Burdened With Glorious Purpose

"I am Loki of Asgard and I am burdened with glorious purpose"--The Avengers

In all of villainy Loki is one of my favorites. Then probably Magneto. Frankly, I think they should pull their resources and get therapy together. But I digress. I like Loki because he's complicated, there are reasons for his villainy. Unlike the Joker, for example, who creates chaos just to create chaos. Loki is driven. He's compelled. He's burdened with glorious purpose. Where that burden comes from is a post for another person on another day. What I want to talk about is the reason Loki actually inspires me to be a better Christian.

Say whaaaat?"

Yup, you heard me. Loki, god of mischief, inspires me to be a better Christian.

Before he's on our planet five minutes Loki has started moving towards his end goal. And he says who he is and what he's about right away. Everything he does, every move he makes propels him closer to his goal. I want to be that driven in my pursuit of Christ and the glorious purpose he has for my life.

Let's break down Loki's catchphrase here. First, he is burdened. He feels it necessary. It weighs heavy on him. It's something he must do. There are no options here. Loki is compelled.

I am compelled by God to [preach]. How terrible for me if I didn’t preach the Good News!... So I run with purpose in every step. I am not just shadowboxing.

--1 Corinthians 9:16, 26

I want to be burdened like Loki, I want to be compelled like Paul for the cause of Christ. I want to be driven forward, ever forward, always forward in my pursuit of Him. I want to feel that it is something I must do, not should do, will get to someday, or sounds like a good idea. Something that if I don't do it I simply won't know what to do with myself. 

Now turning back to our Asgardian self-serving god of mischief...Loki is burdened with glorious purpose. So many people seem to drift through life unsure of their purpose. Loki does not have this problem. He knows exactly what he was created to do. He has an end goal and he pursues it with dogged tenacity. Loki stands in stark contrast to so many of us riding the current, apathetic to where it may lead. But here's the catch. We were all created with a purpose. Everyone of us. And it is a glorious purpose.

The word of the Lord came to me, saying, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations...You must go to everyone I send you to and say whatever I command you. Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you....I have put my words in your mouth."

--Jeremiah 1:5-8

For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.--Ephesians 2:10

Our purpose is determined before birth, still hidden in the safety of the womb. We are created anew when we're born again through faith, and then our glorious purpose unfolds. 

 But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.--1 Peter 2:9

Is it just me or is the language of that verse thrilling? A chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation. Loki's glorious purpose is to be king, to be served, to subjugate others. Our purpose is to be part of something so much larger and grander than ourselves. Loki's glorious purpose is only for Loki's glory; it begins and ends with Loki. Our glorious purpose is for God's glory; it is eternal. 

When I live my life in accordance with the glorious purpose God appointed for me in my design, then I am part of the reconciliation of God and mankind. I write, I teach, I share the words God puts in my mouth, I proclaim the wondrous works he has done in my life and throughout history. My purpose is to glorify God, to spread the good news far and wide. To speak in 21st century terms, my goal is to have the awesomeness of God go viral, from hashtag to hasthag. I want God's glory to blow up every newsfeed on Facebook and dominate the Twittersphere. Every Christian carries that burden although it will manifest differently in each life. To borrow from The Avengers analogy a little more, we're all Avengers, each with a different skill and a different story to tell, but we work with a singular glorious purpose. 

Truth be told, I don't feel Loki's burden. I don't live my life compelled by grace and God's glory. I'm guilty of being taken by the riptide of apathy into the mainstream current of our culture. I'm just riding the waves sometimes. It's safer here. But I want more. I want to be absolutely burdened with glorious purpose. Here's the good news, when what I want lines up with God's design on my life then I get the desires of my heart. 

Take delight in the Lord,  and he will give you your heart’s desires.--Psalm 37:4

So...are you burdened with glorious purpose? Are you living by design or drifting in the riptides of apathy? Let's be a little more like Loki this week and live with our glorious purpose in mind. Our efforts and sacrifices will not be in vain.

Red is Not My Color

I entitled this post 'Red is not my color' because I think it's catchy. And I have a theory that if your title is catchy people will click on it. The fact of the matter is, red is my color. I look nice in red, pink, purple, magenta, that whole part of the color spectrum. Except orange. But really, who looks good in orange if you're not a Siberian tiger?

But red is my color in other ways, too. Fashion unrelated ways.

I've been known to see red. I've had a battle against my own temper for as long as I can remember. I used to stomp my foot and get all hopping mad when things just weren't going my way. (who am I kidding, I still stomp my foot every now and then). Then there was the time in high school I flung my purse--a purse weighted down with a cell phone and clunky old camera--and shattered a rehearsal mirror in the choir room all because my friends were gossiping and saying nasty things about me. That was an expensive lesson in anger management. Lately, my nerves feel a little raw--maybe because I haven't slept through the night since sometime in November 2011--and it seems like I'm flying off the handle at every little thing. I'm seeing red and it ain't pretty.

And then there's being in the red. It doesn't seem to matter where we trim--dumped the smartphone with the pricey data plan (*sniffle*), cancelled the satellite and signed up for Netflix and Hulu (*sniffle, sniffle*)--we're still just barely getting by. Every one step forward is met with a need that sends us three steps back in this rather obnoxious version of Chutes & Ladders we're playing.

It was that particular phrase--'in the red'--that inspired this post. As I was sitting on the side of some country road, praying over my husband as he crawled under our flatbed trailer to repair a blown tire, and wondering just how much new tires cost and if any other damage had been done. I felt like I had just been sent down another long chute. I wanted to cry but it seemed too silly to cry over a blown tire, especially when I wasn't the one risking life, limb, and giant splinters to fix it. No really, you should see the splinter my husband pulled out of his hand later!

I realized that something else is red, something that's good to be in: the red letters. The words of Jesus Christ, the Messiah, the Prince of Peace, the Author of Life.

The red letters (and many of the black ones around the red letters) tell me many things about my Savior. He was sometimes lonely, He was regularly moved with compassion, He cried, He got good and mad (I'm sure He was seeing red at the temple that day!), and He was brought to despair in Gethsemane. But He was never ever worried. Never once did Jesus wring His hands and wonder if or how His Father would pull off a miracle (cast out six demons, sure, no problem, but seven might be one too many??). Never did Jesus analyze, strategize, and come up with a 'Plan B' should His Father not pull through (nine lepers cured, sure, no problem, but ten? better have a back-up plan!).

But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind.That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.--James 1:6-8

Jesus was not double-minded, as His brother calls it. Jesus did not doubt His authority to call upon the Father. He knew there'd be results, He knew miracles would happen, He knew God would provide. After all, when I look at the red letters, I see Jesus giving me this beautiful piece of imagery to hold on to, even when I've blown my top or we've blown a tire.

