Resolution or Resignation

I used to live for New Years.

Being a Type A personality, I would make a detailed list of all the things I would accomplish in the next year. I went through a phase,in which I focused on life areas. Physical, intellectual, recreational, spiritual, etc. I would set goals and daily/weekly/ and monthly chart my growth. Looking back, I am sure I developed some good habits, but in essence that was what they were. Habits. Ways in which I had trained myself to do what I had chosen to accomplish. When achieved or tackled, I would give myself a mental high five and look toward the next obstacle to defeat.

As the years passed, I began to realize there was only one person pleased with me. Me. Sure there were things I pledged to do that have added to my life enormously. Taking out time for family, studying the Bible, teaching, honing my vocational skills. But the success or reward was hollow for some reason.

As time went on, I mellowed and life's lessons taught me far much more than I cared to learn. The all important New Year's Resolutions were forgotten and I started trusting God for more and me for less. It was not a thunderbolt type of thing. Just that the more I pursued Him, studied His word - the less of me I found within. In the last years, I have found that less of me is not enough. I want more of Him.

A few months back, God and I had a talk and I told Him I would like to follow in the footsteps of my spiritual forefather, Solomon. Let me rephrase that. Not his footsteps, but in his request. I asked God for wisdom. I wanted to grow older AND wiser. In the beginning I could see myself years from now, rocking on the front porch,friends and family stopping by, just to talk to me. To ask me for a pearl of wisdom or a tidbit of knowlege. I was not so much worried about one day being lonely, but irrelevant. That scared me.

So I prayed and I waited. When things did not seem to change, I mentally drew on some ideas I had about wise people and figured emulation might be the road to success. Of course it quickly became just another thing on my To Do List and I quickly realized wisdom was not something I was going to hone. So I more or less left the request in my petitions, but did not actively pursue it.

That was the key - I did not do anything but ask. That was when it happened. Gradually, I could see things from a different perspective. I had never thought I had tunnel vision, but my scope was definitely becoming alot broader. It was not me or you, this or that. I could see the whole and how my part fit into it.

I dealt with folks in a different way. I found mentally, I was isolated. There were folks above me and below me. Not in regards to economics, race, sex, or education. Just that there were some folks that intimidated me and I subconsciously cowered and tried to please them or be like them. The folks "below" me were folks that were outside of my radar. My thinking just did not include them. They could be invisible for the care, concern, and/or compassion I gave them. I took them for granted.

Now with my burgeoning wisdom, I saw folks as they were. Up there folk were not all THAT. They were human just like me and I even began seeing the cracks in their facade. They did not drop "below" me, they just joined me on my playing field. What about the below folks, you may ask. I just began to notice them. That was the first step. This is an ongoing processe. I can see care working its way in there and I pray, literally, that care will ultimately lead to acts of compassion. Wow!

The important things in my life went through a fruit basket turn over. The things I thought the sun rose and set on, did not command that same place. I worried at first that I had a no care attitude, but it was not that. I just was not going to turn into stone if something did or did not happen. Another biggie for me.

Finally, I am way more peaceful. That is what is scaring me a little now. I began to trace the road of my life and found that the numerous trials and tribulations I have experienced have made me and the journey far better. So what I am going through now is not as scary or oppressive. I am too busy looking for the good stuff. I have to admit this is going to take alot of getting used to.

The New Year? I think on this day, the last day of 2010, it is a toss up between a a grateful heart or a gracious attitude. Since the root word of both is "grace" I am thinking I might get two for one. What do you think?

Little Child, My Child

Little Child


Little child, my child, what do you see?
I see a star shining high above me
The face of a woman, tired yet elated
Our destiny’s joined, already fated
Head bowed, the man burden weary
Eyes fixed on mine, gentle and teary

Little child, my child, what do you hear?
Rhythm of animals as they draw near
The woman cooing, humming a song
Even the breeze begs to sing along
A chorus of doves, the lullaby complete
Good news! Heaven and earth finally meet

Little child, my child, what do you know?
Father, I know how you love Me so
Carefully placed in a world so unsure
Your Light enters by this baby so pure
A gift of grace, wrapped in my being
Some will not believe, even seeing

Little child, my child, who do you love
All of your children, My Father above
These earthly parents, of course on the list
But my love is so much greater than this
For people I’ll reach and heal as I go
Love to spare for those not yet born to know

Little child, my child, I do love them so
I sent You because I want them to know


Merry Christmas
Jo

Remember Me

I cannot place myself in the shoes of the three men on the cross at Golgotha. Besides the fact that they were not wearing any, I have no way to identify with them. Christ, my desire, my want, my unobtainable goal, is unattainable. But I can't even see myself in the places of the other two. I have never committed a crime of any magnitude. I have never feared for my life, justly or unjustly.

In studying the passage, though, one thing jumped out at me. Three men having a conversation, each hanging from a cross. Wow! This was not a chat over a cup of coffee or on a street corner. These men were in pain, beaten, near death's door. Would I have even been speaking?

The good thief and the bad thief. What a hoot! A thief is a thief, but I understand where folks are coming from. It is a way to differentiate between the two. I really think the "bad" thief gets a bum rap. I don't think he was just joining in with the crowd, jeering at Jesus. It is kind of like a cell mate of someone about to make a jail break in an old Western movie. He was gung ho for Jesus to make an exit and he wanted to be on board the train when he did.

