Objects In The Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear

 We stand today in the in-between.  The year 2022 is drawing to a close.  In two days, the new year is about to burst forth before us, days yet unveiled but already full of His faithfulness.

The changing over of the calendar provides a brief moment to contemplate where we are headed, what we have done, and how we have changed.  And to realize that this is not the ending of just another chapter but seamlessly continuing into the next.

Over the supper table just about every evening, as their large family comes together to eat, our son-in-law asks each of the kids, “What was good today?  What was hard?  Where (or how) did you see God today?”

It is a time of being heard and being seen, sharing stories –sometimes joys, sometimes tears, sometimes finding a solution even in the sharing of a trouble-- but always letting God reveal Himself.  Oh, there He was.

What was good this year?  What was hard?  How did we see God in it?  When we look back, those three questions are often one and the same.  The good and the hard and His Presence are woven together. 

Surely the LORD is in this place,

    And I did not know it.

                        Genesis 28. 16

What if we lived that way?  What if we prayed that way?

Not just in assessing a calendar year, but coming before Him every morning in prayer and contemplating every evening, the bookends of our day.  Not just lamenting, “Oh, I should have done more.”  “I really messed up.”  “I’ll try do better tomorrow.”  But thinking about, praying and praising what was good from His hand, what was hard beyond our understanding or strength, and how we abide with Him.

“For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity,” wrote C. S. Lewis in 1942, a time when all the world was in turmoil. 

An old friend included in her Christmas card this year, a challenge –still applicable today--to pray and to trust God into what we do not yet see, written by British poet Minnie Louise Haskins 114 years ago in 1908:

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:  “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”  And he replied…”Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.  That shall be, to you, better than light and safer than a known way.”

May we look back on 2022 and see His Presence, His strength, His provision, and His love.

May we make prayer this year not just a practice or a habit, looking back or looking forward, but seamlessly woven in the now, praying and living out His dwelling with us in the coming year and in His present tense which knows no bounds.  

 

By day the LORD commands His steadfast love,

and at night His song is with me,

a prayer to the God of my life.

                    Psalm 42. 8

 

Rustic efficiency, sleeps two, no cleaning fee

Nothing was going well.  The scandal of a pregnant fiancée.  A government census. A long arduous trip by donkey.  Not at all what Joseph planned or expected.  Totally bad timing.  No reservations.  Literally, no room at the inn.  No welcome mat from family.  And then, the first labor pains.  Oh no, not now. What in the world can I do?

He knew exactly what to do.  He prayed. Joseph was a man of few words, but of profound prayers not recorded in scripture. Joseph just prayed.  And he listened.  He had trusted God in the past.  He knew he could follow God, even in the now.    

There are days when we too can’t do anything but put one foot ahead of the other.  Sometimes that is all we can do.  Put on our shoes and tie them, ready for what we do know, ready for where God leads us, not even in anticipation, but in sheer faithfulness.  “O LORD, show me how to navigate this.”

There was no room in the inn, but they were not abandoned there.  God does not just break through and enter in a situation.  He walks us there.  He goes ahead.  No room in the inn was not a mistake, or interruption, nor a dead end, but just what had to unfold first for the next to take root.

And this would be a good time not to panic, but to pray.  Always leaving room for the sovereignty of God.  And in prayer, recognizing His reassuring Presence.

Joseph did not waste his words or energies over “why.”  But he prayed to the LORD about what to do and how to do it.   And I suppose, as he prayed, he saw through the crowds, way back between the buildings, off the main thoroughfare, a stable.  “There?” he asked God.  “Right there,” God nodded.  It was not at all about what Joseph planned, but his sudden realization, “there You are.”

Is prayer our first response or last resort? Worry just blocks out any available light.  Anxiety locks all the doors.  But in praying, God unfolds even that which is totally unexpected.

No time to spare or despair.  Joseph delivered the baby by himself in a stable full of animals on a cold night.  “This is not going to end well,” I surmise he thought. That was obvious.

