Flashing Lights, Blaring Music, And A Cosmic Queue

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a gym class like I've never seen before.  The fourth graders were learning how to bowl in the elementary school's gymnasium. Along one wall, pins were lined up in triangles.  The designated bowlers stood on the other side of the gym in line with the bowling pins.  Without any equipment other than heavy rubber balls, bowling alleys were imagined.  There were about 12 "alleys" differentiated only by the four or five children assigned to each.  

 It was not just bowling class, but Cosmic Bowling. To make it more fun, the cold harsh florescent lights of the gym were dimmed, colorful blinking lights were strung up along each side, and the music was upbeat and loud, just like nine and ten year olds would clamor for.

That many children, flashing lights, and blasting music sounds like chaos.  But it wasn't.  The kids were not just learning how to bowl, but about place.  I saw no squabbling.  No shouts of "My turn.  Me first." No shaming for balls rolled astray. No division between the cool kids and not.  

Because each child had an assignment and a spot to take care of. They all had a job to do. They moved from one role to the next in a pattern.  One at a time, they took a turn as the bowler.  The next child was the ball returner, standing on the sideline to return the ball to the starting line. One or two kids at the end of the alley were the pin setters, removing and setting the bowling pins in order and ready for the next roll.  When one bowler was finished, they moved to the next spot in the lineup.  And continued to switch places throughout the class. A place for everyone. Everyone in their place.

The last station was perhaps the most important place of all.  The waiter stood opposite the returner on the side of the alley. That kid watched what was going on and cheered for the bowler when multiple pins were knocked down.  It was not the waiter's turn yet.  But he was still a significant part of the action.  He or she did not just wait with a bad attitude, complain, or push someone out of the way. The waiters balanced out the rotation.  As long as everyone did their part, bowling in the dark with 60 kids was fun for everyone.

And then, it was time for the waiter to bowl.

Waiting is not a passive verb.  It is not just a weary place of transition, grumbling about others, but doing the waiting well. Things may not yet be ready.  And indeed, we may not yet be ready for what we need to do or for what is next. But we can cheer on those who get a proverbial strike and encourage those with wayward curve balls to try again.

And quite frankly in life, it may be someone else's turn to bowl.  Someday may seem a long time coming.  But waiting prepares and equips us. It's part of the practice. We can wait, or we can waste. We may actually learn something in the waiting room.  Imagine that! We have work to do too, or we can waste a whole lot of time whining about it. Selfish claims in a loud voice, Mine!  Selfless sees other people in the picture.  Selfish demands it now!  Selfless has all of eternity. 

This half-hour gym activity on a rainy Friday morning encompassed a whole lot more than having fun and learning to bowl, but also seeing how all the people and places work together. Not commiserating that I am just a waiter, nor a waster of time.  But realizing it's just not my turn yet. 

Maybe I'm meant to be a waiter right now.  Maybe because I need to.  Or because someone else needs me to be.    This is my place right now to support and encourage and to occupy this time and space and circumstances.  To be a waiter. And that changes the game for everyone. 

Waiting knows its place and is confident that the right time is coming.  And realizing God knows what He is doing.  That's what faithfulness does.  

Blessed is the one who listens to Me, watching daily at My gates, waiting beside My doors. Proverbs 8. 34 

Ready to roll. 

 

 

 

The multiplying effect

Several years ago when one of our granddaughters was learning her multiplication tables, she initially just memorized the facts.  She could rattle off the answers without even thinking about it. But then one day while working out a story problem, a proverbial galaxy exploded into view.  I saw it in her eyes.  She was sitting at our kitchen table, completing her homework.  Ohhhh, she exclaimed.  She no longer looked at a theoretical one-dimensional 7x4 scribbled on her worksheet, but seven groups of four.  She suddenly saw friends sitting in rows in her classroom and spoonfuls of cookie dough lined up on the baking sheet.  Seven groups of four.

Math made sense in real life, imagine that.  And it opened up to her a whole new world of possibilities.  Not just applicable to that particular story problem, but learning what multiplication really means. It is not just a faster way to add, a tool that enlarges, but it connects us to something much bigger.  Math is not just based on homework equations, but the way the universe works.  Not a list of numbers, but a solid thread. And she hasn't even gotten to God's AP calculus or applied physics yet.  

Like kids reciting the multiplication tables, we often approach big spiritual concepts --like grace, love and prayer --with the same limited understanding as a kid in grade school, nice in theory, and we can rattle off scripted answers by rote we heard or read somewhere. We possess a vague and rather limited view. 

And then, because we don't really comprehend, we act like scrooges, as if what is precious --like kindness, grace, and love-- will run out.  Or even that praying is restricted to limited dosages. Someone said to me a couple weeks ago, "God's tired of hearing from me."  Never true. 

Too many of us are stuck in first grade addition.  But in practicing these things, seeing them differently, and being generous with them, God multiplies.

We learn to see grace, love and prayer not as theological constructs, but how they work out in actual life with tangible situations and real people. Obeying, following, responding to God's calling, even in this particular day, form something in us -- in ways we are not even aware. We have only to be faithful even in simple tasks that are never insignificant. One act of grace, one nudge to pray, or to be kind in this moment builds upon the next, multiplied beyond our comprehension into eternity.  

We don't run out.  We find God gives us even more. Learn to lavish the grace of God on others ...and His blessing will come through you all the time. (Oswald Chambers)

Our response to God's nudging equips and trains us for the next equation and every good endeavor.

And God is able to make all grace abound to you,

so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times,

you may abound in every good work....

He who supplies seed to the sower and bread for food

will supply and multiply your seed for sowing

and increase the harvest of your righteousness.

You will be enriched in every way

      to be generous in every way.....

                          2 Corinthians 9. 8-11

The key words here are supply and multiply. 

His mercies never come to an end. Lamentations 3.22  Flowing into us, flowing through us, no drought here, no expiration date, in short supply or limited availability.

This is no ordinary day --really none of them are-- but an opportunity to practice and allow grace to multiply in our lives.  We see God differently. And as a result, we see others differently. We are not given a brand new pair of eyeglasses, but a new heart and deeper vision for how we can respond.

For from His fullness we have all received,

                 grace upon grace.

                                      John 1. 16

How much more would we be loving, gracious, prayerful,

             if we knew we would never run out,

           and if indeed it would be multiplied,

                                    not diminished in any way?

God does not just add.  God multiplies.

A Liturgy For Those Who Are Wandering

We all know someone in this season of life who is wandering away from the faith, or roaming within it, distracted by other loves, struggling with circumstances, encumbered by baggage, or well you know, just too busy to bother with God anymore.  But this is not the time for us to abandon ship. We need not stand by the ship's railings helpless without a life preserver to throw out to them. We can care for them as best as we are able. And we can pray for them all we can, even when we feel like we cannot breathe.  

Praying something far deeper than, "O God, be with them."  