The good thief just got It. He saw in Jesus something other than himself or his world. Jesus was living in a different dimension. Something that operated not of this world. And it was. It was the heavenly kingdom. He wanted it and Jesus knew it. He spoke to that thief because He was ready to hear the words. To enter the Zone.

Remember me. The words have haunted me. I realized for the first time that this was a prayer from the cross. Remember me. So simple, but yet so powerful. The thief wanted Jesus to see beyond what he had done wrong. To see him for who he was meant to be.

I think in my life, I want Him to see me for just what I am. Not all the vain attempts to be holy, or right, or righteous, or godly. Not for all the man-made initiatives that fell short of what He created me to be. He tells me he sees me and I will be with Him. In relationship.

Because that was what Jesus was about. At the wedding, in the boat, on the mount, at the tomb, at the temple, and last but not least, on the cross. Between two friends.

For All the Saints

For All the Saints


Same weekday, same church, same sea of faces
Same group of ladies in their favorite pew
But something is wrong, someone is missing
Not another loss from their beloved crew!

How do I bear another saint’s death?
Gone before my need of them fades
I gave no thought to a future without them,
Their presence expected through the decades

The film of my memory begins to roll
Scratched and faded, black and white
Those I once loved, yet are no longer here
Images welcomed as my thoughts invite

Little girl tugging at a woman’s apron,
A taste of pudding, attention seeking?
More than meals made in that church kitchen,
Like Naomi to Ruth, wisdom was speaking

Placing tiny seeds in the cup’s moist cotton
Signs of New Birth, the teacher extols
Unaware of her second crop growing,
The sowing of her faith in my young soul

The scent of wood as the campfire crackles
Counselors and teens, praise songs inspire
Our tear stained faces reflecting the flames
My passion for God fueled by Spirit’s fire

Older woman seated by the young mother
Holding her new baby, loving her soul
A simple cradle cross held in the mom’s palm
Sweet words of compassion made the gift whole

Did I perceive these models of Christ?
Promises at my baptism fulfilled.
Recognize the legacy as it passed,
The faith of saints, future’s hope instilled

Memories of my parent’s regrets
Of those that passed, names I barely knew
Now it is my turn to feel their sorrow
To finally understand how that love grew

The saints did not lose their lives in an instant
They spent lifetimes investing them in us
Passing not merely from life unto death
They passed on their faith and with it their trust

Please accept these, our humble gifts of thanks
Your lives remembered, your absence mourned
For not only in your living, but in dying
Is the hope and future of our Church re-born

Jo

What Was and Is to Be?

Most of my life I have lived and worked within 5 minutes of my church home. I was always there. Literally. I ate there, prayed there. I ministered there. For most of my life I was either tithing or sacrificially giving to the church

Life has changed in a big way. For the last 5 years, I spend 11 hours a day traveling to, from, or at work. I have little or no time left. My once immaculate house is a cluttered mess. I long to join in ministry but I am too tired or not here. I do not have the energy to work 8 hours non-stop and make calls to patients to and from and then go to church for a function. Add to the mix, I have family now living with me due to job loss.

So what is my response. Many Sundays I come in the back door, and skirt up the stairs. I teach, some times I sing in the choir, but most of the time, I travel out the doors as quickly as possible. Why? Because the people I see I cannot serve as I did. Hurting people, I cannot love and hold as long as I did. The needs of the church cry out to me and I financially do not have the resources to help as I did.

So I retreat from the place and the faces of those I love. At work, I keep the perfect desk and am the perfect employee. I work hard and smart. I am appreciated and stroked.

But I have come to a realization. An epiphany, of sorts. That I cannot live in the past, cannot grieve for what was and may never be. My church is a sending forth. It is as if She is my parent. She has groomed and loved me and now I am sent into the world, beloved and encouraged to be Her in a world that so needs Him. The homeless are living with me. The hurting and grieving are not only in the patient room I enter but the cubicle next door. The sick and disabled sleeps beside me every evening. The children lie on a twin bed in my room.

Oh God catch me before I slide into a new dimension of grieving and remorse over my blindness and let me truly see what you have primed me for.

How many folks in the church are like me. How many of the missing and the lost are not there because they cannot give as they did - presence, gifts, time, or service. What if the Church became His Source. Equipping folks to live in the world instead of berating them because they are not within the physical walls. Walls that remind them of what they should but cannot be.

Wow! And wouldn't That Place be the Place I would want to be as much as I could to receive what only He can give. Wouldn't He draw others to me and therefore to Him. To find the hive where I return to week after week to receive His spiritual nourishment, His heavenly manna.

Father, your church today is not a community of faith within brick walls, no matter how beautiful. But a terminal of sorts, where folks are given rest and restoration and fuel for their sending forth in mission to a world so needing and wanting of Your affirmation, peace, and hope. Help me not to shy away from those around me, afraid I have nothing to give, but excited in that very fact. Then and only then can I be a conduit of You and You alone.

Amen

Wee Little Man

Zaccheus was a wee little man
A wee little man was he
He climbed into a sycamore tree
For the Lord he wanted to see
The Lord was walking by that day
He looked up into the tree
"Zaccheus, you come down!
I am going to your house today

This is an excerpt from an early Bible. You think not! You are wrong, then. Children's Sunday school songs are the first scripture small children hear. It influences them all their lives, more than you know. Picture the phrase "Zaccheus, you come down!" with a 4 year old shaking their finger and you definitely get the idea that Zaccheus was a naughty boy. And I guess he was.

