I Contain Multitudes, Pt. 2

A couple weeks ago, Mike Drewry filled in for Pastor David, and--before I share about the sermon--I just want to throw it out there: I think a pastor's choice of substitutes says a lot about the pastor, himself. I've attended many a church where--if word got out that someone was going to fill in, on Sunday--most of the members decided to sleep in. Or go fishing. Seriously.

My pastor gets all up in the Word, and so do his subs. I get a warm fuzzy feeling in knowing: I will be fed at my church on any given Sunday, regardless of who preaches.

When Mike Drewry preaches, it takes me weeks, sometimes, to process. He preached out of Mark 5:1-20 this last time, which is the story about Jesus's casting devils out of a man and into a herd of swine. Some of Drewry's excellent points include:

• Mark illustrates the condition of the demoniac only to emphasize the sovereign authority of Christ and the quality of salvation He brings. We should neither refuse belief in the demonic nor hold an unhealthy fascination with it.
• The enemy wants us maimed, killed, and destroyed.
•  After Jesus casts out the devils, the former demoniac sits, wears clothes, and otherwise demonstrates that he is in his right mind. The locals respond with terror; they ask Jesus to leave. There are two types of people in this world: those who plead for Jesus to leave, and those who pray for Him to stay.
• Just like the former demoniac, everyone is reminded of his or her condition before conversion. Outside of Christ, there is no way to be free of satan.
• Jesus got in the ship not only because the locals asked Him to leave, but also because the Gadarenes was not his final destination.
• We should emulate the example of the former demoniac by evangelizing: by telling others what the Lord has done for us and how much mercy He's shown us.
• Jesus returns, later, to the same region where He feeds the masses. His audience at that time very likely includes people to whom the former demoniac has witnessed.

Meaty sermon, eh?

And here's one more point that--in my mulling over of Drewry's sermon--the Lord has whispered into my heart. Jesus does not say to the former demoniac (who wants to leave with Jesus): "Go home to thy friends, and tell them how sinful and wrong they are." Nor does He say: "Go home to thy friends, and tell them how powerful the enemy is (or was)."

Instead, Jesus says: "Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion to thee" (Mark 5:19b). And I understand, suddenly: just like Mark, we should focus on Christ. Not (wo)man and his or her sinful condition. Certainly not the enemy who seeks to destroy.

In terms of witnessing, we will accomplish more in sharing what the Lord has done for us than in pointing out others' sin.

Scripture bears this out. In fact, Jesus says, plainly: "Judge not, that ye be not judged" (Matthew 7:1). As stewards of gifts from the Lord, including our children, Jesus calls us to discern. ((Later in Matthew 7, He advises His disciples to beware of false prophets, also to know men based upon the "fruit" they bear (7:15-20)). But judgment and discernment are two different things.

I would argue: God wants us to exercise caution in deciding how to use the resources He's given us: time, energy (physical, mental, emotional, spiritual, etc.), talents, money, and material possessions. He wants us make careful decisions in terms of whom we allow to speak into our lives. He wants us, undoubtedly, to keep our eyes open when it comes to our children and who may influence or touch them. These are matters of discernment.

But God does not want us to wag our tongues regarding who is bad, and why...who is sinful, and why...who is foolish, and why. He does not want us to beat others down by talking about how sinful they are or what idiots they are...whether to their faces, or behind their backs.

I can tell you, now: part of my New Year's resolution includes my adopting the attitude of Apostle Paul, who shares: "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners; of whom I am chief" (I Timothy 1:15b).

And I don't feel like I can afford to wait until 2012 to say: I am among those sinners for whom Jesus was born into this terrible place of sin, and suffering, and death. He's cared enough to dust me off and scrub my soul of ugly things...not just once, but over and over. And over. I've turned my back on Him, but He's never once turned His back on me.

Whatever you've done, or are doing, or will do: Jesus--in His sovereign authority--can forgive you for it and save you from it. He can.

Well of Longing

I heard Blake Shelton sing "Home" over my radio, the other day, and--even though I'd heard the song many times before, and even though I'd felt happy enough just moments earlier--my eyes welled up. What a powerful song to elicit emotion, like that! Everytime I hear it, I remember what longing feels like: longing for a better and brighter day; longing for home; longing for loved ones who've slipped away; longing for love, itself.

