tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12110699555789986302024-03-13T15:50:12.435-07:00Life Below DingleBurn"Further up and Further in..."Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-91059630103053211832014-07-02T15:57:00.001-07:002014-07-02T15:57:14.586-07:00Sore Thumb Christianity<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Do you realize that, having signed up for this Christianity thing, we belong to an invisible kingdom with an invisible King, wearing invisible armor to fight an (usually) invisible foe?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But wait! There's more!</span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">If we actually <i>do</i> what Jesus says to do (boiled down: love Him, and the rest of His children), we shall be as glaringly obvious as salt, as light, as Manhattan on Mt. Everest!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Christianity is a faith of paradoxes: live like a sacrifice (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+12%3A1&version=NASB" target="_blank">Rom. 12:1</a>); have a ready explanation for your inexplicable hope (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Peter+3%3A15&version=NASB" target="_blank">1 Ptr 3:15</a>); to be great, be a servant (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+20%3A26&version=NASB" target="_blank">Matt. 20:26</a>); to save your life, lose it (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke+9%3A24&version=NASB" target="_blank">Lk. 9:24</a>); don't wear gold and pearls, wear good deeds instead (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Timothy+2%3A9-10&version=NASB" target="_blank">1 Tim. 2:9-10</a>).</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When I saw three nicely-dressed Mormon boys walking up Market Street on Thursday I realized suddenly that I have been grieving the loss of this paradox. Throughout history, all religions and their various sects have earned their "regconizeability" by being different from their surrounding cultures. Everyone recognizes the monk's habit, the guru's toga, the Muslim's turban, the Mormon's suit. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Our</i> difference as Believers is supposed to be love (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+13%3A35&version=NASB" target="_blank">Jn. 13:35</a> ). But lately adherence to that greatest of commandments has begun to morph. Instead of lovingly practicing-- and reminding other people to practice-- things like "if anyone thinks himself to be religious, and yet does not bridle his tongue but deceives his own heart, this man's religion is worthless" (Jms. 1:26), standard practice has become "Don't tell people they have to shut up! You're so judgmental. No one has to change before they come to Jesus. He loves you where you are. We have to win people through acceptance." Which sounds lovely, but two minutes later a session of the Presbyterian Church of the USA <a href="http://www.ppl.org/index.php/educational-resources/pcusa-members/386-a-special-message-to-pcusa-churches-#PCUSApolicy" target="_blank">must apply to <i>not</i> have any of their dues support abortions</a>, the Pope holds a<a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2651975/Pope-wades-Mideast-peace-making.html" target="_blank"> tri-faith pray-in with </a>Jewish and Muslim leaders in the Vatican, and the <a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/news/episcopal-church-ordains-2nd-openly-gay-bishop/" target="_blank">Episcopalians ordain people</a> actively engaging in homosexual behaviors. The Cult of Relevancy is established and suddenly we're invisible for all the wrong reasons.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">When the stated purpose of our behavior is to blend in <i>so that</i> people aren't jolted out of their comfort zones, we have fallen off the wagon. Yes, Paul said he was all things to all men, and I get that-- by all means, tattoo your arm so that people want to know about that lost ship that represents your former soul. But Paul never blended in with the surrounding culture. He stood out like the sorest of thumbs. He called a spade a spade. He said, "Yes, Jesus will take you as you are, but He won't leave you that way!" By calling the above things wrong, I am not saying I hate any of the people engaged in those behaviors. But I <i>am</i> going to echo Jesus and say, "Neither do I condemn you; now go and sin no more." (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John+8%3A11&version=NASB" target="_blank">Jn. 8:11</a>) The lost aren't looking for our tolerance; they are on our doorsteps because <i>they</i> can't tolerate who they are. They realize their "normal" is broken and are looking for a "different" to intervene. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Which means that instead of being relevant and nice, we must <i>love</i>. Love stands out! Love intervenes! And while no modern preacher leaves love out of their main selling points, their version of love is so often cloaked in moral relativism that the lost are in danger of not being able to see the white for all the grey, let alone black! Black never even comes into it. There are hard, unfathomable things about Christianity. No denying it. That's the deal with having a God at its head who is not a tame lion. A Lion Who, as my father-in-law puts it, is not called God for no reason. But that is what the Relevant Camp tries to soften for the pre-Christian instead of giving them the dignity of assuming they can handle the truth. Which is, oddly enough, why so many <i>within</i> the camp get disillusioned and leave-- some to monasteries, some to atheism, some to sit in the desert for months with an open Bible trying to find true north: there isn't enough difference from <i>their </i>normal<i> </i>in what they're selling to keep them alive.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So why do I write this? What do I want? No fear. <i>I</i> want to stop being afraid that this treasure I hold in my earthen vessel is somehow going to be too much for the people God is actually chasing down to pour it on.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fff2cc; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is not the Church's job to save people; it is only to stand out like a sore thumb by loving and speaking truth. Let the Spirit worry about how relevant that is to our poor culture.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-57278380547164571482014-02-20T10:14:00.003-08:002014-02-20T10:14:40.164-08:00Commentary on John 15 in the style of Charles Dickens, right-honorable influencer of all current literary endeavors.<span style="color: #990000; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"This is My commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you." ~John 15:12</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is all very well as a platitude on a plaque hung over the kitchen sink or in the bathroom to remind the children what actions they are expected to mimic during the day, but what on earth does it <i>mean</i>? The next verse speaks loftily of laying down one's life for one's friend (not enemy, interestingly enough, though that is a different expostulation), but as that deals only in death and we have a great deal of living to do in the mean time, how do we then live? <i>How</i> exactly <i>did</i> Jesus love us?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">While contemplating the conundrum by my fire this morning, I was startled to realize after a moment's reflection that there was a seemingly simple answer. While He lived on earth (past tense), He loved us sacrificially, certainly. Totally, surely. Unreservedly, yes. But also wisely. And discriminatingly. Not against our best interests. And thus I ran against the Fruit of His very Spirit (undisputably <i>not </i>past tense) as a barge runs against its home dock: He must love us with joy, peacefully, patiently, with kindness and goodness, with gentleness, faithfully, and with self-control.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This led me instantly to a second list, as if the first dock turned out to be only a hand offering to guide me in to my true mooring. In this list love is even more clearly defined.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Love is:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Patient</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Kind</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Not envious</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Does not boast</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Is not proud</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Is not rude (!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Or self-seeking</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Not easily angered</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Keeps no record of wrong</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Does not delight in evil</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But rejoices with the truth</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Love always protects</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Always trusts</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Always hopes</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Always perseveres</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Never fails</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And so the barge appears to rest, comfortably, with a contented knowledge that its cargo is fathomable and useful and uncomplicated.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">That satisfied mooring is where I began my typing this morning. But by copying down my ideas I was made further acquainted with their subtleties and quite suddenly I find that the barge has not nosed into dock at all but has rather struck some sunken piling and is in danger of taking on water rapidly:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jesus, while on earth, was arguably, by our standards, rude. He also got angry. He was not what we would call kind to the pharisees, and not really what we would term patient with them either. By allowing most of His disciples to be eventually martyred, we would question His "always protecting," and by losing Judas to the dark side we would wonder about the preserving and never-failing aspects. Was His love always attended with what we would call peacefulness? Gentleness? Often. But not always.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">It is therefore my forlorn duty to understand that our understanding of these straight-forward concepts is not straight-forward at all. If Jesus did it, that is the standard, and the standard is gold. If we object, our objections are dross. And so, at the end of 500 words on the subject, I find I have only written a confused preface to a poor pamphlet with question marks for content. I must go back to the library of the Spirit and ferret out what <i>He</i> means by patience, kindnesses, protection, and peace. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">After I have done that, perhaps my life will be a better plaqued-platitude for the instruction of my children than anything I could hang on the bathroom wall.</span><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-66340795889115325682014-01-24T12:45:00.002-08:002014-01-24T12:45:45.575-08:00He said, "abide in the vine," not in the Apple.