The prayer of a righteous person has great power as it is working.  James 5. 16  

Praying that every verse of Scripture they've ever read or memorized will come to mind.  From every worship service ever attended, even boring sermons they've endured, the indelible hope of Jesus is even now engraved in their souls.  Let every song, lyric and tune they've sung or hummed burst out of the shadowy silence, replaying in a continual loop over and over, the notes, rhythm and words, stirring their emotions, as only music can do, always there just below the surface, never forgotten, no hearing loss here, but an audible presence.

Praying that God stirs up every testimony heard even decades ago of lives transformed by the gospel.  May every missionary slide show still be recalled in vivid color, reminding them of God's faithfulness around the world. Praying that they remember all those times when the Spirit woke them in the middle of the night and sat with them in their desperate situations. May they yet taste the fellowship of every potluck tuna noodle casserole and jello salad in church basements with shiny linoleum floors and stacked folding chairs. Let every spiritual conversation around the table resound, casual words in the car, on a walk, or shopping in Walmart, remembered forever. They may forget our words, but let them hear the voice of the Almighty.

Praying they are continually surrounded by every prayer earnestly prayed for them, a parent, sibling, friend or grandparent faithfully on their knees pushing back the darkness.  That every Scripture verse claimed for them holds them firmly in the power of God's Word, their names inscribed in the margins with indelible ink.  May we ourselves never underestimate the power of God's Word which is neither bound nor forgettable. 

Praying they are incredibly aware of the love and words of Sunday School teachers who loved them, youth leaders who guided them, nursery workers faithfully rocking, church friends coming alongside, cabin mates at camp sharing stories, even strangers generous with kind words.  Let even a glimpse of a spectacular sunset stir up awe in their hearts for the Creator. May their thoughts be permanently glued with the stickiness of God's Word and their hearts covered by the thickness of His steadfast love.

 

And then, over the always-present struggles, hearts broken by flawed people, even injuries inflicted by those who should have known better, the festering of deep wounds, the bleeding out for decades, may God pour His grace and forgiveness over transgressions and heal their spirits without a limp, scar or recurring sorrow.  Redemption doesn't act like nothing ever happened but creates something new, not a band-aid stretched over it, but a resurrection all the way through.    

We can pray continually that these things, and even more, rising and emerging out of the hard soil and barren ground, coming up, embracing, and drawing them back to Him.

Praying until these things are no longer a memory but an insatiable yearning for God. 

Pray like anything is possible.  And know that God exceeds any predetermined thing we can ask for. He calls us all to Himself.   

God has left a witness in their hearts, ingrained deeply, calling to them, renewed every morning and resounding in the darkness of night, cutting through the noise with His still small voice. We cannot fix, rewind or restore.  But God has the power and compassion to rescue, resurrect the dead, and redeem the past, present and future.

We realize His glory there.

O God, You don't have to become real to them.  Because You already are. Let them find You ever before them. May Your invisible chariots surround them. May Your tangible love be irresistible. Bind them to You. Tie them to Your mast. Heal, shield, glue and renew the broken parts. Breathe into them. Sing choruses over them. And bring them back Home again. 

Help them to remember how much they are loved by You.  Help us to remember too. For we too -- all of us-- are red-handed rebels in need of Jesus.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you.

I have called you by name.  You are Mine...

Because you are precious in My eyes,

and honored,

and I love you."

              Isaiah 43. 1, 4 

Rewrite their story, Almighty One. 

In Ways We Cannot See

More than 35 years ago, a deeply grieving young man sitting on an airplane began scratching out some words to describe the deep ache in his heart, the hope to which he was clinging, and contemplating what God had to say about his tragic personal loss.

Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old.  Behold, I am doing a new thing;  now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. Isaiah 43. 18 

Several years later, someone happened to read what musician Don Moen had jotted down.  In 1990, a song emerged from it, and God poured His Spirit through it.  A month ago, I heard that song for the first time since I was a young mom.  The truth in that song, the hope that it displays, almost slayed me. His lyrics had stuck with me all those years:   God will make a way where there seems to be no way. He works in ways we cannot see. He will make a way for me.  

Composing that song, Moen made God’s faithfulness to be known, not realizing what God would do with it. He just did what God laid before him to do that day.  And that song gave hope decades later to someone he didn’t even know.  And that was me.  God changes hearts.  And He starts with our own.

No one may ever notice what we are doing today.  Or be touched by it.  But God redeems every bit. He knows it all matters.  It matters a lot. Because in God's economy, there is no division between great and small. God has divinely appointed us for this place and time, and for this work that He has placed before us. 

I cannot know if either what I write or do today will last a few minutes, end up deleted, unread, forgotten or ignored.  Or maybe, just maybe, help someone to know Him more.  But I can trust God even in this situation that He is continually working, not just in this day but for eternity.

Sometimes being faithful is sitting in front of a blank laptop screen all morning. 

For the past couple of weeks, I have wrestled with some writing that I started a while ago.  I added some more to it and deleted large portions that didn’t fit.  And by lunchtime, the piece looked like a teenager’s bedroom with little passages scattered all over like discarded clothes.  But then I went for a run through the woods. All the trees waved their hallelujahs above me, and gradually I had more words than I knew what to do with.  Sometimes, we just need to give time and wiggle room to our work, allowing God to sing over us with His Almighty voice, and bringing His glue to it. Even in ways we cannot see.

We ask You, dear Father, that our tiny efforts -- be it composing a song, making a meal, or simply saying a kind word to a child -- will empower someone to make it through the day, or navigate a shadowy passage, or finally walk out of the darkness into Your light, strengthened with a strength that is not their own.  Because You bring something beautiful to our work that we cannot imagine in really hard places where there seems to be no way.  Sing over us, dear Father, a victory song.  Even when we cannot see or hear it yet, we can know that You are with us all the way through and spread Your goodness over it in ways we never realize. But we know that in whatever it may be, You, O God, bring Your glory to it.

So also good works are conspicuous and even those that are not cannot remain hidden.  1 Timothy 5. 25

The fruit of faithfulness has no expiration date.  And it becomes evident in the most unexpected ways.  May God resound through what He has placed before us today. Not just faithful to our work, but faithful to Him. And let God run with it.

Just Start

 A seasoned author recently admitted that sometimes he doesn’t know what he is going to write about until he actually just starts writing.  “And eventually, patterns emerge that I hadn’t even seen before,” he points out. 

In any creative endeavor, as we write, compose, paint or sculpt, we begin to see something different not just someday in a final product, but in the process now.

In the same way, sometimes we don’t know how to pray about a certain situation, but when we just start praying, God changes not just what we see but how we pray.

We are often so narrowly-focused and near-sighted that we “calculate too closely either the limits of the possible or the sneakiness of grace,” says Ted Loder in Guerillas of Grace:  Prayers for the Battle.

In our all-too-finite petitions, we miss His glory in the grander narrative, in how it is really playing out, and how God is unfolding an intricate sacred design, visible only from the other side of eternity. 

It is not a matter of enlarging our field of vision, but trusting God by praying differently.  His response to our prayers extends far beyond an “answer,” and is certainly never confined to a singular outcome of our own creation.

