First Light

I have wondered for a long time about how soldiers get ready for their days, the ones in which they know they will have to risk their lives in combat and during which they might die. The rest of us get up, brush our teeth, decide what to wear or what to have for breakfast, kiss our spouse, and go to work. Somehow, a solder has to rub sleep out of his eyes, shoulder his weapon, and prepare to fight for his life.

I have heard a few discussions about this, memories of times filled with bullets and explosions and blood. I have heard about days when the dead lay all around except for one. I have heard about the smell of spent shells and been asked to imagine the sound of the accumulated gunfire of a hundred men shooting at once, but I have never experienced anything even remotely like it. I do know, however, someone who has.

Israel's King David did not use a gun, but he did use spears and shields. And he also did something that few soldiers can: he found words for what he experienced.

Strangers are attacking me; ruthless men seek my life, men without regard for God. -Psalm 53: 3
See how they lie in wait for me! Fierce men conspire against me for no offense or sin of mine, O Lord--Psalm 59:3Every soldier must at some time cry out just like David did. And I'm ashamed to say it, so do I, even though my lot is less dangerous and the price much lower. Some days, enemies just seem to crowd around and I can almost hear their spears rattle. On those days, though, I have to find solace in the same place David did.
Contend, O Lord, with those who contend with me; fight against those who fight against me. Take up shield and buckler, arise and come to my aid. Brandish spear and javelin against those who pursue me. --Psalm 35: 1-2a

And on those days, knowing that we do not have the final say as to who wins or loses, who lives or dies, there is only one place to look for real assurance.
Say to my soul, 'I am your salvation.' Psalm 35: 2b
Rest, soldier. Your battle may still rage, but the Victor fights beside you, and has already won.

Pleasant Places

It seems that days have a kind of landscape, one that I survey shortly after opening my eyes. Some rise abruptly, full of peaks and crags, rocky and harsh. On these days, I know I will have to face difficulties or conflicts. On some days, dense trees huddle in a sheltering darkness, close and occasionally dank. This happens when the day promises to fill with chores, fine in themselves, but impeding a higher view. While I am under them, I can't see the sky. But some days stretch clear and open, like a meadow or a ripe field. Their horizon stretches unbroken from compass end to end where even no clouds interrupt their serenity. On days like this, obligations can wait, and both mind and body have permission to drift slowly in contemplation of Your glory.

Today started out like a meadow. The only things of this world that crowded around were Your Word and a soft cover. The chimes blew gently, singing in the breeze. Morning birds called for their breakfast. You spoke sweetly to my heart about Your love.

Then the phone rang. Everything changed. Suddenly familiar trees sprang up like intractable weeds that I tried to push aside, but would not move. My rimless plain vanished like a mirage. Traffic noise drowned out the birdsong. A tractor muffled the chimes. I got up with heavy feet.

Later, pushing the lawnmower, trying to find You, I lifted my face for a moment. There, in the middle of what I perceived as forest, I could smell fresh cut grass. As I ducked beneath the branches, I noticed them round and full with apple blossoms. You called me to the trees again today, but made even them beautiful in Your sight.

Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places. Ps 16:5-6

Counting Up

So many days start with lists of things to do, lists both physical and mental. But You reminded me today that, while I should busy myself and work during the day, my primary goal must remain finding You in all of it.

Frankly, piles of laundry do not inspire me toward heaven. Neither do the recyclables that need to be taken to the dump nor the floor that needs to be scrubbed. I can do them as work necessary in a fallen world and use them to demonstrate faithfulness, but they take a secondary place, much like Martha's kitchen duties: worthy because someone has to do them, but not the stuff of glory.

My days also encompass other activities, however. Some I can choose. The house needs to be cleaned, the dishes done, the garbage taken out, and the lawn mowed, but I do have choices regarding the rest. I do not need to grow all my own vegetables. I do not need to cook everything from scratch. I do not even need to write this. The life You have chosen for me makes all these optional. So, after the laundry is washed, dried, and folded, the refrigerator cleaned out, and the litter boxes emptied, with which other activities do I fill my day?

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

You want me to choose whatever else I do wisely, not frivolously. You want me to count each one. You want me to raise my hand and my heart simultaneously and find You in my choices. So, what does that look like? Well, I may not have to grow all my own vegetables, but I find You when I see flowers burst open and sweeten a summer afternoon or when I pick a tomato from a branch heavy with fruit. I may not have to prepare all my meals from scratch, but I remember You when I feel a silky bread dough move under my hands while I knead it or smell deep garlic and cream swirl into a satin sauce. I may not need to run a day care center, but I recall Your love when I hold a child. I may not have to make my living as a writer, but I see Your truth rise out of the lush perfection in rightly placed words. So, I can choose to plant a flower or cook or babysit or write and use the time You have given to remember You.

In the end, you require some measure of drudgery and take pleasure that I am willing to do the mundane in your name, but then you make time for finding Your glory as well. I can use my spare time to go to Disneyworld or read drivel and You will not condemn me for it, but You deliver much more, a taste of You and Your glory, if I choose to number my days.

Coming Home

But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and blessed him. The son said to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son." But the father said to his servants, " Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let's have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found." --Luke 12: 20-24

I live by necessity in two states--that of the humiliated repentant and that of the forgiven. You constantly forgive as I come to You humiliated and humble, but You also constantly rejoice over my restoration. I know at once sweet misery and welcome comfort. You live in me to the extent I open up the rooms of my soul for You to clean.