<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself unless it abides in the vine, so neither can you unless you abide in Me." ~John 15:4</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><u style="font-style: italic;">Abide</u> - meno; a primary verb; to stay (in a given place, state, relation or expectancy): - abide, continue, dwell, endure, be present, remain, stand, tarry (for) x thine own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Lots of cool things here on which I haven't thought before, but that's all head stuff: what do all these words <i>feel</i> like in the real world? How do I walk them out in shoe leather? To what existing relationship in my own life may I look for an example of passion like that, dedication like that, tuned-in-ness like that? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Enter Facebook. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4UhUm5Jvd9K6b3KAXQpE507KPjosbb_eke4pGTY3i6inc9cGjD68p01I9YFSAEy4_NepGotiKTVc_kIvp1Z038XQnn6QSLdwja9j44LGPPd0oP3oIRRjZA55THKVB8y0WGjk7TMKDkeq/s1600/1536647_10151855561582927_2035388819_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4UhUm5Jvd9K6b3KAXQpE507KPjosbb_eke4pGTY3i6inc9cGjD68p01I9YFSAEy4_NepGotiKTVc_kIvp1Z038XQnn6QSLdwja9j44LGPPd0oP3oIRRjZA55THKVB8y0WGjk7TMKDkeq/s1600/1536647_10151855561582927_2035388819_n.jpg" height="286" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Turns out most of us have an existing relationship to which we may look for insight. We all know what it feels like to dwell with and endure with and be present with and tarry with our phones. I mean, where else can we keep up friendships, get inspired about art projects, home improvments, DIYs, get ideas for dinner, learn a new catch-phrase, find a fashion statement, keep up with current events, research ideas for how to handle a needed response, a health problem, an in-law, a child, a marriage, a co-worker, an enemy, a friend, an addiction? Where else could we get Google, Wikipedia, Pinterest and Instagram under one cover?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A friend and I were marveling again just yesterday that we get to be in this club which is infinity-deep and a constant source of secret joy. And, low and behold, this club has a physical <i><b>book</b></i> we can consult about everything. How many of us have wished for that on any given day?! "I have four sons! I wish there was a manual!" I married a type- A/B/OCD/Unmotivated person! I wish there was a manual!" "I don't know what to do with my life! I wish there was a manual!" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">There is. And as Pastor Kyle frequently says, "Seriously, you should read it-- it's amazing!" Between its covers lie the answers to all the above questions and any other we might possibly think to ask in the course of 70-100 years of life on this planet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">If I were to accept the challenge of this meme, continually living in a state of expectancy, remaining in the presence of and standing on the physical Word of God, surely that might add up to the outward characteristics of abiding. It's worth a shot. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And by a shot I mean more than trotting off to tweet about it.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-87379114457850583212014-01-18T09:01:00.000-08:002014-01-18T21:59:45.444-08:00The Gospel According To.....<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">How many of you, growing up watching <u><i>The Little Mermaid</i></u>, are now in your thirties, have the care of small children, and have changed your glowing opinion about the sea-shelled Ariel? Do you find yourself saying, "No Susie, we're not watching that; you've got all the example of selfishness, disrespect and disobedience in your own little sin nature you could possibly need-- you don't need help."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ariel's a brat! Self-absorbed, can't <i>imagine</i> why something might be bad or dangerous if she doesn't personally think so, assumes a pretty face automatically means you're the good guy, yet unquestioningly trusts people she knows to be untrustworthy just because she'll get what she wants! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Why the sudden vitriol at the amphibious redhead? I was listening to my <i><u>Tangled</u></i> Pandora station last night, skipping through all <u><i>The Little Mermaid</i></u> songs when I was arrested by Ursula's fantastic, bombastic villain solo. <i>How</i> can you skip that one? Now, I know <u style="font-style: italic;">The Little Mermaid</u>, despite Hans Christian Andersen's best attempts with the original, is just <i>Faust </i>retold for the toddler, so the parallels should have been obvious. But it really wasn't till last night that I heard the Gospel.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Ariel is me. There she is, making a deal with the devil to satisfy her selfish lusts, giving excuses, running away from the Father who <i>does</i>, in fact, know best, getting her friends into hot water, not to mention nearly killing her beloved as he attempts to unwind her mistakes. It's not until Daddy steps into her place, bears her sins, takes her punishment, that Ariel is brought to any kind of remorse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Of course the illustration breaks down rather quickly after that, but it was the "<i>I</i> am Ariel" thought that occasioned this rant. It's very humbling to see oneself in an object both despised and envied (who didn't want that hair and those, uh, seashells?), all the more so because she is only a cartoon; if I am shamed by animation am I really any more important than pixels?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Praise be to God, yes I am. "As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you." And so I make peace with Triton's youngest daughter. No, I'm still not wild about the lessons of the movie in general (Combing your hair with a fork at the dinner table is cute? French chefs are unequivocally evil? Kissing solves everything? And if you don't believe me, watch me throw in a <u style="font-style: italic;">Blue Lagoon</u> reference?), but the Lord of All being omnipresent, I can't escape Him. Even under the sea.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">What are some of <i>your</i> favorite "Jesus Finds" in popular culture?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-22445720181106517792013-11-14T10:51:00.000-08:002013-11-14T10:51:13.060-08:00Crying Over Catholics<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<i>"Your over-kindness doth wring tears from me!"</i></div>
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Claudio said that to Leonato in <u><i>Much Ado About Nothing</i></u>, and lately I've found myself saying the same to our Father over and over and over. Reading another little bit of Maria Von Trapp's autobiography inspired my tears on Tuesday-- all these "coincidences" He orchestrates all day long to bring His exhausted and miserable babies running headlong to Him with wobbly steps and much crashing into furniture. I was crying, I think, over His kindness, but also over the rather lively portrait of myself Maria's stories brought to my mind's eye: for so long I have believed I was above baby blunders, that I was stepping along <i>beside</i> God, proud as any Arabian pony moving through her dance. Reality reveals I am as much a tripping toddler as anyone, perhaps more so for having been so certain I was "all growed up" and the talk of the town, the girl with the best little bonnet in the Easter Parade.</div>
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One of the "coincidences" He's been orchestrating lately is that after a lifetime of sheltered Evangelicalism, I have been running into Catholics all over the place. Whether through books, involvement in the Pro-Life movement, the guitar player in my own band, or osmosis-izing the ubiquitous mist that is Church History, Catholicism has been challenging my proud little concept of the cosmo.</div>
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First there is Kieth, who is still the only Protestant convert to Catholicism I have ever met. He's crazy enough to do all the research and jump in with both eyes wide open. Then there is Samantha, the only girl I have ever met who is so in love with Jesus that her decision to become a nun is the most logical and laudable in the world. She also gave me <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Theology-The-Body-For-Beginners/dp/1932645349/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1384453622&sr=8-2&keywords=The+theology+of+the+body+for+beginners" target="_blank"><i><u>The Theology of the Body for Beginners</u></i></a>, the condensed version of Pope John Paul II's treatise on marriage, sex and holiness. It is by far the best book I have read on the subject, and it has given me the gift of a Biblical apologetic understanding of the <i>why</i> of sexual purity, before and after marriage. No Evangelical explanations in my experience has succeeded so well. (Seriously, go read it.) Then I notice that the truly uplifting stuff filtering through my Facebook feed is not the chichi memes of the Protestants but rather the substantial and often humorous insights of "Support the Catholic Priests". Then Pope Francis starts <a href="http://www.lifenews.com/2013/11/07/pope-francis-applauded-for-kissing-blessing-disabled-man-covered-with-boils/" target="_blank">kissing the faces of the unlovely</a> and I begin to think Surely God is pleased with this man's heart. Adrianna, a fellow volunteer at the crisis pregnancy center, reads her Bible and with child-like logic believes what it says during the most heartbreaking chapter of her life. And then there is Maria Von Trapp-- headlong, tempestuous, heedless Maria. She is so beguiled by God that her toddler careening takes her from convent to motherhood to the South Pacific mission field to the Catholic wing of the Jesus movement.</div>
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Twenty-seven years of gathering bits and pieces of knowledge about Catholicism did not prepare me to be bowled over by the winsome reality of the faith displayed by the truly dedicated Catholics I have been privileged to meet in the last four years. I have found in them more passion and vitality than in a hundred average Protestants. Even the "on fire" youth of my Evangelical experience have a lack of foundation which frequently results in burn-out, falling away, and incomprehension. We AG, non-denom, Baptist, Foursquarers have no catechism, nothing to memorize, no liturgy permeating and informing our childhood, no meaningful traditions-- nothing but the potentially shifting standard of our own "personal relationship with Jesus." <i>[Don't misunderstand me-- I am justly grateful that the Word says I have no need of any other Priest than Jesus. But as my friend Brook recently wrote, "Unfortunately, a once vibrant intellectual Protestantism has become anything but a protesting body while the last Roman Catholic Catechism made very large steps in the direction of Reformed thought. Pope John Paul before he died stated that Luther was correct as regards salvation by grace through faith. So while Roman Catholicism remains in grave error on so many fronts, its error is now no longer any greater than the errors that mainline protestantism finds itself embroiled in currently."]</i></div>
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It is not nice to copy out my prides and prejudices on the blackboard of life's school room, but I do it because at the end of each line I may now add the lesson learned, and I would not wish to bury that to save my vanity. The lesson, dictated several days ago by my personal Lord and Savior was this: The acid test of your <i>salvation</i>-- whether Catholic, Protestant, or RNP (Really Nice Person)-- is Do you confess with your mouth that Jesus Christ is Lord of all (and Him alone), and do you believe in your heart that God (truly) miraculously raised Him from the dead? You do? Congratulations! You're saved!</div>