"Home" brings back memories of my eyes meeting Jim's face for the first time in over eleven years. I remember our flood of words, my relief in feeling--for the first time in so long--completely accepted, cherished, understood. I remember feeling like I'd found home in another person: someone who spoke my same language.

I remember wanting to rewind and redo. Or fast-forward to a time of Jim's and my living in the same town, in the same state. Something else: not the now. I couldn't fathom how--knowing what Jim and I knew and feeling what we felt--we might climb into our pick-up trucks and drive away in opposite directions. How to stay afloat in such a deep well of longing?

I'm so thankful, now, for that bittersweet time. I return often to it, in my mind. I don't want to forget my longing for Jim's promise and presence: in short, for exactly what I have, today.

Pastor David preached out of Psalms, this morning. (Psalmist) David's longing for God--as expressed in 63:1 and 42:1-2--stood out to me, from the sermon. My flesh longs for You in this place void of water. My soul pants and thirsts after You.* Pastor David also sent us to Matthew 5:6 of the Beatitudes: "Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled" (KJV).

So it comes to me: as hard as I fight to remember life without Jim (and each of my children, for that matter), I should fight even harder to remember life without Father God. My relationship with Him matters very most, and--if I long for Him--He will bless and fill me.

*all paraphrasing mine

On Baptism

from photobucket

Pastor David preached, Sunday, from Acts 2:38 and Romans 6. He spoke about what baptism is not (salvation). He also spoke about what baptism is: both an act of obedience and a complex symbol of putting away the old and embracing the new, through the power of Christ's death, burial, and resurrection.

Just before, I'd complimented Rodney on his white robe as I'd passed him in the hall. (To be more specific, I'd told him he looked smashing.) And--from my excellent vantage point just to the right of the piano, between fellow choir members Karen and Carter--I'd watched Pastor David lay Rodney back into the water. I'd leapt up to applaud and (after the men had left the baptismal) crossed the sanctuary for Kleenex...

...because I'd beheld Rodney's heartbreakingly sincere expression. I'd seen his breath catch in his throat, just a little, before the moment of submersion.

And I'd remembered.

I'd remembered looking through twelve-year-old eyes, out from under dripping bangs, toward the shore of a pond. I'd remembered the clapping and shouting and singing...the sheer praising...in that moment, my having just risen, baptized, from murky waters. 

And it must've been cold, Brother. Sister, it must've been cold, 'cause it was Easter. In a pond. But I don't remember the cold, only the wild-blessed thrill of it all: the soft, inward tapping of...my heart? The Holy Spirit, keeping toe-time with the hymns? I didn't know then and can't say, now; for four years, the two had been in there together, waiting to celebrate my baptism.

I remember the moment of my salvation even more clearly than that of my baptism. I was eight and alone in my bedroom, and I don't know, exactly, how I'd learned what to pray.


I'd been bussed, during school hours, to kind-hearted women wearing Traditional Pleated Minnies.  

I remember their shadowy little sanctuary with wooden pews; their pastel cards upon which scripture had been printed, perfectly; their emphasis on the memorization and recitation of Bible verses. 


I remember, too, going to various Vacation Bible Schools and church services, mostly under the care of my maternal grandparents.


At any rate, I knew what to pray, and I prayed it, and I felt a change wrought in my heart. I've never doubted my salvation, even during those years of my failing to walk "in newness of life."

Separate moments: that of my salvation, and (some four years later) that of my baptism. Both memorable, precious, powerful, unequivocal. I am so deeply thankful that neither experience can ever be stripped from me.

(Devil must not want this one published because the Internet went down last night; the post went inexplicably deleted for a few minutes; and what is up with the white background and all the seemingly unresolvable spacing issues?)

Length & Convolution (w/ a Gospel Message)

I spent most of the day, today, with my son.  Jim wasn't feeling 100% this morning, and it was pouring the rain, so he stayed home with the babies while Cade and I went to church.  We sang in the choir, as we always do, and he crowded me in the pew, as he always does.