However, as I studied the scripture for this week, I saw many things about Zaccheus that I had never seen before. Jesus was passing through Jericho and he was gathering a crowd. Pretty big hurrah, folks were gathering along the street, thick enough that Zaccheus could not see. Zaccheus was desperate to see Jesus, so much so, that the rich tax collector, lowered himself enough to climb into a tree. Just to see Him.

Details are like clues in the scripture. They are not there for nothing! Small in stature was not mentioned casually. It was not reveale simply to set the stage for a bit of climbing. Short people are either very comfortable with their size or extremely not. When they are not, they compensate. Whether it is shoe lifts or being the class clown, they do something.

Zaccheus, tired of being looked down upon (literally) put himself in a place where he could look down on the folks who had disrespected him. Top honcho - kind of like a mob godfather. But in this story, he was not beyond risking embarrassment to get a look at Jesus.

What I love is the fact that Jesus looked into the tree and did not miss a beat. "There you are Zaccheus, been looking for you! What's for dinner?" Wasn't that incredible! Has that ever happened to you. You are in an embarrassing situation and someone steps in and helps you save face. To the crowd, it looked like Jesus came to Jericho just to dine with him. Wow!

Zaccheus was taken aback, but delighted. In that encounter, something happened. Zaccheus was extended scandalous grace. Scandalous in that he did not deserve it. Scandalous in the fact that Jesus was immediately condemned for doing it.

Jesus stated to one and all that Zaccheus was a son of Abraham. No matter what he had done, or how tall he was, or what he would continue doing - he was still and always would be a son of Abraham. God was no discerner of persons and boy did that make alot of folks mad. But it did not matter. Because of that extension of the hand of God, Zaccheus found what he was seeking. And it changed his life.

The life of one wee little man.

Constructive Criticism

What is ever constructive about criticism?

Does it ever "build" anything? I mean other than the purveyor's idea of him or herself. Criticism means there is an assumed ideal. And the ideal is in the eye of the beholder. So it is, in fact,the author of the statement.

So where did the ideal originate. Who was the first authority and where did the concept come from? I love to watch dog shows and it is interesting to see exactly what is considered a "true" breed. There are a few really weird and kooky looking dogs. Who originally said that is a whatcha-ma-call-it and this is the most perfect one there is. Where did their authority come from?

As "Christians" we feel we have the ideal in front (or back) of us. In the embodiment of God incarnate, Jesus Christ. But when we judge, we are not using Him as the plumb line, but ourselves. If He came as the form of unconditional grace, any conditions we place on others are truly ours, not His. And if there is any standard we hold, it is ours. That is where the rub is. If it is do-able (we have proven that) then anything less you do is not up to par, which means you did not give it your all, therefore you are unworthy. But unworthy of what? Love that has no conditions?

You can't see it but I am scratching my head.

Open Wide

Spoon feeding
In actuality, during the first part of my life I was spoon-fed probably 7% of the Bible over and over and over. Taken out of the Bible “bowl” and fed to me by caring teachers, preachers, parents, youth counselors. Heck, up until about 20 years ago, I did the feeding. Taking a popular passage or theme and neatly dicing it into manageable, tasteful bites for my adult class.
Lately though, using the lectionary to teach from, I have faced some pretty challenging passages in the Bible. Now it was tempting to take that bite-size morsel and dress it up with some new twist or take and feed them the same verse again, but I couldn’t do it. It was not the text or the verse, it is me. My tastes have changed.
At first, I would leave the verse where it lay and try to work out the surrounding scripture into some type of acceptable compliment. You know, make it behave and mean just exactly what I had always felt the central verse had always meant to me, traditionally. But that did not work. Like a cowlick in your hair, I just could not make it lay there. It just kept sticking out.
It was so tempting to sweep the tough parts under the spiritual carpet, but I could not do that either. So I served up the dish at the first of the week and just mulled it over with God. No commentaries, no former ideas, no throw down lessons from the past. Just let it sit and ferment. And it always (so far) comes out good. No better than good. God always shows me something I had failed to see before. In fact, He shows me that the best stuff is found in the hardest to reach. Like a hard pecan shell that you have to crack and then dig out the soft moist nut meat because that is the only way you can get to it. So worth the work and the wait.

How They Loved Me

I love to personalize scripture and hymns. May not be correct or right or legal, but I like to do it. I love to speak the words of the Psalmist or hear the words of God spoken to me. Not the same situation, not the same time, not the same promise, but oh how I love hearing the words. This is "my" version of Psalms 91.

Psalm 91
1Whoever lives under the shelter of the Most High
will remain in the shadow of the Almighty.
2I will say to the LORD,
“You are my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust.”
3He is the one who will rescue me from hunters’ traps
and from deadly plagues.
4He will cover me with his feathers,
and under his wings I will find refuge.
His truth is my shield and armor.
5I do not need to fear
terrors of the night,
arrows that fly during the day,
6plagues that roam the dark,
epidemics that strike at noon.
7They will not come near me,
even though a thousand may fall dead beside me
or ten thousand at me right side.
8I only have to look with your eyes
to see the punishment of wicked people.
9You, O LORD, are my refuge!
You have made the Most High your home.
10No harm will come to me.
No sickness will come near my house.
11He will put his angels in charge of me
to protect me in all my ways.
12They will carry me in their hands
so that I never hit my foot against a rock.
13I will step on lions and cobras.
I will trample young lions and snakes.
14Because I love Him, He will rescue me.
He will protect me because I know His name.
15When I call to Him, He will answer me.
He will be with me when I am in trouble.
He will save me and honor me.
16He will satisfy me with a long life.
He will show me how He will save me.