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Because what it does <i>not</i> say is, "And if you believe that saints can help your prayers, or that Creation is a little ambiguous, or that good works/baptism/speaking in tongues help you get to heaven then you <i>shan't</i> be saved." Salvation is a matter of addition, not subtraction, and those things are subtractions. <i>Add</i> the confession of your mouth and the belief of your heart to your life and viola! Salvation. <i>Subtract</i> behaviors and faulty beliefs and you get.... better behavior and better beliefs. <i>Not</i> salvation. Glory to God! We <i>all</i> have blind spots, we <i>all</i> believe and practice goofy things, we <i>all</i> sin. But if qualifiers and rhetorics are stripped away for a moment, we see that with the answer to just these two questions we may know who is toddling as fast as they can in the same direction-- straight to the Father's arms. </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">His kindness truly doth wring tears.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-65159591746551938962013-11-06T08:57:00.000-08:002013-11-14T10:53:39.452-08:00Master of the Metaphor<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Metaphor ~ <i>noun</i></div>
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1. A figure of speach in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.</div>
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2. A thing regarded as representative or symbolic of something else, especially something abstract.</div>
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Jesus is indisputably the King of Everything. Which, fortunately for this post, includes metaphor. He used them all the time, often to describe Himself: "I am the vine;" "I am the door." Or others used them to describe Him: "He is the lamb of God;" "He is the morning star." </div>
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This is surely a kindness of God, knowing as He does that our finite minds cannot fathom Him. Doors we can grasp! Vines we can comprehend!</div>
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This being the case I recently reasoned that if I could understand more about the metaphors, I might understand more about the God. After all, He created the things beforehand, knowing He would use them to describe Himself-- they must be a perfect examples.</div>
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Enter Science.</div>
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This is not a subject at which I excelled in school. Bill Nye the Science Guy gave me the basics about the general behavior of the universe, but the rest of my "education" has been left to Stargate and Doctor Who (dubious professors at best, nefarious purveyors of downright falsehood at worst), and the long-suffering Kersten Peterson, the only bio-chem nerd I know who can yet speak real English, not to mention the dialect "Girl" thereof.</div>
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But my ignorance of the subject may prove to be my greatest resource as I tackle this "Bible study", for in knowing nothing I come to the table with very few preconceived notions and biases, many, many questions, and bucket loads of Wonderment.</div>
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To keep myself honest I write only this introductory preface today, stating in it my intent to investigate at least the following subjects:</div>
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*Water</div>
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*Light</div>
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*Bread</div>
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*Doors</div>
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*Vines</div>
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*Salt</div>
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*Stars</div>
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*Lambs </div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">If you discover other "Jesus Metaphors" in your readings, or have a favorite science fact about any of the above, please post them as comments below; eventually I would love for this to turn into an actual Bible study, or what about a science primer for homeschoolers? I'm really looking forward to meeting the Master of the Metaphor in His textbook of Creation.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-86067218007872359032013-08-20T13:51:00.004-07:002013-08-20T13:51:58.241-07:00Confessions of a Stay-at-Home-Wife<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Dale and I don't have kids yet (God's choice, not ours). Consequently we have had the standard amount of frustration and sadness and hoping and grieving. But a hidden side-affect of infertility has recently been coming to a boil in my heart and this morning it hit 212°.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have been waging a silent but violent war with my culture for almost three years. I didn't realize it till this summer, knowing only that I felt vaguely assaulted most of the time. Then I went to Texas for nine days and helped my best friend paint her bedroom and I came home inspired, motivated-- and mad. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Western Civilization makes an unspoken yet intractable assumption that if I have no children, I have no possible excuse for staying home. "What's the matter, just lazy enough that you won't get a real job?" they seem to ask. "Oh, you teach watercolor?" they exult, relieved. "Great! At least that's <i>something,</i>" and suddenly my existence is valid again. If they knew it was only for two hours one day a week they would probably ooze back into puzzled contempt of this selfish little introvert who won't help support her family, so I frequently fail to mention my schedule and my pride shows its true colors by siding with my enemies.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbTGEC97jOZXSlTb_cuEkGI89YawvaTkDKQvnJEKXXnGfpadFMMnI0l9AiTAwbMYtCx9FjhrW9-jz8V3ZUjPBGz3uBlPBBzfYf77Gw1H2c_g-LkDfA4vsTbJcXs74PMRkaZAO7WU8aUaP/s1600/flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXbTGEC97jOZXSlTb_cuEkGI89YawvaTkDKQvnJEKXXnGfpadFMMnI0l9AiTAwbMYtCx9FjhrW9-jz8V3ZUjPBGz3uBlPBBzfYf77Gw1H2c_g-LkDfA4vsTbJcXs74PMRkaZAO7WU8aUaP/s320/flowers.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But all the contempt in the world has not managed to quench the yearning of my heart </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">for</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> my home. This yearning is so strong that I practically feel the burn. It's a longing like we all long for heaven, for love, for safety, for joy. It finds relief in the strangest things-- a vacuumed floor; clean dishes; folded laundry; a half-done quilt; a started painting; cleared counters; not-dead flowers in a garden bed; dinner ready when Dale gets home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Well, all of those things are nice and a good idea," say my assailants, "but are they truly <i>necessary</i>? Aren't you just selfishly doing the things you like to do anyway when there are babies to be saved and homeless to be fed and Bible studies to lead and money to be earned and the sick to visit...."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And, and, and.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Yes! Of course there are other worthy things to do! That is the crux of the dilemma, the barrel of good things and whole truths over which the enemy has me. But they aren't fair questions. They are being presented first of all as mutually exclusive, and then in an order of importance, losing value as they go. I am trying my darndest to discover if my home is a ministry I'm allowed to prioritize, deserving of more than whatever is left over at the end of my day spent serving everyone but the most important person in my life. Is my husband and his castle worth-- in <i>God's</i> eyes-- the vast majority of my time and effort? <i>I</i> think so. Does God?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">This is where I want to know if any of <i>you </i>have developed a "Theology of Home," as it were? Proverbs 31 is the closest I've got so far. While Superwoman certainly ventured out of the house (<i>vs. 13, 14, 16, 20, & 24</i>), the core of her majesty is her home. There she works and provides, oversees and stores up to give out, teaches and lives, loves and makes beauty, and in so doing blesses her family and servants. (Ah yes, by the way, exhausted moms, you can't be a true P31 without maidservants. Just saying.) Every verse draws a more finally-detailed pictures of the home as a place of <u>power</u>, not simply a haven from the "real world". It <u style="font-style: italic;">is</u> the real world, and from it the rest of the world is fed, physically, emotionally and spiritually, and the generations are blessed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">For now, that's enough for me to go forward. So the seasons are changing. And it's not just the bight in the breeze as the sun rises or the edges of yellow on our maples trees. Seasons are changing for <i>me</i>. I'm coming home. In passive-aggressive rebellion I've listed my occupation on Facebook as Full-Time Wife and Homemaker. And I'm so excited I can hardly stand it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Let me hear <i>your</i> coming home story! Or about your journey towards that end. Tell me if you've found your own Theology of Home in the Word. Let's let our sisters out there know they do not yearn alone.</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-81554004765096794132013-08-13T09:45:00.002-07:002013-08-13T09:45:57.400-07:00Comforts<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm in Texas at the moment, staying right next door to Comfort. They call themselves "an antique town", with antique stores on every corner and shops in-between designed to make a life worth staying home for. If simple <i>things</i> could produce<i> </i>nostalgia, happiness, and, yes, comfort, they'd be making bank. And, of course, they are. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">As a Christian woman I live with a lot of guilt about my comforts. Whether it's chocolate or Netflix, there is a niggling suspicion that I shouldn't be using these to
