Keep Battling

I’m sitting here on a Wednesday night watching my Washington Nationals play baseball. It’s September and every game counts in the much heated run to play in the post season. Relatively new as a baseball spectator I have spent this low scoring game yelling at the screen and criticizing the players I call my own. “Why is no one hitting?” “They just don’t want to win! They aren’t giving it their all!” I am after all looking for the showy stuff; all homeruns and double plays. As I listen to the commentators, a/k/a people who know what they’re talking about, the game takes on a whole new dimension. They explain subtleties of gamesmanship that are completely lost on me: players covering other positions to make clutch plays; a stolen base – successful because the player knew what pitch to run on; a sacrifice fly allowing the go-ahead run to score. I also see the Coach who, by the way, is not panicking or screaming, but calmly talking to his players; giving instruction, making adjustments, providing encouragement.

It is then a pattern emerges. When I look at the game we’re all in, everything seems to be going wrong. It’s chaos. But if I’m paying attention I see God there, being the Coach. He is talking to His players, encouraging us, making adjustments and substitutions, etc. And sometimes there are commentators, explaining the rule book and clueing me in to complexities I would otherwise miss.

A simplified picture to be sure. There are many more comparisons to make and I know I will continue to ruminate: about relief pitchers and closers and people who are built to be catchers or short stops. For now though, this is enough. I am reassured that God is there overseeing everything and He really does have a handle on what’s going on so I can relax. And unlike the game I watched tonight, I am confident that the winner in this crucial match has already been decided. Wherever I fall short (and I do), when I drop the ball (and I will), I’ve got a ringer named Jesus who takes up the slack. Amen to that. My job is to keep battling. When I fall down, I need to get up, dust myself off and get ready for the next play – and whenever possible, assist the other players. This is, after all, a team sport.

Moldy But Goody

I discovered something yesterday, completely by accident, if you believe in such things. Fortunately for you blog readers, I do not. I see everything through the eyes of a lesson, that’s just the way my lenses are crafted. I was sitting in my living room preparing to review this past year’s small group materials. I picked up my woven bag which was sitting next to an accordion file leaned up against my bookcase when, lo and behold, as the pile was removed I was confronted by a nasty smell and an outbreak of mold! It was a wholly unpleasant discovery for several reasons; first the smell, as I mentioned; second that everything touching the mold was soppy and ruined (not to mention utterly gross!); and finally, I knew there were limitations to my ability to thoroughly clean it up. I was immediately overwhelmed and the thought briefly crossed my mind to just leave it there -- throw a towel over it and be done. I didn’t do this of course as the consequences of that choice were far more unpleasant than putting forth whatever effort I could muster to get rid of it. And so I began, donning gloves (the fact that it was toxic and we’d all be dead soon crossing my melodramatic mind), throwing away infected articles, using a magic eraser on the thick layer of mold covering the bookcase and finally spraying Tilex on the wall and carpet hoping to kill active spores and prevent regrowth. That was what was within my power to do. But guess what, permanent damage remains in the form of a huge area of discolored carpet and a ruined bookcase. The solution to these problems: a carpet cleaner and a new piece of furniture. In other words, I need outside help. I need a professional for the rug and a group of friends to assemble the furniture and transfer belongings.

As my metaphorically-trained mind began to reflect on this scenario I saw a very timely, relevant truth forming. I have recently discovered a festering, mold covered area, within. God has removed the things leaning up against it and there it stands nakedly obvious presenting me with two choices. I can throw a rag over it, cover it back up and ignore it, or I can expose it and clean it up. While covering it up saves work now and what is a sure to be a painful excising, leaving the bacteria not dealt with will only bring about more damage, more destruction and a far more painful -- and certainly unmanageable -- predicament once the condition reveals itself for all to see (inevitable, by the way). The better choice? Open that sucker up! Expose it to the light and the air. Discard the damaged and destroyed parts, clean out as much of the “infection” as you can and allow God access to take care of the rest. Translation: EXERCISE HUMILITY! Stop doing whatever is causing the problem; confess whatever needs confessing; forgive and throw out whatever grudges or grievances have formed; and/or repair whatever relationships have been damaged – starting first with your best friend, greatest advocate and Savior. After that ask the great carpet cleaner in the sky to hose you down and kill off whatever remains. God’s healing will also, almost without exception, include the body of believers.

So there you have it: God’s lesson to me through mold.

Psalm 90:8 (NIV):  You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence.

 

Micah 7:8(b)-9 [or thereabouts] (The Message):  I'm down, but I'm not out.  I'm sitting in the dark right now, but God is my light.  I can take God's punishing rage.  I deserve it—I sinned.  But it's not forever. He's on my side and is going to get me out of this [!!!].  He'll turn on the lights and show me his ways.   I'll see the whole picture and how right he is.

 

Acts 26:18 (CEV):  I want you to open their eyes, so that they will turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God. Then their sins will be forgiven, and by faith in me [Jesus] they will become part of God’s holy people.

 

1 John 1:7 (NIV):  But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

[Disclaimer: This was one of my first attempts - 2006. It shows. :) More importantly, it is about as brief an overview on this topic as is possible. Still it made me smile so I thought I'd post. So there. Ok, disclamers over.]

“Love guaranteed!” “Meet someone that will take your breath away!” “Have someone catch your heart!” “Find the love of your life!” Or the less sensational – “find your next love.” I find myself constantly wading through the heap of them; overflowing my e-mail inbox, assaulting me through tv ads, flyers slid in my door or under my windshield wiper – I have even seen signs on street corners appealing to my need for it, tempting me with what could be if I simply call. The promises of love - so enticing. Could it be true? Love? Life-changing, all-consuming, soul-filling love?

All of us have an innate need to be loved. So often we place our value on how loved we feel we are. Whether we are married, single, dating, living in a cave – we all internally ask the question, am I lovable? Is there someone I can count on to always love me? Unfortunately, all too often, we find ourselves and our love lives lacking. Even those in committed relationships find themselves disillusioned. Still asking the question - what is it really - this elusive thing called love.