“That is why I tell you not to worry about everyday life—whether you have enough food and drink, or enough clothes to wear. Isn’t life more than food, and your body more than clothing? Look at the birds. They don’t plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren’t you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? “And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don’t work or make their clothing,  yet Solomon in all his glory was not dressed as beautifully as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you. Why do you have so little faith? “So don’t worry about these things, saying, ‘What will we eat? What will we drink? What will we wear?’ These things dominate the thoughts of unbelievers, but your heavenly Father already knows all your needs. Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and live righteously, and he will give you everything you need.“So don’t worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring its own worries. Today’s trouble is enough for today.--Matthew 6:25-34

It seems that when I'm in the red or starting to see red what I really need to do is turn to the red letters. I need to be in the red (letters) of Jesus, I need to see the red (letters) of the Prince of Peace, my Risen Savior. Maybe as hard as it feels right now, like drowning in a Red Sea all my own, I have to trust that He'll part the waters, or walk on water to meet me in my storm. That maybe after all red is my color, not just in my wardrobe, but in my heart when I let Jesus fill me the Word of Life. The red letters.

Roaring Like a Lion

My favorite part in 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe' movie is midway through the battle. Peter and Edmund are entrenched in a hopeless battle against Jadis, the White Witch. She has more soldiers on her side, she has the power to turn their soldiers into stone, and she's fearless. But they (and their "men") refuse to surrender. Peter knows that he could lose, that he probably should lose in terms of what seems most likely to happen, but he's going to continue to fight 'for Narnia and for Aslan!'. And then...just as the scales really tip in Jadis' favor, the music changes, and the point of view sweeps up the mountain to the top of the ridge. There stands Lucy, Susan, Mr.Tumnus, and of course, Aslan who announces his arrival with a mighty roar. (This is the part when I get chills and tears come to my eyes). Hope comes flooding down the mountain infusing Peter with new strength, and Jadis is drained of hers as she whispers "impossible", for she herself had killed him the night before. It is impossible, for everyone except the Son of the Emperor Across the Sea. For Him, nothing is impossible.

With God all things are possible.

--Matthew 19:26

The Newsboys have recently released a song entitled 'God's Not Dead (Like a Lion)'. For obvious reasons this song and this scene in that movie are related to me. Aslan was dead but defeated death and is now roaring to the rescue of the ones he loves and died for. Lewis didn't come up with this lion metaphor on his own; the Bible calls Jesus the Lion of Judah,  Judah being one the names for the Israelite people. In his life Jesus hardly came across as a lion. He was meek and mild when people wanted him to overthrow the Roman government. He took and endured abuse and slander with staggering humility. Those who believed in Him knew that He could put an end to it and was choosing not to; those who did not believe in Him mocked and challenged Him to come off the cross or call down angels. This does not seem lionish--any of it. But within Him he had the strength of the Lion, the strength of God, in fact. And that's what turned back death, defeating the deep magic, as Lewis puts it in his timeless stories.

"Oh, you're real, you're real! Oh, Aslan!" 

cried Lucy and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses.

"But what does it all mean?" asked Susan 

when they were somewhat calmer.

"It means," said Aslan, "that though the Witch knew the Deep Magic, there is a magic deeper still which she did not know. Her knowledge goes back only to the dawn of Time. But if she could have looked a little further back, into the stillness and the darkness before Time dawned, she would have read there a different incantation. She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards."

Unlike in the Narnia stories, Jesus didn't come roaring back into the middle of a battle. He came quietly into a garden where a young woman had come to tend for His broken, lifeless body. But inwardly, I imagine, there was a battle inside Mary. A battle of unsettling doubt and confusion, of heart-breaking loss and emptiness. Like the Pevencey children, Jesus had saved Mary, had loved her and cared for her as He did all his dear friends. And without Him, the pain must have been unbearable, very much like a hopeless uphill battle. Within the tenderness of his speech, maybe there was a roar...a roar against the darkness surrounding Mary and the other disciples. A roar against all doubt, fear, worry, and regret. A roar that allowed doubting Thomas to believe, that reinstated Peter, and that finally turned John from a 'son of thunder' to an apostle of Love. A roar that allowed me, in the 21st century, to make a turning point and conquer my own demons. Now that's a mighty roar. 

My God's not deadHe's surely aliveHe's living on the insideRoaring like a lion

--God's Not Dead (Like a Lion), The Newsboys

Because Of The Baby

I haven't written in ages. Sometimes I lose my voice and it doesn't always mean that I can't talk. Sometimes I just can't write. I have nothing to say, or what I do have to say comes out all garbled. I promised myself I wouldn't clutter up this blog with meaningless chatter (do you really care what I had for breakfast this morning? Wildberry poptarts, if you do...and they're making me nauseous).

That being said, something profound should follow...right? Well, I got nothin'. But I have that urge in my heart to write again. To express, to communicate, to emote, to be heard, or at least put something out there in the world. Silence is golden sometimes, this is a hard lesson for a chatterbox like me. But there are times for sharing, too. Even if I'm not sure yet what it is I'll share.

Christmas is fast approaching. There's far too much on my to-do list. I don't see how it will possibly all get done. But it will. Presents will be wrapped, the tree will be decorated, I might even manage to make a few sweet treats. This is one of the miracles of Christmas--it somehow comes together with too little time. At least this year I'm determined to stay joyful. Mostly I meltdown around the holidays. But the baby has me focused this year on what matters. The baby has helped a lot in this area.

Truth be told, a lot of people in my life are angry about other people and other things that they can't control. I listen, I sympathize, sometimes I agree, sometimes I try to gently suggest something else. I used to get all whipped up into a frenzy, sometimes I still do, but I realized last week: I don't have the extra energy to spend on anger. It's a natural emotion, a reaction, and at times I find it downright biblical. But I can't stay in anger, it takes up far more energy than I have to spare. This is a huge lesson to learn for a girl who has wrestled with anger issues and bitterness. Frankly, it takes a lot less energy to just cry it out and move on...and even less energy to let it go. But it is draining to dwell in anger. The baby has brought this lesson to the forefront. I think I learned it a long time ago, but being pregnant has taught me to spend my energy wisely. This is how I realized that spending it on anger is a bad investment.

The same is true for worry. Yes, I get nervous every time I go to the doctor and they listen for that heartbeat. And when I sneeze and my entire abdomen seizes with violent pain, I get a little nervous. But I don't have the extra energy to spin my wheels in worry. This was a monumental lesson for a compulsive worrier. The baby has taught me so much and hasn't even take his or her first breath.

No wonder they say parenthood changes everything...