make myself feel better-- that's what God is supposed to be for. Jesus said He would send us The Comforter, and He did! So.... why am I left feeling that on most days <i>in this way</i> the Holy Spirit doesn't "work"?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Let me draw a distinction in self-defense. When the chips are down and the world has fallen apart and it's three in the morning and my soul is bleeding, God is the only true comfort and I run to Him every time. It's the less cataclysmic moments that cause me trouble-- like when I'm dis-regulated, grumpy, tired, annoyed, disappointed. It's as if these "minor troubles" don't warrant a trip <i>all the way</i> into the throne room. It's so far! It's so much work to get myself into the proper brain space for communicating with The God of the Universe. It's so much easier to "grab a snickers bar" and rely on those splendid chemicals and endorphins that same God gave us which equalize and restore us to a state of comfort. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Here's what I'm <i>not</i> saying: don't eat when you're hungry-- go to Jesus! Don't nap when you're tired-- go to Jesus! Don't grieve when you're disappointed-- go to Jesus! (And I'm certainly not advocating eating a snickers bar!) While Jesus always ministers to us whenever we come to Him, He also understands the human body and that it has been made to need food and rest and tears. He employed all of those things Himself and holds no guilt over our heads for doing the same.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Here's what I <i>am</i> saying: Why is it, in so many every-day moments, that we are more comforted by <i><u>Doctor Who</u></i> than by the Real Lord of All Time? Why is chocolate-dipped biscotti more comforting than The Bread of Life? Why is exercise (reportedly) more comforting than walking with our only perfect Dad?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Do you feel this?! I have not written a rhetorical post here-- sound off for me. Where has God met <i>you</i> on this?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-40786184433330998792013-08-06T14:08:00.003-07:002014-01-24T12:58:12.305-08:00Just when you think sci-fi has come up with a new concept...<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Every good sci-fi show has at least one consciousness-swapping moment. My personal favorite is when Cassandra and Rose and the tenth Doctor get all tangled up in that one episode with the cat nuns... yeah-- this has what to do with Jesus?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I was listening to most of the book of Mark today when I was stopped by the bit in chapter 14 where the girl pours nard over His head and everyone is ragging on her, basically because they can't see how Jesus is worth her extravagance. He hushes them up and makes her eternally famous, but what stopped me was this:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I need to realize there is no extravagance too great to lavish on Jesus. Even when human wisdom tells me to be frugal, He approves of super-expensive displays of affection towards His person. That's cool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh, but wait, now He's saying His person won't always <i>be</i> here... so we won't always be able to do those kinds of things for Him. So never mind.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh but wait! Sci-fi! He left, yeah, but He also downloaded His consciousness into several billion other bodies! Which means..... I don't ever have to be afraid I'm 'spending too much' <i><u>on the body of Christ</u></i>."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So, while this does <i>not </i>give me license to spend all I want on myself, it <i>does</i> give me permission to ere on the side of being overly extravagant towards any of His current bodies. Because <i>He</i> is always worth it.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-51296718540126201602013-08-05T14:13:00.000-07:002013-08-05T14:13:42.658-07:00Born Lost<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Christianese is, without question, the most frustrating dialect I have picked up in my 31 years. It's composed almost entirely of ill-defined words, ethereal concepts, infinite historical context, unpronounceable names, and obscure similes. But worst of all it's been rendered nearly meaningless by long use, over-use, and casual use. What does "Judge not lest ye be judged" actually mean anyway?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I was forcibly reminded of this language problem last week when I read Luke 19:10-- <i>"For the Son of Man came to seek and save the lost."</i> Due to the ever-present filter of Christianese, the image which swam into my consciousness was of vast, shadowy hoards, coming into focus as they neared me, and looking suspiciously homeless and addicted. And <i>I</i> was not part of the throng. But with this idea of being the "sought treasure" of Jesus fresh in my mind, I decided to tackled Christianese head-on and actually <i>look up</i> the word "lost".</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>adjective</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">1. no longer possessed or retained</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">2. no longer to be found</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">3. having gone astray or missed the way; bewildered as to place, direction, etc.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">4. not used to good purpose, as opportunities, time, or labor; wasted</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">5. being something that someone has failed to win</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">6. ending in or attended with defeat</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">7. destroyed or ruined</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">8. preoccupied; rapt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">9. distracted; distraught; desperate; hopeless</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">That pretty much dispenses with Christianese. Because suddenly it's personal. Pre-Jesus, I am, you are, </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the shadowy hoards are no longer possessed or retained by our Father; the devil has tempted us away with empty promises. Our souls can no longer be found walking the Garden with our Creator in the evening. We have gone </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">completely </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">astray, missed the way and are bewildered as to where we are, </span><i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">when </i><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">we are, and what direction we should be taking. We have not been used to good purpose-- our father the devil employs us to steal, kill and destroy, wasting us on his machinations for there are always plenty more. For many thousands of years God failed to win us. Every single one of our lives ended in defeat and was daily attended by defeat. We were destroyed and ruined on every side. We were preoccupied with ourselves and enraptured with </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">our own survival. We were the very definition of distracted, distraught, desperate, and hopeless. </span><br />
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<i style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This </i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">is what it means to be lost. And I have been.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">But thanks be to God I live post-Jesus. And I have been found.</span><br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-54595378679995195892013-07-26T15:58:00.000-07:002013-07-26T15:58:42.626-07:00The Gospel According to The Princess Bride<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">(Why I did not post this when I originally wrote it over two years ago is beyond me.....)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Have you ever thought of recasting this story? Jesus gets to be Wesley, we (the Church) get to be the true Princess Bride. Humperdink can be Satan if he wants, and the Six-fingered man any number of demons. (Sorry to all the side-kick fans, myself included: all good metaphors must end.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Suddenly whole conversations and scenes take on profundity William Goldman never imagined, no matter how good he was at crafting archetypes.</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jesus: "I told you I could always come for you. Why didn't you wait for me?"</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Us: "Well.... you were dead."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jesus: "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Us: "I will never doubt again."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Jesus: There will never be a need."</span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"You read that wrong. Buttercup doesn't marry Humperdink, she marries Wesley. I'm just sure of it. After all that Wesley did for her, if she doesn't marry him it wouldn't be fair."</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Well who says life is fair? Where is that written?"</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I'm telling you you're messing up the story, now get it right!"</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">So might an innocent observer to human history berate the Great Narrator.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">In fact mightn't the Church be as indicted at times at Buttercup was by the Ancient Booer?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"Why do you do this?"</i> asks the puzzled Buttercup.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Because you had love in your hands and you gave it up! You're true love lives, and you marry another. True love saved her in the Fire Swamp and she treated it like garbage. And that's what she is, the Queen of Refuse!"</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Do we not hear familiar lies in the oily-tongued reassurances of Prince Humperdink? How often has our Accuser said, <i>"I could never cause you grief; consider our wedding off. You returned this... Wesley?... to his ship?"</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"Yes,"</i> replies the duplicitous Count.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"Then we will simply alert him. (And now for the poison.) Beloved.... are you certain he still wants you? After all it was you who did the leaving in the Fire Swamp. Not to mention that pirates are not known to be men of their word."</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>"My Westley will always come for me,"</i> we counter stoutly, trying desperately to believe our own words.</span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">"I suggest a deal. You write four copies of a letter. I'll send my four fastest ships. One in each direction. The Dread Pirate Roberts is always close to Florin this time of year. We'll run up the white flag and deliver your message. If Wesley wants you, bless you both. If not... please consider me as an alternative to suicide? Are we agreed?"</span></i><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">How many times have we nodded our hesitant agreement over the centuries? Why does it take us so long to proclaim,<i> "You can't hurt me. Wesley and I are joined by the bonds of love. And you cannot track that. Not with a thousand bloodhounds. And you cannot break it. Not with a thousand swords. And when I say you are a coward that is only because you are the slimiest weakling ever to crawl the earth!"</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And then "Wesley" has to come save us from the consequences of our arrogant (and well-placed) faith.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Doesn't Revelation even end with Jesus on a white horse? <i>"And look, there are four of them!"</i></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-48069348904746783282013-07-26T15:26:00.000-07:002013-08-03T13:10:19.542-07:00Grace<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRHtMMjDtloXjMSiByE0pYpP-IPUfNcOc9OBzp7JyBNtRTz0KK7zjtS4QJg6mwAoC_ycxRG2GYUTgy2aSlfZk71BUmBS39U0q3OUmb_KayewT0jVlp8Dori3UBvilIeGHZbHExU4QwPfq/s1600/photo+(31).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRHtMMjDtloXjMSiByE0pYpP-IPUfNcOc9OBzp7JyBNtRTz0KK7zjtS4QJg6mwAoC_ycxRG2GYUTgy2aSlfZk71BUmBS39U0q3OUmb_KayewT0jVlp8Dori3UBvilIeGHZbHExU4QwPfq/s320/photo+(31).JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have the most sympathetic dog in human history. I don't know how he tells I'm crying, but the moment he realizes emotion is happening, he's right there, nose to tears, paw on shoulder. Or, as this picture shows, tongue to tongue in a display of anti-exercise solidarity. This afternoon I sat down with my coffee after a morning of work and finished the last of <i>"Julie & Julia"</i>, a favorite not because of the cooking but because of the marriages. Both Paul and Julia and Eric and Julie have marriages like I have a marriage. The words these men speak to their wives; the way they go to bat for them; the insight they have into the female hearts they have care of (witness the gifts given: mortar and pestle, faux pearls); the tenderness they show their fragile, driven women; all these things melt me into a pile of goo. Weeping goo, in this instance, and Norman was right there to make sure I didn't emote alone.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I am so thankful for my life I