Today, Pastor David began his sermon by talking about being lost (in the non-religious sense).  Sometimes, he said, we know we're lost, and sometimes we don't: either way, we're lost.  He mentioned a group of church ladies who headed south instead of north on the interstate, one time, and didn't realize it for a couple hundred miles. 

Pastor David proceeded to read out of I John 1.  He explained that--in order to be saved--a person must recognize the sin in his or her life and truly repent of it.  He stressed: it's not enough to learn about Jesus in class, attend church regularly, be a "good person," repeat someone else's prayer, or get baptized.  And, tragically, many people believe they've been saved because they've said or done things that didn't involve repentance, at all.  They're lost and don't know they're lost.***

Now, I'd promised Cade that--if he achieved an "A" average in all of his classes, last year--we'd do something really fun, just the two of us.  He managed to pull off the A in social studies by the very film on his teeth, so I owed him and decided to make today our special day.  We played two games of putt-putt and sprayed one another with water out of bumper boats.

As we walked toward the boats, I claimed the turquoise and purple one, which turned out to be genius on my part.  My boat shot water out in a perfect arc so it landed--with precision--in Cade's lap.  Conversely, his boat shot water straight ahead in such a way that I could duck a lot of it.

I laughed so hard I swallowed my gum.

Thanks to my perpetual state of Lake Preparedness, I had beach towels in the minivan.  So we dried off and went to Chili's.

Over dinner, I interrupted Cade, at one point, to ask: do you feel confident in your salvation?  Do you pray even when Mommy's not praying with you?  Do you feel Jesus, in your heart?  He answered all three questions with a bright and confident "yes" and returned to his talk of video games and Peter and the Starcatchers.

"I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth" (3 John 1:4, KJV). 

I was relieved by Cade's answers, today, but, you know, he has good "fruit of the spirit."  Just today, I was concentrating on the road and daydreaming about sports camp when he leaned over, suddenly, and turned off the radio.  "What was it?" I asked.

"Mom, they were talking about moist chocolate cake," he answered.  "And I didn't think you needed to hear that, since you're dieting and all."

And, one day last week, Cade's dad and stepmom drove over to get Cade and came in to visit with the babies, who were fairly off the hook thanks to its being past naptime.  At one point, Jason and Tabitha were ready to leave, and Cade was nowhere to be seen.  We adults joked around about Cade's tendency to wait until the last minute to gather his belongings from the four ends of my (messy) house, also Cade's tendency to read for long periods of time in the bathroom (where the babies can't bug him).  But, suddenly, Cade emerged from the belly of his room, waving a glue stick.  And we adults watched as he carefully reaffixed a googly eye to Clementine's construction-paper bear on a stick, saying: "Now, MeMe, you can show it to Daddy when he gets home."

Oh, I have prayed desperately for my son.  I wanted so much for him to have what I had, growing up: happily-married parents.  And I guess he does; they're just not married to one another.  I beg God to redeem my failures and make my son better and more than I've been.  Just today, I asked Cade: "You be a'ight?"

"What do you mean: 'I be a'ight?'"

"You keep doing well in school?  Keep working hard at Scouts and karate?  Keep your good friends?  Don't smoke or do drugs?  Wait a long time to get married and have kids?  Wait a long time to have sex...preferably 'til you're married?  Because you know: you don't have to do things just because other people do them."

He nodded and smiled out at me from his wide, gray-green eyes.  "I be a'ight, Mom," he said.

It's been seven years since I left Cade's dad, and they (being bright with promise compared to the seven years during which I lived with his dad) have, mostly, flown.  I have seven years, more, before Cade leaves for college.  I know they, too, will fly. 

What joy to know Jesus goes with Cade, wherever and whenever he goes.

***If you have questions about salvation, feel free to e-mail me at normalgirl (at) hotmail (dot) com.

Suffering. Joy.

photobucket photo

Pastor David was out of town, Sunday, and our sermon was delivered by Mike Drewry, whom I'll admit to liking, in part, because he reminds me of my brother.  His mannerisms aren't quite as similar to my brother's as the Peter Krause "Adam" character on Parenthood, but Mike looks more like my brother than Peter Krause, and--since NBC doesn't bring Peter Krause to me in the summertime--I was happy enough to have my brother's lookalike.