And so I embarked. Curious, completely unsatisfied with the definition I had received up to this point. Romance, candlelit dinners and diamonds surely cannot be the extent of it. What’s to be for those of us still single - bupkis? Gooey love songs, pledges of endless devotion made by actors in Hollywood movies. I decided to go to the source. I had to believe the God who created not only love but our unquenchable desire for it, would have something to say. What I found was so very different. Love is not a feeling. Love is an action. Love is sacrifice and commitment, faithfulness and, yes, quite often pain. Is love ever combined with that warm, fuzzy feeling? Of course it is. Countless times during my quest I have sat brimming with tears or stunned to silence at the power and presence of God’s love; soaking in it like a most luxurious bath, immersed wholly in its warmth and perfection. But is that a necessary component to experiencing love? Not by a long shot. Love is getting out of bed at 3 am to talk a friend through an anxious night. Love is someone dropping everything to come and pick you up when your car leaves you stranded. Love is risking the rejection of someone dear to share a difficult truth. Love is opening yourself up to judgment and ridicule to share the gospel or stand on God’s word. As I digested all of the ways real love is so much deeper than the presence of a feeling, I heard God’s still soft voice whisper -

Love, dear heart, is death on a cross.

1 John 3:16 (NIV) - This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.

Packaging or Contents?

There's something I've noticed about living in America. We are obsessed with our appearance. I know this will not make CNN as new news, however, I have been struck recently with just how much of our energy is devoted to this pursuit (a preoccupation most of us will swear on a stack of catalogs we don't have).

We have closets full of clothes that we choose because they flatter our shape. We have “slimming” garments that pinch and bind so much that were we to put them on an animal we’d be brought up on charges by the ASPCA. We are fanatics about our hair and get it colored, styled, cut, straightened, curled, shellacked, etc. Travel ten feet and you can’t help but run headfirst into a day spa, where we get manicures and pedicures, facials, peels, injections and a host of things I don’t even understand. We wax, wage war on our cellulite, spend thousands of dollars on crèmes and potions, and hire gypsies to curse the day the little crows started roosting in the corners of our eyes. Even with my limited energy, rarely is the day I don’t get makeup on and comely attire pulled together before I go to work or to an event. Plastic surgery is at an all-time high; as is liposuction, fad dieting, and the list goes on and on. So engrossed are we in the packaging, it’s remarkable we don’t witness people regularly dining on cardboard ice cream containers or chewing on kit kat wrappers.

This post is not to condemn any of the things I’ve listed (well, plastic surgery, maybe). Wax and peel to your heart’s content. Apply crèmes until your skin resembles a baby’s touché. My point is this. We spend so much time preening and perfecting our outside; how much time is spent decorating and cultivating the inside?

I have some thoughts on the matter. (I know, that’s so unlike me, right?) We don’t want to give a sideways glance to our insides for several reasons, the most important being we don’t like what we see. Stop and look at your heart, what lies in there? When I look at mine – and am honest – I see all sorts of ugly little creatures; I see pettiness and jealousy, arrogance, self-righteousness, vanity, envy, anger, malicious intent and self-promotion – just to name a few. Whew that’s a mouthful. And I know I am not alone. All of us – again be honest with yourself – are prone to these qualities. Truthfully, there are millions of people more devoted to good causes than I am; organizations brimming with those dedicated to the good of others – and still, if you could inject them with truth serum, I’m sure they would proclaim the same bag of snapping turtles as me. Before you bellow, I am not promoting self-flagellation; simply taking truthful stock of what lies beneath. And so we go back to the surface; how much easier and less unsettling it is to overhaul the outside than the inner man. Slap another coat of shellac, put up new curtains; thicker ones so no one can see inside, least of all us.

Matthew 23:25-26 details what Jesus said about this very thing to the religious leaders of his day:

25Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. 26Blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and dish, and then the outside also will be clean.

It just doesn’t get much clearer than that. Jesus is not impressed in the least with the outwardly show. He gets straight to it. How many of us cringe when we read this passage because we know our tendency is to do the same. I am wired no differently than a Pharisee. He goes on:

27Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. 28In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.

Ouch!

So, the dilemma becomes, if all of us have this proclivity, what then is the anti-proclivity? I believe there is only one way to quiet the goblins of the dark side. The forgiveness and blood sacrifice of Jesus Christ. But there’s a catch (yeah, isn’t there always?) To take away the power of these pesky weaknesses, we must believe we are no longer condemned by them. That’s right – the catch is BELIEF! Romans 8:1 states, “1Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus . . . .” What? That’s it? I don’t get it. Well, here is the Message version of verses 1 and 2 which I think help make it plain as day.

1-2With the arrival of Jesus, the Messiah, that fateful dilemma is resolved. Those who enter into Christ's being-here-for-us no longer have to live under a continuous, low-lying black cloud. A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death.

That’s what allows me to look inside and not turn away. I am accepted wholly by the one who died for me. I am free! Free to change, to examine, to atone and very importantly, to move on!

So the next time you find yourself obsessing about your appearance, see it as a red flag and ask yourself why. Go ahead, I double dog dare you! In the meantime, take a cue from the one that formed you.

1 Samuel 16:7 (NIV) But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.”

John 8:36 (NIV) So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.

John 8:34-36 (The Message) Jesus said, "I tell you most solemnly that anyone who chooses a life of sin is trapped in a dead-end life and is, in fact, a slave. A slave is a transient, who can't come and go at will. The Son, though, has an established position, the run of the house. So if the Son sets you free, you are free through and through.

Make Sure To Run Your Race

I have become totally enamored with the movie Secretariat. The telling of the horse that won the Triple Crown in 1973; a feat not accomplished since 1948. On top of that, said Equus Caballus still has the standing records for two of those wins, the Kentucky Derby and the Belmont Stakes, historically winning said Belmont by an unprecedented 31 lengths! Not to be unenthusiastic, but many would say so what? Cool horse, nice story, great athlete or some such musings.