Bible teacher and theologian Nancy Guthrie challenges us to consider what we are praying for in her essay Praying Past Our Preferred Outcomes, published by The Gospel Coalition.  “Scripture provides us with a vocabulary for expanding our prayers for hurting people far beyond our predetermined positive outcomes,” she writes. “Instead of praying only for relief, we begin to pray that the glory of God’s character would be on display in our lives and the lives of those for whom we are praying.”  

When we don’t even know what to ask or how to pray, God whispers to us, “Just start praying.”  And as we pray and seek Him, God opens our hearts, thoughts, and prayers to a universe of which we are not even aware. 

Now to Him who is able
to do far more abundantly
than all that we ask or imagine
          --[or pray]--
according to the power at work
                         within us,
to Him be glory…..
                       Ephesians 3. 20-21

The Whole Enchilada

"It's not what I want," my granddaughter said about the colorful rug her mom purchased for her new room. 

Her family had just moved into a different house the day before. Nothing but nothing felt familiar. She hadn't known any place else as home.  And this strange room certainly didn't feel like it at all, even with a new rug.  Even if it was pretty with pink and blue and various shades of green.

"I don't like it at all."

The rest of the room was a collection of half-opened corrugated cartons, a partially-assembled bed leaning against the wall, the precious stuff of her life looking like a jig saw puzzle that exploded.  

"What if you wait until your other stuff comes out of the boxes, like your bedspread and lamp? Think of the whole meal."

"Not gonna matter. Not gonna change my mind."

But later that night, her mom texted me, "She loves it."  Even the curtains left by the previous owner somehow coordinated.  Just took a little while for the other pieces to blend together.

So many things land in our lives that, well, like a strange new rug, we don't exactly like.  The biggest question is what we do with it.  Immediate rejection?  Or trust God for His sovereignty? And give God the elbow room to bring it all together.  Not as an unfamiliar piece to trip over, but something profound that God uses in our lives or for the well-being of others.  

"Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you react to it," once remarked pastor and author Chuck Swindoll. 

And to riff on Karen Swallow Prior's new book You Have A Calling:  God's calling on our lives may not be what we are good at, passionate about, or even like doing.  But it may be just part of the whole enchilada of God's purposes in our lives. What appears as a pitiful little piece often becomes what is vital, life-changing, and eternal.

I almost didn't accept my first job in journalism.  It was, as in the words of my granddaughter, not what I expected or wanted, writing about new products for a residential construction magazine for homebuilders.  I daydreamed of jobs in publishing in New York.  But God kept me where I was, writing about heat pumps, housing developments, and eventually publishing a book about solar energy.

I didn't care for that entry-level position.  But the things I learned about writing still impact me now, decades later.   I saw it as a job.  God intended it as a training ground.  The connections still emerge.

The strange and ill-fitting is not just a wrinkle to ignore or a problem to get over, but perhaps to embrace a new opportunity or direction or attitude.

 As a child, at every pothole or dead end, my mom recited, "If you have a lemon, make a lemonade." That's what kept her going in the many hard places in her life and greatly impacted the course of her life as a musician.  Trust Me in this.

How many times in life are we presented with that proverbial rug that we think we could do without?  An unexpected job change,  the mean teacher nobody likes, a move to a place we never would have chosen? What was God thinking?  Well, a whole lot more than us.

And He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. Colossians 1. 17 

And then....well, surprise, God works it out anyway.  He continues to reveal to us how they fit together in His overall story for us.  Some of the stuff we despised takes on a different hue in the rear view mirror.  We may not like it, but God still uses it powerfully anyway-- in our lives or a hundred other people around us.  How in the world does this odd-ball situation connect to anything else?  We may catch a glimpse of His purposes, but we just haven't grasped it yet as part of a complete meal or in God's eternal bigger picture.

This one ill-fitting or unpleasant piece, no thank you, I'll pass. God does not expect us to just grudgingly put up with it, but follow Him into it and watch how little disparate parts fit perfectly as into a Lego masterpiece, one tiny plastic brick upon another.

When making personal choices, the Iroquois culture mindfully considered how current decisions impact not only their own lives but to the seventh generation to come.  In Biblical terms, how we walk with God radically changes one generation to the next.  That ill-suited situation we encounter --or rug-- may become a family heirloom, an epic story, or perhaps a physical reminder of God's provision and faithfulness.  

We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the LORD and His might, and the wonders that He has done....to teach their children, that the next generation might know them, the children yet unborn, and arise and tell them to their children, so that they should set their hope in God.  Psalm 78. 4-6 

God does not promise that we will ever like particular situations, or understand why, but He calls us to be faithful in it.  Nothing random here.  What we encounter and how we pivot is never just about us but resounds for generations.

What we experience is not just a singular random event, or a matter of whether we like or don't like it, but part of the whole.  What is God putting together?  Not what this situation is doing to us, but what God is forming in us through this.  The furniture in our hearts may have to be moved around for Christlikeness to fit.

"I don't like it. I don't want to be here," we cry to God.  "But I want you to," He replies. "I need you to." We just can't see how it fits in. That doesn't mean it won't. Far below the surface of our whining, God's got a lot more profound stuff up His sleeve.  We're gonna need it someday. Remember, the whole picture.   

All things hold together. Even the hard stuff fulfills a purpose, deepens our breathing, confirms a direction, or keeps us faithful right where we are.  "I don't want it. I don't like it," is not the point of the equation, but watching to see God's masterpiece emerging from the mess.  The book of Habakkuk in the Old Testament starts with For I am doing a work in your days that you would not believe if told.  Habakkuk 1. 5

That verse does not promise glory, fame, and a house with a pool.  It is not our letting God into this, but letting God invite us in.  It is not that God will fulfill, but that He is already fulfilling in ways we may not ever expect.  God is a lot deeper than that.  He knows what He is doing. Imagine that.

And we just don't see it coming.  The rug actually fits perfectly. 

Habakkuk concludes two chapters later not with everything to our liking, not something less, but with resounding hope, on which we can stake our lives.

Though the fig tree should not blossom, 

nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail

and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold

and there be no herd in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the LORD;

I will take joy in the God of my salvation.

GOD, the Lord is my strength;

He makes my feet like the deer's;

He makes me tread on my high places.

                 Habakkuk 3. 17-19 

 

 

While You Weren't Sleeping

I tossed and turned and could not sleep.  I did not have peace about an ongoing situation.  And I realized God didn't want me to.  He wanted me to pray about it.  Not to sleep peacefully, but to pray in the night, to resist and rebel against the darkness.  Not to wake up and worry, but wake up and pray.

These interruptions in our sleep may be creating an opportunity to secure our undivided devotion to the Lord.  "I've been trying to get your attention," God may be whispering to us.

Throughout scripture and from the beginning of time, God has been waking up people in the middle of the night, not randomly but for His profound purposes.  On that night, the king could not sleep. Esther 6.1 God used that little nudge literally to save the nation of Israel.  And centuries later, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Rise, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt..." Matthew 2. 13  Another nudge in the night, get up now, even when Joseph did not realize the urgency, nor the looming disaster if he hesitated until morning.

God wanted them to feel uneasy. And do something about it. 