But then again, maybe not.  God’s obvious is not always so obvious on the surface.  All these glitches, dead ends, people’s mistakes or obstinacy, “not random at all,” came a thought in the middle of Joseph’s prayers.

God works in unexpected ways and in the most unlikely places, as detailed in prophecies from the beginning of time, the scarlet thread that runs through scripture.

God chose Joseph for a reason.  Joseph prayed.  Joseph listened. Not to hear a Hallmark positive vibe, “It’s going to be ok.”  But God continually whispering, “Don’t miss this.  Trust Me in this.  Even in what comes next.”

That kind of trust can only be constructed by learning step by step, knowing those odd-shaped pieces, sometimes with jagged edges, don’t just fall in place, but are specifically designed to fit together.  Prayer builds that trust in layers.  With no pieces left over.

There is God’s beauty in the wake of the storm.  And amazement in the wake of every prayer.

When we can’t see the outcome or even the next little step, God is still in it.  Even when that special baby was born in the lowliest of conditions divinely appointed, Jesus was in the safest place on earth.  Even when a gaggle of excited, smelly shepherds crowded in to see what is going on.  And then, wise men from the East showing up, bearing gifts.  Even then, I suspect, Joseph knew when times are hard and strange, God is doing something really powerful.

Joseph would do anything for this baby.  Even then, not realizing that this child would do everything for us.  That is why Jesus came.

And then, when things appeared to calm down a bit, Joseph had a strange dream about an angel warning him to get up and go.  He woke up from the dream, still groggy in the middle of the night, and remembered the single word, “Flee!”  And as his habit, Joseph knew God didn’t have to explain Himself.  Joseph knew to trust God.  When God says, “Go.”  He means now.  That kind of sheer trust that night was a matter of life and death.

As trusting God always is.

“And he rose and took the child and his mother by night, and departed to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod.  This was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, “Out of Egypt have I called my son.”  Matthew 2. 14 

Joseph may or may not have been familiar with that prophecy, but he staked his life on awareness of God’s Presence.  “I am with you.”  That is all Joseph needed to know.

Or us.  Even in the depths of the night, or despair, or praying our way to Egypt in the dark.

When we pray, God invites us into what He is already doing.  We get to be a part of the story and the manifestation of His glory.   

There is something different here.  And that would be Jesus.

Train Wrecks and Other Holiday Traditions

As with most train wrecks, I didn’t see this one coming.  I was stunned.  I was shattered.  I was numb.  And there was nothing I could do about it. 

Or was there?

I couldn’t sit still.  I just needed to do something. That evening, I cleaned the inner workings of our ancient coffee maker. I picked up a book which sat unread in my lap.  It might as well have been written in Sanskrit. 

I could FEEL anxiety creeping in. 

And then, God nudged me.  What are you going to do different this time?  Are you just going to let darkness take over?  What about Me?  Why are you not praying?

And I prayed.  O LORD, show me how to navigate through this situation in a way that glorifies You and brings us through this devastation to an even stronger place. I knew I was heading into a miry bog where I could not touch bottom.  God put on the brakes.

“Don’t expect things to be different, if you do not pray,” wrote Corrie ten Boom, one who knew.  It is not based on circumstances or the other person changing course.  But expect yourself to be different because you prayed.

Even as I was praying for God to guide me and to align my heart with His, I could feel an unexpected peace coming over me, like a breeze through a back door that had somehow opened.

Later, when I was trying to go to sleep that night, as I pulled up the blanket, I prayed that God would cover every aspect of this hard thing with His peace.  I visualized powered sugar icing pouring over hot cinnamon rolls, dripping into every crevice.  His peace.  His peace saturating in a supernatural and unexpected way.

The next morning in church, still feeling rather numb and not very advent-joyous, people greeted me, “How are you?”  “Great,” I said, hoping the broken places didn’t show.  I stood and sang the familiar carols.  And things began to happen.  There is something about in-person worship, singing out loud with a huge group of people, that alters your insides.  I closed my eyes and let the voices sweep over me, worshiping the Almighty God.