First, I set about to confirm some interesting observations which lead to furious digging into newspaper articles and background information. As I should have expected Hollywood scriptwriters liberally rewrote the timeline and performed their customary massaging of the facts into a seamless fairy tale. At first this really bothered me, but I wanted to continue. So plowing through movie magic dust, I looked to the wisdom of God. The more the story rolled around in my brain, the more I saw a bigger truth, and this one infinitely more worthy. Yes, Hollywood has the luxury of painting its picture in smooth, colorful brush strokes where good triumphs and people are caricatures of themselves. But life isn't like that is it? It's splotchy with big, ugly blobs of paint thrown on and so many splattered colors it becomes mottled and messy with giant black smudges and huge chubby-fingered smears. I'm sure to the naked eye it clearly depicts the strokes of a near-sighted two year old (and at moments a psychotic blind man). Replacing the picturesque and serenely victorious are failures, bad choices, awful judgment, vain pursuits, lack of movement -- a colossal jumble -- but no less triumphant; in truth, more. Greatness is achieved in the midst of the mundane and victory strides on the track of tediousness. So despite the detail manipulation, every word in my opening paragraph is true.

Life is broken and gritty and miracles can still happen.

What set these people apart? What allowed them to share in this extraordinary spectacle? Several things come to mind. Every single partaker in this horse's legendary feats was quite simply carrying out their lives with authenticity. Penny was the right owner seeing this horse’s potential and refusing to yield to pressures to sell. Eddie was the best horse companion and groomer. Lucien was the perfect trainer, Ms. Ham, the loyal family secretary and confidante. Ronnie Turcotte the right jockey. Every one of them being the best that they could be at what they were created and gifted to do. They also demonstrated great commitment and fortitude. No matter how bleak the circumstances appeared, they did not abandon their quest. Lastly, they did not abandon each other - another rousing thumbs up concerning the importance of being in community.

How many times did doubt and despair threaten to overcome our bold owner Mrs. Tweedy? How many times was her marriage on the brink of divorce? How close had Lucien come to retiring before Secretariat? And because I am biased, how many times did Ms. Ham wonder how her life had impact - an unmarried secretary? All is purely speculation I know, but reality dictates there were probably more hopeless moments then this telling reveals. And to that I say AMEN!

I have hopeless moments. Despair surely knows my address and I go to bed countless nights wondering if I did, or ever will, use my God-given giftedness to count for something. None of that, though, bans me from the miracle, if I just hold on and trust in an Almighty God whose brush strokes create the ultimte masterpiece from our finger painting.

Ephesians 2:10 (NIV): For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.

Isaiah 64:4 (NIV): Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who acts on behalf of those who wait for him.

Join me in singing, won’t you?

Oh happy day (oh happy day)
Oh happy day (oh happy day)
When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed)
When Jesus washed (when Jesus washed)
When my Jesus washed (when Jesus washed)
He washed my sins away!

He taught me how (oh, He taught me how)
To wash (to wash, to wash)
Fight and pray (to fight and pray)
Fight and pray
And he taught me how to live rejoicing
yes, He did (and live rejoicing)
Oh yeah, every, every day (every, every day)
(oh yeah) Every day!

I have reprinted an excerpt from a letter Penny Tweedy’s youngest son, John, wrote commenting on the movie:

"The movie does, indeed, glamorize and improve on my family's situation in the early 1970s, as it sanitizes the cultural context of that era. In real life, we Tweedys were more riven and frayed by the large and small conflicts of the time, and by the pressures of celebrity into which we were suddenly thrust. The wars between our parents were more bitter, the marriage more broken, and we kids were more alienated and countercultural than the movie depicts . . . . And on that day in June 1973, when he [Secretariat] blew away the field in the Belmont Stakes, he transcended argument, rivalry, even transcended sport itself. In that moment Secretariat gave my family, and gave the public, something like grace." [My personal comment – something exactly like grace!]

Here kitty, kitty. Niiiiiice kitty.

I have recently acquired another cat. The whys and wherefores of my choice are boggling to the mind considering the fact that I am moderately to severely disabled with m.s. Maybe I was a quart low on chaos. This is not a kitten. She is a 14-year old, one-eyed cat who has had only one owner since a fluffball and lived in the same house. She's lovely and was in desperate need of a good home, and since kitties come here to be spoiled, it seemed the reasonable choice. I want to love and help her, she needs love and help.

It's been about a week now and at first things seemed to be rolling right along. She and my cat hissed a little, but nothing major and I started to feel fairly positive about the whole situation. And then . . . I came home one night this week, walked in the room and began the new ritual with the new houseguest – I bring the food, she comes out for dinner and a pet, when . . . WHAMMO – ATTACK CAT came out to play and I found that my hand had become the main course. I don't know if I rushed things with trying to integrate living spaces, or if the desperation had worn off my new charge and the fear of the unknown had settled in, but something went haywire. Contemplating the situation (as I cried and soaked my hand in hydrogen peroxide), I started to think about the picture as a whole. Here was this little fuzzy thing that had spent her entire life with one person. She had a home she knew, a territory that smelled like her and nothing was a surprise or presented any fear given her limited sight. Now here she is where NOTHING is familiar; new house, new caretaker, new sibling (that hisses and growls her welcome), new smells, news food, new litter accommodations, new, new, new, new! I can only imagine that she is terrified. Terrified and defensive and suspicious; about me, about everything.

It was then I started seeing the parallels in my relationship with God. My health seems to be deteriorating at a very rapid rate. I'm losing abilities right and left; even the simplest of chores is fading into the background; a severely diminished social calendar. A hazy, not altogether pleasant future looming ahead and I, like kitty, am terrified, defensive and suspicious. I began recollecting how many times I have bitten the hand of God recently. He is the bringer of my sustenance, my caretaker; in fact my very survival depends on Him. And yet, when I let the fear of the future, the “why me” self-pity, or the jealousy and often anger that lurks just beneath the surface directed at everyone who can do what I can't, I snap and lay it all on God – biting and scratching, kicking and screaming. “Why won't you help me?” “How can you say you love me and watch me struggle like this?” “Why won't you rescue me?” I'M SCARED!

