The Other Christmas List

 

 

The Christmas decorations will soon be tucked away to sleep in cozy attic boxes until next December.  We are now consuming the last of the goodies on the counter, auctioning off the remaining slivers of pie, rationing slices of southern caramel cake, and grazing through an isolated box of Trader Joe's gingerbread cookies discovered way back in the pantry.

But tacked to the cabinet doors are still all the Christmas cards, the greetings, the smiling faces of family members we rarely get to see and friends who linger from so many stages of our lives, so many locations, and embedded in so many memories.

Those images comprise my other Christmas list.  Because I know far deeper than those smiling faces are often wounded hearts and difficult situations of which I may never be aware. But God knows.  And He has placed these people in my life for His purposes. They have been a blessing to our family in one way or another and a measure of God's grace to us.  Their pictures remind me to pray for them. 

I will eventually take down the greetings from the cabinet doors, but I will not soon discard the cards.  God calls us to pray for each other into the new year.  There are not many things we can do for those who live so far away, but we can always pray.  And that is never out of season.

 

I thank my God always

when I remember you

in my prayers.

        Philemon 1.4

The Red Scarf of Courage

 

In Esther Averill’s classic children’s stories, The Cat Club, old Captain Tinker knit a bright red scarf for his tiny shy black cat named Jenny Linsky.  “How brave she felt when she was wearing it,” she discovered in the very first chapter.

All through the series of books, shy Jenny Linsky pops up in the illustrations, quick to spot by the red scarf she wears into her predicaments and adventures.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our grandchildren call it “the red scarf of courage,” for all those times when we need a little bravery in awkward, unknown, or a little bit overwhelming situations.  We all recognize that the scarf itself does not lend any kind of special strength or fortitude, but it is a reminder that we do not walk in this world alone. God is with us.  We all need a little bit of courage from time to time.

As we encounter the hard stuff of life, that proverbial red woolen scarf is a reminder to pray His strength over ours. 

A red scarf is not like a cape that turns us into any kind of superhero, nor provide for us any kind of special powers, but draws our attention to walk with the Almighty.  It reminds us to pray for God’s courage.  But it also reminds us to pray a “red scarf” for others.  I may not be able to help, nor alter a situation, but I can always pray God’s encouragement for those around me.

May God make us aware not just of our own need for Him, but realizing that the bravest thing we can often do is to give that red scarf of courage to someone else, even before we realize how much they need it.  Encouragement is never an unwanted gift. It is most often a surprise.  And always a needed bit of God's strength, far more than we know.

Courage is one of God's gifts to us to navigate this broken and often scary world.  Throughout Scripture, God reminds us over and over again:  Be strong and courageous.  Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.  Joshua 1. 9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wear your red scarf of courage today.  Like shy little Jenny Linsky, it changes what we do and how we do it. It is a tangible reminder that God says I am with you.  And to let others know the same.

Give red scarves this Christmas.  Lots of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Own Little Corner to Paint

The last exterior brick was laid into place, floors finished, interior walls covered and decorated.  But the ceiling still needed to be painted.  No one wanted to deal with that.  "I've got a friend who's a painter," perhaps one of the workmen said. "Maybe he'll do it.  Can't be more than a couple of days' work. He's a young guy.  He could probably use the money."

At first, the painter was reluctant.  It would keep him from another project he wanted to start.  But he finally agreed.  I mean, the ceiling.  How can you mess that up?  Who is even going to notice?

But he approached the job, not as a ceiling to be covered up in paint, but as a canvas.  Not as a painter, but as an artist.  He visualized something more and began to paint.

When he was just 33 years old, in the year 1508, Michelangelo was approached not to paint the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican, but its ceiling, of all places.  He was reluctant to do it.  He considered himself a sculptor, not a painter.  But despite his reservations, he accepted the commission and painted, mostly flat on his back for hours on end, for four years, until its completion.  He did not just paint. He poured out his passion on that ceiling which became not just a backdrop to a beautiful place of worship, but the focal point.

When he painted, did he find himself each day a little better painter?  Did the very act of painting not just increase his skill but reveal even more how to follow God into it?  Sometimes I am sure, sixteen hours would pass, deep in what he was doing with a brush.  Some days perhaps unsure even how to bring into being a simple image, but each day obedient to the task, and a little further along.

If we wait to be fully inspired, we will rot.  

Some days we just paint, or run, or write, or be faithful with the laundry, knowing that God is even in this.  Faithfulness sticks with it, when we think it doesn't matter or that no one will ever see it.  That's what faithfulness does.

We can't see the significance because it is so much bigger than us.  Whether mopping a floor, making a presentation before thousands, or taking a math test, His hand is upon us with the same intensity, no gap between the finite and the infinite.

