In the Bible Study Magazine, Tod Twist writes, “We all have skewed ideas about how our lives should look so that we can do what God wants us to do.”
I think he’s right. Sometimes I am certain that God wants me to suffer unabashedly for my faith and be willing to face the martyr’s blade (always hoping it won’t hurt too much). More often, I would very much like to hole up in a cabin somewhere and write incredible words that would influence the world. The pen-mightier-than-the-sword type of words.
Rarely do I consider the fact that each day and each moment might be a special calling for what God wants me to do – a service of the seemingly mundane. Washing dishes and carefully stacking them so that they’ll drip dry – at the same time, praising God for the hot water that cleanses plates and bowls.
Or answering the phone and listening – really listening – to a frantic voice on the other end, then praying with that person about a specific trauma so she can hope again.
Or kissing my son goodnight and telling him once again, “I love you.” That seems like such a normal service, yet surely God is pleased whenever we love others as we love ourselves.
This weekend as we celebrate the tenth anniversary of 9-11 and the horrible tragedy of that day, we will be reminded of all the ordinary moments those people lived. Boarding an airplane and turning into a hero over the plains of Pennsylvania. Going to work in a diner and later helping a debris-covered man phone his wife with the news, “I’m alive.” Watching the news over and over that day and holding our children close. All types of service that surely pleased the heart of God.
What does God really want us to do? Just live and love. In all the normalcies of each day, without the skewed attitude that we must be in the pulpit or on the mission field or listed as church staff in order to be accepted by God. Just live and love. Be God’s people in the everyday moments of life. And be grateful.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Vision vs. Memories
Recently, I heard a wonderful explanation about the importance of vision. Do you know why the windshield of a car is so much larger than the rearview mirror? Because vision is more important than memories.
So many times we get caught in the pain and confusion of memories. Therapists make a living on our memories. Our journals contain page after page that relates to the past while our memoirs make sense out of the years we have lived.
We can learn much from the past, especially how to avoid repeating it. But if the past and its experiences create strongholds that hold us back from being all God created us to be – then we are in actuality traveling backwards. Our rearview mirrors have exchanged places with our windshields.
Psalm 71:17-18 reminds us to keep looking forward and keeping reaching out to the next group of memory-makers. “O God, you have taught me from my youth, and I still declare your wondrous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, O God, do not forsake me, until I declare your strength to this generation, your power to all who are to come.”
In order to reach the next generation with the power of Christ’s love, we have to have vision. We may be old and gray, but as long as God gives us breath – we can share the truth in love. We can still use our spiritual gifts, because God does not stamp them with an expiration date. We can experiment with new ways to reach out and not let tradition trap us in that rearview mirror.
Memories can be sweet, but vision propels us forward. And ultimately, it is vision that brings produces hope.
So many times we get caught in the pain and confusion of memories. Therapists make a living on our memories. Our journals contain page after page that relates to the past while our memoirs make sense out of the years we have lived.
We can learn much from the past, especially how to avoid repeating it. But if the past and its experiences create strongholds that hold us back from being all God created us to be – then we are in actuality traveling backwards. Our rearview mirrors have exchanged places with our windshields.
Psalm 71:17-18 reminds us to keep looking forward and keeping reaching out to the next group of memory-makers. “O God, you have taught me from my youth, and I still declare your wondrous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, O God, do not forsake me, until I declare your strength to this generation, your power to all who are to come.”
In order to reach the next generation with the power of Christ’s love, we have to have vision. We may be old and gray, but as long as God gives us breath – we can share the truth in love. We can still use our spiritual gifts, because God does not stamp them with an expiration date. We can experiment with new ways to reach out and not let tradition trap us in that rearview mirror.
Memories can be sweet, but vision propels us forward. And ultimately, it is vision that brings produces hope.
Friday, August 12, 2011
My Tree is Gone
After an Oklahoma-style hurricane: 96mph winds, straight-line force and no warning; the country paradise where I grew up has been decimated. The roof of the house has been lifted and transported to various sections of the pasture. Outbuildings which protected valuable machinery lie in tatters while the lovely trees are now a brush pile waiting for the farmer’s torch.
It is a time of loss for my family that involves days of sweat under the August heat, experts in appraisals and insurance as well as questions that begin with “What now?” I grieve for the disruption of all that was good in a place where I grew up with sunsets, fresh air and the freedom of childhood.