I prepared this Psalm for this Sunday's lesson. I diced and sliced. Read about the meanings of all those words not as common now as then. How their perception of might is right and evil loses though not entirely accurate was their way of looking and dealing with God.

Early Sunday morning, I took a walk at the neighborhood track. It is located in a great field with a glorious view of sunrise or sunset, depending on the time of day. I was there for the morning show and it was absolutely beautiful. I more or less told God I was just there to listen. To the beauty, to His Words in the Psalms, and any extra commentary He wanted to throw in there. I walked and walked, tossing the scripture around. Thinking how my relationship with God had changed during my life. How the very words of the Psalms had meant so many things during each stage of living.

As I started to impart my words of wisdom and discernment about His Psalms, He stopped me somehow. It was not audible, not in anyway. But God has a habit of stopping me mid sentence. I think it is the only way He can get a word in edgewise.
He said "It was how they loved me" It was not a doctrine of theology, it was a man's expression in the best way he knew to tell the world what God meant to Him.

I could pare away at it or I could just glory in the beauty of those verses. I could join him or her in the depths of their love for our mutual Father. Sing the song with him, for Him. Wow!

My Hiding Place

When I was young, I was greatly moved and formed in a way by the book "The Hiding Place" by Corrie Ten Boom. She, her father, and her sister hid Jews during WWII. They were arrested and imprisoned at the concentration camp Ravensbruck. Only Corrie survived the time there and she went on to become a missionary to the world, fairly late in her life.

I read it at a time when anxiety and worry were the mainstay of my life. The idea of this woman, living in such horrible conditions, with only death and despair surrounding her - finding a place of peace. A place where she could dwell with God - a sanctuary, a hiding place - amidst the evil. Maybe that is why Psalms 91 is one of my favorites...

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust!"

For a young woman, afraid of her own shadow, I needed that shelter, that shadow, that refuge and fortress. I saw it in a home to live in, money stretching to the end of the month, car repairs that cost $50 instead of $500. All gifts from God, all signs of this protection, this refuge.

As I lived my life, I was somewhat confused about the difficulties life brought. I saw incredible Christians experience and survive some of the most horrible of events.
I became somewhat shaky in my belief, but still held firm. After a "horrible" event of my own, I changed.

I realized that the dwelling place was not lack of trouble, but a zone smack dab in the middle of it. Sitting outside in the cardiac care waiting room as my husband struggled for his life day in and day out, I realized it was a form of spiritual shock. A protection not from the pain, but my companion through the pain. As I spent a year nursing him day and night, He was my mind's filter. Not allowing me to think one thought beyond what He had given me strength to deal with.

I long to feel that again, but I do not long for the situation that made it imperative. As Christians, the "zone" is our dwelling place. If we will just step inside and rest within the wings, the arms that are greater than ours. My prayer for you and I is that we will take advantage of a gift so precious, so available, ours! Please Father, help me to see it, feel it, and live within it day by day.
Amen

More Tim

Testify!!

Don't hear that much anymore. Don't know why. I remember traveling on lay witness missions as a youth. I would give my testimony, all the time secretly hoping I had a little juicier one. Like a Hells Angel who saw their wicked way and came to Jesus! Much more dramatic.

In this verse from Timothy, Paul is doing just that. He is literally testifying to the love of God in his life.

However, I was treated with mercy because I acted ignorantly in my unbelief.


Father forgive them, for they know not what they do. How powerful is that statement. How exciting. That is what the world is waiting to hear. You are a prostitute - I can make you white as snow. You are a murderer - let me wash your hands. You are disfigured - you are beautiful in my sight.

Everyone you know wants to hear that. Daily we struggle under the secular messages of this world. You are too young. You are too old. You are too inexperienced. You are over-qualified. You are too fat. You are too thin.

So why is it so hard for us to say?

Trust

Trust is something hard to come by and almost impossible to regain. It is taking a flying leap into someone's arms. Hoping that their honesty and integrity are solid enough to catch your trust in them. When they let you fall, it is hard to try again. You remember the pain too well.

I thank Christ Jesus our Lord that he has trusted me and has appointed me to do his work with the strength he has given me. 1Timothy 1:12


Paul's persecution of the Jews in his earlier life was something many folks could not get over. I think I would personally have had trouble meeting with him, much less accepting him into my group. I think "trust" was the one thing he was ever grateful to Christ Jesus for extending to him. If anyone deserved "not" to be given a chance, it was Paul. If there was anyone less likely to trust, it was Paul. Yet Christ Jesus put not only His trust but the lives of early Christians and the church in his bloodstained hands. Wow!

But the second part of the statement is what blows me away. "He has appointed me to do his work with the strength he has given me". I think it would be better said, "And I have finally realized that the job He has given me can be only done in his strength"

In our lives, it is not always that we are too weak to do the task. I think sometimes we are too strong. We take the fragile balance of life and we tip it over. We take the delicacy of human relationships and we stomp them. We take the china parlor of His love and like a bull charge through destroying all in our way. Sometimes the things we do are more a stumbling block "in the way" of what He means for us to do.