I may choose to live in the pig lot, but You will not. You wait patiently in Your courtyard for me, scanning the horizon for my return, looking for the smallest indication that I may be coming home. And the homecomings occur moment by moment as I acknowledge my sin before You.

Isn't then the most sensible request that to see all of my sin? After all, I can't come home, can't get anywhere near you, while sin still clings to me like sewage. This has to be the real joy of living in a fallen world--the repeated coming home, the collapse into your delighted arms, the restoration in Your overflowing grace. A state of humiliation before You is better than separation from You. You forgive quickly and completely and forever. This is the new morning You promise, full of mercy.

If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness--1 John 1:9

The First Thing

Last evening, I watched a Bible lesson in progress. Our friends Thad and Kim visited with their six little boys and we watched the children tumble over one another for about eight hours, delightful as puppies. At some point, one of the boys asked his dad whether he could go outside and shoot his BB gun. Dad told him to put on his shoes first. Young Aiden had a few more things to say about what he wanted to do next and how, something about a brother and a bullseye. Dad, however, simply told him, " How about you obey me first, and then we can talk about the rest?" Aiden did.

That's what You tell me. Every morning, events lay at my feet right next to my slippers. I have things I must clearly do, clear as putting on my shoes. These activities, small or large, encompass your clear instructions to me and I must simply do them without embellishment. When the phone rings, or mail arrives in my inbox, You are speaking in subtle whisperings, saying, "I love you. Just look at what I am going to let you do for me today."

I don't have look far. You may not put the subtleties of Your character or the intricacies of Your Word on the lower shelf, but You leave me no doubts as to what activities You require. You tell me simply and plainly. I just have to look at the lamp you have lit and walk.

This is love for God, to obey His commands--1John 5:3
Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path--Psalm 119:105

Who Can See the Wind?

A few years ago, our friend Virginia gave us some Westminster chimes. They hang outside all year, their long pipes ringing deep and round in all seasons. Last night, a gusty wind disturbed them--I could hear them through the open window-- and this morning, when, for the first time this year, dawn came gently enough to greet sitting outside in my favorite chair, the chimes hung silent. I found the clapper's string tangled in a nearby vine, and as I freed it, it struck the bells hard.

I could hear the sound they made, of course, rich and insistent, like an impatient call to church, but as I drew away my hands, I could feel its song, too, like something thick and fuzzy in the air around it, something that moved without substance, beyond sensory experience. I remembered that I heard once somewhere how, when Beethoven became deaf in the last days of his life, he would lay his head on his piano as he played it so, though he could not hear the music, he could feel its vibration through the soundboard. Today, those same vibrations came not only through the bells of my chimes, but into the air around them, real but invisible, impossibly alive without form or feeling.

The chimes remind me that our lives extend beyond what our sensory experiences register. Not one to think very often about otherworldly influences, spiritual beings like angels or demons, I don't usually recognize them when they pay us a call. Because they touch places not accessible to senses, I can't directly grasp their influence. Like subtle, indefinable warnings that someone is walking up behind me or a child is stealing a cookie from the jar in another room, I just know. Like the air changing around my chimes, like an invisible shallow breath, like the slow beat of life, I can't hold spiritual presences in my hand. I just have to trust the knowing.

The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them because they are spiritually discerned. --1Corinthians 2:13

Long Live the King

A lot of folks watched the royal wedding recently. I missed it, but am still fascinated by the whole concept of kings and princesses, crowns and curtsy. Modern kings kept all the pomp that fascinates, but have largely been stripped of what really makes them kings. Essentially, we don't mind bowing to them because it doesn't really mean anything. Kings still drape themselves in ermine, but they never lock weary wives in towers or whack off the heads of dastardly traitors anymore. Popes and presidents wield more real power. Kings may hold court, but no judgments occur there.

All of us have been raised in a democracy; we have no frame of reference for real monarchy. We do not know how to think as subjects. A real king commands and expects obedience without question. His proclamations may be righteous or evil. He may make them to rule properly to simply to amuse himself. The whole concept of bowing down and meaning it because if we don't, we will die, brings kingship into new light. A king commands and we obey. We must not only kneel, we must work, we must hand over money and property, we must hand over children, we must take up arms and risk our own lives. We do not vote about this. We get no say at all. Real monarchy breeds squalor, scheming, and rebellion. Still.

And men still want to be kings. You have known someone who held the scepter in your own life. In all probability, you helped hand it to them. I know I have. Then I learned what it meant to be ruled.

No man on earth can be a good king. We don't have the proper equipment. The best kings have occasional glimpses of brilliance, moments of justice and seasons of righteous victory. Goliath is still occasionally killed by a young David and Solomon still sometimes sees clearly enough to figure out that the baby needs to be divided, but no man can rule successfully over others.

You, Lord, knew that when You let the Israelites have the kings they begged for, and those kings turned out the only way they could have--badly. You gave us one King, the God and Man, Jesus Christ. And, while nominal royalty revels to chants of "Long live the King", all those earthly kings will die. You do not.

God has made this Jesus, whom you crucified, both Lord and Christ. --Acts 2:36
Then Jesus came to them and said, "All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me."--Mathew 28:18