Our first reaction is typically begging God to help us to turn over and go back to sleep.  And yet, an awakened mind and body make us more aware of God.  It is when the LORD once again carries us through.  We cannot survive without sleep.  We cannot thrive without prayer.

God says, "Why do you think I woke you up?"  Not to get a drink of water, change position, or even suffer the aftereffects of too much coffee.  But there are things struggling to the surface to think about, things to pray through, to cover people in desperate places we may not even realize, and embrace those we do know who are struggling with despair.

We can't pretend that this broken world or situation doesn't exist.  But we are inattentive and sometimes so insensitive in the busyness of our days.  But at night, God gets our attention, not to worry or ignore or think problems will go away on their own. Anxiety means trying to handle it on my own. Worry deflates our tires. Fear locks all the doors and shuts off the power.

What if we pray about this?  What if we don't?  More than we can ever imagine.

We cry out, O God, do something.  And He whispers, That's why I put you there. We can stir up a typhoon of worrying. But have we even considered praying about it?  The more uneasy we are, the more we can worry.....or pray. And the more we pray, the more God aligns our hearts with His.  We see Him differently.  We see the difficulty differently. We are more able to see how to go forth and what we can do.  

In his book Outlive, physician Peter Attia discusses the importance of grip strength --what we hold, what we can carry, what we can do.  "Almost all actions begin with the grip...it is our interface with the world.  If our grip is weak, then everything else is compromised."

That is a physical truth bolted to the spiritual, because almost all our actions and reactions are based on what we hold onto.  Or if our hands are gripped in prayer. 

The other night, sleepless, I carefully walked down the hallway in the deep shadows like a person visually impaired.  I knew where the doorways were, the rug ended, the turn into the kitchen, avoiding the desk.  And I asked God in the darkness "Who should I be praying for right now in this moment?" "What are You forming in me through this?" "What should I pray?"  "How should I pray?'  And the Lord's Prayer scrolled through my mind. I began saying it out loud in my own words.  No one could hear me but God Himself -- and Alexa didn't care.

Conversations with God in the middle of the night take on a deeper intimacy.  And often those wee small hours are the only time that God can get our attention.  

If our circumstances appeared smooth and sleek, with everything running on auto-pilot, would we even pray about it at all?  Or recognize our need for Him? Or acknowledge His glory and hand in this?   Ascribe to the LORD the glory due His name. Psalm 29. 2

A sincere struggle may be right in the center of His Will. Something is not right.  God wants us to recognize that the imbalance is from Him. And guides us to do something about it.

When we are uneasy, there is a reason for it. But we can keep praying. 

May we realize that sometimes sleep is not the main event in the night.  But really eternal things are.

As for sleep, Lord, well, make it enough. 

 

I bless the LORD who gives me counsel.

In the night also my heart instructs me.

I keep the LORD always before me.

Because He is at my right hand,

     I shall not be moved.

                 Psalm 16. 7-8 

 

Today's Special

 

On a recent Saturday morning, one of our daughters was helping out a friend at a farmers' market. The counter in the booth was heavily laden with all manner of luscious baked goods, all of which would rapidly be purchased in just a couple hours.

That particular morning, the special of the day consisted of fragrant loaves of focaccia, one type with potato and thyme, one with fresh tomatoes, and yet another stack with figs and rosemary. Needless to say, the aroma lingered in the marketplace, and no big surprise, the loaves sold out quickly.

My husband and I also just spent the last few days of summer break, helping out with four of our grandkids.  To set the stage for the morning, I asked our ten-year -old granddaughter to decide what was today's special, what was her specialty for the day? Use kind words? Get along with the boys? And she and her brothers started reciting (and singing) the fruit of the Spirit in Galatians 5. 22-23:  Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. 

We don't have to limit ourselves to just one. 

It is not for us to just seek out how to fill the hours before us or how to manage the traffic jam of our responsibilities, but who to be today.  On what can we focus as a through line in this day: to be kind, attentive, or perhaps, faithful in the trenches? We cannot forecast what the day may bring, but we can respond with something different.

Not determining what sensational concoction we can make of this mess, but how to bless others and honor God.  How to seek out and pursue being joyful or loving in these circumstances, attentive to need, or exercising self-control in this situation. What is my specialty today?  

May we go intentionally into the day, ready to pivot around the potholes, be flexible when things don't go as we would want them, creative in the moment, not dwelling on "if I only had this or that," but seizing what we do have to make something beautiful.  Even if  five barley rolls and two fish are all that occupy our proverbial pantry. John 6. 9

There are no ordinary days -- only if we face them that way.  God never intended for us to miss the wonders that He has placed all around us. Or the opportunities. A hard thing may actually be a grace.  Choose this day whom you will serve...as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.  Joshua 24. 15

What should we intentionally infuse into this day that God has graciously given?  Not just what we are going to do, but how we are going to approach and navigate what is before us.  God is not going to demand, "Do this, do that," like an impersonal army commander, but asks us intimately, "What do you see? What do you have here?" Mmmmm, I have a lump of dough, a few potatoes and some thyme. Whatever it may be. 

Not just choosing Today's Special, but realizing Today Is Special, because God created it.  

This is the day which the LORD has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.  Psalm 118. 24 

Now watch how God can use us. 

 

Little Old Church Ladies More Powerful Than A Locomotive and Faster Than A Speeding Bullet

I was twelve years old, standing in the church foyer after the Sunday evening service, when it happened.  In those days, we attended church both morning and evening.  It is just what we did on Sundays.  My dad, man of few words, was talking to ancient Miss Edith, a woman of many words.  I just wanted to go home where my procrastinated weekend homework was still waiting.  

"Well, Bob," she said to my dad before he walked away.  "What can I be praying for you?"

He looked at her, confused for a moment. In his mind, prayer requests were limited largely to monumental cases of cancer or to those who couldn't really make it on their own.  "No need," replied this self-sufficient, strong-willed man, nothing he couldn't muscle his way through on his own, thank you very much.

"Surely there is SOMETHING I can be praying for you."  Something was in all capital letters in that old woman's voice.

I could see my dad searching for a small dilemma that might loosely qualify as a "prayer request," when that something came to the surface of his thoughts. We had moved to Chicago several months prior. "Well, our house in New Jersey still hasn't sold, but that's not anything to bother God about." 

She didn't respond with words.  But I saw her eyes twinkle.  I had no doubt, even then, that she would not just be wrapping the situation in prayer, but my dad with her cape.

Before the next Sunday, actually within days, the house was unexpectedly sold.  There was no one more surprised than my dad.  And not surprised at all was Miss Edith.  Because she knew that the variable of prayer does not just change the situation, but totally changes the equation.  Not anything she did in her power, but only what God can do through His, far below the surface and far beyond our imagination.

It was not that God suddenly showed up, but to show us.  The answer was no coincidence at all but strategically timed. God already had it all worked out.  He just didn't want my dad to miss the supernatural.  How did this happen?  God is not restricted by natural explanations, no matter how much people try to explain Him away.