In the name of God? I wonder.

When Old Meets New

I have a dear friend that co-taught my Sunday adult class for many years. He was an excellent teacher, we had complementary styles. Bringing more questions to the table than answers. He was loved by everyone, kids and youth especially

I frequent a local coffee shop in the morning, before work. Kind of my sit and think place before hitting that crazy, tell you what it is world. On two different occasions I have seen him sitting there with a young man at least 20 years his junior. My friend is a successful businessman and fine Christian and I discovered that he mentors young men in our community this way. I teasingly asked him what he was up to - he said it kept him young.

I can imagine Paul being much like that with Timothy. Older, wiser - one coming to the end of the journey sharing what he knew and believed with one just starting his. From associated writings and history, it is felt that Timothy was not fatherless, but his father did not play an important religious role in his life. His mother Eunice and grandmother Lois were strong Christians and from them young Tim received his spiritual legacy.

Second to sitting at the feet of Jesus, I would have liked to have heard Paul. Amidst all his bravado, conviction, and correction it must have been like sitting near a powerhouse of spiritual energy. No wonder Timothy was attracted.

It Just Keeps On Giving

Yesterday my grandson and I went to the museum. He "loves" science and I am ever ready to stir the flames of a 10 year old interest in something other than video games.

Of course no trip to the museum would be complete without a trip to the museum store. A few polished rocks were selected and then he saw it. The giant Pixy Stix. It was a 3' plastic tube of mouth-watering delight to be created. I say that, because you were able to select the flavor of powdered dextrose you wanted to fill it with. Of course, we had to have some of each. Extremely disappointed when the root beer was stuck and would not pour. A day later, he is still working on it. Conveniently hidden from his grandmother because he knows how much I love sour stuff. I could wipe out an entire flavor layer without batting an eye!

The scripture from Timothy this Sunday was just like that. Mouth-watering. Just chock full of good stuff. In fact I think I gave my class a little spiritual indigestion yesterday. So, I will not make the same mistake twice. I will give it to you in a few more bites.

The letters to Timothy have always been some of my favorites. Many of the epistles had little to say to me as a child or youth, but Timothy has grown with me. Like a pair of pants with a seam that could be let out and let out and let out. When I was a youth and overwhelmed with the faith I professed the the faith I lived, I read Timothy and felt loved and special. As a young adult working side by side some of the patriarchs of our church, I felt capable. And as a mentor to young women in my last few years, I have gained wisdom. A scripture for all seasons of life.

Have you ever had someone look up to you? It is a scary feeling. Lots of pressure to live up to their unreasonable expectations. Afraid to let them see the foibles and defects you possess. I can even remember the light fading in one young woman's eyes when I told her some of the escapades of my youth. I could almost see my pedastal crumble. But after the dust settled, I was on her level and our relationship took on new meaning.

This is where Paul takes a flying leap off the lofty heights of his. He lays down the dirt on who he was and what he did. Took a lot of guts. It is a "tell all", but I think it reveals more of the love Paul had for Timothy. Timothy's spiritual maturity was more important than his perception of Paul.

That is enough for today. We will chew some more on the next blog entry..

Chewing your Cud

Ever watch a cow chew their cud. I spent alot of my weekends, growing up, on my grandparents farm in East Texas. They raised cattle and when I was young, I was fascinated watching them chew their cud. They chew with their mouths open, so they have this slimy green mess in and around their lips. Contented cows chew their cud for about 8 hours a day. They graze and then regurgitate a bolus or cud and chew on it.

Not very appetizing, but that is the way I study scripture. I teach a class of adults every Sunday and I enjoy using the lectionary to pick the scripture. It seemed even when I didn't try, the preacher and I usually matched on topic or scripture (God thing) so I decided to try to do it, giving the folks in my class the opportunity to "chew" and discuss what they had heard in service. I don't always pick the same scripture now (gospel, epistle, Psalm, Old Testament readings each week) but it is fun to read and chew on the scripture the week long. I used to study all week, commentaries, articles, blogs, etc. But now I chew on it during the week and as the weekend approaches start my study.

I find my chewing makes me see things from the point of view of a 1st century Christian. Either those hearing the words from Christ or about Him from the original hearers. We tend to pick and choose scripture according to our need at the time. We make it fit our circumstances and apply it how we think it should go. I found out a while back, that God will surprise you everytime. As I have chewed on scripture, God will relate it to something I would have never thought to do.

So, you can teach an old cow new tricks. I am just content to chew.

The Cost to be Counted

A couple of posts ago, I expounded on the hard scripture found in Luke 14:25-31. Jesus is talking to his group of followers and telling them this is not going to be an easy road they are following. Not sure if it was a "get tough so you can keep going" or a "it is going to get tough so you might think about leaving" speech. But it gave me a lot to think about.

I have an adult friend, about 20 years my junior, that is what we today would call mentally challenged. He is a savant and has an incredible memory for names and numbers. He has very strong obsessions and Academy Award winning movies are one of his. He constantly seeks to see each and every one, whether they are appropriate for him or not. He easily gets discouraged and depressed and some of these movies do nothing to help. He attended our church for a time and sat with my family every Sunday. His friendship was high maintenance to say the least and when he moved onto another church that had more "fun" things to do, I missed him but was sadly a bit relieved as well.