The real reason I started writing today is because my heart is feeling a little more heavy and a little less merry. My grandparents' health is failing, first one, then the other, then the other one again. It's hard on them, it's hard on we who love them. And sometimes I catch myself just whispering over and over again, hold on until Spring.

I never thought that they would live long enough to see me get married, let alone have a child. Especially when we discovered our infertility issues. As the baby seemed farther and farther away, it seemed more and more certain that I'd never even have one photo, one memory, of my beloved grandparents with my much longed-for child. But I worship the God of Impossibilities, and He made a miracle inside me. I have to trust His timing and His goodness. But it just seems like this winter is going to be so hard on these dear souls...Winter is always hard for old folks.

This is where all those lessons I've been learning, or realizing, because of the baby help me. I can't be angry with the diagnoses or changes. It won't change anything. I can't spin my wheels in worry. It won't help anything. There's nothing I can say now that I haven't said in the last five years (woulda, coulda, shoulda, what ifs and maybes). All I can do is trust in God, love them as hard as I can, and take care of this little budding life inside me.

Christmas celebrates the birth of a baby. Not just any baby, but a real miracle baby. The miracle baby that trumps all other miracle babies. God wrapped in flesh, God among us, God born in a barn (what were you born in a barn? well, it was good enough for our Lord and Savior). Christmas is a time of great celebration and joy because Christmas was Heaven reaching out to us. Four-hundred years of silence shattered with two babies--a prophet to prepare the way and the Messiah who would save us all. This is not a time for anger, for worry, or for senseless chatter. This is a time for gratitude and celebration. Exuberance.

This is the time to consider what a baby has taught us. Not just me and my baby. But the Baby. The Baby who would grow into the man who would change the world with His words and return us to God with His sacrifice. So many lessons can be taken from the manger, if we're only quiet and listen.

Humility. Gentleness. Simplicity.

Peace. 

And the angel said unto them, 

"Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger."

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

 "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men."

Luke 2:10-14 

It Feels Like Christmas

A part of childhood we'll always remember

It is the summer of the soul in December

Yes, when you do your best for love it feels like Christmas

I realize Halloween is still 5 days away and that means Thanksgiving is a month away which means Christmas is two months away. That being said, I'm already in the Christmas spirit. It might've started when I first spied the Christmas fabric on display at Jo-Ann's. Or when I dragged Katie with me to buy some of said Christmas fabric at Jo-Ann's. This was in late August or early September. I can't remember exactly. I've been just itching for Christmas this year.

Which is unusual for me but not new. I used to love Christmas. I suppose all children do, despite the depressing existence of young boy Scrooge. What kid doesn't get ants in their pants for Santa Claus and presents and looking at Christmas lights? The coming of Christmas also meant the coming of my birthday. Born just two weeks before Christmas I would get birthday cake with a side of Christmas cookies. My mom was great at making birthdays special. She made Ace of Cakes style cakes before anyone had ever heard of Duff and his Baltimore bakery. We'd have a gaggle of little girls over for games and gifts and cake and cookies. And my excitement would only grow as Christmas drew ever nearer.

I remember decorating the Christmas tree and listening to Manheim Steamroller. One of our traditions was opening a new ornament the night we decorated the tree. Sometimes Mom hand-made our ornaments, other times they were store bought. She kept lists for both Adam and I so we'd know in the future who gave us particular ornaments and how old we were. It's those very same ornaments that hang on my Christmas tree now.

While we were away at school our house would change into a winter wonderland. A collection of Santa music boxes in display in the barristers, a Christmas village would appear complete with puffy angel hair snow, we'd each get our own little tree to decorate. Our collection of Christmas books would appear. My parents bought me a new The Night Before Christmas every year for my birthday; the one holiday birthday gift I'd tolerate. I now have those Santa music boxes and I pair them with my Night Before Christmas books. Memories re-gifted, in a way.

Some years I would get to arrange the nativity set. I couldn't understand why the donkey or sheep couldn't lay in the hay...in the loft. When the other, more sensible, people in my family tried to explain that a donkey or a sheep could not climb a ladder, I told them I didn't care. And the donkey, or the sheep, stayed in the loft, defying all reason.

There was magic in our holidays. Our basement functioned as a family room where we'd watch movies and play with toys. Every year, as a family, we'd watch White Christmas and when we'd come back upstairs to get ready for bed...it'd be snowing. My family, cute as we were, would sing together at Christmas eve services. The Virgin Mary Had a Baby Boy, Have a Super-Duper Christmas, and my favorite Do You Hear What I Hear? My mom was the night wind, I was the little lamb, my brother was the shepherd boy, and my dad, of course, was the mighty king. We were adorable.

We were always in the Christmas pageants. I was an angel one year, my brother was a prophet (Isaiah, I think). Church was a big part of our holidays. Services at our own church, at our grandparents' church, my great-uncle was a minister so some years we'd go to his church, too. There was always talk of Jesus and the manger, of Mary and Joseph, of shepherds and wise men. Jesus was never lost in the tinsel and twinkle lights. Somehow He was infused into everything. The music, the traditions, the memories.

We'd have our own little family Christmas--Dad, Mom, Adam, and me--and then a day or so before Christmas we'd pile in our mini-van and go over the river and threw the woods, and we'd be comin' round the mountain, to grandmother's house. Adam and I were the only grandchildren, and let's face it, Christmas is much more fun with little ones, so we were a teensy bit...indulged...at the holidays. Grammy, PapPap, my aunt and uncles filled the living room with gifts. Literally. Every year the tide of gifts would get nearer and nearer to the dining room, encroaching on all the furniture, threatening to overtake the Christmas tree.

Of course, all of this changed rather drastically as my growing up crashed with my parents' divorce. I remember feeling as if the spell had been broken, no matter how hard we tried to paste it all back together. Some years were good, others were not. I wouldn't say I lost my excitement entirely...I just had a feeling of loss lingering in the background. I think this was inevitable and I think we all had a similar feeling.

Eventually Christmas became about keeping the peace and pleasing other people. The magic was lost and Jesus was somehow missing from the equation. I couldn't seem to find Him in the gifts or the tree or the cookies. But I eventually started my own traditions. There are certain books I try to read every year, The Birth by Gene Edwards for one. I like to read the Christmas scriptures, especially on Christmas eve as midnight approaches. Charlie Brown Christmas has become a family favorite--I'm Sally and Adam is Charlie, we call each other every year when it's on--and when Linus recites Luke 2, I find Him. He's there. He always was. He was in the magic, and He was there when the magic was broken.

He's there this year when the magic is stirring again.

