A COLLECTION OF MOMENTS

A few days ago a lady came into the cleaners.  Her husband had passed away the night before and could we clean his clothes in two hours?  We were not able to fulfill this request, but we did arrange for them to be pressed.

She was so very distraught and yet attempting to keep herself together to get through this moment, and the next moment, and the next.  Feeling completely at a loss in the face of her grief, I offered to pray with her.  She gratefully accepted and wet my shoulder with her tears.

Up until this point, my day had been going very badly.  Actually, the bad had collected into a heap from several days prior.  My focus was only on myself.  All of these things were going wrong, getting in the way of me accomplishing that One Big Thing for God.  Someday.

But out of the blue, and into the moment, walks someone with a need.  God has given me an opportunity to connect.  To minister.  Suddenly, my day, my week, my life has value again.

God has taught me something that I've known forever, but needed reminding of.  Being a Christian isn't so much about doing the One Big Thing, but about living,  learning and loving through a collection of moments over a lifetime.

IN DEFENSE OF FICTION

I am a reader. I have been my whole life. I don't remember learning to do it, just that I always have. Books are like old friends. They comfort me. I enjoy the way they feel when I hold them. I enjoy the way they sound when I fan their pages. I enjoy the way they smell when I sniff them...Yes, I sniff them.

I am a connoisseur of a wide variety of genres, both fiction and non-fiction. At any given time, I am in the process of reading one or two of each. Most of my reads are Christian works, but I'm not above delving deep into the autobiography of an inspirational secular success story.

Occasionally, I receive negative feedback from folks who see fiction as completely worthless. Reading fiction requires wisdom and discretion on the part of the reader.  I will admit that many fiction writers waste their talent on mindless manuscripts and sensual drivel.  If this is the sort of thing you're mentally and visually ingesting, Congratulations! You are what you read. Junk in, junk out.

Good fiction, however, teaches. Good fiction has been researched. Good fiction moves people to make better life choices.

Much knowledge can be gleaned from fictional works that you wouldn't take the time to research yourself. This knowledge, even though learned "by accident", lies dormant to be referenced in the future.

Oh, and by the way, Jesus often taught in parables, which are fictional stories used to relate a lesson, moral or truth.

"And he spake many things unto them in parables, saying, behold, a sower went forth to sow..."

ONE GARMENT

Several years ago, I saw a documentary about a lady who got rid of all her clothes and purchased seven blue dresses. All seven were exactly alike -royal blue, cut a few inches below the knee, three-quarter length sleeves, modest neckline, belted at the waist. A very practical choice for wearing every day. And that is exactly what she did.

Her reasoning for making this life choice was that she had found herself caring too much about her physical appearance and what people thought about her looks. She had decided to focus, instead, on her character. So, she intentionally chose an outfit that would not draw attention to what people saw, but what people felt when they were in her presence.

Now, if I were choosing a garment to wear every single day, this particular blue dress would not be the one. The thought makes me rather squeamish. I definately, without any need to think further, would choose black. Straight, but not binding. No pleats. Hanging just above my ankles so that it swished when I walked, maybe a spandex-mix with some stretch, three-quarter length sleeves, modest neckline, and of course, wrinkle-free.

I know many of you are cringing right now at my choice, or perhaps just at the thought of wearing the same garment every day. These feelings only accentuate the need to choose wisely. This is the one garment that I would choose in the natural, and I'm very comfortable with my choice. But if I had to choose one spiritual garment, what would it be?

Isaiah 61:1-3 talks about a Garment that is given by God, himself. 1The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;

2To proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn;

3To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified.

If I had to choose only one spiritual garment, it would be the Garment of Praise. This garment covers a multitude of error. If I have leaned too much to the flesh on any given day, the solution is to Praise God. If I have been in want for anything, the solution is to Praise God. If I have been confused, the solution is to Praise God. If I have been offensive or been offended, the solution is to Praise God. If I have allowed my emotions to get the better of me, the solution is to Praise God. If my spirit has been depressed or riddled with anxiety, the solution is to Praise God.

The Garment of Praise is like a warm cloak on a cold, winters day or a protective shade from the raging sun. Yes, when people see me, I want them to see me wearing my Garment of Praise every day.