Later, I went for a cold and cloudy run.  There is nothing like running it out.  There is nothing like praying it out on a run.  I called on the LORD.  I poured out my heart to the LORD.  I cried to the LORD.  I didn’t come up with any spectacular answers or a script that would make everything right again, but I prayed until I ran out of words.  I had a podcast going, but I have no idea what they were talking about, just voices passing in one ear and out the other.

And then, on my playlist, music began coming through my earbuds.  Songs of adoration and ascent and joy building up in layers, measure upon measure.  I started humming along.  Praying in the key of G.  And then, a chorus of glorias began.  Strong currents of harmony, singing gloria in worship, something extraordinary unfolding. 

I began singing along.  Out loud.  There was no one around but God and a couple squirrels to hear me.  And then again, those trees, that towering congregation of trees joining in, it seemed. It was like being embraced.  God is not going to bring me through.  He is already at it.  And it took music for me to comprehend that. 

I was singing gloria all the way through my running shoes to the hard-packed trail beneath my feet.  And I didn’t care who heard me.

That was exactly what I needed.  Call on His Name.  Cry to the LORD.  And sing, sing to Him a new song.  Out loud, not for God to hear, or to get His attention, but for me to realize who He is.

So many prayer “formulas” call for praise first.  But by the end of my run, all that was left in me was gloria.  And isn’t that what should resound at the end of our prayers?  Praying through this hard place and knowing Him more.  And all we can say is gloria.

And perhaps the point is not the answer to our prayers, but God’s response:  His glory that somehow gets indelibly all over everything.  There was no sudden change in the situation, nor a light show with an angel chorus, because there are no singular outcomes.  But the life-changing assurance, I am with you.

The recording ended.  But God keeps singing over me.

Halos Not Required

A good friend of mine adopted six special needs children, both locally and internationally. Her faithfulness to God is a witness to everyone around her.  I remember at the time, decades ago now, when in the midst of her very real struggles, people were empathetic, but often commented, “Well, you know, she’s just a special person.” 

Another friend has endured the passing of two children to a rare disease.  People around her grieved and cared deeply for her in her loss.  But again, they would say even to her, “You’re just a strong person.”

The halos, that others drew around their heads like crowns for royalty, personified a designation of special powers like capes in an Avengers movie.  You know, she’s special.  You know, she’s just strong.

But that designation, even given to Mary, places these saints in a different sacred sphere, and allows us to discount our own appointments.  Those people are special.  They have halos. I do not.

But they are not any different than us.  Do I excuse myself from God’s will, or work, or responding to His voice, because well, you know, I’m not like them.  I’m just an ordinary person.

Ordinary does not appear in God’s lexicon.   God calls each of us to Him.  Halos are not required.  Just faithfulness.

Our desire for a deeper relationship with God and developing a strong spiritual life becomes like a phantom pursuit of somedays – someday I’ll exercise more, shun Oreos, be kinder in the grocery line, or maybe even volunteer in the church nursery.

Someday, I will pray more.

Living saints don’t wear halos.  Ain’t nobody got time for that.  They are not specially venerated people, nor idealized, nor perfect.

We are all saints.  God calls us all to be faithful to Him.

Consistent prayer builds that kind of faithfulness into our lives.  Praying doesn’t change us.  God changes us through praying.  I cannot change others nor circumstances, but I can pray all I want.  Not a skill.  Not even an acquired taste.  Not a special gift.  But an intentional abiding in Him.

No secret formula.  If we want to pray more, pray more.

To You, O LORD, I call.  Joel 1. 19

We underestimate how God calls us to pray for others and the impact of prayer on someone’s life.  The laws of darkness are suspended.  Prayer creates the spaces to heal and grow.  Prayer underlines the hope on which we stake our lives.  Even in the process of praying, no matter what or who we are praying for, we are saying in so many words:  I know Who You are.

All through the Scriptures, God appointed unexpected people for His phenomenal purposes.  No halo necessary.  No excuses.

We too are those unexpected people God appoints.  To us, He still promises, “I am with you.”

Which is what Christmas means:  Immanuel, God with us. 