Our first year of marriage felt a bit like this year. Curtis and I decided early on to do Christmas just us. I baked so many kinds of cookies and was excited to do the shopping. I decorated my own house for the very first time. We fought about the Christmas tree (the first one we bought fell over but magically none of my precious ornaments broke). I made a huge Christmas feast. It was everything a first Christmas should be.

Then the next couple years we rushed here and there to try to squeeze it all in and work around other people's plans. The magic left again like pulling Santa's beard off.

I'm not sure when, from where, or why the Christmas magic comes. I think it's about the spirit of a person, their attitude. When all I could think about is what used to be or what couldn't be anymore...there's no chance for magic to stir. When Christmas became about agendas and rushing and people-pleasing, there's no chance for the magic to stir. When Christmas becomes about getting what you want and holding your ground, there's no chance for the magic to stir.

But when Christmas is about joy, regardless of where you are or if the Christmas tree falls over, there's a chance. When Christmas is about celebration, simplicity, and relationships, there's a chance. When Christmas is really about Jesus, when He's not stuffed into a stocking buried beneath the presents and the angel hair snow, there's a chance.

I have no issues with mixing the secular with the religious at Christmas. What's wrong with sprinkling some reindeer feed on your yard after reading the Christmas story? What's wrong with writing letters to Santa, after thanking God for all that He's given us? What's wrong with believing in Father Christmas, as long as we truly believe, save our souls believe, in Jesus Christ? I think there's supposed to be whimsy, fantasy, and the whisper of magic on every winter wind. It's only when tradition overtakes meaning, when cash registers drown out the angel chorus, when hurrying rushes the Christmas story into a one-hour Christmas eve service, that the magic of the season is really lost. It's only when we lose Jesus that we really lose Christmas.

It's in the singing of a street corner choir

It's going home and getting warm by the fire

It's true, wherever you find love it feels like Christmas.

We're Not Alone

We're not alone. Wherever you're at in life, someone else is there, too. If not in this century, in another. I often take time to remember that the pleadings of my aching heart is nothing new to God. He's heard it all before but it doesn't weary Him. He's heard each woman across the ages cry out to Him. From Hagar under the tree in a desert, watching her little boy die of thirst, to Mary Magdalene searching for her Lord at the empty tomb. Lost, scared, aching, lonely. Frustrated, angry, nearly bitter. Burned out, exhausted, at the end of the rope. He's heard it all and He's handled it all. He provided for Hagar, she called him 'The God who sees'. He appeared to Mary, showing her that her faith, devotion, and love was not misspent.

I think about the women who read my blog. I don't know exactly who does and I don't know exactly what you're going through. But I would bet my bottom dollar that you are struggling with something as you read these words. In our fallen world it is an inevitably. But you are no more alone than I am. We may feel all alone but Jesus did, too. His three closest friends couldn't even stay awake to pray for Him in His night of deepest anguish. He knows how it feels to be let down, betrayed, disappointed, and all alone. He felt all alone so we could know that we never truly are alone.

Divorce. Death. Barren wombs. Empty nest. Disease. Financial stress. Teenagers. Toddlers. Broken cars. Broken hearts. You are not alone. Someone somewhere in the annals of time across the world has walked in your shoes, maybe is walking in them now. And the One who is in Heaven is also in You, walking in your shoes, carrying you when you're too weak and tired to walk, when you can't see the path, when you don't want to go on. You are not alone. We're not alone.

Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. --John 14:27

It Should Always Rain

I was in college, I can't remember which year. I was walking past the B.A.building with my polka dot umbrella, it was raining. I remember side-stepping the large puddles that always formed there in front of the B.A. building and breathing in the clean wet air. I've always loved rain, but this rain felt special. This rain promised life. This was a Good Friday rain. As I considered the rain, I decided that it should always rain on Good Friday. I remember the next year it didn't rain and I felt indignant. It should always rain on Good Friday.

It is as if the world, the atmosphere, the earth is aware of what happened on this day, and mourns again. We humans, as intelligent as we are, forget and take for granted the sacrifice of Easter. We gloss over it or ignore it completely in favor of Chocolate bunnies and marshmallow chickens. But the earth cannot. It won't. When we don't acknowledge the great love of God expressed in this all encompassing sacrifice, the earth still does. This isn't personification, this is scriptural.We're told that the very rocks will cry out if we don't praise Him. The Earth sings and rejoices in praise for Him; wwouldn't it also cry out in mourning for His death?

At noon, darkness fell across the whole land until three o’clock. At about three o’clock, Jesus called out with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli,lema sabachthani?” which means “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”
Some of the bystanders misunderstood and thought he was calling for the prophet Elijah. One of them ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, holding it up to him on a reed stick so he could drink. But the rest said, “Wait! Let’s see whether Elijah comes to save him.” 
Then Jesus shouted out again, and he released his spirit. At that moment the curtain in the sanctuary of the Temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook, rocks split apart, and tombs opened. The bodies of many godly men and women who had died were raised from the dead. They left the cemetery after Jesus’ resurrection, went into the holy city of Jerusalem, and appeared to many people.
The Roman officer and the other soldiers at the crucifixion were terrified by the earthquake and all that had happened. They said, “This man truly was the Son of God!”

The gospels tell that on the day of His death the sky grew dark, the earth quaked. The earth was reacting to the death of Son of God. The One who had been there at its creation nailed to a cross, crying out in agony. The sky grew dark in the middle of the day, the earth shook violently. The people may have been mocking the death of the Lord, but the earth was trembling. This is how the mockers knew what they had done; that when they jeered Him as the King of the Jews they'd been wrong, because He was truly the King of Kings.

I've never been in a real earthquake, just the slight tremors we feel time to time here in Ohio. But once, in college, I saw the sky grow nearly dark as night in the middle of the day. I was leaving the Eppler Center with a friend of mine from class. The Eppler Center doesn't have windows in many of the classrooms so we had no idea the sky was growing midnight blue while we were inside arguing about American Literature. We came out from the class, expecting to squint from the sun but were met with darkness in the middle of the day. It felt ominous and foreboding, like what happens in the movies when it is the end of the world. Obviously, it only rained, I'm sure it stormed and the wind blew very badly because that's what happens out here. But I know how unsettling it is to experience near darkness in the middle of the day, and an inkling of how frightening the darkness experienced on that day must have been.

The scriptures indicate the darkness experienced on Good Friday was complete, that it was as night from noon to three. Could the stars and moon be seen? Were they visible witness to the atrocity happening on Earth? Did they watch what God could not?

Dark skies in the middle of the day, an earthquake violent enough to split open rocks and tombs. It seems to me that the Earth was mourning openly, perhaps because His followers mourned only in hiding, in fear. The Earth will do what we cannot, it is His creation, too. Not sentient, not by choice, but by reaction to the whole world being turned upside down. Sin was never supposed to enter our world, and the Son of God was never supposed to die. But because one did the other must also. And we need to mourn both deeply...the death of perfection twice; once bringing death; once bringing life.