Your way was through the sea, Your path through the great waters yet Your footprints were unseen.    Psalm 77. 19 

When we pray, nothing can ever be the same, most particularly us. We have not invited God into our circumstances.  God invites us to join Him in His wonders.  The result may be as outrageous as the parting of the Red Sea.  Or an unforeseen solution that suddenly comes to the surface of our thoughts.  Do we take credit for it? Or just wonder where it came from?

Ascribe to the LORD the glory due His name.  Psalm 29. 2 

She didn't wear a cape, but little old Miss Edith would be the first to tell you she didn't have any special powers. She just knew what to do. She knew to pray about anything and everything. She wasn't afraid to show others that God is real. And give Him the glory.

Pray like a little old church lady with a shield of steel and a heart of gold.   

To Love and Be Loved

Henri Nouwen was a man with an impressive resume.  He was a Dutch Catholic priest, professor, theologian, and author of 39 books and hundreds of articles.  As a professor, he taught for two decades at schools such as the University of Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard.  His classrooms were distinguished by standing room-only crowds of students and waiting lists to register for his classes, sometimes for years..

But at the height of his career, he left Harvard and chose to work with people who had intellectual and developmental disabilities at the L'Arche Daybreak residential community in Canada.  And it was there--in that unexpected venue-- that he discovered something even more profound about himself.   

In his book In the Name of Jesus: Reflections on Christian Leadership, compiled three years after his death in 1996, Nouwen details the radical change he experienced his last ten years of life:

"The first thing that struck me when I came to live in a house with mentally handicapped people was that their liking and disliking me had absolutely nothing to do with the many useful things I had done until then. Since nobody could read my books, the books could not impress anyone, and since most of them never went to school, my twenty years at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard did not provide a significant introduction. . . . Not being able to use any of the skills that had proved so practical in the past was a real source of anxiety. I was suddenly faced with my naked self, open for affirmations and rejections, hugs and punches, smiles and tears, all dependent simply on how I was perceived at the moment. In a way, it seemed as though I was starting my life all over again. Relationships, connections, reputations could no longer be counted on."

He lived among vulnerable people who had no idea they were labeled as "disabled," some of whom could not speak, get dressed by themselves, or able to wipe their own faces.  He learned how to serve even when unnoticed or pushed away, or without needing any greater accolade than an occasional hug.  Despite being highly applauded in the past, Henri finally realized love is not earned. He was seen, heard, and immeasurably loved just for himself. Henri discovered in their midst something much deeper going on.  He learned the truth of Luke 14.14:  ...and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.

"The experience was and, in many ways, is still the most important experience of my new life, because it forced me to rediscover my true identity. These broken, wounded, and completely unpretentious people forced me to let go of my relevant self — the self that can do things, show things, prove things, build things — and forced me to reclaim that unadorned self in which I am completely vulnerable, open to receive and give love regardless of any accomplishments."

 

He had nothing more to offer than to love those around him in practical ways, learn to love, and be loved.  His friends there didn't love him for what he had done, or what he could do for them, but simply because he was, as themselves, a child of God, bearing the same dignity as all those around him there.

 

Our hearts may desire to "do great things for God."  And sometimes our circumstances look far from that.  But as Henri discovered, we can always love others --not just for God--but to Him. And there is no greater calling than that. 

But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.  Acts 20. 24

 

Find us faithful, O Lord. 

All The Things We Did Not Need

Unlike my husband who shops only from a list, I regularly find impulse items appearing in my grocery cart.  It is not that they won't be consumed, but they were neither planned nor considered needful at the time.

Once long ago, on a hot summer day in Memphis at Aldi's grocery store, the watermelons looked particularly good and so inexpensive that I purchased two.  Even as I was loading my car, I questioned myself, "What were you thinking?" One watermelon is a lot for just two people, but we definitely didn't need an extra one.

After I returned home, I took a meal I had prepared for a family in our church who were caring for a child who was chronically ill.   I pulled into their driveway and walked up to their front porch, carrying the meal. As the mom opened the door, I realized that I had forgotten to unload the watermelons at home with the rest of my groceries.  They were still sitting in the car, like toddlers strapped in their car seats.

I handed my friend an aluminum pan of "piggies in a blanket," ready to stick in the oven at suppertime for her hungry tribe of kids. Her son who was not feeling well was standing by her side with a forlorn look on his face. 

On a whim flying through my thoughts, I said. "Oh, I have something else, if you are interested."  I walked back to the car, the hot humid summer air already covering us like a wet woolen blanket.  Still fresh from the air-conditioned market, the hard green skin of the melon felt cool in my hands.

As I returned, I could see her son's eyes light up. "How did she know?" he asked his mom with the sheer glee of a four year old.  For a brief moment, my friend could not speak.

"Our son has not been eating much, just not feeling well, due to his medications.  Earlier this morning, he had told me that what he wanted more than anything today was a watermelon.  I told him that I was sorry that I didn't have any, or the way to get one today."

"And then, here you come with exactly what we needed. How did you know?"

God equips each of us with abilities, resources we didn't know we have, gifts that seem unnecessary or superfluous at the time, and sometimes the muscle memory to heft a heavy load someone is carrying.  God even embeds tiny hidden details that sneak into our thoughts to sway our decisions, directions, and prayers.  God provides what we need.  But sometimes He provides all the things we think we do not need.  Because someone else might need them. Am I paying attention?  On that particular day, what I thought I didn't need was exactly as God intended.

And it's never just about a watermelon.

I was totally unaware of what God was doing. I did not comprehend at the time how buying two melons would bless the life of a little boy.  I did not audibly hear God saying, "Buy two!" But He covers all of us with His faithfulness and grace. God is good, even when we don't understand and even when life is hard. 

Praise God for how He intervenes in our lives.  He whispers, "Trust Me in this."  May He forgive us for us seeing our mistakes as an interruption.  God does not guide in mysterious ways. God redeems according to His intricate designs.  His redeeming stretches over past, present and future tense. Why are we so surprised?

Are we listening? Are we following Him into this day? We cannot help but be changed by it.

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace,

that we may receive mercy 

and find grace to help in time of need.

                      Hebrews 4. 16

 

Put A Prayer On That

Sometimes we just pray.  Sometimes we really need to pray. 

Sometimes we can't pray fast enough, slow enough, or not long enough.  Sometimes too many words trip over each other.

Sometimes we want to pray but our hearts are not in it. We are slammed, the wind is knocked out of us. We face an unexpected collision, lights are extinguished, and food tastes like ash in our mouths. We are shocked, drained, or sucker-punched. Out of the depths I cry to You, O LORD! O Lord, hear my voice! Psalm 130. 1 We don't know how to respond, and no words come at all.

But then we remember God hears, God listens, and God is still with us. And He knows what to do.  In many occasions, words have very little to do with it.

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words.  Romans 8. 26  He understands the ancient language of groaning and turns our pain into prayers. Because some things are quite radically too deep for words.

We pray to God,

pray for,

pray over,

pray through,

pray to get going,

pray to shelter in place,

and pray in sequential laps over and over.