We can trust God, not for circumstances, nor for a particular outcome.  But trust God, in each and every instance –the hardships, the sufferings, even in the I-don’t-get-this, God.

Examine the lives of the godly people you have known.  Neither halos nor capes are found in their closets.  Prayer is not a casual option to them.  To know them is to know praying is an active verb.  Prayer is woven seamlessly and intentionally into their words, actions, and attitudes.  And with each day, God’s promise “I am with you” is engraved ever deeper into their hearts.

Christmas was not just the arrival of a child, but the fulfillment of God’s promises for a Redeemer, prophesied for hundreds and hundreds of years. 

Christmas is still not an event, but a reminder:  God is with us.

Keeping that in mind, may God help us to pray with the profound truth of His Presence in our hearts.  No halos necessary.

Mary, What You Gonna Name That Baby

When I was growing up, I often curled up on the well-worn chaise lounge in my grandmother’s small bedroom in our house.  To any visitor coming through the front door, the room was hardly noticeable, hiding next to the front hall closet crammed with coats and boots.  It was her bedroom, but it was also my refuge. 

I spent many hours there, mostly as she sewed, altering and patching together the unusable into something beautiful once again.  Our conversations largely followed a recurring litany of question and response.  That's how I learned from her.  She did not always have a way to explain the mysteries of God—the “whys” of this life – but I can remember her telling me so many decades ago, “Well sometimes, darling, you just have to trust God.”

She had eighty years of experience trusting God through deaths, life and struggles as a widow, a single mom, through the Great Depression, two world wars, fifty years of hobbling with rheumatoid arthritis, and the mysteries of the divine she could not comprehend.  But she could pray and she could trust God.    
When Mary was visited by the angel, she also did not fully understand what was going on, nor what was to come.  There was immense grace in that. There always is.  But what she could comprehend was that she had to trust God in this.

Her response was to pray as recorded in Luke 1. 46-55.  It is traditionally called the Magnificat, Mary’s song of praise, now sung in church services of many denominations or as a liturgy in vespers.

Magnificat comes from the first line, “My soul magnifies the Lord.”   Not how most of us would have responded to an angel with such news.  Mary did not reply with “What in the world am I going to do?”  But immediately verbalized who God is, what He is like, and why she can trust Him.  She described how great God is – even before she saw the outcome.  Somehow she surmised this was more than “you’re going to have a baby.” And what you gonna name Him.

Judging by her immediate lyrical response, she had prayed like this before.  Not in lofty eloquent words, but in the every days, the moments significant and insignificant seamlessly attached to each other, learning bit by bit, prayer by prayer, not moved by emotions, but recognizing the reality of knowing and trusting God.

For He who is mighty has done great things for me,
                    And holy is His name.

This young girl pushed back the darkness by praying and praising the God she loved and who loved her.  She described Who God is, not just in adjectives but nouns.  He is strength.  He is mercy.  He is Savior.  That baby already had a name.

How we trust God impacts how we approach the mysteries, the really hard stuff, even the joys.  What if we saw God like that, what if we prayed like that, what if we recognized His Presence in our circumstances like that?  Even in what is before us today.  Even in what is yet to come.

What if we sang out loud His glory like that?

Mary didn’t just spontaneously make up a song to pump up her courage.  She sang this prayer over her situation. 

Mary was not just a special person, as pastor Matt said last Sunday. But she was “a girl who said Yes to God.“  Mary was different because she was faithful, not strong on her own, but held by the One who is.

I can never remember my grandmother singing.  But oh, how she could pray.  She knew she could trust God.  In all those struggles she didn’t understand, she prayed.  Praying even when she couldn’t put adequate words to it.

But Mary did.

My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for He has looked on the humble estate of His servant.
For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed,
for He who is mighty has done great things for me,
and holy is His name.
And His mercy is for those who fear Him
                from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with His arm,
He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts,
He has brought down the mighty from their thrones.
       and exalted those of humble estate,
He has filled the hungry with good things,
       and the rich He has sent away empty.
He has helped His servant Israel
             in remembrance of His mercy,
as He spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his offspring forever.