Even when it appears that our work evaporates into thin air, God redeems.  That's one of His specialties.  God will not just use us. He is using us.  And there is tomorrow, and the next day, only to know from whence the manifestation comes, and His faithfulness revealed.  It takes time for the images to come to the surface and into view. 

Quiet work on ordinary days is never stagnant, but launched into eternity.   It is not about exhibiting a finished work, but an ongoing masterpiece of God's own doing.  It takes more than just us to complete what only God can do.

Even Michelangelo had no idea his work would last, or matter, or even be noticed way up there on that ceiling, 68 feet up in the air.  He just did it.  Inch by inch, he painted scenes and stories of the Old Testament on a canvas that measured 134 feet by 44 feet -- all 5896 square feet-- not just a pretty fresco, but the Word of God in pictures that generations could "read" and know that He is God.

So what am I doing today?  How can I be faithful today?  God grants each of us a little corner to paint, sometimes just one color at a time with a tiny skinny brush.  One layer of paint and then another. Today it may be an overlooked angle under the eaves, yet we are assured there are no remote corners in His Kingdom.  Even in our most ordinary days, every action and word are profoundly significant and cumulative.

Faithfulness is not the feverish pitch, but the long days, sticking with it, with often nothing to show for it.  God does not see a difference in those seemingly nothing days than in what we see as extraordinary ones.  Who is to say that these ordinary days may not be after all even more significant?  God multiplies our own deeds, even the simplest brushstrokes in a million spectacular ways.

We cannot grasp the enormity of God.  We are not up to the task.  But we can trust Him.

Am I unknowingly painting a Sistine Chapel today?  Doesn't matter.  But am I approaching my work, my relationships, my days as if I am?  To bring His beauty and grace here, and write His name all over it.

"If it falls to your lot to be a street sweeper, sweep the streets like Michelangelo painted pictures, like Shakespeare wrote poetry, like Beethoven composed music. Sweep the streets so well that all the host of Heaven and earth will have to pause and say, “Here lived a great street sweeper, who swept his job well.”   --Martin Luther King Jr.

Only fear the LORD and serve Him faithfully with all your heart.  For consider what great things He has done for you.  1 Samuel 12. 24  And consider what inconceivable things He is doing through us.

Even today.  Even in this.

 

A Liturgy For AFTER I Do Something Stupid

 

O LORD,

I really messed up big time.  Again.

I have made some incredibly stupid mistakes,

  in many shapes and sizes,

that have hurt others and myself.

          I am so grateful that You forgive.

When I mess up, You say yet again,

                             “Come to Me.”

And I realize in those harrowing moments,

          I am seen, I am heard,

                          and I am loved by You.

            Even now.  Even in this mess.

I was paying attention,

       but not to what was immediate and needful,

       not hearkening to Your voice, Your nudges,

                          nor to common sense.

How often I desire to play the hero,

               “Oh, I can do that. No problem!”

      --the battle cry that never ends up well.

     I end up playing the fool instead.

      And leave behind a lot of broken pieces

                    on the side of the road.

I run with false confidence,

                     until I fly off the back of the treadmill.

I should know better when I think that small choices don’t matter,

                because they always do.

I do stupid things yet another time.

               And You still forgive.

 You don’t mean for me to get stuck in my shortcomings

                              or swallowed up by layers of guilt.

                      That’s what anxiety does.

                                          But You don’t leave me there.

 Doing something stupid

                      is just part of who I am.

Forgiving is all about who You are.

I cannot unwind or rewind,

                          but You redeem.

“What have I done?” is not a statement of condemnation,

                       but the first step of repentance.

Realizing my shortcomings does not defeat me,

      but unfolds my all-too-obvious need for You.

You are the God who knows.

I don’t often see an act of stupidity coming,

                                      but You do.

I am not aware of the potholes, the cliff, the impending crisis,

          because I am pondering something else,

                             daydreaming perhaps,

               wanting to be in control,

                                    or have a better idea,

               snagged by a distraction of minor proportions,

                        in what seems urgent at the time.

I behave as if I have a personal waiver –

               that the laws of gravity or foolishness don’t pertain to me,

             or I don’t have to read the instructions,

                          think about the obvious outcomes,

                               who might get hurt,

                               what abyss I am hurtling into.

You know my shortcomings.

                 That’s why You invented forgiveness

                 and cover me with Your grace.

I fall literally flat on my face,

                          and You lift me up.

             You take my hand, and say, “Follow Me.”

Help me know that being faithful to You

       is not just one thing among many,

                                            but the one thing.

Empower me, Almighty One, not to dwell on my imperfections,

              but to set my mind and heart on You,

mindful of my actions and words,

                                              forgiven and faithful.

Amen.

