiming His identity and intentions, but also showing his heart for men. In it, He prays for men.  All of us. Believers and unbelievers. Disciples and newbies.
In it, he speaks out loud His love for us in plain words, not by saying 'I love you', but by telling us what He most deeply wishes for us.
I like that.  A lot.

But He also shows us something we have a very hard time grasping.
He shows us the nature of eternity.

Father, the time has come.--John 17:1
Jesus understands that progress of time and that certain times are designated for certain things.
His declaration separates the things designated for certain times from those designated for all times, that is, to be eternal.

Glorify your Son that your Son may glorify You. For you granted Him authority over all people that He might give eternal life to all those You have given Him.--John 17:1-2
Jesus is talking about Himself, of course, and states plainly His job from the beginning of time. He does this so that we, who live in time, can recognize His eternal mission. Like any good boss, He clearly articulates Himself, telling us what must be accomplished and when.

Now this is eternal life: that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.--John 17:3
This is the job--both Jesus' and ours.

And eternal does not mean later, afterlife, or heaven. 
Eternal means always--now, before, and yet to come. 
And this life, then, this life of knowing, is eternal.  It is to be done always.
It is a knowing that must precede the doing. Understanding eternity and our God who inhabits it is the source of strength, the beginning of right motivation, and the intentional goal of every holy thought and action.

This is life, and life eternal. Today. Right now.

Only One Journey

Everybody started with God, so we are all in the process of returning to God.

If we believe God made us, and that we are, at the bottom of all things, His, then we have to acknowledge not only that our yearnings always draw us back to Him, but that our failure to follow them is the root of all of our unhappiness.
“Their deeds do not permit them
    to return to their God.
A spirit of prostitution is in their heart;
    they do not acknowledge the Lord.
Hosea 5:4

We talk about being saved, but this is not a new experience, it is a returning.
We have already been near to God, so it makes sense that we should want Him back. Only one thing--only one-- prevents that.
Israel’s arrogance testifies against them;
    the Israelites, even Ephraim, stumble in their sin;
    Judah also stumbles with them.
When they go with their flocks and herds
    to seek the Lord,
they will not find him;
    he has withdrawn himself from them.
Hosea 5:5-6

Whether we know it or not, we are always seeking God. It doesn't always look like Him, but it is God nonetheless. He is farther away from some than others, but we are all on the same way. There is no where else to go. We must seek God. We were made for this and only this. We only have to admit it and go.
“Come, let us return to the Lord.
He has torn us to pieces
    but he will heal us;
he has injured us
    but he will bind up our wounds.
Hosea 6:1 

Is It Time Yet?

I always got a kick out of our first glimpse of the adult Jesus at a party with his mother. When she asks Him to do something, He tells her He doesn't think it's a good idea.  Sounds like conversations I've had with my own thirty-something son:
"Not now, Mom."
"Really? Now?"
Sounds a bit like what Jesus said to his own mother:
Dear woman, why do you involve me? My time has not yet come.--John 2:4
At least He called her 'dear woman.'
But, aside from the common familiar comedy of it, the situation reminds me of something important.
Even in the kingdom of God, there are times for things.

Jesus knew this at the above wedding, when He told His mom that it was not yet time for Him to be acclaimed for public miracles.
He knew this later, when His friends went to Jerusalem for the festival, but He did not:
Therefore Jesus told them, “My time is not yet here; for you any time will do.--John 7:6
He also knew when His time had finally come:
Jesus replied, "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified."--John 12:23

And He also knew when the time had not only come, but was over:
 “It is finished.”--John 19:30

It is the same for us.
There are times for things.
To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to reap, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to break down and a time to build up, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance...--Ecclesiastes 3:1-4

It's true.
Once a life situation begins, it will probably end.
Once we pick something up, we will probably have to put it down.
Once we take someone into our life, we will probably have to let them go.

Not worship, love, or my battle with sin, of course. Those will continue all my life.
But the others? They will all, at some time, end.
And it's OK.
Their time has either not yet come, or is over.
Really.

Just Wanted You to Understand

It is not my job to make people understand.
What? What about evangelizing? What about the Great Commission?
Sorry. Not my job.Not that, and not a lot of other stuff, too.
At least not unless God gives it to me.

So, what is my job? To listen and obey.
That's it.  Always.
It was the same for Jesus.
The world must learn that I love the Father and that I do exactly what my Father has commanded me.--John 14:31
To obey is better than sacrifice.--1Samuel 15:22

In the life He has given me, God has not made the salvation of strangers my primary concern. Unless my life dramatically changes, evangelism takes a back seat to being a godly wife and mother and grandmother and employee, and writer, and teacher. He has already placed those front and center. I must leave them there until He replaces them, and trust that He knows what He is doing, even if it doesn't look like other people expect.

And I do not need to explain this to anyone. Neither do you.
Saint Augustine said, "Oh, Lord, deliver me from this lust of always vindicating myself."
And I do lust for it--to be clearly understood, to just make someone understand why. I want it badly.  And that is lust and lust is sin.
I just wanted you to understand.