I know with kitty it will take time. I have to prove to her I am trustworthy. I am sure I'm not much different. I stopped to consider the massive collection of times God and the love of Jesus Christ has proven they are trustworthy. My provision is whole and complete. I live in a lovely place, have the support of amazing people, have a job where they like me and I like them – a steady paycheck being a huge blessing alone in today's economy. I have health insurance, and the list goes on and on. God is present. God is living up to His promises every moment of every day. He is here with me. Whether I need guidance, protection, comfort, friendship, unconditional love, forgiveness, grace. He offers them all and more with overflowing hands.
My responsibility is to constantly remind myself of that truth through His word and His actions, so that when the waves of change and difficulty come I am filled with confidence and praise instead of fear and distrust.

Genesis 28:15 (NIV): "I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you."

Isaiah 41:10 (NIV): "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Jeremiah 1:8 (NIV): "Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you and will rescue you," declares the LORD.

The trouble with Uzzah

For a long time now I have had difficulty reading the story of Uzzah. In practice, I have actually started skipping over this text. I figured I could ignore it and stick with the parts of the bible I like. The thing is, God didn't give me his word to make me comfortable, He gave it to me for instruction, and so has seen fit to lead me right back to the passage. I believe for two reasons. One, to understand what it has to teach me about God's character, and two, to get to the root of my distaste. For those of you not familiar with Uzzah, let's travel back to the 2nd book of Samuel, chapter 6, starting with verse 3.

(3) They set the ark of God on a new cart and brought it from the house of Abinadab, which was on the hill. Uzzah and Ahio, sons of Abinadab, were guiding the new cart (4) with the ark of God on it, and Ahio was walking in front of it. (5) David and the whole house of Israel were celebrating with all their might before the LORD, with songs and with harps, lyres, tambourines, sistrums and cymbals. (6) When they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, Uzzah reached out and took hold of the ark of God, because the oxen stumbled. (7) The LORD's anger burned against Uzzah because of his irreverent act; therefore God struck him down and he died there beside the ark of God.

Shazzam! How's that for the final word! Ok, time to dig. Let the burrowing begin!

In an effort to be totally honest, I admit my reaction upon reading the tale of Uzzah is to see a perfect example of a God who can be enormously displeased with me and, at the slightest provocation, choose to wipe me from the map. This, then, leads my mind to conclude that God is capricious, prone to violent mood swings and his favor cannot be trusted. I mean, really! All poor Uzzah was trying to do was save the ark from slipping off the cart into the mud. This begs the question, where is the fault in that? It says Uzzah was irreverent. Irreverent? At this my human mind balks. It seems (at first glance, anyway) that Uzzah was being quite the contrary. That, in honoring God, he could not bear the thought of the ark being tarnished with mud. So here I'm stuck. How do I reconcile this mental picture of an impatient and impulsive God with other passages in the word that clearly share He is slow to anger, abounding in love. Time and time again I read of the grace He extends to his children even when we are clearly wrong.

So what happened here?

Well, that’s a good question. In an effort to answer it I went back to Numbers to acquaint myself fully with how the ark was made, the specifications, who would care for it, etc. I won’t take the space here to cover all I read but the fact that grabbed me was Uzzah’s heritage. There is some disagreement, however, I believe with the majority, that Uzzah was a Kohathite, a separate branch of Levites (the priests) entrusted solely with the special care of the most holy things. In that context, Uzzah would have been schooled in the proper care of the most holy things from birth. It would be his life's pursuit, and so would have been instructed ad nauseum on every last detail of God’s commandments concerning the ark and its handling. In addition to which God very clearly states that “they shall not touch any holy thing, lest they die.” So here we are. The reasonable conclusion. Uzzah grabbed the ark directly and he died. So why do I get bent out of shape when the precise consequences God has warned will happen, happen?

I let this truth sink in. That first and foremost, God knew Uzzah’s heart from the moment he stepped out of the womb. If God says he was irreverent than he was irreverent. Second, one of the very things I truly need from God is his immutability. I need for the words from his mouth to be unchanging. Not subject to back door promises or bribes. No different set of rules for his favorites. In this world of transience and shifting sands, praise God that he is the immovable rock.

And now for the thoughts that surprised me.

What if in grabbing the ark, Uzzah interfered with God’s opportunity to perform a supernatural act. Now that’s worth pondering. I mean would an all powerful God not have been able to keep his own ark from falling into the mud? Did he really need man to intervene? Of course not! God could have caused the ark to float. Or it could have gone into the mud and then come out without a spot of dirt on it. Or those around might have witnessed angels from heaven holding the ark in mid air. Any number of things could have happened. But one thing would have for sure – God’s supernatural involvement. Well, this leads down a whole new rabbit trail. It got me thinking, what if? What if Moses had thought “Great Scott, the Red Sea! There’s no way around it! We have to get to a boat!" And so upon procuring a boat, the Israelites crossed the sea and went about their business. Weeeeeeeel, that's noteworthy. And what if David had decided to arm himself with an enormous sword instead of tiny little stones and a slingshot. And feeding the five thousand? What if the disciples had called a caterer? Okay, far fetched, but you see where I’m going with this. Every time I think I am helping God accomplish what only God can do I take the “super” right out of the equation. And you know as well as I do - there is nothing eye-catching about ordinary. For it is in the “super”natural that God resides. Every great leap of faith; every time the risky road less traveled was taken; yes, at the end of human ability there is God.