Not to mention: Mike Drewry can come on with the Word!  He preached, once, on the scene in which Jesus flips over the moneychangers' tables, but--instead of focusing on Jesus's righteous anger, as most are wont to do--Mike brought out Jesus's words: "My house shall be a house of prayer," and how no other activity within the church surpasses prayer in importance.  He went on to remind us: our very bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit and that, as such, we should make ourselves houses of prayer.  It was a beautiful sermon; I didn't take notes that day, but I don't think I'll ever forget it.

Anyway, this past Sunday, Mike preached out of Hebrews 10:32-36.  Now, Jim's and my small group recently studied Hebrews, and--as stoked as I was, going into the study--I didn't really enjoy Hebrews until the end (Chapters 11-13).  Most of Hebrews is repetitive...and not particularly "feel good."  Mike's sermon wasn't feel good, either, but I knew it wouldn't be (coming out of Hebrews 10), and he gave us fair warning.

Mike preached about suffering and how we should "be willing and ready to let it all go for the sake of Christ and His Word."  He talked about how we tend to embrace Christianity only so far as it improves our lives.  For example, he noted that giving up illicit sex and alcohol in excess makes our lives better.  Being thrifty and kind makes our lives better.

But we tend to pause when living out our faith brings about affliction, pain, loss, suffering.  Death.

I wish I'd been quick enough--with the stubby, eraserless pencil I borrowed from the pew--to jot down all of Mike's scripture references and quotes  ('Twas a very meaty sermon!), but I got the main idea, I think.  Mike said he found jolting the joy of those losing their property in Hebrews 10:34, and he talked about affliction as being the means to working out joy because we know something better awaits.  He reminded us: Jesus endured the cross for the joy that was set before Him (Hebrews 12:2).  Mike also shared a meaningful quote from Christian martyr Jim Elliot: "He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep to gain what he cannot lose."

Not a feel-good sermon, but a call for action, and God had prepared my heart and mind to respond.  I'm in the questioning stage, now, and spending some time in the Word.  My kicking off point?  Nehemiah 8:10b: "The joy of the Lord is your strength."  I'm looking forward to sharing with you, later, some of what I learn.  Pray for me, as I pray for you.

Praying Always

Photobucket Photo

Pastor David, today, wrapped up his series on the armor of God.  His focus was on Ephesians 6:18: "Praying always with all prayer and supplication in the Spirit, and watching thereunto with all perseverance and supplication for all saints" (KJV). Specifically, he talked about prayer as strategic in battling Satan and his army.  Pastor David noted that, according to John 10:10, Satan wants to steal, kill, and destroy, but Jesus came to this place and died for our sins in order to give us abundant life.  Spiritual warfare exists, and prayer is critical for any and all winning, on our part.  The more constant our prayers, the better.

I never want to pretend like I have it all together, but I do want to share: over the past few years, my prayer life has improved significantly, albeit slowly.  It used to include, mostly, prayer in church, prayer at mealtimes, and prayer at bedtime.  But God has placed some true prayer warriors in my path, also made me receptive in learning from their examples.

I suspect "praying always" is challenging for others besides me, so I thought I'd share some things I've learned and ways in which I've grown.