don't have words. God will have to translate my tears. I think I'm finally
beginning to absorb what happiness really is, a thing with which I have
struggled all my life. I have never been wildly emotional so I chalked it
up to that, but it goes deeper. Of course. I begin to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>feel</i>, not simply understand,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>that I have been rescued from
God-knows-what and placed in a garden, both physically and emotionally. I look
at my beautiful yard and joy erupts out of me. I think of Dale and the most
perfect outlet for my happiness is these tears. This is what humility is
achieving in me. I haven't written about humility yet, but I will. It's a
rainbow I've chased all my life, thinking if<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>I</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>only ran fast enough, if<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>I </i>only searched hard
enough I could achieve it. Suddenly I find all I must do is stand still
and accept God's opinion of me. Out of all reckoning. It's not
about me at all. I did not expect an ability to assimilate happiness to
be on the other side of sacrificed pride, but that equation makes perfect sense
now that God has managed to crack the door of my understanding. And
through that crack I see the kind of person I hope to become: unashamed, guileless,
simple, sincere, empathetic, and 100% love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #eeeeee; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Just like <st1:city><st1:place>Norman</st1:place></st1:city>.</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-32970314553820717722013-07-23T09:10:00.000-07:002013-07-23T09:12:05.201-07:00Glorious Cliches<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">No apologies today for extended silences-- too much else to say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I have been reading again. A cause for celebration and acknowledgement as I haven't, really, since getting married. On the docket at the moment are Jerry Benjamin's booklet "Simply Singular: Is Christ Prominent or Preeminent?", Rev. Henry Wright's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/More-Excellent-Way-Be-Health/dp/0967805929/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1374593381&sr=8-2&keywords=henry+wright%27s+A+more+excellent+way" target="_blank">"A More Excellent Way to be in health"</a>, and Kevin Dedmon's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Ultimate-Treasure-Hunt-Supernatural/dp/0768426022/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374593489&sr=1-1-fkmr0&keywords=kevin+dedmond%27s+the+greatest+treasure+hunt" target="_blank">"The Ultimate Treasure Hunt"</a>. All of them whirl around the same eye-- the centrality of Christ to the Christian life and the necessity of seeking Him for His own sake rather than for what we stand to gain by cozying up to Him. It's difficult for me to talk about any of these precious things without sounding trite, even to myself, because the words that say what I mean are very cliche, over-used and nearly devoid of meaning after 2000 years of use. Trust me when I assert that for every tired platitude I write there is a glorious firework going off in my brain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I got to hear Jerry Benjamin speak again over the weekend; he taught the book of Daniel at Ecola when I was there 12 years ago, and as a Jewish convert to Christianity he brings a depth of perspective coupled with a passionate delving into the Lord that falls like the first rain after drought. He said repeatedly, "The Christian life is impossible," and he is right. Fortunately, the only Life we are called to is Christ's and He's already lived it. How easily we forget. We assume that in gratitude for our "so great salvation" we are now called to "do great things for God" when in fact He simply wants to <i>be</i> His great self in us, and let the great <i>things</i> occur as the natural side effect of the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Saving-Life-Christ-Major-Thomas/dp/0310332621/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1374594266&sr=1-1&keywords=the+saving+life+of+christ" target="_blank">saving life of Christ</a>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">As I was perusing Dedmon's book this morning, it was impressed upon me how easily we have strayed from the centrality of Christ even within our concept of salvation. We constantly assert, "Christ died to save sinners," which is certainly true; Paul says so in 1 Timothy. But unless we look at the whole picture of Scripture we sail dangerously close to thinking it is therefore all about us. It's an understandable assumption-- we're living in <i>our</i> bodies, and, as my pastor recently mentioned, whose face do we always find first in a picture? We are self-centric by nature. Oddly enough, so is Jesus. In fact that's the point: Jesus died to save sinners, but that issue wouldn't even be on the table unless <i>He had wanted us</i>. Jesus died so He could have what He wanted, His greatest treasure, His body, His face in the picture: us. Salvation is all about what <i>Jesus </i>wants. And since we know He only wants what the Father wants, and what the Father wants is perfect, we can rest assured, without any need for pride, that we are a super big deal.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">But only because our worth is found in being the possession, <a href="http://www.lproof.org/Store/collection.asp?collectionID=7" target="_blank">the inheritance</a> of Jesus. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>That</i>, my friends, is a saying not in any danger of becoming cliche.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-37521827383617192952012-08-31T11:09:00.000-07:002012-08-31T11:09:25.367-07:00"We Own This Country!"<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Let's talk about ownership. Clint Eastwood spoke at the 2012 Republican National Convention on August 30th and said, "We own this country." It threw a switch in my brain. What does it mean <u>to</u> own something? What are the ramifications if I <u>do</u>? Why is it important? Does <u>God</u> think it's important? Did the Framers of our country think it was important?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b><i>ownership</i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>noun</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">1. The state of being an owner.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">2. The legal right of possession; proprietorship.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">The legal right of possession. That means if I have a legal right to something, I do in fact <i><u>own</u></i> it, i.e., have responsibility for it, may take pride or despair in it, must keep it up, repair it, cherish it, clean it, care for it, show it off and protect it. That's the meaning and the ramification all rolled into one.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Why is it important? Well, because God <i><u>does</u></i> think it is important. He is the one Who commanded-- not just suggested-- "do not steal," "do not covet." He thus implies that some things belong to someone and not to you, and that some things belong to you and not to someone else. How kind of God! He is protecting our property rights!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Speaking of property rights, the Framers <i><u>also</u></i> thought it was important. I read an <a href="http://www.fff.org/freedom/fd0811e.asp" target="_blank">article</a> this morning that quoted John Adams as writing the following: </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"</span></span><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The moment the idea is
admitted into society that property is not as sacred as the laws of God
and that there is not a force of law and public justice to protect it
anarchy and tyranny commence. If “Thou shalt not covet,” and “Thou shalt
not steal,” were not commandments of heaven, they must be made
inviolable precepts in every society before it can be civilized or made
free." </i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Madison added, </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Government is instituted to
protect property of every sort; as well that which lies in the various
rights of individuals, as that which the term particularly expresses.
This being the end of government, that alone is a just government, which
impartially secures to every man, whatever is his own."</span></span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Property rights are mentioned or implied in Amendments two, three, four, five, seven and eight of the Constitution, over and above (according to the above-mentioned article), "<span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> “religion,” “speech,” “press,” “privacy,” “newspaper,” “vote” (by citizens), or “suffrage,”</i></span>"</span></span></span></small></span></small></span><span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span></span>.</small></span></small></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-size: small;">So, the million-dollar question: do I act like an owner of this country? Do I take responsibility for it? Do I take pride in it? Do I keep it up, repairing and caring for it, cleaning it up, protecting it, cherishing it and showing it off? Good parents tell you you can't have a puppy till you can prove you can take care of a frog or your room or your bike. Because you want that puppy you learn what it means to be an owner, or, more accurately, a responsible adult. Growing up in the Me Generation I feel like I'm one of a million "frog neglectors." I want to learn how to be trusted with that puppy.</span></small></span></small></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-size: small;">I'm going to start by voting for a "business man" and not a "an attorney," and by getting off the computer and cleaning the house. </span></small></span></small></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-family: Times,Times New Roman;"><small><span style="font-size: small;">Because it's mine.</span></small></span></small></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-56864806815212716792012-06-20T21:41:00.000-07:002012-06-20T21:41:23.203-07:00I'm His Favorite<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I had sort of a rough morning. But my husband said he would be praying for me all day and the longer the day went on the better it got. I finished a project for my boss, got my desk cleared down to bare wood, had some good connections with clients, the sun finally came out, had a completely impromptu date with my honey at our favorite Mexican restaurant, and I bought Lobelia at Walmart. Then we got home (and I didn't have to cook), and I got my front porch cleared off (mostly), some random plants planted, helped Honey set up a dog run so we can have our house back (thank you, Norman), and finally had my pills delivered so I can continue to eat.</div>
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Then I got in the shower and God made me forget to take my contacts out. And so I got to watch the fireworks of the riotous sunset of the longest day of the year. As a watercolorist I despair of ever getting pink like that on top of blue. And then it morphs to apricot and I'm done. The last of it was a smattering of sapphire-orange stars through the dark green of the trees that winked and blinked like fairy lights.</div>