Verses for the Day: Psalm 77:1-14 (NIV)

1 I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me.
2 When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands
and my soul refused to be comforted.
3 I remembered you, O God, and I groaned; I mused, and my spirit grew faint.
4 You kept my eyes from closing; I was too troubled to speak.
5 I thought about the former days, the years of long ago;
6 I remembered my songs in the night. My heart mused and my spirit inquired:
7 "Will the Lord reject forever? Will he never show his favor again?
8 Has his unfailing love vanished forever? Has his promise failed for all time?
9 Has God forgotten to be merciful? Has he in anger withheld his compassion?"
10 Then I thought, "To this I will appeal: the years of the right hand of the Most High."
11 I will remember the deeds of the LORD; yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
12 I will meditate on all your works and consider all your mighty deeds.
13 Your ways, O God, are holy. What god is so great as our God?

14 You are the God who performs miracles; you display your power among the peoples. [Can I get an Amen!]

I feel your pain.

Today's post is not for the fainthearted. It is not polished. It is not tidy. What follows is raw.

It is Saturday. An altogether beautiful Saturday. The first real Saturday of Spring in Washington, DC. It's warm but not too hot. It's mid-afternoon but not too late in the day. It's the kind of day you burst out of your house to do, well - anything, anything at all, because you can't stand being caged in, not for one more minute. It signals the end of the winter (even mild as it was) and for once, in what seems like an eternity, it's not raining.

So what am I doing? What plans do I have to suck the nectar out of this perfectly ripened flower? None. None whatsoever. I cannot, in the immortal words of Jean-Luc Picard, "Engage." I am stuck in my living room, or more accurately, my overstuffed chair. A typical day beginning as most of my days do. Yes, this post finds Verbal Girl "Unplugged." No painkillers - yet. Not rehydrated from a parched night - yet. No food, no shower, no laundry started or mail sorted through or bills paid or filthy carpet vacuumed. Uncomfortable, disagreeable, irritable and overwhelmed at the thought of performing even the simplest of tasks, which task is at this moment -- standing up. Totally preoccupied with my extensive to do list, I invariably start at the beginning, which is the aforementioned - standing up! I hiss a hurried, resentful prayer for the strength I need to accomplish it and as I begin to stand I lose my balance and fall with a thud. On the way down glass-fronted cabinets, coffee table corners and pointy objects swim before my eyes; wondering how much more pain I would be in at the fall's conclusion and would broken bones be included. All ends fine. My slow-motion pitch came to an end with no apparent long-term consequences save the shattering of my resolve. Tears of self pity stream down my face, mental fists flail at God, internally screaming "DAMMIT - WHY WON'T YOU HELP ME?"

And then it comes. For the briefest of moments I suddenly become plugged in to the tear-soaked fabric of all human suffering. Experiencing white hot mental flashes of someone losing a friend to a drug overdose; someone losing their mother too soon from cancer; parents whose baby's premature birth results in the loss of that child; a "terminal" diagnosis; a husband/father/son lost to war or more randomly, to a drunk driver. And a whole different pain: that born from fear and anxiety. I lost my job! How will I feed my family? How will I pay the mortgage? How will we stay afloat? The flood continues. I am overcome by those whose lives are debilitated by the black hole of depression or mental illness, trembling at the thought of making it through another day, paralyzing panic attacks or thoughts of suicide.

Where can we go when the bubble of pain swallows us whole, its wall seemingly impenetrable? What stops hopeless from cleaning us out? Seriously! Is there anything powerful enough - and tangible enough - to get you through the unbearable moments in life? Where do you go when there is no where left to go? Some choose the numb oblivion of escape. My checkered past betrays that choice more times than I care to admit; when even the promise of short-term relief as your wounded heart blares: "Make it stop! Whatever the cost, please make it stop!" pushes you to do (or even contemplate) things you can't admit to yourself, much less a counselor or friend. And the mere whisper of taking it to the feet of the cross sends you shuddering. How can God help me? How can I face Him? What can He possibly do to alleviate this pain?

If it is at this crossroads you find yourself, all I can say is turn to the wounded healer. The more I study the pain of the flesh-covered God, the more I find incredible comfort. Why do I think He can't help me, or scarier still, understand? As I walk through the night before His most awful day, I see Jesus -- Emmanuel -- crying tears of blood in the garden begging His heavenly father for another way back. I see the Son of God/Son of Man who cried without reservation with dear friends who had lost their brother, Lazarus. Not once, but twice, in the relating of this story the scripture says Jesus was "deeply moved." Examining the 11th chapter of John, the focal point appears to be that Jesus came to raise Lazarus from the dead. In fact, it is clear that He purposely waited to come until he knew Lazarus was dead. On the surface that sounds oddly cold. Simply speaking, Jesus had a job to do, a miracle to perform for the amazement of all. But this passage takes time to share with us that Jesus wept. Which begs the question - why? Why on earth should Jesus shed one tear over the passing of this dead-soon-to-be-raised to-life-guy? In countable seconds, Lazarus would rise and walk out of the tomb, brush himself off and say, "dude I'm starving, let's eat" to all gathered. So why? Because his friends were heartbroken and Jesus would never, ever consider minimizing or invalidating someone's pain. To my limited knowledge, there is never a place in Scripture where God tells us to "Suck it up already!" But words of comfort and promises of his presence are plenty.

Allow me to change course for a moment and tell you what prompted this zig-zagged rambling. Philippians 4. Specifically beginning with verse 4: Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! I must confess that many times this very verse has annoyed me. When I am hurting and the imperative comes that I should rejoice in the Lord, I am want to grumble and shrug it off. And then I stop and consider who uttered this phrase. It did not come from a university professor, living in a comfy home, lecturing from a polished podium. It came from a guy who endured things we can't imagine - or maybe we can. Repeatedly beaten, shipwrecked, snake-bitten, mocked, starved, and, on occasion cast into dungeons doubling as raw sewage highways. It is then my heart sees a man - a mortal man, made from the same stuff as me. One who probably chanted this call to rejoice over and over again as his bloodless fingers gripped iron bars. It is there in those desperate moments he learned of a friend who was always at his side. He found a Savior who always heard his prayers, understood and had considerable compassion for his pain. Finally, he rested in the God who through it all was able to provide an unexplainable peace.