• Instead of writing "I'll pray for you," I try to write out an actual prayer (from Dear Heavenly Father to Amen.)  In May 2008, my friend Connie pointed me in the direction of Dr. Ray Pritchard's article "Write a Prayer for a Friend."  I wrote a couple prayers and passed the article along to others, and, later, my friend Rachel passed it back, after which time the practice moreso took hold in my life.  A written prayer can be saved and reread by both the person for whom I've prayed and me, and the Lord's faithfulness can be checked against my words.  Also, if I write out a prayer, I know I've prayed it.  (I mean to say: I've been guilty of saying "I'll pray for you" and forgetting to do it.)  
• Instead of saying "I'll pray for you," I try to pray with the person, on the spot.  I emphasize try because I'm not going to lie: prayer in person doesn't always work out for me; as you and I both know, certain environments can be chaotic.  Still, I used to be someone uncomfortable with one-on-one prayer, and I've come a long way: especially over the telephone.  My friend Sharon inspired me, last November, to start praying over the telephone, and it's opened some big doors and kindled some special friendships.  As with a written prayer, the beauty of a prayer with someone is, in part, knowing I've prayed it.
• Recently, I've been trying to stop/drop what I'm doing and pray with others as soon as a need becomes known.  For example, Clementine and I bowed our heads in a mall parking lot, a couple weeks ago, and prayed for some people who'd been in a car accident.  Even more recently, I was sitting at my computer when a prayer request came through.  I shared the request with Jim and the children, and we all stopped what we were doing and prayed, together, regarding the need. This practice of "stop, drop, and pray" is also very much Sharon-inspired. 
• I pray aloud, often, while driving, when my passengers are asleep.  The drive goes so quickly when I'm in prayer, and there have been some cute (blessed) moments when one of my passengers has turned out to be awake, after all.    
• I pray when I'm awake and don't want to be, but can't sleep for whatever reason.  I've discovered that--in the wee hours of the morning--prayer curbs my frustration with an uncomfortable, pregnant body; a sleepless baby; or a restless mind.   It helps and relaxes me to know I'm communing with the Lord and, oftentimes, blessing others with time that would feel much less productive, otherwise.  (***Note to self: I need to start praying while waiting in line!)
• I've begun praying with my son after addressing behavioral issues.  I've found that this practice puts emphasis on Cade's behavior as being reflective of heart issues with which Jesus, who lives in Cade's heart, can help.  Also, prayer helps me to end Cade's and my interaction on a positive, loving note.
• I've started praying with Cade before saying goodbye to him for an extended amount of time because this practice contributes to whatever peace I experience both in the moment and, later, while we're apart.

What about you?  How do you incorporate prayer into your busy, daily lives?

Peace, Pt. 2

 

 

As you can see from the photos, a box turtle came calling, this afternoon.  Brave, he was, and friendly; he didn't tuck into his shell even when Baby Charleigh picked him up and gave him a little shake.

I started thinking, again, about the things that shake me.  Also about the temptation to self-medicate when I am being shaken.  I want to slap a layer of something over my pain; I want to bury my pain under a little alcohol, nicotine, sugar.

But Jesus coaxes: Don't bury what hurts you.  Name it.  I'm asking you to show Me what I already see and explain to Me what I already understand.  I'm asking you to lay it, bare, in front of Me.  So I can give you My peace.

And I tell Jesus: it hurts me to have been six days without my son.  I want him back.  I want to hold him.

Jesus says: Peel back a layer.  We both know that's not all.

I say: I'm afraid.  I'm afraid he won't come back.  Sometimes they don't come back!  Uncle Allen didn't come back.  Cody didn't come back.  Just last week, Gene didn't come back! 

Jesus says: The spirit of fear doesn't come from Me.  I've told you before: I love Cade more than you do!  He invited Me into his heart, and I live there; don't you trust My plan for his life? 

I say: no.  I don't. 

Jesus says: There it is.  You've named what hurts you: mistrust.  You want to clutch Cade, cover him up, claim him.  But he belongs moreso to Me than to you because, remember, I live in the very center of his heart.  You need to learn to love him differently.  So I can give you My peace.

I cry out to Jesus: I can't.  I'm in pain.  I can't do it.

And Jesus whispers:  Your pain is not from Me; your fear is not from Me; and your desire to coat and cover all of it, along with Cade, is not from Me.

To Have Without Holding - Marge Piercy

Learning to love differently is hard,
love with the hands wide open, love
with the doors banging on their hinges,
the cupboard unlocked, the wind
roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets and snapping the blinds
that thwack like rubber bands
in an open palm.

It hurts to love wide open
stretching the muscles that feel
as if they are made of wet plaster,
then of blunt knives, then
of sharp knives.

It hurts to thwart the reflexes
of grab, of clutch; to love and let
go again and again. It pesters to remember
the lover who is not in the bed,
to hold back what is owed to the work
that gutters like a candle in a cave
without air, to love consciously,
conscientiously, concretely, constructively.