So I received a phone call from him a few weeks ago, telling me his step dad had died. This was after an extended illness and the loss was very hard on my friend. He lives with his mom and has a part-time job at the local library, shelving books. This weekend, I got another message from him on my answering machine. The lady that more or less was his mentor and supervisor at the library passed away as well. To add to this added grief, my friend had been laid off from his job. I can assume she more or less had something to do with the protection of his position. I could hear the anguish in his voice, as he left the message.

So I am faced with a dilemma. My plate is more than full right now. My daughter and her husband both were laid off within a few weeks of each other and they and their two children have moved into my modest-sized home, for hopefully what will be a short period of time. I am slightly overwhelmed with the change in my way of life and now am faced with the need of this friend. It is not a small plea for help. He is in a terrible position and I feel I must do something to help.

But do I understand the cost. Am I ready to jump back into that relationship and sacrifice what little time I have for myself? Do I have the energy and compassion he needs right now in this time and this place? If monetary resources are needed, can I find something for him and his family amongst the strain on our finances, stretched even further by our recent move-ins?

Is it God calling me to take up my cross and follow Him? Is He telling me the cost will be worth it? Or that the effort in itself will be my reward? Can, when we are in the greatest of needs, be fed and filled only by reaching outside ourselves and giving that which we do not have, but He can supply? I will let you know.

Love Lifted Me

When I was in my 20's, my husband and I were youth counselors for my church. I was born in that church, so the teens of this group were youngsters I had watched grow up. Little brothers and sisters of my friends. Children of adults I knew and loved. Along with older adult counselors, we took a group to New Braunsfels, TX. It is a town known for its river and the rapids produced. Tubing on a hot summer day is the very best.

Now "in the day" we pretty much let kids take off and ride the rapids. No adults taggging along, just the honor system that they would "play" within the campground we were staying at and just limit their activities to the part of the river contained within. Being there as a young married couple, looking back, we more of less were along for the fun and a cheap vacation. At the evening meal, everyone gathered together, ate, and told tall tales of the days events.

However, that night there were a couple of girls missing. Now, I knew the girla and was not really worried. They had probably found some cute guys and just lost track of time. This was in the day when there was not a pervert believed to be lurking behind every boulder.

However, the older adults were in a frenzy. They were looking high and low and being "persons of responsibility" we did the same. They turned up later, saying they were "witnessing" to two boys they met. I didn't believe it for a minute, but I do remember being glad and relieved they were found.

Years later, a counselor again in the same church, I was with another youth group going to New Braunfels again. However, now I was one of the older adults. In fact, I was large and in charge and add to that mix, a parent of one of those kids. It was a totally different set of circumstances. Not really, but I was, and therefore the mix. I had seen too much, felt too much, been responsible for too much, been a parent too much. I was not the person I was 15 years earlier. I could see the big picture, heard the horror stories, felt the weight of all those kids and my friends, their parents. I worried from the minute we left the parking lot til we set foot on terra concrete once again.

It reminded me of the story of the prodigal. Not so much the end or the beginning, the leaving or receiving. But the middle. My first trip I was the brother. Not really caring about what happened to my brother(s), or sisters. Just focused on me. The only effect I probably saw, was the workload I had to carry due to his absence. Though, I am sure it had it's upside. Like two siblings that share a room. When one is gone, there is a little loss, but your thoughts quickly turn to "what is in it for me". Because that is the center of your world - YOU - DUH! The dad on the other hand, thought about that prodigal day and night. A see saw of hope and despair. Knowing the worst of the world paired with the immaturity of his son. Knowing the match was not even, nor fair in any form or fashion.

So when younger brother returns, there was no way the reception would be the same for dad or big brother. Not the same person, not the same place, not the same relationship. Funny how agape love can change a person. It matures us, provokes us, worries us, emotes us. It takes a strong man and turns him into a weepy baby. It is a love that is beyond our ability to comprehend.


That is what God feels for us. At this point in my life, I no longer think of God as a parent. I think of Him as a grandparent, much like me. A grandparent is the closest thing on earth to an unconditional, agape-loving parent. They look beyond flaws and tantrums because they have this third generation-removed myoptic vision. They cannot see them any other way. I think that is the way God sees us. In the grand scheme of things, it is probably not really the best parenting, if you think about it. But who are we to say! He invented parenting, loving, and all that other good stuff. In fact, why am I trying to put another spin on the love He has for me and mine. It is indescribable. So I will stop it, already

Count the Cost

As I travel this journey to God, I realize how very self-centered I have been. Somehow, in the scheme of things, I subconsciously feel that every scripture passage was written just for me. The loving ones embrace me. The hard ones confuse me. And the harsh ones convict me. I know they speak to me, but I have not, nor will not have exclusive rights to them.

Kind of like these. You must take up your cross. You will hate your father, mother, sister, brother. If you build a house or fight an enemy, you must place your assets along side your liabilities. You don't go in unprepared. Cost too great, you pull out before you lose it all.

For me, these passages just stir visions of inadequacy, righteous fervor, or self and family sacrificing. They dance in my head and make me feel less and less worthy of the calling I feel I heard Him make. Fears - of inferiority or hardship - making me question myself and my very relationship to Him.