For me, the greatest loss is the felling of my special tree. This particular elm was created for climbing. With a giant knothole just the right height for boosting one’s adolescent self upward and another branch for hanging on – it took only minutes to vault from the ground into the security of upper limbs. On a quiet day – admittedly, that rarely happens in northwestern Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plains – I could hide within the still boughs of my tree and pretend I did not have to learn to wear a bra or start my period or deal with one more math quiz. In the solace of my tree, I cried out to God to rescue me from the hormonal rages I did not understand and the zits that dotted my face. That tree heard about my first boyfriend and my first heartache, about the prize I won at the county fair for my rock collection, about the first rejection from the words I sent to a New York publisher.
The tree represented safety when fear of the unknown gripped me – when I grew more and more serious about a particular boy in college and when I applied for a short-term missions trip and read the acceptance letter. Even before I walked down the aisle to marry another Okie, I spent an evening in my tree – reminiscing about childhood, knowing I would never again have the opportunity to whisper secrets therein.
In the cruel moments of one afternoon, a microburst reached down its powerful fist and toppled my tree. Nothing is left except the memories of a young girl who grew up on the plains of Oklahoma and found a solid foundation in the arms of an elm. How I wish I could climb there now.
It is a time of loss for my family that involves days of sweat under the August heat, experts in appraisals and insurance as well as questions that begin with “What now?” I grieve for the disruption of all that was good in a place where I grew up with sunsets, fresh air and the freedom of childhood.
For me, the greatest loss is the felling of my special tree. This particular elm was created for climbing. With a giant knothole just the right height for boosting one’s adolescent self upward and another branch for hanging on – it took only minutes to vault from the ground into the security of upper limbs. On a quiet day – admittedly, that rarely happens in northwestern Oklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plains – I could hide within the still boughs of my tree and pretend I did not have to learn to wear a bra or start my period or deal with one more math quiz. In the solace of my tree, I cried out to God to rescue me from the hormonal rages I did not understand and the zits that dotted my face. That tree heard about my first boyfriend and my first heartache, about the prize I won at the county fair for my rock collection, about the first rejection from the words I sent to a New York publisher.
The tree represented safety when fear of the unknown gripped me – when I grew more and more serious about a particular boy in college and when I applied for a short-term missions trip and read the acceptance letter. Even before I walked down the aisle to marry another Okie, I spent an evening in my tree – reminiscing about childhood, knowing I would never again have the opportunity to whisper secrets therein.
In the cruel moments of one afternoon, a microburst reached down its powerful fist and toppled my tree. Nothing is left except the memories of a young girl who grew up on the plains of Oklahoma and found a solid foundation in the arms of an elm. How I wish I could climb there now.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Where are we Hiding?
Such a curious scripture. Adam and Eve knew they had sinned. They bit into the forbidden fruit and disappointed Creator God. They forgot how he provided for all their needs and how they enjoyed those long talks with him each evening. One bite was enough to send them into panic mode. They looked for a giant bush and hid.
God walked in the garden, longing to talk with his favorite creation and asked, “Where are you?”
How strange that the One who painted dots on lady bugs and stripes on zebras asked that question. Obviously, the one true God who knew how to position planets so they wouldn’t slam into each other also knew where this fearful man and his wife were hiding.
But he asked, “Where are you?”
God asks the same of us. When he wants us to slow down our frantic pace and listen for his soft baritone – where are you? When we’re afraid to approach him because we’ve disappointed the only One who loves us completely, he knows we’re hiding from repentance. Where are you? When we’re angry because he took someone away from us or allowed us to lose jobs or didn’t rescue us from that dreadful diagnosis, he reminds us that he has a bigger plan. Where are you?
Of all the phrases in the Bible, this may be the most poignant. The question of a loving God who cares so much for our frail substance that he constantly searches. The Almighty who is lonely for his loved ones and just wants a few moments of uninterrupted conversation. The longing heart of divine intimacy, searching and pleading and always knowing the answer.
Where are you?
Hiding from God delays His loving arms wrapped around us and His whispered, “I love you.” But only for an instant. He will always find us, because He already knows where we are.
We are where we have always been – in need of Him.
God walked in the garden, longing to talk with his favorite creation and asked, “Where are you?”
How strange that the One who painted dots on lady bugs and stripes on zebras asked that question. Obviously, the one true God who knew how to position planets so they wouldn’t slam into each other also knew where this fearful man and his wife were hiding.
But he asked, “Where are you?”
God asks the same of us. When he wants us to slow down our frantic pace and listen for his soft baritone – where are you? When we’re afraid to approach him because we’ve disappointed the only One who loves us completely, he knows we’re hiding from repentance. Where are you? When we’re angry because he took someone away from us or allowed us to lose jobs or didn’t rescue us from that dreadful diagnosis, he reminds us that he has a bigger plan. Where are you?