Which is why we celebrate on Sunday. Life restored. An empty tomb, a resurrected Savior. The world in balance again. Did you ever stop to think that the before Mary ever reached the tomb, the Earth was already rejoicing in His life? Last year for Easter I sang a special which speaks to that very idea. Again, this isn't just romantic personification of the Earth, the Earth has no brain, no soul. I get that. But it is His, surely, it must know His touch and feel His presence. He told the sea to calm and it did. Wouldn't the Earth also obey the command to rejoice upon His resurrection?

Did the grass sing?

Did the Earth rejoice to feel you again?

Over and over like a trumpet underground,

Did the earth seem to pound 'He is Risen!'

Over and over in a never-ending round,

He is Risen! Alleluia! Alleluia!

('Was it a Morning Like This?' Sandi Patty)

For some reason this song conjures up images of Narnia. Maybe it's the talking animals or the dryads coming to life from trees, but when I think of a 'trumpet underground' I am reminded of Lewis' Narnia. I think of how spring came to Narnia, banishing winter and diminishing the power of the White Witch, as soon as Aslan arrived, even before the battle. I think of the faith of the Old Narnians in Prince Caspian. In Lewis' world the Earth and the creatures of the Earth knew their King, might it not also be so in our world?

If nothing else, the rain serves as a good reminder to reflect. Rainy days seem to always been good days for thinking. A rainy Good Friday turns the heart and the mind to Jesus. Perhaps that is why darkness fell that day, to turn the hearts and minds to Jesus so that their souls might be saved. Maybe I am just romantic and have spent a bit too much time in Narnia. Maybe I'm all wrong about the rain. But I do feel that it should always rain on Good Friday. And today is Good Friday, and in my little corner of the universe, it is raining.

That Even I Could Receive A Miracle

"Have mercy on us and help us, if you can.”
“What do you mean, ‘If I can’?” Jesus asked. “Anything is possible if a person believes.”
The father instantly cried out, “I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!” (Mark 9:23-24)

This passage resonates deeply within me. Like a tuning fork being tapped I twinge and reverberate and long to have my strings tightened to be in tune with the Truth.

The man in this story is asking for a miracle healing. His son is possessed with a demon. He's desperate and in his despair he cries out to Jesus, 'Have mercy and help us, if you can.' It's that last bit which gets Jesus' attention. I can picture His eyebrow raising along with the pitch of His voice. 'If I can?' He repeats. Picture the celestial arms being bared as Jesus pushes up His sleeves. 'Anything is possible if a person believes', He informs not only the man but the surrounding crowd. And the man immediately exclaims, 'I do believe, but help me overcome my unbelief!"

I believe in you, Jesus, but there is still part of me that can't believe in the impossible. Too many disappointments stand in the way. I am this man. How many times have I approached Jesus not with the plea, 'if you are willing' but instead, 'if you can'? And how I desperately need Him to help me overcome that unbelief which paralyzes my faith and cripples my prayers.

“Lord,” he said, “if you are willing, you can heal me and make me clean.”
 Jesus reached out and touched him. “I am willing,” he said. “Be healed!” (Luke 5:12-13)

Over and over Jesus was approached by people asking for a miracle, knowing that if He was willing, He would do it. That He could do it. Over and over Jesus was moved by their faith and healed them. Because Jesus is compassionate, He could feel the ache and longing of these people. Often the cast outs of society, He was healing them not only of their physical ailments but their emotional and spiritual ones as well. He forgave their sins, healing their souls, and then He healed their bodies. But He wanted very much to give good blessings to these people He loved so tenderly. He was and still is willing.

“You parents—if your children ask for a loaf of bread, do you give them a stone instead? Or if they ask for a fish, do you give them a snake? Of course not! So if you sinful people know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good gifts to those who ask him." (Matthew 7:9-11)

To those who ask Him. I wonder how many people stood on the edges of the crowd, wanting to approach the Rabbi, needing to be healed, but too timid to ask for His blessings. I'll just hang back here and watch, they thought, their needs are more important than mine, He's too busy for me. I won't bother Him. They watched and they wished, but they never dared to ask.

I know about this wishing. I wish for that which I long for, that which my heart aches for. I wish and I hope and I want it so badly...but sometimes I find that I haven't truly asked in the midst of all my wishing. I don't believe that Jesus honors our 'I wish' statements. I believe those would fall under the 'If you can' category. I wish you could do this, Jesus. That doesn't acknowledge His power or His desire to give good things. It's a statement riddled with unbelief. I wish. Not I believe.

Another pattern I find in the Gospels is that of Jesus inviting people to ask Him for their miracles. As they draw near, Jesus asks what it is they want Him to do. And I don't imagine that His tone is laced with weariness or exasperation. It's not as if He's bothered by having to perform yet another miracle or grant yet another request. Rather the Scriptures reveal that He feels sorry for people, compassion, tenderness. I get the feeling that His heart surged every time one of His lost people came near needing to ask for healing. And that's why He wanted them to feel that they could ask--because He knew how desperately they needed to.

When Jesus heard them, he stopped and called, “What do you want me to do for you?”
“Lord,” they said, “we want to see!”
Jesus felt sorry for them and touched their eyes. Instantly they could see! Then they followed him. (Matthew 20:32-34)


As the man came near, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” 
 “Lord,” he said, “I want to see!”
And Jesus said, “All right, receive your sight! Your faith has healed you.” (Luke 18:40-42)

Believe and ask. Two steps on our part. We must believe and then we must ask. Completely unlike asking for a miracle in order to believe. Instead, the believing must come first in order for the miracle to follow. He's not in the business of performing miracles so people will believe His claims. Rather, Jesus is in the business of rewarding those who already believe and have been saved with His blessings of goodness.

Help me to overcome my unbelief. Perhaps that is the first healing. Heal this unbelief which poisons me. Banish the doubts of your ready willingness to lavish good gifts. Silence the whispering that I am unworthy of receiving your blessings. Help me to believe that even I could receive a miracle. As messy and broken and going-in-circles as I am...that you would reach out in compassion and touch even me. Because the fact is, I need a miracle and only you can help me.

Moved with compassion, Jesus reached out and touched him. “I am willing,” he said. “Be healed!”

The Red Letters

As I shared before I've been preparing to teach the youth group about Jesus. The specific question being 'Who Is Jesus?' As I've delved into the world of scholarship and even more so into my heart to come up with some kind of intelligible answer dcTalk's song 'The Red Letters' kept coming to mind.