As a final word, I would challenge you dear ones, not to hide your pain. I will share a passage or two from Brennan Manning's book, Abba's Child: "If we conceal our wounds out of fear and shame, our inner darkness can neither be illuminated nor become a light for others." (And a page or so later after citing a passage from Henri Nouwen) "The Wounded Healer implies that grace and healing are communicated through the vulnerability of men and women who have been fractured and heartbroken by life. In Love's service, only wounded soldiers can serve."

Verses of Encouragement: Isaiah 43:1(b)-2, 4(a), 5(a) (NIV)

Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name;
you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames

will not set you ablaze.
. . . .
Since you are precious and honored in my sight, and because I love you[.]
. . . .
Do not be afraid, for I am with you[!!!] (emphasis mine!)

He took the long way home.

Never made it to work today. Barely made it off the couch. The Lyme disease hit some high notes and the worst part was realizing I ran out of meds yesterday. Not a smart plan when the difference between being physically able to leave the house and remaining immobilized is a small handful of pharmaceuticals. Sort of a Catch 22 - I need to get to the drug store, but I can't get to the drug store, but I must get to the drug store . . . well, you get the picture. And so verily I limped by on a few Advil -- strong enough to allow for a series of semi-comfortable positions, not strong enough to allow for comfortable movement. I have found that as the day stretches on to put distance between me and my morning Lyme treatment, and is combined with a gallon or two of water, things improve a small bit. So off I set a half hour before the pharmacy closed to pick up the much needed medications.

I sat in the car at the Giant parking lot preparing to go in, praying very specifically which I am careful to do. I asked God to please get me to the pharmacy counter, allow me to pick everything up and get me back to the car; all without having anything embarrassing happen (which frequently does). Prescriptions in hand I made my feeble way back to the car, calling for grace to make every step possible, grateful the trip was no farther. What blazed its way into my imagination was that long ago walk down the Via Dolorosa by a brutally beaten, flawlessly perfect, carpenter.

I grew mesmeried trying to understand and relate to the pain Jesus experienced the day he fulfilled his Father's plan of salvation for us. I stumbled along in tears at this point reflecting on his broken and bleeding body; the exhaustion that had to surge through every solitary cell; his hunger; his shame; being mercilessly mocked by those he came to set free and stripped of all we think displays humanity. I can't explore the depths of those sufferings. None of us adequately can. Not on this side of the grave, anyway. And I'm not inclined to think that even in death we will get to the extent of it. In light of all this, how can one not ask the $64,000,000 question.

WHY?

Love.

Mind-bending, gut-wrenching, heart-changing, universe altering - LOVE. Love that conquers pain. It conquers failure and sin and yes, death. It goes to hell and back. Love that makes the kind of sacrifice only God could bear and does it in the body of a human with all the frailties and limitations that entails. I know in the past I have thought - but he was God - surely that was how he could do it. And indeed that is the truth. No mortal creature, man or woman could or would endure it. Except one. One that felt no less physical pain than we would have felt. One that knew a degree of emotional hemorrhaging we can't imagine. And One that experienced spiritual loss we can scarcely scratch the surface of. Let those truths absorb for a moment. He carried out the plan of the immortal God in a mortal container. He was more fully human than we will ever know, while at the same time being fully God. And he did it without one whiff of regret or moment of remorse. Not when the answer came that there was no other way. He never, ever flinched. He even refused the opportunity while on the cross to take the edge off with a form of painkiller. Now that is seriously some "I'm crazy about you, will go to the ends of the earth for you, and move every mountain out of your way love" that I just have to honor by spending the rest of my life wrapping my mind around and soaking in.

I want to remember this hallmark of love every single time I am tempted to think God does not understand my pain. Oh he gets it all right - he gets it plenty. And God never goes halfway. Comprehensively to the fullest extent on every single promise. Oh dear ones strain to reach for the truth that He loves you! Furiously, passionately, completely. Every single moment of every single day covering every single facet. He left nothing out.

He took the long way home.

Verses for a lifetime:

Ephesians 3:17(b)-19 (NIV)

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

Romans 8:34-35, 38-39 (The Message)

The One who died for us—who was raised to life for us!—is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ's love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripure . . . . I'm absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God's love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us.

1st Corinthians 13:8 (NIV)

Love never fails.

Correct me if I'm wrong . . . .

The end of a very difficult day. Why? Many reasons. The biggest being that I have received some unpleasant (and wholeheartedly unsolicited!) correction from God that I would much rather ignore. The least being that it's really late and instead of writing this post I would prefer to sink into the indulgent cream-filled oblivion of a mindless tv sitcom.

I have a punctuality problem. I was late to work today. . . again -- as was brought to my attention rather unceremoniously. Sure there are days when lateness is unavoidable - things you don't anticipate. Today's, however, was not caused by unseen obstacles but by my lack of planning for difficulties already known to exist. This is not a new problem. It has, however, sparked a much bigger dialog.

The mechanics of Correction.

Discipline, alteration, modification, rectification, improvement, adjustment, amendment, tweak - whatever name you call it - it leads to the same end. The decision you made or are making does not lead to a good destination, which, once brought to your attention, begs another choice; change your direction or continue on and suffer consequences.

I must admit when I get a course correction from God, I desire it be administered in an easily digestible form: have someone point it out in a kind and sensitive manner; have God gently nudge me through His word; develop a slight sensitivity to the wrongdoing through the Spirit. There was nothing soft and furry about today's flaw highlight, marching me to the conclusion that I missed "gentle" the first 792 times this was brought to my attention, thereby leading to the sound baseball bat thump I received instead. In the case of planning and punctuality, correction has popped its unsightly head out so many times (only to be hammer smacked down) that it resembles a Whack-a-Mole machine. All ultimately expending much more energy than simply listening would have produced. But like most people, I've discovered I do not like it one bit when truth stares me in the face and pokes me in the eye.