Of all the phrases in the Bible, this may be the most poignant. The question of a loving God who cares so much for our frail substance that he constantly searches. The Almighty who is lonely for his loved ones and just wants a few moments of uninterrupted conversation. The longing heart of divine intimacy, searching and pleading and always knowing the answer.
Where are you?
Hiding from God delays His loving arms wrapped around us and His whispered, “I love you.” But only for an instant. He will always find us, because He already knows where we are.
We are where we have always been – in need of Him.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Private Pain
Recently, I was given a free pass to a fitness center. What a blessing to walk around a spongey track in an air-conditioned facility during one of the hottest times of the year.
As I circled the track, trying to increase my speed, I noticed the other people working out. Most of them were alone, plugged in to their MP3 players or some sort of encouragement tape to keep them going. One lady read her Kindle while bicycling. Another man measured his heart rate every few miles. Their faces grimaced as they tried another weight or increased the speed of the machine. They fought through the pain – alone.
We were never meant to bear our pain alone. Even walking around the track is more enjoyable with another person. And certainly, the struggles and burdens of life are easier to bear when shared with someone else. We need accountability partners and cell groups and mentors to help us talk through things and figure out how to deal with life, how to pray, how to learn more about trust.
Even Jesus felt uncomfortable bearing his pain alone. “Couldn’t you stay with me?” he asked his disciples. “Why have you forsaken me?” he cried out to his Father.
Whether we struggle to get our bodies into shape or work on soul-stretching, it helps to have another human being beside us. Isolation digs a rut that makes the pain worse and deepens the aggravation. But sharing life with another Christ-follower lightens the load. We sense relief in the struggle.
Then we find hope as we work out life together.
As I circled the track, trying to increase my speed, I noticed the other people working out. Most of them were alone, plugged in to their MP3 players or some sort of encouragement tape to keep them going. One lady read her Kindle while bicycling. Another man measured his heart rate every few miles. Their faces grimaced as they tried another weight or increased the speed of the machine. They fought through the pain – alone.
We were never meant to bear our pain alone. Even walking around the track is more enjoyable with another person. And certainly, the struggles and burdens of life are easier to bear when shared with someone else. We need accountability partners and cell groups and mentors to help us talk through things and figure out how to deal with life, how to pray, how to learn more about trust.
Even Jesus felt uncomfortable bearing his pain alone. “Couldn’t you stay with me?” he asked his disciples. “Why have you forsaken me?” he cried out to his Father.
Whether we struggle to get our bodies into shape or work on soul-stretching, it helps to have another human being beside us. Isolation digs a rut that makes the pain worse and deepens the aggravation. But sharing life with another Christ-follower lightens the load. We sense relief in the struggle.
Then we find hope as we work out life together.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Sensory Connections
In the writing class I’m teaching, we’re studying sensory connections – those incredible five senses God has given us to enrich our lives. Where would we be without the sight of a blooming red hibiscus or the powder-fresh smell of our babies or the juicy taste of summer watermelon or the soft-as-a-lamb’s-ear rose petal or the majesty of a 500 member male chorus belting out the Hallelujah Chorus? How bland our lives would be without the five senses!
Yet there is another sense that we sometimes neglect and that is the spiritual sensory connection that God so longs to have with us. In his book Taste and See, Tim Dearborn writes, “Sensory spirituality restores passion to the spiritual life…we constantly seek signs of God’s presence, the sounds of God’s voice in everything that surrounds us.”
During so much of our 24-hour opportunities, we suffer from TMI Disease (Too Much Information). This invasion of our senses blasts from television screens, from radios on the daily commute, from the IPad and the phone apps and the PCs we automatically set to retrieve our “Favorites.” Some of this invasion descends from the necessary plots of life, the workforce and the electric baby-sitter and the “need” to keep up with what’s going on.
But I wonder how lonely God is – for the sound of his children spending valuable minutes in conversation with him, for the precious sight of his sons and daughters on our knees with our heads in his lap. Chained by TMI, we cannot discern the divine whisper nor feel the spiritual electricity of the Spirit’s companionship. We miss the aroma of a thousand angels posting guard at our babies’ cribs, and we wonder at our own loneliness.
My monthly planner fills up quickly, but I have challenged myself to schedule time for more sensory connections with my Maker. I was created for more than just information. To glorify God and enjoy Him forever, I promise to spend more time – reveling in the sensory connection of grace.