But as I study this week's scripture from Luke 14, I realize the crowds Jesus was speaking to were not those that had gathered to hear Him teach. No, these folks were the ones traveling with Him. Kind of like holy groupies. They were there to see the traveling show. I can just imagine the mix. The passionate on-fire youth, the downtrodden, the zealots, the poor, maybe outcasts. Many folks there for what they could get for themselves; what was in it for them

But He tells them, honestly, you have no clue. You have no idea how this is going to end up. The crowds, the attention, the fame - it is all going to be short-lived. If you go the distance, it is going to cost you. And if you are not here for the right reason, you are going to come up short. You are going to be left with wilted party hats and half inflated balloons. And the guest of honor will not be around. Well, mot in the way you imagine or would want Him to be.

Do you have what it takes? And if you do, are you willing to sacrifice it? This was not a showdown between them and Him. It was a compassionate Savior speaking to those that were getting on board; that this just might be the wrong bus.

I feel like one of them sometimes. I feel like I don't really get it. That I am in the crowd - holding up the signs and yelling the slogans. But I am not fully behind my Candidate. That in theory, I am on His team. But will I be when the going gets tough. What if, in fact, I have already deserted Him. Not by way of the sinful paths - like rejection and pride. But by more subtle and devious exits - apathy and detachment.

I would hope I would be the one who said, "You can count on me because I have what it takes. I'll gladly pay the cost. I am willing and able to play all the way. Count me in."

Anyway, I would hope I so.

The Eyes Have It

Of all the features on the face, I think the eyes are the most expressive. They are the gatekeepers of the light and windows on the world. They can express fear, tears, and cheers in a way that is remarkable for minimally moving parts of the body. Side to side, up and down. Basic motions necessary for our vision, but they are indicators of so much more.

In Proverbs, eyes are mentioned at the top of the list of abominations. Haughty eyes that is. Haughty is a word we don't hear anymore. Prideful, snobbish, arrogant are all words that come to mind, but I think haughty is the best one to use in describing eyes. When I hear the word haughty, I can see the eyes peering straight down the nose at someone or something with half lidded look of detest for effect. I have looks like that called chilling or belittling. As if the look in itself can put the other person in "their place". That "place" being where the haughty person chooses to place them in "their" scheme of things.

And in the same breath, the eyes can totally take you out of your place. A friend of mine was going through treatment for breast cancer. She was being treated at a world renown cancer treatment center. As I accompanied her through the halls the hospital, there were so many people with masks. During chemo, at times your immune system is weak and you are very vulnerable to infections. So folks wear masks to ward off communicable viruses, colds, etc. Being at the start of her treatment, it was a sad reminder of what might be facing her in the near future.

Everyone avoided looking at the folks in the masks and subsequently the masked folks avoided making eye contact. I am sure, when they first started wearing them, they tried but all they saw was pity and pain, especially from those they loved. That was the last thing they wanted to see, so they just avoided it altogether. That really made me sad, so I just started smiling at them. Of greeting them and noticing that they were there, even saying "Hi".

It was amazing to see them smile. No - I did not see the upturned mouths or brightness of their teeth, but I could see it in the eyes. The crinkled skin at the corners, the light that emanated from the eyes themselves. It became a game for my friend and I. A wonderful relief from the sadness and pain that surrounded us all. That there was truly a life not only after cancer but in the very midst of it. That you could smile again. And again. And again.

Joyful Shame

The gospel lesson from the lectionary this week was again from Luke. A woman, possessed by a spirit, was healed by Christ as He taught in a local synagogue. The main symptom of the possession was the fact that for 18 years she had been unable to straighten up. Now from the sound of it, a modern diagnosis would possibly be congenital scoliosis, probably complicated with osteoporosis or malnutrition. A condition worsened by the labor intensive day to day routines in that time period. Jesus calls her to come to Him and He heals her. Subsequently, a leader of a crowd in the synagogue, chastises Jesus for healing on the Sabbath.

I think today, the indictment would be more or less phrased, "Geez Jesus! You have six other days to do that kind of thing. Why pick today and interrupt the service?" It would be like today, a minister extending the invitation at the end of worship. A weeping, wailing, hard core biker, responds to the call, coming forward to confess his sins and give his life to Christ. You say to yourself, "Great - this is going to take awhile" And all of us have been there. You check your watch, stomach growling, imagining the line at the local restaurant growing longer and longer.

This is an incredible miracle by Jesus. I can only imagine the impact this miracle had on the woman physically, spiritually, and emotionally. Of course Jesus' response to the church leader did not pull any punches. The usual hypocrite speech. But instead of the leader and crowd walking off angry, plotting future revenge, they respond in a different way.

The scripture says that everyone that opposing Him, felt bad about it. Is that incredible or what? The folks that had been mumbling about the rude interruption one minute, now remorseful for feeling that way. Every one of them! Consensus is hard to achieve even in a pleasant situation, but rarely achieved when it comes to shame. Then to top it off, the entire group was really happy Jesus was going around doing miraculous healings

This hit home with me because God has been teaching me a lot like this lately. Been seeing a lot of stuff in the third person. Kind of an "out of body experience". Now before you freak out, I am speaking theoretically. It is as if I can see myself from someone else's point of view. And I hate to admit it - the picture is not always pretty. In fact, I sometimes can identify with the shame the crowd felt that day in the synagogue.