And so the next part of the equation presents itself. My response. If one is willng to look, God clues us in to the mechanics of this cause and effect over and over in His word.

Proverbs 15:10 - Stern discipline awaits him who leaves the path; he who hates correction will die. (Bam!)

Deuteronomy 30:19 - This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live. (Pow!)

(And my personal favorite)
Proverbs 12:1 - Whoever loves discipline loves knowledge, but he who hates correction is stupid. (Whammo! and Ouch!)

And those are just a few. Criminy, Deuteronomy 30 in its entirety paints a wall-sized mural of this lesson. Batman sound effects aside, though, the warning is clear - choose carefully which path to go skipping merrily down. All rambling procrastinations aside, this begs for me to stop a minute and percolate. Why is my habit to be so stubborn? What prevents me from recognizing these lessons (or flaws) when they present themselves?

The first and most obvious dynamic is I don't want to fix whatever it is. Often I know very well I am choosing the Highway to Hell on-ramp, usually while singing AC/DC at the top of my lungs. Root Cause No. 1: Open rebellion. Foolish choice. God has promised consequences are coming. Getting to the root of this behavior has - without exception - uncovered my mistrust of God and his character as its source. I either (1) want something I think God the cosmic killjoy is holding back from me (sound familiar Eve?), or (2) believe he really doesn't love me enough to give me whatever it is so I have to get it myself. Getting to the core of this lie is the key to melting my defiance.

The second root of stubborness is I alone can't fix it. When it comes to tardiness (as with many other bad behaviors and habits), I have tried to change countless hundreds of times and failed miserably. I have to ask God for help. Root Cause No. 2: Control. I have it and need to let go of it. This little seesaw goes up and down constantly. I am optimistic that having refused to give up the driver seat, thus careening over the embankment, so many times now, letting go of the steering wheel is becoming more natural. (Relax beltway drivers, strictly an illustration.)

I have to be finished digging, right? Not quite. In my musings, I stumbled upon a positively unsightly little tumor. I refuse to change or obey because I've convinced myself I am above the law. That's right - a sense of entitlement. Root Cause No. 3: Privilege. That heartfelt belief that everyone else has to follow the rules, but I am exempt. Whoa! Suddenly I am the Queen of England. Not an endearing personality trait. No wonder I don't want to look too hard at it.

And surely there are dozens more. It's clear our heart knows as many ways to rationalize doing wrong as there are cells in our bodies. And even the few I've touched on require more in-depth study and clean-up. Aww well, so goes life. Moving through the messy business of loose ends, always unfinished; learning, growing, failing, succeeding, progressing, backsliding. Pressing on toward the goal, forgetting what lies behind. I'm sure there will be more posts to come as I wrestle with my flesh and take on the vision of who I am and who I am still to be in Christ

Verses for the day: Philippians 3:12-14 (The Message)

I'm not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don't get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I've got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward—to Jesus. I'm off and running, and I'm not turning back.

Peter Piper Picked A Peck of People Pleasers

People pleasing. A phrase and state of being I have come to loathe. One that is unpleasant most if not all of the time for the pleaser, pretty sweet for the pleasee. Sadly no 12-step meetings for this one, although there certainly should be. Hi, my name is ___________, and I'm a people pleaser. Hi _______________.


This is the first of what will probably be many reflections regarding this nasty personality trait. A craft whose road I have traveled from apprentice to journeyman to master. So ingrained in this art have I become that sadly I realized it's the driving force behind most of my choices. Every word that I say to every person that I say it. Every position on every issue tailored so as not to offend the person I'm speaking to. It can creep into personal choices: what will I wear, what will I eat, what car will I buy, what books will I read, what music will I listen to? Until the wonderful me that I am and how God uniquely wired me together is so obscured by taking the path of least resistance that I am unrecognizable. It's utterly exhausting and comprehensively soul-killing!

So where did this ugly placating start? Childhood I would imagine. Be pleasant or be ignored - even worse, be disliked. When the personal security question of "Am I Okay?" isn't answered and reinforced through normal childhood channels (parents, responses from those in authority, etc.), one frantically starts asking for that reassurance from everyone she meets. Needy? And how. People pleasing in its simplest form. Validation turned to fear. Okay, enough deconstructing for the moment.

The farther I travel down this road to know and love God with all my heart, soul, mind and strength, the more I realize the size of this malignancy. As is most obviously the case, one cannot endeavor to love and please God when the foundation her life is built upon shifts according to the whims of the surrounding world's likes and dislikes. If I want to stand for truth and foster integrity, I must be prepared to stay planted on God's truth. This will with certain inevitability lead to forks in the road. I must be willing to risk being disliked by people (shudder) in order to stick with the God who saved me.

Allow me to digress for the remainder of this post to a verse I received yesterday in an email from a friend. Thus began the long trek down this rabbit trail. What follows after it is my reply.

How is it possible for you to learn to believe, you who are content to seek and receive praise and honor and glory from one another, and yet do not seek the praise and honor and glory which come from Him who alone is God? (John 5:44)

Ahh, the bitter conundrum. (Well - maybe that's where my mental adjustment needs to start. Pleasing God not being bitter and all.) Back to my ponderings.

If I focus on pleasing God, a safe bet says I'd be more pleasing at least to believers - which I have found not always to be the case (believer being a subjective state). If I focus on pleasing God, then unbelievers, unfortunately (especially when it invites them to consider a personal wrongdoing), are not at all pleased with me. After chewing on this for some time this afternoon, I have landed on the element of inverted thinking. When I think of people as big then I am thinking of God as small. When I think of God as big then people occupy their rightful place in my mind. So I ruminated on Psalm 56 and came to the conclusion that in the words of the infamous Prince - "Who do ya trust if you can't trust God?" Who is going to provide for me? People or God. Who is going to vindicate me on judgment day? People or God. Who came to earth and died for my sins? People or God . . . . and so it all ultimately comes back to trust. Ruthless trust Brennan Manning would say.