A TORNADO IN THE DESERT

Much has been said about Elijah’s departure from this world and Elisha’s faithfulness in remaining with him to the end, even in the face of Elija’s insistence that he remain behind. Elijah first told him to stay behind so that he could travel on to Bethel, then to Jericho and finally to Jordan. Elisha’s response to each of these requests was unwavering, “As the Lord liveth, and as thy soul liveth, I will not leave thee.”

Each of these choices was a point of testing. Would the apprentice be faithful to the elder prophet? Yet the greatest time of testing was yet to come. Finally, as Elijah realized that his young student would not be dissuaded from following him, he asked what Elisha’s desire was. Elisha replied that he wanted a double portion. A double portion of what? God’s Spirit and anointing.

Elijah’s response is one of the most brushed over of the scripture, “You have asked a hard thing. Never the less, if you see me when I am taken up…” Why was Elisha’s request a hard thing? Because in order to meet his mentor’s requirements, he was going to have to face his fears.

We often hear about the Chariot and horses of fire, but it fails to register that there was what we would call a tornado involved here. Not only did Elisha have to be faithful enough to not give up and turn back; he also had to keep Elijah in his sight until he was taken up and the prophet’s mantle had fallen down.

I experienced a tornado recently and while my kids and I did stand at the window and watch the approaching black clouds and distant lightening with awe, there was a point when the hail began to fall and things started flying through the air that we bailed and ran. At first we felt brave, all secure in our brick house, but the closer the monster got, the more our bravado failed us. In one instant, we went from facing the oncoming storm to running breathlessly to hide in the basement.

Elisha knew that Elijah was being taken from him that day. Scripture says that God would do nothing in the earth unless He first reveals it to his sons the prophets. The great and notable event was prophecied at each place they stopped. Elisha knew what; he just didn’t know how. He didn’t know how frightening it would be. He didn’t realize the powerful emotions that would threaten to engulf him at the critical moment when he must not look away. The overwhelming urge to flee, even though he had refused to turn back from following his mentor at every other point of the journey.

God’s Word says, He that endures until the end shall be saved. Many people have walked a measure of the journey with the Lord. They have even done notable works for the Kingdom during that time. But when they had to face their greatest fears -rejection, offense, or crumbling goals -they fled. Or when they were called upon by the Spirit to come up higher, they hid their faces against the onslaught of oppression.

We are called to look to Jesus in the face of apparent destruction, when we can see nothing but calamity on the horizon. After the younger prophet had picked up Elijah’s mantle, the symbol of Elisha’s much sought after double portion, did he remember a moment when he almost turned away from the storm. Was he embarrassed by his humanity?

In this journey that we are walking with Jesus, we must not turn back, but what if God requires more of us in these last days? What if we are called on to face our fears? What would we do if we weren’t afraid? To pray, to sing, to write, to speak, to witness? What spiritual victories would we attain if we didn’t seek shelter when the thing that we are most afraid of is upon us? What blessing might be hiding in the raging storm?

THE MACHINE CALLED LIFE

Now that our house is complete, my husband has set his mind to have the most perfectly smooth yard (several acres worth) possible. I was watching him operate the dozer a few days ago, anticipating what the yard will look like when we are able to sow the grass seed and it begins to grow.

I went in the house for something and when I came back out, he had moved to a different location out of my field of vision. I sat on the back porch reading a book and listening to the rhythmic accelerating and decelerating of the motor, until it dawned on me what he must be doing.

From the first day that we bought the farm, I had made it known that I wanted him to clean out from under a particular tree. We have several huge oak and pecan trees that line our driveway and one was excessively surrounded by undergrowth, a prominent eyesore.

Laying my book aside, I went to investigate. Sure enough, there he was clearing the small trees and bushes away. I stood and watched in amazement because with that massive machine, he was making the smallest movements, using just the edge of the colossal blade to manipulate a little tree which had grown up right next to the larger one.

His Papa, who he learned this skill from, would have been proud as he delicately worked to extricate the offending foliage. Finally, after all the pushing, pulling, prodding and wedging…success, without one bit of damage to my beloved tree.

Doesn’t God operate the same way with us? He sees our potential far in advance and He makes a plan to clean us up. He knows that we will eventually tower as a proud sentinel, even though for now we might not look like much. He is the Master Operator and uses the Machine called Life to push, pull, prod and wedge all of the useless encumbrances away from us.

So often, we try to flee from the groundwork that God is trying to accomplish. We are fearful that Life is out of control. No need to fear. God can be trusted to cause no damage. He is the Master Operator of this Machine called Life.