Help! I need somebody

 

Help is the most basic of words, found in every language and in every human heart, from the cry of a baby to the lonesome cry of every age, a calling out to one another, a prayer to God Himself. It is a realization of our need. We are not in control.  We cannot do this life, this day, this moment alone. 

God wired us for relationship.  It is part of who we are.  Our needs connect us with each other and draw us to Him.  God never intended for us to do this life alone.  And in this broken world, we cannot.  We all know that deep inside.  In the silence of our hearts, we whisper, “Help me.”

In his new book, How Far To The Promised Land:  One Black Family’s Story of Hope and Survival in the American South, Esau McCaulley unfolds his personal narrative as he navigated a childhood of extreme poverty, the absence of a drug addicted father, and the faithfulness of his mother struggling to raise four children on her own.

Esau asks, “Where was God when I was a child in need of His protection?”

Now as a father of four, possessor of multiple academic degrees, author, professor of New Testament at Wheaton College and New York Times columnist, Esau wrote this book to acknowledge that he just didn’t “make it” on his own.  Even in his pain and suffering, he was not alone.  “My grasp of that significance begins with experiences of God as a child, on my knees in front of my twin bed, hands clasped and eyes shut tight in prayer, repeating the simplest of prayers: “Help.”

God saw him.  God heard that little voice.  God loved him.  “In those prayers, God came to me not with logical explanations of the problem of evil but with His presence.  When I prayed, a sensation of warmth that began in my chest moved throughout my body.  The room seemed less empty.  The lack of speedy deliverance frustrated and perplexed me, but I never doubted my experiences of God.  It was how I survived.”

Esau learned to pray as a child.  He knew he needed help.  He knew he needed God.  Praying carried him through.  He learned to pray by praying.

Praying is not meant as a ritual, a bedtime singsong ending to the day, even as a proverbial 911 call, but the deepening of a relationship with God.  A time of talking, a time of listening, a time of realizing we are loved.

Tim Keller once pointed out:  “God is not like a chess player casually moving us pawns around on a board.  Nor is it usually clear until years later, if ever in this life, what good God was accomplishing in the difficulties we suffered.”

But sometimes God gives us a glimpse. 

And praying gets us there.  Praying does not just put our concerns and troubles in God’s hands.  God spreads out our prayers that others will be impacted as well, not like displaying the evidence of God, but His Presence.  “I am with you.”  Praying is an act of trusting God, even in this.

“Dark and appalling are the clouds of war and wickedness and we know not where to turn, but, Lord God, You reign” wrote Oswald Chambers in the throes and atrocities of World War 1.  That assurance is the outcome of crying, “Help.”  As with Esau, the empty room is no longer so empty, our words are heard, we are not alone.  Praying helps us to realize that.

When we pray, when we turn to God, we see things differently, we make different choices, we go forth with a strength that is not our own, into the familiar and even into what we cannot yet know.  God changes our hearts through prayer.  Our cry for help makes us sensitive to His provision, His leading, His way in this situation.

A few weeks ago, I lost a simple necklace.  I did not know where, but the possibilities included the sanctuary at church and the vast square footage of our local Costco.   We were spending the afternoon with some of our grandkids.  “Let’s pray that God will help us to show us where it is,” I suggested to the kids.  I have seen too much not to pray, even about the little things. 

I did not know if we prayed that we would find it.  But I did know, we just needed to pray.

Later, on our way to take the grandkids home, I asked my husband to stop at the church parking lot, now shrouded by the shadows of huge trees in the darkness.  “Perhaps it fell off when I got out of the car,” I said.  He pulled up where we had parked that morning.  I used the little flashlight on my phone to trace my steps from the car to the entrance of the church.  I was almost ready to return to the car emptyhanded, but at least I had tried, when our seven-year-old grandson joined me.  Together we looked carefully on the paver stone steps, across the patio, just ten feet left, crossing a long crack in the concrete now covered with colorful autumn leaves.  And suddenly, George cried out, “Gramma, there it is.”  Nestled in the leaves was the slightest glimmer of a thin gold strand.

Even at that moment, I realized this wasn’t about finding an old necklace in the leaves at all.  But knowing God’s presence.  God did not just hear our prayers, but guided our steps. George knew we had prayed about it.  We asked for help.  And God revealed Himself.

I think about Esau as a little boy.  And how he knew even as he prayed, despite the chaos and uncertainty in his daily life, God was with him, even against the odds.  That little voice asking for help sent out reverberations throughout his life, both then and now, like a shield over him and God’s presence within.  And as he said in the book, God carried him through.

Prayer is always against the odds.  God opens doors we cannot even imagine.

Pray through the circumstances.  Pray past the ending.  This story is not finished yet. We have all of eternity for God to unfold His grand narrative.  We may not know the outcome, but God gives us the power to stand.

What happens if we pray?

What happens when we pray?

 

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