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"To the one who pleases Him, God gives wisdom, knowledge and happiness." Ecclesiastes 2:26a</div>
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">I may not be wise yet but I </span><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">know</i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> that I am </span><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">happy</i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> and so I must be pleasing to Him. Which should sort out any bad day.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-48582395926798141322012-05-11T07:33:00.000-07:002012-05-11T07:33:26.312-07:00Happy Birthday To Me!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBX-NxEZ7jTEH-QxAy0pkbwlEE_VM-WLMQ9TNzJmXvL71D1nP0NdScoodV8GIfDtuGCSM7HMhUlX_EG6t0qR8YziXYnzdGpjIgSAMtgaU32lO5036jlX70XpgniIwILZUddxeyYrDPzbv/s1600/birthday+sunrise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBX-NxEZ7jTEH-QxAy0pkbwlEE_VM-WLMQ9TNzJmXvL71D1nP0NdScoodV8GIfDtuGCSM7HMhUlX_EG6t0qR8YziXYnzdGpjIgSAMtgaU32lO5036jlX70XpgniIwILZUddxeyYrDPzbv/s320/birthday+sunrise.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Dale sniped this for me on his way to Dawn Patrol in the moments before daybreak, and it was </span><i style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">so</i><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> pretty I had to assume God whipped it up specially for me on my birth day. Which reminded me that I had been intending to write about gifts anyway. (And how like our Daddy to make us things like temporal art the size of the sky, which lasts three seconds and then bursts into day?!)</span><br />
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I was in either 1 Samuel, 1 Chronicles, or Psalms earlier this week (my uncertainty due to listening to a chronological reading plan via iPhone), and David was psalming about bringing a gift to the temple of the Lord. Bring the best, he said, or at least implied. First I was intrigued by the word "gift" instead of the more familiar "sacrifice". We know about that. It's the thing we love best, usually ourselves or our selfishness, and we all know we have to bring it, slaughter it, lay it on the alter, weep a little weep, turn away, and not look back. That's standard Christianity at its standard iconic-est. But gifts are a little different. If I were to take a gift of the best that I had to, say, a king in a distant land, of whom I had heard great and mighty things, whom I respected, and whom I actually loved-- what would I take? After making a hasty assessment of my possessions, I discarded that idea. Regardless of how much I like them, would he really appreciate a large black case full of microphones? (Oops! Grabbed my husbands possessions by mistake!) Would he really appreciate a box full of books, letters, journals, paint, and fabric?</div>
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Possessions weren't going to cut it. Which left what I could make..... or who I am. While I'm quite fond of my paintings and my dinners and my quilts and my blogs, all of them paled in comparison with myself as a human being. Throughout all of history, manpower has been the deciding factor in most everything. I marveled this time as I listened to Chronicles how desperately important it was in those days to have physical <i>men </i>at your disposal. You were only as good as (i.e., only <i>alive</i> as) the army you could muster, and that depended largely on how many sons you had. Suddenly the so-called Patriarchal Society makes more sense: if the only thing between you and extinction is human beings, you are going to have many wives, they are going to have many babies (hopefully sons), and those wives are not going to complain about it much-- they have sons who can till the ground and wield the sword? They get to live!</div>
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The only way wars are won is by having boots on the ground; individual men and women who are willing to risk their lives buried in enemy territory as spies, storming the front line, or cooking to feed a legion. Every single person is important. "For want of a nail, a shoe was thrown; for want of a shoe, a horse went lame; for want of a horse, a captain fell; for want of a captain, the battle was lost; for want of a battle, the war......" you know the saying. </div>
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<i>I</i> am valuable. Far more so than anything I could ever own and give away. And the thought of walking into the temple before God and saying, "Um... I made an accounting and nothing I have is more valuable than me, so... here's my ear on the doorpost-- put an awl through it. Make me Your slave," has given me an entirely new take on Christianity. </div>
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Maybe that's another birthday gift from my Daddy: after 30 years of life on His planet, I finally understand that <i>I</i> am valuable. </div>
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Thanks, Dad.</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-21381036335513225532012-02-18T10:45:00.000-08:002012-02-18T10:45:32.022-08:00Crossing I am blessed to live in railroad country. Someday I hope to have a couple of little boys who will sneak out of bed to record horn blasts on their tape recorders just like their dad did when he was six, and a little girl who counts the boxcars like her grandma. Of course the noble locomotives have their detractions-- last week I got stuck at a crossing and after waiting ten minutes for a stopped train while I became tardier and tardier for my first day with a new art class, I drove ten minutes around and found it had only just cleared by the time I reached the other side of the tracks.<br />
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Last night I was dashing home between chunks of my day and just as I came up to the line that seems always between me and my front door, the lights began to flash and the bell began to ding. To my delight the bell proved also to be a school bell because the Lord walked into the classroom and lessons commenced. <br />
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At His instigation my first thought was not, "Agh!" but rather "Lord, could it be a fast train? I'd really like a fast train," followed by the uncharacteristic ponderment, "I wonder if in a moment I'll be thanking Him for a fast train or thanking Him for a slow one that He knows is best?" And suddenly I was really excited to see which it would be because I knew He <i>knew</i>! Just as in a heart-stopping pan-out in a movie, I saw all of everything He manages moment to moment. And I was over-joyed because <i>my dad</i> knew what was next and had it all under control, and He was excited to show me!<br />
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But that wasn't the lesson. A second later a large, slow yellow engine came trundling around the bend. "Okay," I thought, "guess I get to thank Him for a slow train." But then my eyes became confused because the bend gave way to another yellow engine and then... nothing. At a crossing where I'd never seen it happen before, the leaders were returning home without their entourage-- a slow train <i>and</i> a fast train!<br />
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And that was the lesson: just like in every episode of Stargate or Doctor Who we've ever seen, there is always a third option. With the Lord in charge it is never <span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Either Destroy the Asteroid With Your Own Ship OR Humanity Is Destroyed</span>. It's not even <span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Either Get This Job OR Your Family Will Starve</span>. The Asgard show up, or someone makes a last-minute jump from a parallel universe and saves the day without you having to commit harikari. Dale lost his job last month. We'd been looking for a different job for eight months. We don't have unemployment, and I don't pay quite half the bills. His first day officially unemployed he had work. And the second day too. Then he was randomly offered a part-time minimum-wage job driving a florist's delivery van. His first day was Valentine's Day. (Irony all 'round.) <br />
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We have no idea what's around the bend-- it could be a fast train, or it could be a slow train, <i>or</i> it could be option four, five, six, seven, or one-hundred and ninety-three. Our Dad <i>knows</i>, and the joke's on us if we limit Him to an either/or.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-40336926025305107972012-01-04T21:20:00.000-08:002012-05-11T07:33:55.851-07:00Kingdom Stuff<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I was listening to Job on my iPhone while I made dinner tonight and the Lord came tapping. We've been worried lately-- about work and kids primarily--and He suddenly suggested I might be wise to simply give them up. The kids, mostly, since that's what I seem to carry-- the fear of never getting pregnant, or getting pregnant and losing them, over and over, etc. "They're <i>My</i> kids," He said. "No matter how long you carry them, they're My kids." I would do well to feel honored that I get to carry them for <i>any </i>amount of time.</div>
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Same about a job for my husband. All the jobs are God's! We cannot, by our worry or ingenuity, invent one for ourselves, any more than by trying we could cause conception. There's a reason He says, "Seek first the Kingdom." If all the work and all the children are His (and they are-- Ps. 127 and 1 Tim. 5:8), then they are all His stuff, and as we know, His stuff is, per force, Kingdom stuff.</div>
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So seek first the Kingdom. And all these things shall be added unto you. Unto me. And no matter what that looks like, He'll give me the strength to bear what He decides best suits the Kingdom. Jesus said so. And so did Mom.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-8584952965116819372011-03-28T18:01:00.000-07:002011-03-28T19:06:51.261-07:00Guess Who?<span style="font-family: times new roman;">My favorite things about Living Water Church in Olympia are how they feed and care for the down-trodden, and the stuff that gets spoken from the middle of their big black stage that my husband lights so well. Yesterday Shane was teaching, and he had some </span><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://www.livingwater.com/content.cfm?id=2186">awesome stuff to say about Obed-edom</a><span style="font-family: times new roman;">, that guy the Ark stayed with while David took three months to get un-offended after God killed Uzzah for touching It during David's happy parade. Apparently after It stayed with Obed-edom and his family and they got blessed, Obed-edom volunteered for most of the duties that had to do with the Ark for the next three chapters. Shane concludes this dude just couldn't get enough of the Presence of God.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Then this morning I started reading Joshua (which I should have done a week ago), and there's the Ark again, carried on the shoulders of four priests so that the 1,000,000+ Israelites can cross the riverbed of the Jordan on </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">dry</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> ground. Do you remember what was inside the Ark? The Law, a basket of manna, and Aaron's flowering staff. Apparently, then, the Presence of God "houses" His Word on every subject, the life-bread of our existence and.... well, fruitful power and authority. Remember when the wrong people (the Philistines) tried to keep it from its rightful owners? Their precious god Dagon lost his hands and his head and ended up face-down before the Ark, and </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">then</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> they were overrun with rats and tumors! Remember how the Glory hovered over the house of the Ark? A pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night? For Forty years? And then the same in Canaan? In fact I've never been able to tell when the Glory departed, only that it rushed in like a filling vacuum when Solomon dedicated his temple. Maybe it was always there and they got used to it! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">My point is that if the Presence of God indefinitely preserved a basket of stuff prone to rot after 24 hours, preserved the blossoms of a dead stick, made rivers dry up, blessed those who lived near It and honored It, and brought deserved consequences on those who would thwart It, it might behoove us to remember that It is now housed....</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">in.......</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold; font-family: times new roman;">us</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">One of Shane's points was that nothing but mankind was ever meant to carry the Presence of God. (Hence the unfortunate ending to the oxen and cart episode.) I for one forget approximately 23 hours, 59 minutes and 58 seconds a day just what kind of God I serve. And that the full power of the Godhead has been downloaded into my 125-pound body. If I can remember the reaction of that river to the Presence of God in a gold box, I'm thinking there are some things in my life that might move if I remind them Who now lives in </span><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">me</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;">.</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-7248577529107416802010-12-09T22:13:00.002-08:002010-12-10T09:32:38.042-08:00This post is mostly for Mrs. Dante and Mrs. Thoen...The erudite and erstwhile Robinson children in three of my favorite children's books have a name for what I did today-- <strong><em>Big Shopping</em></strong>! They have a valid and understandable horror of the thing seeing that it takes them away from precious home, into a labyrinthine city full of labyrinthine stores, lead by a harried and flustered mother-of-four who can barely hold the complaining rabble together with threats and bribes. It's ever so much bigger than <span style="font-size:78%;">simple shopping</span>.<br /><div><div><div><div><div><div></div><div> </div><div>I do not have four small children to make <strong><em>Big Shopping</em></strong> an obstacle of Herculean proportions, Christmas is in 16 days, and regardless of what my husband thinks of the refrigerator, we needed food in the house. So I made lists and routes and calls all morning. Finally, fortified with coffee and "lunch" I sallied forth to take on one dollar store, two banks, three thrift stores, three grocery stores, and three or four other places which shall remain nameless due to the season. It took me 7.5 hours, it rained nearly the whole time, I caved and got "food" at Starbucks half-way through, coffee three-quarters of the way through, and crashed a charity auction planning <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">committee</span> by mistake, but returned home completely victorious! I even asked Jesus for a break in the rain to unload the car and He cleared off the whole sky for me in two minutes. Complete with sickle moon and glittering stars. Darling Man.</div><div></div><div>The real reason I'm posting, though, is to show you my treasures. It was a good day at the two Visiting Nurses Thrift Stores I patronized: 50% off everything in the store. I could have bought something for everyone I know. Yes, even <strong><em>you</em></strong>. As it was, I found a lot of things I can't post because they're top secret, but what I<strong> <em>can</em> </strong>show you is the awesome actually-vintage wrapping paper (don't much like that new-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">fangled</span> stuff) I found,<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 149px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548950973908229714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9IHwHYSWVQiH-u6uxSGlal_jNkXm2IpvJhK4Xk9qw9wEaSAZk0cy5Ry79EdvEFNRC1co5TKN9zhr2ZRxH9zCXFbgkkocPuqOFJGyyfrBFR1gIlPpvg4LYOru6LcQ9abHOR13QZ5irWU47/s320/DSC09084%252B.jpg" /> the milk bottle vases,<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548950372282452802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicyaz9gMnv-KBw3RRqnCjy_j33WxAuE0GAgyCBAnapDjdnu6AiPgQmVelSDVS6v_rr4lXuCgVmlemLSDDRruGvEkTkRoI83pu9q2qNfraK42n45eoeR3W1iXRv9qfh9zQADJBepyWT51wF/s320/DSC09090.JPG" /> the silverware box that is now the display case for the rocks my special-needs Angel Tree boy collects, <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 283px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548949781335490738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7dpbxcLMQ0dsJ78yaJCeARvU86oWObruSBhATBE9dP6FIevPxxsYyPEmVG442dW62GGOpXdISlJrC9-8AyHA3st9fX4pgKsSZ0DSDMhQGP1E8uj9TJ8rn8aHMXwMLEenyDV7_Pg4rLX6P/s320/DSC09097%252B.jpg" />the baby clothes for my other Angel Tree boy (the tag said they needed <em>warm</em> 6-9 month clothes-- 'bout broke my heart), <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 188px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548949375850083298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6vY8gaRv69vnS6gL1z218XEuNz9OCMzYbW5vs5a5eMgOl6xmyrkSkPSbNlMPZyOf_5r3iK0AqD1pCpph9dBtuTCs8GCsHDBPz6DNJsY2i2q916QtvfutWKjW52ocGLefgYLAlidcPdiCm/s320/DSC09095%252B.jpg" />the red Norwegian quail that is my grandmother all over,<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 304px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548949011009625714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhht_Hp3Ic46mwgHVKh9Rlb-siRY5Vverpt1amIFmwcOpkwry5GBM6Xv9UOHzrTjnbzIo97XMi_FfGKJpuZDLRWaotMjdGjz6-mZudU2KJ8I0mE5uuvT-cVECDYyueLQVyW8IJDHBawaFmH/s320/DSC09099%252B.jpg" /> and (drum roll please) our dishes! Dale and I have been searching high and low for a set of dishes we both like-- Bed, Bath and Beyond, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">WalMart</span>, Macy's-- everywhere. And then I walked in to Visiting Nurses today and there was this set, one cup and saucer shy of full, and for half-off! I bought 8 dinner plates, 8 salad plates, 8 soup bowls, 7 cups and saucers, one pitcher, cream and sugar, and two serving dishes. For $15.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548948380229634354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7_pMYTaKMZ44dZlmApRn7k1P0jGg86x2OB6M4nfhWSuomSfkXI-iYpAp2_MzWebbHViLAy_YKP8YJzxh8sHbfWtRWraUK-7cnb1QHUSQt-gl25nJDvNfH8HbXRPNrgDso-zmkA19fgs-/s320/DSC09087%252B.jpg" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548948387509632994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFIf6ztb4v5CK_W5HefX5Fb3RI9PK5FWi078dGsCf_xGalqb-oAHkae9kG2vmPohUnuswFh6j3W1FjtT58dSUN7i-3LUwgc__erOhvgJlU8477n7SP1t82OcJ4jqUlo5Hv2_XTN_iTUtr/s320/DSC09089.JPG" /></div><div>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div><div>Ahem. I mean-- Jesus. Rocks.</div><div></div><div>And then I went grocery shopping and found</div><div>A beautiful pomegranate</div><div>Perfectly orange oranges</div><div>The bread my viking requested that just happened to have vikings on it</div><div>Positively enormous apples</div><div>Gorgeous <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">portabella</span> mushrooms, and</div><div>Plain organic pumpkin for .99 a can.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 221px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548947486628258306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZCAHuOkwUk1HnysuANCbeCrtiZD83vnkh_Xeq7foSrnPn_d1Y1Ptm54L55YErXWEvcanZ8TlcUTPEcEQg2Z8rjPNR_N3UgLTMF7wwiZRzdmG07ICWGJPf_tqAcI3BAsQbnm7-lffJtT_v/s320/DSC09094%252B.jpg" /></div><div></div><br /><div>So, Perry, Ant, Beanie and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sundance</span> Robinson, the moral of the story is that though <strong><em>Big Shopping</em></strong> can be perilous and exhausting, sometimes it pays to ask Jesus to take you out on a spree.</div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>Did I mention our Christmas shopping is nearly done? And there are still 16 days till Christmas!</div><div>!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!</div></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-37904430671758179972010-12-08T21:28:00.000-08:002010-12-08T23:03:43.248-08:00"Let me sum up...."<div><div><div>I got married quite suddenly this fall. I haven't blogged in months because I was busy falling in love. With this guy: <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548572658086483874" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklmjItSsZcw9wHwo5N0Cfik3fjigtdnZHTdtY947OvyNWr-397Cux7zFCr2cwuBsBcaEd_E7bsj6LKWf27LJN76L_hiB3BgutKJB1xKl0DNGB93ruxZVOClhWlXK2BWCSmjQEMRKjHApj/s320/Mine.bmp" /> <div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>After years of waiting and praying and hoping and not a few private tears, God opened the sluice gate of heaven, the dam broke, and I discovered Dale Erickson had been waiting for me much longer than I had been waiting for him. </div><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div>So he made me a ring.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548572121308975602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQZ5U_xSacVIpxilnjt12BQiJotm8fC8i94eg0JAA2kC9kkpCGp7OILLrAT3JnWmIv1Bl38InkpFgj9RudHl37c0lFIpLAlOs8bgTqSSrjoV19tq-pYHugL8I1mAtdXV7wEt_CNjSY1JEy/s320/1+168%252B.jpg" /></div><div>And we got engaged.</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548572125510897186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrulx0zKmPzv8BPgt8buMxqvT8BLioLF85YmBTQCH3OUApCwkez2-Lgn6hMTh5T5SMRVkRA6uzfZ8QMDPQSDuCa40jgEbm3u3977u8vebUXyiQ5YciXd8yW0ZDAdR96rvysqqo5a9XvAny/s320/1+058.jpg" /> Then he bought me a ring.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 239px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548571341112274402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxhbaqULQN2b8xM4DDF_pfRMrdmXrpw_CSPWNypL5Ktk-rM11zYHMh__BNrNNcJ1wlT2ERImMehpo-vAF-o1wd-dNj9uNoxSbqfjf7TraCGCytY_nbEfWz28iLGgSDLrZzTE7aZjZqwh8K/s320/IMG_2360.JPG" /> <div>And we got married. (Dress by Cathy Duvall, flowers by me, tux by Bartell's, picture by Mom, us by God.)<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548570925057146034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBXgmlJchO6Y9Kk-tAgTC8NfzBAiVlcKt6-OpuqbH5-0uUVZStZv8UcYahJTprxidccR967lmH1qqf17R5FUDCalcfNan2cfncm-s5dEgyhU9wQjUQ6ndGAX-0llvDlOnYlX552AFy2vp/s320/us.jpg" /></div><div>We went on a honeymoon.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548570691377639234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_ku3TlNiDS5YyOM8VnAlKEKBxXumYK3h9NKYxbzo3FewJfe4fbG19k3HelO5qNvjIKc-vkksvBmZQcyRCMUQPwofKjHgvwtJ0IqRI974SoNl-pW1RH1ASO6am-DUSNlxfZUdo8VOLK3h/s320/IMG_2229.JPG" /></div><div>And I fell in love all over again every single day.</div><div>Then we came home. (It's been painted since then.) And I fell in love with our house.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548569335550508850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0t0U6Q8tLRrBeovTchFnfVgqAFTRgJR9etL0vLJpSahNtYzixZW3vLIshPYctTzyR1CxF_U7zSICrugWndhA0dD1GEJFFN_4bjCn4UhPJEaWzLdTqLTLLbvSflK2nbXl8ckAuqYG4qVl-/s320/house.bmp" /></div><div>And we had another reception.