MY TURNING AROUND PLACE

The Lord has blessed me with a wonderful place to walk in our new neighborhood. It’s one of the things that I have thanked Him for over and over since we moved. The road has just enough hills to let me know I’ve accomplished something, and enough flats that allow me to enjoy the beautiful scenery.

I like to walk two miles a day, which means I need to walk one mile and then turn around and head for home. Exactly at the mile mark begins the white picket fence of my neighbors.

I can see the fence from quite a distance, knowing all the while that I’m going to turn around there. But something peculiar happens as I get closer to my turning around place. I begin to wonder, “How exactly should I turn around?”

Should I just pivot quickly and matter-of-factly? Should I walk in a semi-circle and make a wide u-turn? Should I prop against the fence first and then casually wander back in the other direction? I mean, someone could be watching me that I’m not aware of. Is it going to look foolish if they see me stop abruptly and take off in the other direction?

There’s an awkwardness that overtakes me at this point. Every time. Like I said, it’s peculiar. After all, this IS my turning around place. I could keep going and often I want to. But if I do, I might not have enough energy to get home.

In this journey called life, we all come to a Turning Around Place. We know it’s coming, but when we get there, how do we go about turning around from actions, attitudes and attractions that are taking us in the wrong direction? Who’s watching? What will they think?

Who cares? If this is your Turning Around Place, TURN AROUND. It doesn’t matter so much whether it’s gracefully done. What matters is that you get going in the direction of home.

SEARCHING

We spend our whole lives searching...

for Peace,
for Beauty,
for Fellowship,
for Love,
for Comraderie,
for Understanding,
for Truth,
for Healing,
for Purpose.

We spend our whole lives searching...for Heaven.

MY APOSTOLIC FACE

This is my God-given,
Holy Ghost-driven,
Pure and holy face.

It’s my look me in the eyes,
I’ve got nothing to hide,
You can be assured face.

This is my completely see through,
No mask between me and you,
I can face the world face.

It’s my not afraid to cry,
Brush a tear from my eye,
Splash some water and wipe it dry face.

This is my what you see is what you get,
Trustworthy and transparent,
In the image of God face.

It’s my Heaven viewing,
Sin eschewing,
Beautiful, Apostolic face.

TOO BIG

My middle child is fifteen. What a great kid he is, but definitely a teenager with all the stereotypical moodiness associated with that role. He smiles when he wants to smile, not when you want him to. He laughs when he wants to laugh, not when you want him to. He is in a good mood when he wants to be, not…well, you get the picture. And so those rare moments when he’s smiling and excited about something without being coerced are treasured.

This was the case one evening just before dark. As I was at the computer, he came up the basement stairs at a fast clip, very excited about something he had just seen. It seems he was playing basketball when he spotted a slim stream of ants coming from a small crevice beside the concrete court. The exodus was getting wider and longer. Going where? On a whim, he followed the little soldiers, and followed...and followed.

He told me how they marched on and on, making grand detours for no apparent reason, until they disappeared en masse into a miniature canyon in the field behind our house. He was so animated that I decided to see for myself (Neither did I want this fragment of time to end when my teenager was including me in his world:)

He showed me where the small battalion trickled from the crack and together we weaved in and out, round and round, to where thousands, perhaps millions, were vanishing beneath the earth. As we backtracked toward the house, I picked up a small stick and put it in their path. It was as if they hardly even noticed the obstacle. We bent down so close that they should have felt our breath as we tried to corral them with the stick, and yet they just kept on their detour-ridden journey.

In amazement, I said to my son, “We’re too big. They can’t even see us.”

There was a time when God was too big for us to see. Immense. Infinite. Immeasurable. He watched us on our hopeless journey, knowing that we were making it much more arduous than necessary. He intervened in the lives of mankind time after time, often coming so close that we should have felt His Breath through prophets, angels and theophanies. Yet He was still too big to perceive.

Until the day that He became small. God became man. Suddenly Visible. Tangible. Physical.

If I could have stepped into that miniature world and taken on the form of an ant, they could have seen me. They could have perceived me. They could have come to know, trust and perhaps even love me, in their own ant-like way.

But why would I do such a thing? Unimaginable. Unthinkable. Inconceivable. And yet, exactly what our all-powerful and loving God did…

...when He became small for me.