We pray for a covering, for sutures, a shield snapped in place, a way through the thicket, come alongside others, take His hand or grip someone else's, nourish, cultivate, abide, listen, bring healing, touch the bottom of a really deep pool, stand our ground, or just be grounded. 

Put a prayer on that.

And as a response, God does not show up. God shows us how to be filled, how to fill another, stand in the gap, pull someone out, realize our own need for grace and extend it to another, learn how to love someone, figure out how to spell forgiveness in tangible ways, realize that He is God, and that He is still God, even in this really hard appointment.

...a better hope is introduced, through which we draw near to God. Hebrews 7. 19

We come before God with anxieties, fears and weariness.  And when we seek Him in the midst of the chaos, we always leave aware of even more:  His Word, His strength, and His Presence.  He shows us the way through and often with unexpected blessings of legendary size that come strangely.

What if we prayed?

What if we didn't?

The unknown is just unfamiliar territory to us. But God is already here working His wonders.  His triumphs over our Goliaths may not be what we expect.  But praying gets us to the point of trusting Him in both the ordinary and the extraordinary.  And we find not an answer, but The LORD is there (Ezekiel 48.35)

Have I even considered asking God about this situation?

In this broken world, it has been said that we are six inches from a spider and twenty feet from the next cavernous pothole. That alone is enough to stop us in our tracks. But God instructs us to pivot in our hard and scary stuff with a new heart and thereby respond differently.

Pray without ceasing. 1 Thessalonians 5. 17  In all things, about all things, through all things.  Doing something everyday for a long time makes it really hard not to do it.

If we do not pray on the ordinary days, will we even know how to pray through the crisis?

Praying trains our hearts for what is now and what is ahead, one difficulty and then the next.  Ask any long-distance runner: endurance does not just arrive with a two hour Amazon delivery. Praying is not a daily exercise, but an ongoing experience through which God changes and strengthens us.

"If we do not do the running steadily in the little ways, we shall do nothing in the crisis." --Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest, September 11. 

How can we handle this impossible situation before us?  Put a prayer on that.

Even Dropping The R

 

A couple months ago, I wrote about how God brings us through. But as we pray about our situations, we can drop the R.  Because God does not just carry us through. God carries us even though.

The word through implies movement in time, space or experience, from one definable point to another. The word though seems like we are stuck with what we didn't expect or want, or that something did not happen at all. 

Sometimes we are holding too tight to our own ideas about what should happen, gripping an idol, or (gasp) telling God what to do, when and how. But all along when we confront a rather jarring though, God is not restricting us, but radically enlarging our circumstances, our abilities, or our hearts.  God is using us for something deeper in His purposes.

After my first several years in journalism, at a weekly editorial meeting, the staff all knew that a promotion was going to be announced that morning.  I had been working hard and seemingly the next in line to move up a notch on the masthead. Then without warning, an associate's name was announced. And he received the honor. I was devastated.  I cried all the way home.

But little did I realize at that moment how profoundly God was ingrained in what looked to me as being bypassed for promotion.  Because God was making my path straight in a different direction.  In the next couple of years, God opened an even bigger door that I didn't see coming.  Not getting that promotion made it easier to leave the company when our family was relocating out-of-state.  And then, I was asked to write and produce projects as a freelance writer, ironically for the same boss.  Suddenly finding myself with three babies at the time in a remote location (and one more daughter to come), I was making more money working part-time at home than I did as a full-time editor.

Even though, because that, nevertheless, while in order to, so even..... Though is not an end in itself, as I discovered, but relates to a situation backwards and forwards.  As I learned in this circumstance, and numerous others in life:  "but little did I realize."

We are standing in the middle of the meanwhiles.  The story is not over yet.  The reality of God's Presence is not contingent on how we happen to feel that day.  Or what appears before us.  Even in what looks like is standing in our way.

Because we forget that God redeems the most impossible, inconceivable, unbelievable situations for our good and the well-being of countless others.  Not just redeeming sometime in the future, but in present tense. And not just about ourselves. When the outcome is not what we expect, God still redeems in one way or a million.  No matter what we see, no matter what unfolds, no matter if we understand or not, we can trust Him even though.

God sees us.  God hears us.  God is carrying us.

Though is a word of trust. No matter what.

Though is a promise of hope. God is redeeming. 

Though is a word of commitment.  I can stake my life on Him, even in this.

God is bringing greater good, even in what we see, even in what is completed far beyond our lifetimes.

Though is a word of Presence. "Do not fear. I am with you still."

God is with us. God is working. God loves us, despite the forecast, even so, nevertheless, and in spite of everything.

As we pray through our experiences, we can drop the R. God is true and faithful in bringing us through, but also in the thoughs of life.

In the through and in the though, we are changed by God, not defeated or lost or paralyzed, but stronger in unexpected ways and in uncharted territory.  We are not just enduring confusion or pain. God has not abandoned us. But God is binding ourselves to Himself, even more, even in this.

Though the fig tree should not blossom, 

nor fruit be on the vines,

the produce of the olive fail,

and the fields yield no food,

the flock be cut off from the fold, 

and there be no herd in the stalls,

     yet I will rejoice in the LORD. 

I will take joy in the God of my salvation.  

God, the Lord, is my strength. 

He makes my feet like the deer's. 

He makes me tread on my high places. 

                            Habakkuk 3. 17-19

 
Even though. And all the way through.

 

Because That's What Faithfulness Does

I first noticed a bag of carrots covered in ice crystals in the vegetable bin of our refrigerator. I tried to ignore the refrigerator's obvious malfunction, hoping that somehow it was just a temporary glitch.

But within a few days, well, now the shredded cheese in an adjacent bin was also hard as a rock.  We tried our usual fix-it method:  Turn the appliance off and start it up again.  No change. 

I called the local repair shop, and a few days later, the technician Tim arrived. He did what the faithful do. He sized up the problem and got to work.  But there was something different here.  This did not seem like just another repair job for him.  He seemed to have a joy in doing the work, not having to do it but getting to do it.  As it turns out, he has been repairing refrigerators since 1988.  Just helping others in time of desperation.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He took out all the shelves and drawers.  He worked on his hands and knees for almost three hours. From time to time, I could hear chunks of ice shattering. But he stuck with it, found the problem, and replaced the broken part.

In our culture, we talk a lot about calling.  Tim's calling was not to repair refrigerators -- although he was really good at it -- but called to serve and help others in their time of need.

Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.  Hebrews 4. 16

May we be so mindful.  Not just aware of a problem, but also not ignoring what is before us. Doing something about it, not out of obligation, or not to earn someone's favor, or to be the hero, but out of the sheer joy of helping when we can and how we can.  We may not be able to do everything, but we can do something.  And first, to pray. Sometimes serving is just being there, being faithful to the work, and having a happy heart.  That kind of faithfulness is never without a witness for the God we love.

Images of the saints of old were recognized by what they held in their hands.  What do we hold in ours?  Tools in our toolbox to serve others.  When a friend's 18-year-old car needed replacing, she chose a small pickup truck, because it gave her delight in being able to serve others even more. The faithful to Jesus have always been marked not just by carrying a towel and basin (John 13. 4-5), but willingly using them, even in unrecognized ways. 