I can’t do it, you say it’s killing
me, but you thrive, you glow
on the street like a neon raspberry,
You float and sail, a helium balloon
bright bachelor’s button blue and bobbing
on the cold and hot winds of our breath,
as we make and unmake in passionate
diastole and systole the rhythm
of our unbound bonding, to have
and not to hold, to love
with minimized malice, hunger
and anger moment by moment balanced.

Cade's and My Nephew CJ's Baptism - 12/27/07

Mindy Smith - "Come to Jesus" - (brilliant)

My God-sent Visitor

Peace, Pt. 1

Amazing Photo (of Clementine) by Anjie Henley

On days like today, I feel like a fraud because I can't quite get to the point of peace.

Friends tell me, often, that I've a calming presence, and twelve days ago, I wrote this comment on the blog of a friend in my real-life community:

Everything has two sides, like a coin. Every hurt is the dark side of a blessing. So, for example, if we grieve when someone dies, a relationship ends, we argue with someone, etc., we do so only because we first experienced love. The grief is proportionate to the love. This is not an excuse to dwell in grief; rather, it's an opportunity to allow the grief to flow through us while focusing on the love...the blessings...the reasons to give thanks. These things cannot be taken from us even if the person or relationship is gone.

When I wrote it, I meant it, having discovered it a few years ago, at the white-hot center of pain.  And I still believe it; I do.  But of course I find it easier to preach than to practice.

We didn't attend church this past Sunday; on Friday, I'd dropped Cade off at his dad's (knowing they'd leave for vacation the next day, and I wouldn't see Cade for over a week), and the rest of us had driven four hours north for the saddest of occasions.  On Saturday, we'd stopped to see my grandma before heading home.  The visit had gone wonderfully, but I'll be honest: it always takes my heart several days to recover from a visit with my grandma.  I didn't feel like I had it in me, Sunday morning, to get to church.  I made smoothies, quiche.

But the Sunday before last, Pastor David preached on peace, and, at one point, he read this verse, which has been playing over and over in my head: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid" (John 14:27, KJV).

I'm not going to lie: I struggle when Cade's gone.  It's not that I don't know he's in good hands, and I've been conditioned to do pretty well for about half a week.  But about the time Night #4 rolls around, I start to get weepy and weird, and--by the time the week's over (because a week has always been my absolute limit)--I'm a nutbar.

This is Night #6 of 8.  I'm barely hanging on.  I don't feel like I can think, or write, properly.  I'm desperate to have my boy back.

And then: does this happen to you?  Most everytime I have a bad feeling, I feel guilty for having the bad feeling, so I have guilt to deal with on top of whatever the inital yuck.  In this case, my heart is troubled in missing Cade, but chances are excellent that he'll be right here on Saturday, and I have loved ones whose little boys are in heaven, and who am I to complain?  But the guilt doesn't make the misses go away; instead, it makes me feel even worse.

I baked a blackberry-apple pie, yesterday.  It was fantastic.  It was so fantastic I've already eaten the entire pie (minus the single slice Jim ate).  And that's the peace the world giveth.  That's the peace Satan offers. 

I am experiencing emotional pain.  My heart aches for my cousin; I think of her every-other second.  I want her son back.  I want my son back.  I want my grandma back.  And I want my cat (who went to live with a friend, today) back.

And so I want a cigarette.  And a beer.  And an entire pie in a day's time.  None of it is good for me, and any partaking will make me feel worse, ultimately.

I need the Lord's peace.  I know I need it. 

More, later.  Linking this mess with Michelle and Emily.

On Departing, and Parting Ways, Pt. 3

Pastor David preached, this morning, about forgiveness.  He spoke of Christ's incredible example of forgiveness (Luke 23:24), and he shared the story of the servant forgiven of his debt by the king, only to assault a fellowservant and demand repayment of a smaller debt (Matthew 18: 23-35).  Pastor David talked about the impact of unforgiveness (specifically the damage it can do inside the church and to a Christian's testimony/witness) as well as the impact of forgiveness.

Forgiveness has never been particularly easy for me, and, really, I've suffered small offenses compared to so many others.  I've struggled with friends' rejection moreso than anything else, I guess, and I thought I'd take the opportunity to share some things I've learned on the subject.