Yet there is another sense that we sometimes neglect and that is the spiritual sensory connection that God so longs to have with us. In his book Taste and See, Tim Dearborn writes, “Sensory spirituality restores passion to the spiritual life…we constantly seek signs of God’s presence, the sounds of God’s voice in everything that surrounds us.”
During so much of our 24-hour opportunities, we suffer from TMI Disease (Too Much Information). This invasion of our senses blasts from television screens, from radios on the daily commute, from the IPad and the phone apps and the PCs we automatically set to retrieve our “Favorites.” Some of this invasion descends from the necessary plots of life, the workforce and the electric baby-sitter and the “need” to keep up with what’s going on.
But I wonder how lonely God is – for the sound of his children spending valuable minutes in conversation with him, for the precious sight of his sons and daughters on our knees with our heads in his lap. Chained by TMI, we cannot discern the divine whisper nor feel the spiritual electricity of the Spirit’s companionship. We miss the aroma of a thousand angels posting guard at our babies’ cribs, and we wonder at our own loneliness.
My monthly planner fills up quickly, but I have challenged myself to schedule time for more sensory connections with my Maker. I was created for more than just information. To glorify God and enjoy Him forever, I promise to spend more time – reveling in the sensory connection of grace.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Readings
Lately, I’ve been reading a couple of books that deal with the giftings of women. Hidden in Plain View by Jacqueline Tobin and Raymond Dobard describes how the women of the 1860’s used quilts to help the slaves who were using the Underground Railroad. The different patterns on the quilts signified which direction to go toward freedom or which house might provide safety. The women hung quilts on their front fences or folded them and took them inside, depending on the signals they needed to give. These creative women pointed black people toward liberty by using design and color, disguised as a quilt.
The other book, Half the Church, by Carolyn Custis James uses insights and experiences to point out another type of slavery. James reminds us that sex trafficking and abuse occur all over the world – including the squalid jungles of our American cities. Young girls are sold into bondage to be used and abused by the lust of men and the greedy cravings of their owners. As Christian women, we spiritual warriors must put on our armor and do whatever is necessary to stop this tragedy.
James also reminds us that as women, we have many giftings and should not hide our gifts behind the cement walls of submission. Although Biblically, we should submit to leadership when a difference of opinion occurs, that does not mean we should accept a spirit of apathy about our gifts – especially when we might be able to save a life.
At first glance, these books might seem vastly different. One deals with a subject pertinent to the Civil War while the other involves our present 21st century. But in actuality, both books shout the same theme – human rights. Freedom for captives of race and gender deserves the attention of all God’s children, and we women can rally to meet the need.
Since God has gifted us with compassion and creativity, we have a responsibility to use our giftings to help others. We, the female portion of the dust people, must continue to hang our quilts to point captives toward freedom – whether that means a physical or a spiritual liberty. We, the female half of the church, must also loosen the bonds of spiritual abuse within the Church so that we can develop programs and work beside our brothers.
I challenge all of us to do whatever necessary – even if it means a march against the status quo – to use our creativity and our intelligence to be an equal half of the Church, to rescue those in slavery, to follow the radical social justice outlined in Micah 6:8.
Since Jesus risked it all to save us, can we do any less to save others?
The other book, Half the Church, by Carolyn Custis James uses insights and experiences to point out another type of slavery. James reminds us that sex trafficking and abuse occur all over the world – including the squalid jungles of our American cities. Young girls are sold into bondage to be used and abused by the lust of men and the greedy cravings of their owners. As Christian women, we spiritual warriors must put on our armor and do whatever is necessary to stop this tragedy.
James also reminds us that as women, we have many giftings and should not hide our gifts behind the cement walls of submission. Although Biblically, we should submit to leadership when a difference of opinion occurs, that does not mean we should accept a spirit of apathy about our gifts – especially when we might be able to save a life.
At first glance, these books might seem vastly different. One deals with a subject pertinent to the Civil War while the other involves our present 21st century. But in actuality, both books shout the same theme – human rights. Freedom for captives of race and gender deserves the attention of all God’s children, and we women can rally to meet the need.
Since God has gifted us with compassion and creativity, we have a responsibility to use our giftings to help others. We, the female portion of the dust people, must continue to hang our quilts to point captives toward freedom – whether that means a physical or a spiritual liberty. We, the female half of the church, must also loosen the bonds of spiritual abuse within the Church so that we can develop programs and work beside our brothers.
I challenge all of us to do whatever necessary – even if it means a march against the status quo – to use our creativity and our intelligence to be an equal half of the Church, to rescue those in slavery, to follow the radical social justice outlined in Micah 6:8.
Since Jesus risked it all to save us, can we do any less to save others?
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