 

I've never actually owned a red letter Bible. I've always wanted one though. I love the idea of Jesus' words being visually different from everything else. And I appreciate the symbolism of red letters. Not green, blue, or purple letters. Red letters.

 

I'm really grateful that I was able to do this lesson as we're drawing closer to Easter. Every Easter and Christmas season I long for it to be meaningful. I have lofty goals of reading all the gospels and lots of books about those holidays. I thirst to truly appreciate the magnitude of both events. God drawing close and making that closeness possible for forever and always. The bridging of the chasm. History and the cosmos forever altered. It's so hard to fathom the true magnitude of what He really did, so it's much easier to simply enjoy the holidays rather than wrestle with their meaning.

 

And no matter my lofty goals or good intentions I inevitably get distracted and never achieve what I want. Christmases go by and spending time trying to really grasp the meaning of it all has been thrown by the wayside to do shopping, wrap gifts, and send Christmas cards. Easters go by much the same way. And I'm always left feeling as if I just missed a marvelous opportunity.

 

The reality is I don't need a holiday to spend that kind of time grappling with the magnitude of God on Earth, but the holidays are full of ritual that can coincide really well with it. A catharsis happens on Christmas morning or Good Friday & Easter morning when I've really soaked in the reality of Jesus. And thanks to this youth lesson I've jumped in the deep end of studying and searching.

 

And I've been discouraged because I'm waaaay behind in a Lent reading plan of the gospels and a book of readings for Lent. I've been feeling like I've failed on my goal before really getting started. But God impressed upon me that it doesn't matter whether or not I stay on track with a plan created by man to study Him and His word. What matters is that I do the studying regardless of the plan. It doesn't really matter if I get through all 4 gospels before Easter as much as I read to find Him in the red letters. Much could be lost if I rush through the readings to simply meet a deadline. So much more can be found if I take this journey to Easter with God instead.

 

I want to close this post with the lyrics to dcTalk's 'The Red Letters' (and here is a link to youtube so you can listen to the song yourself. The bridge is a little funky but it is classic dcTalk...and the song is profoundly powerful). And I want to invite you to spend some time in the red letters and let Jesus guide you through His life. This Easter can be an experience and not just another Easter Sunday if you meet Jesus on the way.

 

 

Pages filled with a holy message
Sealed with a kiss from heaven
On a scroll long ago
Phrases, words that were bound together
Now have the power to sever
Like a sword evermore

Heed the words divinely spoken
May your restless heart be broken
Let the supernatural take hold

(chorus)
There is love in the red letters
There is truth in the red letters
There is hope for the hopeless
Peace and forgiveness
There is life in the red letters
In the red letters

One man came to reveal a mystery
Changing the course of history
Made the claim he was god
Ageless, born of a virgin Mary
Spoke with a voice that carried through the years
It's persevered

Heed the words divinely spoken
May your restless heart be broken
Let the supernatural take hold

(repeat chorus)

 

(bridge)
What you say moves me, revelation, come and take me
The more I look [the more I look] the more I see [the more I see]
The word of God [the word of god] is what I need

Oh yeah, oh yeah
Yeah, it's the book of love
Yeah, yeah, yeah
It's the book of love

 

(repeat chorus)

Speak to me, breathe in me new life [x2]
Let him in your heart [x4]

There's More Than 1 Verse to That Song???

In the course of googling various things for my youth group lesson I found an article on wikipedia about the song "Jesus Loves Me". I'd never heard/read all the verses before and I think that's a bit of a tragedy. The other verses are really wonderful, as is the case with many of the old Sunday School songs and hymns. I've always been a big fan of this song. On occasion my dad would lead the singing at church and I'd always insist that he pick this song. I always felt and still do that adults should sing this song every now and then.

Taken from wikipedia...(which is often doubtful but this information seems credible)

Jesus Loves Me is a Christian hymn set to words by Anna Bartlett Warner.The lyrics first appeared as a poem in the context of a novel called Say and Seal, written by Susan Warner and published in 1860. The tune was added in 1862 by William Batchelder Bradbury who found the text of "Jesus Loves Me" in this book, in which the words were spoken as a comforting poem to a dying child. Along with his tune, Bradbury added his own chorus "Yes, Jesus loves me, Yes, Jesus Loves me..." After publication the song became one of the most popular Christian hymns in churches around the world. Different verses, other than the first, often are substituted. The verse about illness is usually omitted, to make the hymn less disturbing to children. The United Church of Canada hymnal attributes the second and fourth verse, and the last two lines of the final verse, to David Rutherford McGuire. Attribution of the third verse is unknown. An external link at the end of this article points to the original version.

And here are the verses...

Jesus loves me! This I know,

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong;

They are weak, but He is strong.

Chorus:

Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me!

Yes, Jesus loves me!

The Bible tells me so.

Jesus loves me! This I know,

As He loved so long ago,

Taking children on His knee,

Saying, “Let them come to Me.”

Chorus

Jesus loves me when I'm good,

When I do the things I should,

Jesus loves me when I'm bad,

Though it makes Him very sad.

Chorus

Jesus loves me still today,

Walking with me on my way,

Wanting as a friend to give

Light and love to all who live.

Chorus

Jesus loves me! He who died

Heaven’s gate to open wide;

He will wash away my sin,

Let His little child come in.

Chorus

Jesus loves me! Loves me still

Tho' I'm very weak and ill;

That I might from sin be free

Bled and died upon the tree.

Chorus

Jesus loves me! He will stay

Close beside me all the way;

Thou hast bled and died for me,

I will henceforth live for Thee.

Chorus

Perhaps tomorrow a post from my 'Who Is Jesus?' lesson for the teens?? We'll have to see how my day unfolds...

A Crash Course on Jesus

Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.--John 21:25

I've agreed to give the lesson at youth this week. We're working with these 30 questions which cover everything from how to tap into the power of the Holy Spirit to spiritual warfare to end time prophesies. I picked one question I thought I could handle--Who Is Jesus? I knew it wouldn't be easy per se but I thought I could handle it.

But trying to capture Jesus in words, phrases, and metaphors has proven to be very difficult. There's a great song by Josh Wilson called 'Three Minute Song' on this very topic. How can you fit Jesus into a 3-minute song or a youth lesson? How can you summarize the man who changed history for all time? Now, I understand that I don't have to cover everything in one lesson so I'm not going to try. What I've decided to do is like a Jesus overview...a crash course....of our Lord and Savior. Let's cover the basic facts--when He lived, who He claimed to be, and who Christians believe Him to be. And then get into why any of it really matters.

Because after several false starts writing an outline...I finally just said,

"Jesus, tell me what You want me to tell them about You.