The faithful stuff is never insignificant. Faithfulness to what God has placed before us changes the world, even if it is fixing one refrigerator at a time.  During Covid, the media identified these quiet servants as "essential workers."  In her lifetime, my mom always acknowledged the mostly invisible battalions around her.  I can still hear her saying to the stock boy at the grocery or the women cleaning the bathrooms at a restaurant, "Thank you for your work."  She let them know she saw them and recognized their profound work. The faithful are watchful and attentive.

"We cannot ascertain what is valuable in God’s sight, nor what He can redeem," writes British author and pastor Rico Tice.

The faithful put down their heads and just do it.  Because they have an inner joy, far deeper than the task at hand.  Would you do this for Me?  

It may not be anything that others see, but knowing God is using it profoundly, beyond our understanding, out of sight, on the far side of words.  That's what faithfulness looks like. 

God uses the most unlikely among us to accomplish the most unexpected.  We can never know the reverberations of a needful act of grace.  There are no small kindnesses.  The awareness to be kind builds one layer upon another.  

One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much... Luke 16. 10 

That is what I witnessed in my kitchen.  One who took delight in faithful work.  

May we all leave that imprint.

 

 

But Just Right

My mom was a professional violinist, and it always seemed, furiously practicing. Her fingers continually drummed even silently, practicing her repertoire, pieces she already knew and those she was engraving in her heart. She only ever read the Chicago Daily News, devouring it like the gospel itself, delivered on our driveway every afternoon.

Dad was a quintessential research scientist, crazy bushy eyebrows and all.  Even when he was home, well, he was not really there.  To him, reading was a waste of time. Why read when you could be inventing something?

My grandmother lived out my childhood with me.  She occupied a small first floor bedroom, busily keeping house for our family of six, including my two oblivious parents.

Every night, she pulled herself up the stairs with her arthritic knees to put me to bed with the story of the three bears.  It may have been the only story she knew by heart.  No book.  No pictures. Just the words. Just her raspy alto voice. Just the story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She didn’t talk about Goldilocks with beautiful long blond ringlets.  But she narrated the story of a little girl with unruly hair who wandered into a house looking for a place where she would fit in, a bowl just the right size, a comfy chair in a quiet room, being tucked gently into bed, no matter the chaos in the rest of the house. The story became a liturgy of memorized words and measured breaths. She sat sidesaddle on the edge of the bed, her soft warm leg leaning against mine.

I never knew whether the story was describing her life or mine.

I was not the curly-haired violin prodigy my mother wanted me to be, possessing legendary talent that compelled people to rise to their feet.  When I was old enough to read myself, I hid library books with a flashlight under my bed. Mom threatened to take them away.  “You’re going to ruin your eyes.”  “You could be practicing!” I was not just wasting time, but wasting my life. 

My three brothers pursued their own paths of giftedness, as one interest led yet to another. The house was a mess.  Mom commandeered the living room, her music piled high in stacks on the back of the piano and cups of cold forgotten coffee scattered everywhere like clues to a mystery.  My dad secluded himself in his laboratory at work, rarely realizing when it was time to go home. 

Dad thought in numbers and formulas.  All that mattered to Mom was notes.  For me, it was words. Dad loved his laboratory. Mom dreamed of Carnegie Hall.  I couldn’t wait to go to the library.  Three lives.  Three languages.

My grandmother saw our family's story being worked out page by page, and chapters unfolding season by season. And she understood me standing bewildered in the midst of it. The bears’ lives seemed so normal.  Quaker oatmeal in morning bowls.  A company of chairs in a book-lined living room. Soft beds with comforters.  And oh, how about a daily walk together in the woods?

Is that how other people lived?

I was never afraid of those ferocious bears.  Instead, they were a comfort to me, appearing in a story told faithfully every night. And always with a happy ending. Because in my heart, the little girl got to stay.

Close Encounters of the Wilderness Kind

There were better things I probably could have been doing than running on that sultry Tennessee-humid afternoon.  But I don't know what that would be. Cars inched past me on a paved nature loop, windows rolled up to keep the cool inside, the occupants comfortable and wide-eyed, looking for usual sightings that invite tourists and snarl traffic for miles.

I could have been one of them.  But I preferred being outside, running through the wilderness instead. 

There would be bears, I was sure of it. There always are. I see at least one almost every time I run that winding road. But what I witnessed while running that day was something I didn't expect. Something I will never forget.

One of my all-time favorite places to run is the 11-mile Cades Cove nature loop in Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  Weaving its way through a small valley surrounded by a ring of mountains, this narrow one-way ribbon of asphalt is known for wildlife sightings.  Or what our grandchildren call "rarely seen wildlife creature moments."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you want to see a black bear in the wild, Cades Cove is the place to be. You may also see deer, wild turkeys, an occasional coyote, and for sure, the continuous splendor of trees.  

Several years ago on a steamy summer day, it was not the wildlife that was so unforgettable. Hovering in the upper 80s, the day was far warmer than the forecast had promised. Running that hilly road around the Cove in that late July heat, I rejoiced in every bit of shade that decorated the pavement, short promised patches of coolness, moving from strength to strength.

The daunting hills seemed to rise even steeper than ever before.  As I lumbered along, I was reminded of the ancient psalms of ascent that the pilgrims sang on their way up to Jerusalem.  I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth. Psalm 121. 1-2

They sang through the hard stuff.  When they worshiped, they were sustained and strengthened by something more. As are we.

When I run, my unhurried pace urges reluctant thoughts to the surface. Going slow sharpens my eyes to what is hidden along the way, grasping the sight of a shy doe, a red-tailed hawk soaring, or a blanket of trillium in full bloom.  The mere act of running on long lonely roads dredges up prayers I would have never prayed otherwise, each pounding step shaking things up inside, and changing me a little bit more.  Running is not just a physical endeavor.

I think about stuff when I run. I write stories in my head. I compose essays. I pray differently in the fellowship of really big trees. And sometimes I sing out loud like the pilgrims.  Because in those moments, only God can hear me.

Just halfway around the loop that afternoon, I was already dragging, my tank top saturated, glued to my skin, and sweat smearing my sun glasses.  And there were many more hills ahead and miles to go before I was done.

Discouragement whispered to me like naysayers along the sidelines, stop, stop, stop, matching the rhythmic pattern of my feet and labored breathing. But I know from previous runs that to stop running on an uphill is a sure defeat. To get started again takes more than physical strength. To keep on running, I knew to keep my head down, looking only at the next step. And then the next. And occasionally, like the pilgrims, lifting my eyes to the trees surrounding me like so many sentries standing at attention on a parade route. Keep on, keep on, keep on, they urged.

I knew this familiar slope. I had run it many times before.  There was indeed an end to this hill.   But it was still hard.  Rented jeeps, SUV's packed with kids, and Dodge Rams with beer drinkers in the back rumbled past me up the hill, over and out of sight, racing past to see the sights.  Most never even noticed as they squeezed me over to the crumbling edges of the asphalt. No shoulders here, no margins.  At times, I stepped into the shallow rocky ditch to accommodate the vehicles.