Verse for the Day

Psalm 56:4 (NIV)

In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can mortal man do to me?

Hi, Lot's wife here. Have we met?

An alarming thing happened today. Something that has been building for a year. Well, truth be told, it has been building for decades. Let me rewind a bit and include some background. I am a board certified, card carrying, remote hogging, channel surfing, lazy load watching tv addict. It is impossible to calculate the amount of time I have wasted in front of the idiot box - a term my mother was fond of - which always amused me as it was my mother who put a tv in her 8-yr old's room (granted, I was demon spawn - just ask my tortured older brother). Needless to say my childhood was a technicolor blur; as was the better part of my 30's.

So, back to my story.

When I recommitted my life to Christ at 38, tv was one of many addictive behaviors God and I took on. I moved in 2004 and made a landmark decision to opt for basic-basic (did I mention basic?) cable which consisted of about 12 channels. The customary broadcast channels, 22 home shopping networks and 11 stations broadasting only in Spanish. Okay, so that totals more than 9. But you get the picture. Pretty slim pickings - especially at 3 am when the viewing consists of infomercials or infomercials in Spanish (why did I never learn Spanish?!). The adjustment was initially like cutting off a limb. Still, after time, I started to thrive due to the abbreviated selections, and developed a very full and active life. Relationships were rekindled. New friendships formed. Books (books?) begun - and finished! A life full of the living.

Alas, a year ago I fell hook, line and sinker for the cable company's clever marketing and signed up for their inclusive package. (You know the one that bundles internet/phone/cable together in one "low" price.) The gimmick is to have you sign up for more services than you currently have in hopes that, when the price is jacked up a year later, you will be so hooked you've convinced yourself you can't possibly do without. As you can imagine, opening the door and inviting an addiction into the house again took its toll. My thriving relationship and dialog with God was stopped dead in its tracks. Friendships were strained. Weight was gained (after all who can resist mindlessly stuffing your face as you watch). Health deteriorated. Sleep suffered. Work suffered. Guilt and shame ensued over the countless marathon hours (days, weekends) spent in front of the tube allowing it to suck the drive and intelligence out through my eyeballs. My full and active life was stuffed into a moldy duffel bag and thrown into the dark recesses of the storage closet.

As you might have guessed, my low price came to an end recently and the decision was mine to ponder once more. Pay the extra 60 bucks a month or downgrade. So I downgraded. They came today. And this time, like any addiction after a relapse, turning off the cable channels I had grown so dependent on once again was physically painful. How on earth would I function minus my carefully sculpted watching schedule? The worst part? Mixed with the relief that comes from being liberated from my cage, came the sad wistfulness that tonight I would not be able to go home and see the first episode of one of my coveted shows new season. How sad is that? Just like Lot's wife, my heart pined for the oppression of my chains. So instead of running full speed towards freedom with full understanding I'd been spared, I turned and lamented my missing shackles.

I know the cravings will subside and the rewards gained will enormously outweigh any momentary longings. But boy the lessons learned will echo for I hope a lifetime. Be careless and invite sin to tea but rest assured it will quickly evict you out into the street and proceed to set your drapes on fire.

And so I'm off. Off to taste and see the land of the living.

Verses for the day:

Hebrews 12:1-2 (Amplified Bible) (emphasis mine)

1Therefore then, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses [who have borne testimony to the Truth], let us strip off and throw aside every encumbrance (unnecessary weight) and that sin which so readily (deftly and cleverly) clings to and entangles us, and let us run with patient endurance and steady and active persistence the appointed course of the race that is set before us.

2Looking away [from all that will distract] to Jesus, Who is the Leader and the Source of our faith [giving the first incentive for our belief] and is also its Finisher [bringing it to maturity and perfection]. He, for the joy [of obtaining the prize] that was set before Him, endured the cross, despising and ignoring the shame, and is now seated at the right hand of the throne of God.

Genesis 4:7 (NIV)

If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it.

The Down Right Dangerous Message of Failure

Debilitating. Discouraging. Demoralizing. All words meant to describe what the feeling of failure does to a person. Well does to me anyway. Mistakenly concluding that, as much as I loathe the fit of this cloak, my distaste would act as a deterrent, thus ensuring my commitment to success. Ahh, but closer scrutiny reveals that this particular garment has a sticky inner lining that once donned produces cling as stubborn as those annoying Styrofoam packing peanuts. More descriptively, dog poo scented Styrofoam packing peanuts. In short, failure – or my perception of it – can and has shut me down for quite a while - many times, days.

This being my first post, perhaps a little background is called for. I am a 40-something woman who has just been (finally) diagnosed with Chronic Lyme Disease. A diagnosis coming on the heels of an apparently all too common “it’s M.S., no it’s Lyme, no it’s M.S., no it’s Lyme . . .” tug of war played by numerous doctors with numerous contradictory opinions and their numerous non-conclusive tests (and, of course, the numerous piles of money the afore-mentioned things require). The end result of all this being that most days I feel like slightly warmed over crap on toast. (Well now. That was less than delicate, wasn’t it.)

Back to failure.

I had somewhere I wanted to be this morning. A bible study to be exact. But things started out difficult, and, as has become my m.o. more and more lately, I did not overcome those obstacles. The morning progressed and the physical challenges, coupled with disappointment in self, combined to strip the morning of any productivity whatsoever. And so, arriving at my job – 2+ hours late – my initially harmless, peanut-sized accessory had become a full blown Michelin man sized, medieval coat of armor. Hardly conducive to fruitful labor.

I am happy to report that with the aide and support of trusted friends (and their willingness to brave the stench) I was last seen beating the poo (intended) out of failure and stuffing the useless garment into a trash compacter, hopeful that at least for the moment it is gone. I’m keeping my eyes open though, and if (or more truthfully, when) the ugly vestige worms it’s stinky way back into my closet I hope to promptly feed it to the shredder.

Verses for the day: Eccleciastes 4:9-12 (The Message)

9 Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. 10 If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.

12 A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand back-to-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.