• I've always hated the philosophy behind: "Friends come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime," but it's true.  I would prefer that all my friends be lifetime friends, but, unfortunately, it just doesn't work that way.  Knowing as much makes it easier to let go; to feel thankful for another's presence for a particular reason or during a particular season; and to focus on my lifetime friends instead of someone who has taken leave (and my ensuing sense of rejection).
• Sometimes it's not about me.  Friendship takes work, and sometimes the other person doesn't have the time or energy to pour into the relationship.  I think it's worth asking the question and believing the answer.  Recently, I went to a long-time friend whom I was missing, and she explained: her child drains her of energy to the point that--at the end of the day--she wants alone time.  She assured me that--if I ever reach out and express that I need her--she will make herself available, but wanting her probably isn't enough, right now.  I believe her and have made peace with missing her.  I wasn't always in that place.  I remember a friend with a sick child confessing, once, that she had no time left for our friendship, and, somehow (in my immaturity), I couldn't accept her answer.  I loved her and wanted so desperately to spend time with her, and I remember crying into the phone: "But I could go with you to the grocery store!"  After the friendship failed, I carried a grudge for years.  Her pleasantries--when she saw me out and about--ran all over me until, finally, I e-mailed her and learned:
• Sometimes the other person has no idea I'm hurting.  If I can find a way to talk about my pain, the other person may express regret, sorrow, or a desire for forgiveness...or at least a desire for me to feel better about things.  I don't know about you, but I find it hardest to forgive someone who hasn't asked for my forgiveness.  The person I reference above hadn't hurt me on purpose, and the problem was mine, not hers.  But--when she learned of my pain--she was willing and able to help me move past it.
• The person who appears to hurt me isn't really who's hurting me.  Sometimes, there's another person pulling the strings.  (I think of a former boss who wronged me, once, in an effort to smooth things over with his boss.)  Regardless, Satan is always involved.  I don't imply that the one who hurts me is being controlled by Satan but know that Satan delights in my pain (even that which is self-inflicted and misguided): "For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places" (Ephesians 6:12). 
• According to the Bible, if I as a Christian have been offended by another believer, it's my responsibility to initiate a conversation.  "Moreover if thy brother shall trespass against thee, go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone: if he shall hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother" (Matthew 18:15). 
• Finally, I am nowhere near the point of offering someone my shirt after (s)he steals my coat (let alone my other cheek when (s)he strikes me in the face), but Jesus makes the point that it's easy to be nice to nice people.  Christians set themselves apart when they are nice to mean people (Luke 6).  Again, I'll admit: I don't know that I'm anywhere near a Jesus place on this point.  I'm not into fighting but tend, absolutely, to avoid the meanies.  (And very often the annoying, as well!)  I trust that God will continue to grow me in this respect.

What about you? 

Do you have any words of wisdom to share on the subject of forgiveness?

Prediction: May 21, 2011

Pastor David, this morning, talked about Harold Camping's end-of-the-world prediction for May 21, 2011 and what we can learn from its being incorrect.  I want to preface my summary of Pastor David's sermon by saying: across the board, I have so much respect for his careful words and sensitive heart, and he didn't disappoint, this morning; he started both by saying he had no interest in throwing Mr. Camping under the bus, and by reminding that some of Mr. Camping's followers used their entire life savings to warn others of the impending end of the world, and there's nothing funny about that.

Pastor David shared three points.  Firstly, he said we must be careful whom we follow.  He wondered if we would've taken the prediction more seriously had it come from Charles Stanley, John MacArthur, or Billy Graham.  (I leaned toward Cade and whispered: "Or Oprah?")  And Pastor David reminded: we should not follow man; we should follow God.  Pastor David encouraged us to talk with him if he ever says anything that seems to depart from God's word.  Again, I have so much respect!

Secondly, Pastor David challenged us to ask ourselves: are we ready?  He reminded us that Jesus is coming, even if a billboard doesn't warn as much.  The day will come as a thief in the night (I Thessalonians 5:2).

Thirdly, Pastor David challenged us to ask ourselves: what would we do differently, today, if we truly believed the world would end tomorrow?  He read the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 24:14-30) and talked about how we should use that with which we have been entrusted to serve the Lord with a sense of urgency.