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 285px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548568272079668402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZcQo7E3BWc7IQ5kW0jQP0qRbTMNpWGNBBSA2Dt2UlgQyuWvuWYEmkPCNSSnsrM1-VPbZtdWZe2svBFiiD-pwqvuI7svTBKgcQIz9Ac6GfZKM3Xsfj-_2G5RsVORyjhyphenhyphenx4KGkYCHfCY4uK/s320/cake.bmp" /></div><div>(Did I mention a ton of my Ecola friends came?)</div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 256px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548568265134149714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLOPmU_qfrPWD2nk6XE69CyRkN_je5ByVBBw7jdrjOBj-592Nja5ymUCtMrwdBbF-WIQuFDoKUKrh0AIPNblOBO1jfjqt0y9u2g28jzPO_xP39zoBUJrLEbf6NbZz-lgxjTxwnaDsjDDNX/s320/ecola+crowd.jpg" /> And then real life finally got under way.<br /><div>Well, interrupted by Thanksgiving at our house. Uh-mazing.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548567765888798498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKxK8izomLrLy2VdNJ5_Cpe86nQZwQUmxb__uCAOd76qfflDD34gw9Y5gM5Hvb4kOYKsRyCOyGJFvdEpzj-manWuodZtVee69dboLIJdEWA4Iwa7DvKIgH8SCTJlPsiwEd5l488tiSuhoI/s320/thanksgiving.bmp" /></div><div> </div><div>And so far "real life" has left me breathless with joy. I never knew I could be loved like this. I never knew I could love like this. To have someone who has promised never to go away, who stays there to laugh with me and at me, to cry with me and for me, who eats his meals-- the meals I cook!-- next to me every day, who's life I share and who shares mine.... it's the reason I think God made marriage <strong><em>the</em></strong> metaphor: it's a small taste of heaven on earth.</div><div></div><br /><div>I'm going to admit to a But, though. </div><div></div><br /><div>Marriage is a taste of heaven, but.... I'm still human. Getting married, as it turns out, did not suddenly perfect me. I was warned. Seven years ago my darling friend Cathi tied the knot and told me shortly thereafter that she hadn't had a clue how selfish she was until she married her wonderful husband. I made a mental note to research it myself if God ever gave me the chance.</div><br /><div></div><div>He's giving me the chance. </div><br /><div></div><div>I have an amazing husband who is a paragon of self-sacrifice. And his love is a powerful motivation towards my own self-denial. But only six weeks into this I can't help feeling it's only a matter of time before I run out of ideas for dinner, enthusiasm, sleep, resources, everything, and just give up because I'm simply not selfless enough to continue well. It will hang over my day and I wonder if I have what it takes to do this wife thing.</div><br /><div></div><div>Today I was listening to Ginny Owens sing about Moses' argument with God. So I read it tonight, and was slain once again.</div><div><em><span style="color:#006600;">"And the Lord said to him, 'Who has made man's mouth? Or who makes him dumb or deaf, or seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now then go, and I, even I, will be with your mouth, and teach you what you are to say.' " ~Exodus 4:11-12~</span></em></div><br /><div></div><div>I think most of us could insert some sort of insufficiency in place of the word "mouth." We all have stuff that gives us as much pause as public speaking gave Moses. We come up with a thousand excuses to avoid what God has called us to do because we don't think we have what it takes.</div><br /><div></div><div>We're right, by the way. That's the rub.</div><br /><div></div><div>But look what He says! "Is it not I?" <em>He</em> is the One who has made the very thing with which we take such issue. And He will be with it, whatever it is. He did not ask Moses to deliver Israel. He asked Moses to be obedient, to do the next thing, and <em>He</em> would deliver Israel. </div><br /><div></div><div>He has not asked me to be the perfect wife. He has asked me to be obedient, to make the next meal, do the next load of laundry, to get up early the next morning, and <em>He</em> will accomplish Good Wifehood.</div><br /><div></div><div>So thank you, Ginny. And thank You, Jesus! Life is suddenly doable again.</div><br /><div></div><div></div><div> </div><div>Did I mention we had a maple-bar-and-bacon wedding cake?<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548566182637454834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs6Z3x9828g48ifJc2vywSrMoQ6sGjc7aIRU5-I8Iwvq3i2QPerw7QXC3VXrFSafA-5ZZRMnTeNQc_y6E0U_oFPGwDymGDDn9rAGm_73dw99VRCSVPu6NlFn0mSeJSbuChoBcIHJvL5AEr/s320/maplebar.bmp" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-2495401918395324212010-09-11T12:47:00.000-07:002010-09-11T15:30:23.947-07:00Isn't He Lovely?Okay, so....... haven't blogged in..... well, long enough that I can't remember the last time I blogged. But! I have not been idle (curb those knowing snickers, girls; I can hear them from here), and no more has Jesus. I've been living so much I haven't been writing about it. But this afternoon I just wanted to pass along what Jesus has been beating into my head for the last several weeks. Ready for this?<br /><br />"Have you asked Me?"<br /><br />Even more simply, "Ask Me!"<br /><br />He sees me worrying, fretting, trying to do things in my own strength, sort out what I'm to do, the when, the how, the where, the with-what-money, and He says, gently (and often with His sense of humor peaking through), "Have you even asked Me for help on that? I'm still you're dad! I'm still able! Just because these are new challenges, new roads, new emotions doesn't mean I don't know what to do. I have enough resources for your 'problem'. Honest. And did I mention I still love you?"<br /><br />It's not like I don't trust Him when I remember to. But I'm a girl. I forget stuff. I need to be told and reminded and reassured early and often. And He's a brilliant, good, smart, kind Man, and He knows this. About me, about you, about everyone. So He does. <br /><br />Deep sigh of relief! Isn't that lovely?<br /><br />"Jesus, Jesus, How I trust Him,<br />How I've proved Him o'er and o'er.<br />Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus,<br />Oh for grace to trust Him more."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-88581679982484758642010-07-18T17:13:00.001-07:002010-07-18T17:14:29.752-07:00From imagination to reality...<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmSGw8RdjuRpp39sqFr3TLxAqcu0pUFNxwjPTuJ3M4WiGOT6AjnB3_3N4AM8jUUhcQgIofcIXwHBTSeu7sDwKyAGOATvECj11wXBJHkXO8TtxJkWqlZluQ2VHq4edhaKYCMVDGa6ufuhE/s1600/Island-795901.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmSGw8RdjuRpp39sqFr3TLxAqcu0pUFNxwjPTuJ3M4WiGOT6AjnB3_3N4AM8jUUhcQgIofcIXwHBTSeu7sDwKyAGOATvECj11wXBJHkXO8TtxJkWqlZluQ2VHq4edhaKYCMVDGa6ufuhE/s320/Island-795901.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495403765144021858" border="0" /></a></p> <span style="font-family: times new roman;">Oh the marvels of creating! This used to be simply an island-shaped space in my brain. Then it became an island-shaped sketch in my sketchbook. And now it's a three-dimensional <span style="font-style: italic;">island</span> in pottery! How crazy that what once only I could see, the world may now observe as well. God is ridiculous: He shared this ability with us! That is so much trust and respect on His part. Brave, ridiculous God. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-69535287159363130722010-06-16T13:42:00.000-07:002010-06-16T13:41:22.771-07:00The Humility of Happiness<span style="font-family:times new roman;">Realization 2,892,701: I have been scared of happiness for a long time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Anybody?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I'm not positive, but I think I've been infected with suspicion of the concept by our Christian culture. Peace and joy, it implies, are fine. Holy. Maintainable. Happiness is... well, worldly! Happiness seems to be based on transient things, might easily fade, might leave us horrendously disappointed--</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Stop!</span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">There-- the truth slips and shows itself: being disappointed. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">If I'm disappointed, I reason, it must mean </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >I</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> did something wrong, and am therefore morally culpable. And being horrendously disappointed creates pain, pain we want to avoid. In our finite view of ourselves and human history we have no idea what might improve us. So we push the dual potential away and embrace mediocrity. Being neither happy nor sad is a </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >much</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"> more emotionally-defensible position; it lowers the risk factor (generally considered to be a good thing by this wounded world).<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">But as C.S. Lewis said, pain and joy are inextricably linked. If we never rejoice, we'll never weep, but that is no good reason not to rejoice. Or, in this intensely personally-applicable instance, not to be happy. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />Besides, who is trying to convince us that we'll end up miserable if we submit to the humility of happiness?! We have no positive proof that things will go badly. Tolkien named the sudden turning out right a Eucatastrophe. Patricia says in <span style="font-style: italic;">Joe Vs. the Volcano</span>, "Nobody knows anything, Joe. We'll take this leap, and we'll see. We'll jump, and we'll see. That's life, right?" And David says of this God we serve, <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);">"He heals the brokenhearted, and binds up their sorrows."</span></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 51, 0);"> ~Ps. 147:3</span> No promises that things won't have gone wrongly for a long time, or that we won't have to jump, or that we won't have broken hearts to mend. Only that all will be well. If the bad guy is winning, the story ain't over. </span><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />Not only that, but by way of a p.s., my brilliant friend Elisabeth did a little research and discovered that "Blessed" means "</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >happy</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">, fortunate, to be envied." Paul tells us in Eph. 1 that we </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:times new roman;" >are</span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">, in fact, blessed. Therefore if we have not happiness, we are missing an intrinsic part of our character.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">So it turns out we have to trust Him. Again. Go figure. We jump, and we pray for a miracle, and we see. That's life. Why waste it in the common, colorless land of In-Between?</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211069955578998630.post-1987436426113660572010-06-15T16:01:00.001-07:002010-06-16T00:34:02.265-07:00More Pool....<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNVnBVw6aLmCxliCmPZa1MyChtaxGxnG7tZIa5P0o9Y7W7BbL3ku87BbLuI1c94_22XWZL4OaQS30y3pOTqLCLmy9WXlczgfLxlKCeiAkFQocMCatxasLHstt2T5wmkVdcNm-yZTySGoZ7/s1600/Olympic_Club-706397.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNVnBVw6aLmCxliCmPZa1MyChtaxGxnG7tZIa5P0o9Y7W7BbL3ku87BbLuI1c94_22XWZL4OaQS30y3pOTqLCLmy9WXlczgfLxlKCeiAkFQocMCatxasLHstt2T5wmkVdcNm-yZTySGoZ7/s320/Olympic_Club-706397.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483139531002123522" border="0" /></a></p> <span style="font-family:times new roman;">We stormed the Olympic Club again and as stunt fliers raced around the sky of New York Harbor on the telly, as the jukebox played, well, lots of stuff, and as the local sky poured rain, Maggie and Amanda duked it out with Boomer and Jessie for supremacy on the table. </span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2