As I approached the top of that particular hill, running on empty, I noticed a large black SUV pulled over on the side of the narrow road.  I was curious about what the driver saw, perhaps a bear lazily rambling across the road or climbing a tree, or maybe he was awestruck by the tabernacle of the forest,  taking in the glory instead of rushing past the wonder of this sacred place. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But this driver saw something entirely different.  

I slowly reached the ridge, ready to pass him by, when I stopped short.  His window slid down. A hand reached out holding an icy dripping bottle of water right out of a cooler.  He didn't say anything.  He just smiled.  I did not know him.  He was a stranger, as I was to him.  And he had been waiting for me.

I almost cried. 

He saw me struggling.  And he did what he could do.  Kind people live hilariously like that.

Kind hearts always look differently at the scenery around them.  They see others with new eyes and a fresh heart, recognizing and responding to outward needs or inward struggles that others don’t even see. 

In his devotional My Utmost for His Highest, Oswald Chambers points out:  Readiness for God means that we are ready to do the tiniest little thing or the great big thing, it makes no difference. 

Not out of any kind of obligation, but compelled by a hidden joy.

The kindhearted don’t contemplate if they should help, but think about how they can help.  Even the smallest acts of kindness shift the tectonic plates of the universe.  They may offer something to fill a momentary physical gap, come alongside to walk or run or listen, sometimes to encourage in word or deed, but always giving what is more tangible and eternal than we can ever comprehend.

And whoever gives one of these little ones even a cup of cold water because he is a disciple, truly, I say to you, he will by no means lose his reward.  Matthew 10. 42

It was only a disposable bottle of water.  But not in God’s sight – nor in my own present need. Instead, it manifested the profound ministry of the cup of cold water, revealed by Jesus in scripture and played out through the ages, transforming ordinary moments into extraordinary ones, full of the recognizable grace of God.

Doing something kind every day for a long time makes it really hard not to do it. 

I don’t know if this man was able to observe the black bear he had driven to see in the national park. But he changed the course of my day by his selfless vision of what he did see.  My cup runneth over with the compassion I was given, an act of mercy and grace, a profound and rare moment never soon forgotten. 

I doubt it was the first time he stopped to help a stranger or a friend. Nor his last. 

Just because he could. 

Just because we can.

The One That Didn't Get Away

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a long slow morning. No fish in sight, although we knew they were there.  No bites. No hits.

But in the most unexpected places and ordinary days, God surprises us in unsuspecting ways. Perhaps a fish in an unlikely stream. Sometimes a lot more astonishing than that.

God may not give us that big trophy fish we want, but He is generous in what we need ....or what someone else desperately needs.  Even if we may not realize it in that moment.

We go into a situation -- or even this day ahead of us -- with a lot of expectations, or none at all -- of what we will find, what we will do, or even what we think God should do.  But we have only to be faithful in following Him.

God does not call us to abandon our ordinary work or occupations, where He has strategically positioned us, but to see it differently.  God enlarges our vision.  He has rooted us in these places and postures not just for doing something to fill up our time, but by being responsive to the people around us -- ministering, blessing, encouraging, lifting up, bring the name of Jesus to this hard and barren patch of ground, and giving grace the space to grow there.  It is an exercise in "Trust Me in this."

Just an ordinary, mundane day at work, school, or wherever we find ourselves today?  Never.  See it differently:   the care of souls.  

And He said to them, "Follow Me, and I will make you fishers of men."  Matthew 4. 19

We may not catch anything we can take a picture of.  But stay at it.  And carry a big net.  God is giving us a bigger story. God is blessing people through us -- and for the most part, we are unaware of it.

The fish are there.  We just don't often recognize those opportunities scurrying through the deep.

I can never seem to see fish swimming in the streams.  But one time when my husband was fishing, I meandered over an old bridge, enjoying the view. I looked down below the surface of the water.  "Boy, that is weird how those rocks are all lined up like that," I thought.  And then I realized, those were not rocks, but huge trout lined up like planes on the runway at O'Hare airport. Oh, wow, was all I could say.

At the end of the day, fishing is not just about how many fish we catch, because if it was, there would never be enough. But surrounding us is what God brings into this day.  And that is always more than we can imagine.  Look up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Enlarge our vision in this day, O LORD.

Keep us faithful even in the ordinary, even in the drought.

May we embrace deeper things in this day.

And be responsive to You.

Weight Lifting for Dummies

Two of my objectives this year are to try something hard and do something different.  To put those initiatives into action, my husband and I signed up for a strength development class in January at our local YMCA.  Over the course of twelve weeks, three times a week, we met in a class of six to ten led by a personal trainer, a rag tag group of varying ages and states of fitness.

For 45 minutes every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, we lifted weights and worked our way through sets of exercises of increasing intensity.  Our trainer did not stay in front of the room barking out instructions.  To my initial horror, I could not just hide in the back row. She traveled around the room correcting our form and providing support.  In those first few weeks, she did not laugh once at my feeble efforts and pathetic selection of weights. But she encouraged my every attempt.

There was no competition there, a refreshing surprise. We all lifted different weights. We all had a different story, coming at it from another place.

And along the way, each training session, I felt myself getting a little bit stronger.  

About the ninth or tenth week, the trainer suddenly upped the ante, introducing a whole new circuit of strength-building measures. I tried to follow along. You have to be kidding.  This is way too hard. But I did what I could.  It was the hardest workout yet.  I glanced at the clock, the minute hand moved at a snail's pace.  Done.  

But when we returned two days later, the same workout faced us.  I dreaded it.  But this second time through, surprisingly, wasn't so bad.  It was not that the weights suddenly became lighter, but each time, I was getting stronger.  Same situation.  Different reaction.  Strength comes in layers.  Endurance develops in the process of just working through it, and at times, choosing to add a little more weight to my bar.

In our lives, we tend at all costs to avoid discomfort, inconvenience, and anything we can possibly label as suffering or affliction.  Yet sometimes that heavy weight in our days or on our path is not an obstacle at all, but meant to make us stronger.  How do we respond to it?

Seek the LORD and His strength.  Seek His Presence continually.  1 Chronicles 16. 11

Initially, I didn't notice much difference in my abilities.  But one day last week, I hauled out a carton of yogurt containers from the refrigerated section at Costco with one hand. "There is no way you could have done that before," my husband remarked.

Sometimes what we are faced with or going through is absolutely hard, hefty and massive.  But He is here already....and always. Because God does the heavy lifting. Not just in this moment to lend us a hand, but leading us through, every moment along the way.  Not throwing at it a cheery and cheesy phrase, "Come on, you can do it." But true strength comes in turning to Him. 

And I realized it is not just an exercise in lifting weights, but in strength development.  

For You equipped me with strength for the battle ....2 Samuel 22. 40  

What is God forming in me through this struggle? Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow with each repetition and new exercise. Not meant to defeat us, but to build us up for what is and what is to come.