This is Your gig, I'm just the mouthpiece.

And don't let me get in the way of Your message."

And the response I received was to really get into the why of it all. Maybe that's because teenagers always want to know why they need to know something. How many times did you ask in high school why you really needed to learn geometry or biology or Shakespeare? Or maybe that's just humanity and not only teens. If we're honest we'd have to admit that we are likely to have the same attitude at church only we're not as apt to vocalize it. But internally I think we sometimes wonder why we really need to know all this stuff. Isn't it enough to just sign up and join the club? Sure, we think, I'll sign up for that no-hell-forgiveness-of-sins-thing. That sounds good. But we don't really know Jesus, and when people talk about it we wonder why that's even necessary. We believe in Him and asked for Him to save us, isn't that enough?

Maybe that's just me...part of me used to think that way, albeit unknowingly. Because of course, I already thought I knew Jesus but that's because I knew about Him. I didn't really know Him. And it was the moment I learned the difference that my whole world changed. That was my big conversion moment even though I'd been 'saved' for many, many years.

So...somehow in language that falls short and probably through rambling and 'ummm-ing'...that's what I'm hoping to teach the youth. A little bit of who Jesus is and a whole lot of why you need to know Him. Kinda like that TV show from back in the day 'Reading Rainbow.' The host would tell the kids watching at home how great a certain book was and would always end with: "But don't take my word for it!" (for years, I thought that meant he was lying...and then I realized...he wants me to read it myself. I guess I was a little slow back then.) I really want to get them curious about Jesus and digging into their Bibles to find Him for themselves.

When I get it all hammered out I'll have material for several posts so be on the look out for my crash course on Jesus. Hopefully I'll be able to post a couple of them this weekend. As difficult as it is to try to capture Jesus on paper (imagine how hard it was for the gospel writers!) I have to say it's a challenge I readily embrace. Because while I know my words will always fall short, it seems I can never write enough about the One who Saved me.

A Cranky Dog and a Tummy Ache

I'm pretty sure there's something wrong with Bode today. He snapped at Shiloh when he came over to sniff the teddy bear Bode was cuddling with. He growled at me when I rubbed his tummy--twice. And he's piddled on our carpet twice today, we think out of fear...but he'd made some major strides on this so it's unusual. I can't figure out what's bothering him. He's eating and drinking normally, and sometimes he seems like his usual playful self. He does have a scrape on his back left leg that he won't let me look at. But he's not limping, favoring that leg, or licking it so I don't think it's bothering him that much. I really can't figure out what's going on today.

His reactions got me thinking about how I react when I'm not feeling well. Like today. My tummy has been upset today, and the dogs woke me up early, so I'm not in the best of moods. I find myself snapping at Curtis over incredibly inane things (like the printer being out of ink) and being really annoyed at not getting my way. I've reverted to the disposition of a cranky two year old. Brilliant.

I'm sympathetic that Bode seems to not be feeling well, but I don't appreciate his growling at me and snapping at me. I'm trying to help him and he won't let me. But I'm doing the same thing. I don't feel good so I'm snarling and snapping, feeling annoyed and irritable. Bode's a dog so I don't suppose he'll ever learn to behave otherwise, and I'm not sure it would be fair for me to expect him to. However, I'm a human and I have to learn to rise above myself sometimes.

I read an interesting article on 'emotional sobriety' a couple days ago. The concept being that emotions are something that can be managed, much like an addiction, so that it no longer controls you. It's not so much about turning off emotions and not let anything ruffle your feathers, as much as learning how to cope with having your feathers ruffled. And my goodness, do I need help with my ruffly feathers.

Like a city whose walls are broken through is a person who lacks self-control.--Proverbs 25:28

The imagery there is very powerful. Imagine how it used to be--in the old country--it doesn't have to be as far back as Solomon's time, think back to images of medieval Europe. We've all seen a Robin Hood movie or two. Imagine how the city was surrounded with a tall, impenetrable wall, always guarded, always well-defended, protecting the inhabitants inside. And the people who lived outside the city, and thus the city wall, would always rush inside in times of trouble. The city walls provided safety and security in otherwise perilous situations.

And, so it would seem, self-control serves the same purpose. It guards my emotions from being overtaken by outsiders. I have a choice to either defend my city--my heart, my mind, my relationships--by keeping my wall of self-control well armed, or I can allow my wall to be broken through.

I don't think self-control is a choice, as much as a lifestyle. Like patience and joy, it's not something I can ask God for and simply be uploaded with. It's not an app for my heart. Self-control has to be learned, and can only be learned in a moments when I would normally go haywire. Like today. I have a choice right now to turn around today by choosing self-control, or I can allow my city to be ransacked by unchecked emotions.

I think it is harder to make positive choices when I'm not taking care of myself by eating right and getting enough rest and things like that. The most important thing is whether or not I'm nourishing my soul with daily helpings for the Word and concentrated time in prayer.

I have to tell you...I took a break in the midst of writing this post. Curtis needed the computer. So I decided to take some time to read my Bible. I'm working on  Lent reading plan of the gospels, and so I had to finish up Matthew today. I feel centered now having spent some time studying the Bible and reading about Jesus. It's amazing how I always feel so nurtured and nourished after getting with God.

And in the middle of my Bible study, my stomach stopped hurting and I actually got hungry. I haven't been truly hungry in several days, I've just been eating because I have to. Then, when I finished Matthew, I decided to try to check Bode one more time to see if I can figure out what's wrong. He growled at me at first when I tried to look at his leg but I gave him some space to calm down so he came back and laid down. I rubbed his tummy (what dog can resist a tummy rub?) and told him he was good, and then I carefully picked up his back left leg. He didn't even twitch or 'grrrr'. Good news is his leg is almost healed so I honestly think he was just tired. He slept while I was reading and he seems to be feeling better.

Funny how that works, huh?

Off With Your Head!

The author of the book I'm reading Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World used the Queen of Hearts to describe herself and her temper. I have to say while I laughed, my heart was stinging. I knew exactly what she meant. A tyrant, sputtering ridiculous commands in selfish anger.

And again yesterday when Proverbs 31 president Lysa TerKeurst confessed a bad attitude as an outward indication of an inward problem, I had to cringe. As she named off a handful of tell-tale signs of inward decay & rot, I had to wince as I identified with two or three of them. No one likes to have their ugly exposed for what it is.

I've always had a short temper. As a child I'd stomp my foot so hard the china closet in the basement would shake. A time or two I threw whatever object that was closest at the source of my anger (typically my teasing big brother...but not always). In high school when I found out some of my best friends had been gossipping about me, I threw my purse at the dance mirrors in the choir room. It broke. It was the second day of school. With a brand new music teacher.