Great sermon, and it caused me to think even more about Harold Camping's prediction and how I have been affected by it.

I have blogged, before, about Emily Wierenga's imperfect prose community and how much it means to me.  A few days ago, I clicked on a link, there, and read a post by "Old Ollie" that shook me in the best of ways and left me feeling (if I am to be perfectly honest) quite convicted.

Because, truth be told, I am no Rose.  I love Jesus and look forward to meeting Him, someday.  But--when May 21 ended without incident--I felt something akin to relief.  I am glad to be here, still.  I am.

I asked Jim: "If it were up to you, would you want Jesus to come right now?"

And with almost no hesitation, he answered something like: "I would.  Cade's been saved, the girls haven't yet reached the age of accountability, and we would all be together in heaven.  And I would get to see my dad again."

It bothers me, a little, that I don't feel that way.  I'm 100% sure of my salvation, but I wonder: if I choose here over heaven (at least for now) am I walking close enough to Jesus?  Am I choosing them (my family) over HIM?  It's a matter of prayer, but I'm almost afraid to pray; would something terrible have to happen to make me want to leave this place? 

So, for now, the only prayer I have is this:

Thank you, Lord, that I find what You've given me so incredible that I'm not sure I want to leave here, just yet.  Thank You for giving me my heart's desire in this creaky, leaky, fleasie log cabin.  Thank You for my husband.  I see You in him, Lord; I do.   And in the boy with drying-up poison ivy on his face, who crowds me in the pew and on the sofa.  I see You in the flea-bitten Wild Orange with patriotic sundress and floral rain boots, who tilts her face and says, "Happy Birthday, Mommy," because that's the nicest thing she can think to say.  And I see you in the Stinkerbell baby of neon hair and uneven smile.  Please keep us safe, Lord, and keep us together: here or there.  We want You in the midst no matter where.  Amen.

God Is Awake

"Have courage for the great sorrows of life, and patience for the small ones. 

When you have laboriously accomplished your daily tasks,

go to sleep in peace. God is awake."  -Victor Hugo

Pastor David, this morning, delivered a sermon on the topic of obedience.  He focused on the disciples' failure to obey Jesus in keeping watch and praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.  He asked us to imagine ourselves in the disciples' place.

According to Matthew (26:43), the disciples' eyes were heavy in the Garden.  I tried, this morning, to remember the time in my life when I found it most difficult to remain awake.  Truly, there have been occasions--in the wee hours of the morning--that I have feared falling asleep mid-stride and dropping one of my babies, but the time that came to mind was a rock-a-thon (some twenty-plus years ago) at Mill Branch Baptist Church in Huntsville, Tennessee.

In case you're unfamiliar, a rock-a-thon involves one finding sponsors to donate money for one to rock hour after hour in a rocking chair.  I can't remember, now, why my youth group was trying to raise money, but I have not forgotten how very difficult it became--in my exhaustion--to keep my chair rocking.  It didn't matter how badly I wanted to be a champion rocker; my eyes kept glazing over and closing.  I was just. so. tired.

I was tired, but I was not sad.  The disciples were both.  Luke says the disciples "slept for sorrow" (22:45).  I can relate to a certain extent; can't you?  Certainly, I can think back to times of my heart's being so burdened that I just wanted to sleep in order to know respite from my sadness.

But I digress.  Who was awake for Jesus in the Garden, while the disciples--in their disobedience--slept? 

Luke says an angel strengthened Jesus (22:43).  And God, of course, was awake.  He watched and listened as His Son knelt, prayed, and sweated into the ground.

Every Christmas, my family listens to Johnny Cash sing Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day," and my favorite line has always been this: "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep." 

Scripture backs up Longfellow's line.  Consider Psalm 121:1-4: "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.  My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.  He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.  Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep."

One of my very favorite things about God is that He doesn't sleep on me (His daughter) any more than He slept on Jesus (His Son) in the Garden.  When--during my awake hours--I call on God, He is awake to hear.  And when I can stay awake no longer...when I close my eyes and sleep...He remains awake.  Awake and helping. 

What an amazing truth.

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