But my fatal flaw is that I am not progressing to that "feel good" part easily. I tend to wallow in the shame too long. Instead of saying "Thank you God" for the new course coordinates and making my necessary adjustments, I tend to sit there blaming, shaming, and basically paralyzed by the guilt. What a waste! Of time, energy, and days of what I could be doing for Him, in Him, and with Him. Kind of like old Job when he sat there with pottery shards, scraping his sores, bemoaning his bad luck.

So my prayer is to be quicker on the rebound. To see the blessing in being able to see yourself through His eyes. Grace-filled, constructive criticism. To appreciate my good fortune in that I only received a divine attitude adjustment. And realizing that if I don't get over it, a heavenly kick in the pants might be a little harder next time to pick myself up from . LOL!

Earning the Kingdom

Jesus was the master of shock and awe. In the Gospel lesson from Luke for this Sunday, he talks about a master coming home from a wedding feast and finding his servants diligent, waiting up for him. With the lights on, no less. The master is excited to see them, so he sits them down and serves them a late night snack. To the first century hearers, that would be the shock and awe.

I think we lose a lot reading the scriptures and living in the 21st century. Masters and slaves still exist but only from our easy chair, seen from our wide-screen HD TV. I wonder if we truly "get" the scriptures regarding service and servitude. None of us serve because we have to. We do it for a paycheck, a pat on the back, or in response to a need. More or less, we have a choice.

In the United States, there are some that have lost their freedom. Inmates in prison are not free but most of them were, at some point, free to make the decisions that landed them there. Servants, in Jesus day, were the property of their masters and were more slaves than employees. They were obligated to take care of the needs of their master and, in turn, the master provided them room and board.

I think because the parables do quite often use the roles of servant and master, we get a slightly skewed perception. So I ask this question. Do we get joy out of serving or is there a motive behind it. Are we looking to gain Brownie points in the Divine Game? Maybe we feel service is a payback for His grace or a proverbial jewel in our crown. Maybe a foot up on that ladder rung to heaven?

How are we transformed in this service to God and others? Does just "doing it" make us eventually not only want to, but ultimately change us to do it for the right reason? Or should we sit back and wait until we feel like it, for the Spirit to move us?

Looking back, I can definitely see for me it came in stages. Being a people-pleaser most of my life, I started out more or less trying to please God. Surprisingly I found there was an added bonus. I pleased lots of people that way. Who-hoo! Then life overwhelmed me, pulling me away from serving others to serving my husband during a long illness. It lasted a year and coming out of it, I realized I did not want to return to my former life. I saw what I had been, had done, and most of all why I did it. I realized I was not that person anymore.

So I did nothing. Oh, there were a few things I returned to - teaching my weekly Sunday School class, singing in the choir - but nothing major. I was not where I wanted to be, but was too sapped to think about anything else.

Now, I am in a different place. I decided to make myself available. Not to my church or other organizations, but to God. I have to admit I was a little disappointed when He did not use me right away. Kept waiting for the nudge or feeling. That little "ah-ha" I have felt in the past. Kind of like a person waiting for that phone call - the one saying they have the job.

But slowly, I realized if I was truly different, then I might not hear Him in the same old way. In fact, there were changes already taking place. I was seeing and responding in the ordinary. Without even noticing it. Seeing needs or places where I could "be" not necessarily "do". Feeling gratitude to the lady that cleans my office building and expressing it. Hearing the emotion in a person's voice and listening, instead of stepping over it to express my next brilliant remark.

I like this spot, it feels like a groove. No not a groove, because that is a "place". Maybe I am no longer a location but a moving target. I think I am living for short time periods in the "kingdom zone". It is not a destination, not even a journey. I can't describe it and you know what? I think that may be the way it is meant to be.

Nobody Knows Your Name

Years ago there was a sitcom called "Cheers". Very popular and well-known.

It was about a bar and the group of regulars that met there. Their lives played out on the barstools of this basement tavern. Rarely did any scene venture outside of this single room. Funny and poignant - one of my favorites. The theme song is one I can almost sing from memory, with the lyrics describing it as a place "where everybody knows your name"

This past week I reconnected with a young woman I had not seen in some time. She was in a small group I was facilitating at church. In asking about her family, I found out her small son had been treated for a malignant tumor and was in the midst of a long series of chemo that had followed a hard regimen of radiation. I was totally taken back at the news and overwhelmed by the pain and suffering of not only the small child but the mom as well.

In the midst of our group discussion, a question was asked - I don't even remember what it was. The young woman started talking about an odd sleep habit she had and proceeded to tell a long, humorous, and somewhat disturbing story about an incident she had one night. As a discussion leader, I could tell this was traveling way off course and, usually, I would start trying to reel her back in. But there was a look in her eyes that made me stop myself. For a few brief minutes, the limelight was on her and she was the center of attention. It was for just a little while, totally about her, something that rarely happened anymore. This was about a physical quirk she had, not a serious malady her child had suffered. It was totally indulgent and totally meaningless in the larger than life realm of life she lived day by day. But she was there in that zone and I just let her go with it. We laughed, we asked questions, we commiserated with her -about her. Many in the group did not know her total story and in that anonymity there wsa comfort. In that small span of attention, she was the unattached center.

It truly was a place where "nobody knew her pain". It was good and just what the doctor ordered.