That day I went home and wrote up a bunch of verses about anger, and a couple Latin phrases my fantastic  Latin teacher had taught us. I taped them to my mirror. It seemed fitting. And I calmed down considerably. When you  have to shell out some cash because of your anger and the choir of 90+ students look at you like you've wandered from the set of The Exorcist...you learn to get a grip.

But lately, my grip's been slipping. I hear myself start to lose it and the words 'Off with your head' form on my lips, foaming at the mouth, waiting to be shouted at the next frustration.

I've been struggling lately with feeling that I am being taken advantage of (and I realize that one should not end a sentence with 'of' but I couldn't come up with a better way to phrase that). But I read this morning that I'm to honor God, even when I feel dishonored. If I'm being honest, and I have to be honest or what's the point in writing anything....IIIIIIII Doooooon't WAAANNNNAAA!!!! (read that real slow and whiny) I don't want to do the Godly thing, I want to do the fleshy thing. I want to live in the moment, stomping my foot, throwing things, feel indignant about how I've been treated. It's not fair. And, childish outbursts aside, I think God would agree that things aren't fair.
But He never promised life would be fair. In fact, He told us it wouldn't be fair, easy, or comfortable. It wasn't for Him, the promised Messiah, the Savior of all Mankind, the God of all the Universe. It wasn't fair that He should be called crazy, be forced to escape from stoning or being thrown from a cliff...and it wasn't fair that he died a humiliating, agonizing, slow death for sins He never committed. Sins that had already broken His heart, now were breaking His body and, for a short while, breaking His relationship with His Father. That is the ultimate injustice.

But the Scriptures never show Him whining. I see Him lose His temper in righteous anger, a truly justifiable indignation of the sacrilegeous defilement of His Father's house. But He doesn't ever explode at the disciples' failure to just get what He was saying. The gospels don't show Jesus losing his mind over little things. Jesus doesn't lash out when His own family tries to have Him committed. He doesn't stick around for the abuse either, but He doesn't get down in the mud, slinging angry words. No, the only time Jesus seems to get in the mud is to produce a miracle.

In this new light, the light of Heaven, my slights and frustrations seem piddly in comparison. What right do I have to look at Heaven, shaking my angry fist, spewing angry words, and stomping an angry foot? Venting my self-centered feelings to God, forgetting that it's His creations I'm talking about. Never noticing that I'm simultaneously breaking several commands...all those things relating to anger, love, and forgiveness.

In this new light, I don't look so pretty. I look like the red-faced Queen of Hearts. But I have one thing she doesn't, because Lewis Carroll never wrote it in, unlike the Author of my story. Redemption is my plot twist. Forgiveness awaits me, and an opportunity to do better. I can draw close to the Prince of Peace, and in His presence, I will also emit peace. While looking into His face, I won't be looking at myself and thinking only of me. And He will start to show me how He sees His creations...with love, compassion, and tenderness.

Jesus doesn't say that it's right or okay that we suffer injustices and a world that just is plan unfair. It was never meant to be this way. So of course it's not okay! But He will help us get through it until the day comes when we enter a world that is fair. How glorious will it be to never hear again, "whoever said that life is fair?" And for all of us short-tempered folks, how truly amazing will it be to never feel that tightening sensation in my veins as I try to resist a good cry of 'OFF WITH YOUR HEAD?' No more selfishness getting in the way of meekness and peacemaking. Just Love and Goodness every I look, every where I am, even inside me.

Someday...no more Queen of Hearts lurking deep within me, stewing and threatening to surface. And in the meantime, I have to let His grace fill me up so much that it spills out onto everyone around me even when I've been wronged. I have to focus on Him so self fades so much that I can swallow hurt feelings, wrong-doings, and every little thing that just gets me going. I'm going to pray for some perspective. I mentioned in yesterday's post (which if you haven't read yet, check it out) the Francesca Battistelli song 'This is the Stuff'. It's my new anthem and prayer. The world is full of situations to drive me crazy and get my frustration building but I have to remember how big I'm already blessed and it's not the end of the world. And in the moments, I have to listen for the Prince of Peace to direct me, and I think inevitably He will point out....how will taking off someone's head do any good?

In The Midst of Counting...

Have you heard Francesca Battistelli's really fun new song --'This is the Stuff'? The lyrics for the chorus are: "In the middle of my little mess, I forget how big I'm blessed." And the bridge has a great closing line of, "It's not the end of the world!" So I was singing along the other day in my truck when I had to stop mid-lyric for one of my famous 'ah-ha' moments. I've been having a lot of those lately. It's good to be coming awake from spiritual sleepiness. Anyway, I rabbit trail....'how big I'm blessed.' That's what hit me.

I've been counting gifts. Check out my newly added page by clicking the tab at the top to find out more about what that means. I'm counting all the little blessings from God. Sunsets. Laughter. Random little boys with swords (I'm not kidding...he was jumping around my office with a plastic sword). Story-telling. A puppy-kisses alarm clock. The thousand ways God shows me He loves me.

But somewhere in the midst of counting I lost sight of the BIG blessing. The one that takes all, the trump card. The one that goes beyond just little me. The one that saved little me. Christ's gift of death for my rebellion. Jesus' triumph over death so I don't have to be forever and ever separated from Goodness and Love.

How often I forget the biggest moment in all history. How shameful. I walk around with His name on my lips but forgetting what He's done. James, whom most scholars believe was Jesus' brother, writes about this very problem. He says it's like looking at yourself in the mirror and then forgetting what you look like as soon as you walk away. To say that you know Jesus but forget His sacrifice. Impossible if you really love Him, with true love, with extravagant love.

So counting all the blessings, that's a good thing. But I can't ever let that get in the way of seeing the blessing of all blessings. Relationship with my Creator, fellowship with the King. (Rabbit Trail: I have some thoughts about God's kingship, especially since watching Showtime's series on Henry the VIII. I know, who woulda thought God could use Showtime to teach anyone anything spiritual? But don't ever put limitations on Him...nothing is outside the realm of His possibilities. I'll be posting those thoughts soon...) I can tell you it is a blessing, an honor, a gift to be able to approach the King freely. Especially the King of Kings. The one with all the power.

On my way to work I heard the first verse of 'Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing'. This is a beautiful old hymn. Jars of Clay has a great version, David Crowder Band has an amazing one. But I think the lyrics speak to this very idea. Acknowledging that God is the source of every blessing....and first counted is always Jesus' blood. And incidentally, I have a feeling these lyrics might become inspiration for many more posts. Read them slowly, let their truth sink in.

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.

Here I raise mine Ebenezer;
hither by thy help I'm come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
wandering from the fold of God;
he, to rescue me from danger,
interposed his precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.