Whatever: a call to war

These words are a call to war:

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. (Phil 4:8)

Those words never sounded like a battle cry to me until I had kids. 

They sound like words for the beach: breath deeply, think lovely thoughts, relax. In
hale blessings, exhale gratitude. Repeat.

Now I see these words as a call to violence. 

Are we not at war? Here, in the trenches, living in the wreckage of this world with fellow sinners, are we not engaged in a relentless battle against the darkness?

Darkness covers us all like smog, suffocates like a mask, tears at us inside like a disease, ravages our loved ones, our families, our nation. 

The battle is personal and close: it is in our very thoughts. 

On what will we mediate? 

Will we let our minds follow their natural bent, and ruminate on the darkness?

Or will we receive the armor that is given

the Word like a sword and a shield

the Spirit’s power like muscles we don’t have

strong enough FIGHT, gloves off;

to punch Despair in his stupid face

and give Depression a wedgie

and gather all our Enemies

into timeout, for eternity.

While we simply hold fast

Stand firm

and SEE.

Whatever. is. true.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. (Eph 6:10-17)

Take heart, friends.

God will finish this thing.

every facet

“As Christians, we recognize every facet of our day as coming from the hand of God. it all passes through His fingers first, and He uses it to make sure that we lean hard on him.” Sarah Mackenzie

We discussed this quote around the table several weeks ago. Oh, that God would help us see! Every facet of our day- the little things, the big things, the pleasant moments, and the trying circumstances- our heavenly Father is never surprised. EVERY moment is an opportunity to lean on him.  “Yes, even your little brother! God sent him to you so you could lean on Him for patience, or compassion, or self control.”
I myself forget this so often! Today, for example. I had a nice list written on our whiteboard, detailing exactly what we were going to accomplish for school. As we went along, we rearranged one thing for practical reasons; then another to weather a child’s emotional tornado. We conquered math cheerfully, but things got a little hairy during independent time. After library time, I added something to help all of us cope (ice cream) but that squeezed out something else; then another child had an emotional tornado.  So I scratched my favorite (art) and decided to just get the high energy boys OUTSIDE. Of course I wanted to multitask while they played, but I couldn’t find my computer, and I was out of breath getting dinner on before we leave.  Soon I’m panting, waiting at a red light that simply SHOULD NOT BE inflicted on someone who has so much going on.  I’m enraged… at a red light: I have no space in my life for this inconvenience. 
I have forgotten my moments come from the hand of God. I have forgotten who is in control here. I have forgotten how to lean. The quote is worth repeating:

As Christians, we recognize every facet of our day as coming from the hand of God. it all passes through His fingers first, and He uses it to make sure that we lean hard on him. Sarah Mackenzie


God, help us see this! Help us, when our list is rearranged, to lean on You!  When emotional tornados destroy our plans for the day, remind us to lean on you for strength!  Help us remember that You are the Creator and we are mere creatures.  Take into your hands what we have done and what we have left undone. Forgive what is evil, complete what is lacking, and lift the burden of those things that threaten to suffocate.  Into your hands we commend ourselves. our bodies, our souls, and our time. Amen.

a song in the night

It is advent, and the darkness gathers.
I walk through the yard, my way lit only by the lights from the school.

Within, only one room is lit: the cafeteria, where we meet for Bible study.  I'd rather go to bed early, but I have to lead this thing. My mood is also dark, and I am weary.

But God does what He always does; He meets us in the darkness and lightens while he enlightens.  

His Word never denies the hard realities of life in this world. The darkness is oppressive, sometimes suffocating.  Never once does He tell us to deny it, or to pretend it is light. 

Nor does He tell us to fight the darkness in our own strength. 

There in that small lighted room surrounded by a dark building, dark parking lot, and a dark and fallen world, a small handful of God's people come in to the light of His presence.

It is not entirely comfortable. Our weakness is exposed. Our part in the darkness is also exposed: we belong here, really, as we consider the darkness that we have invited into our own hearts. The light burns as it exposes.

But He wounds only to heal.  
Turn us, O Lord, that we may be healed, and grant us repentant hearts.

By grace are we healed; by grace we are called into His presence, and covered with the robes of Christ's righteousness. By grace, we are given strength to wait, strength to look forward, even as the darkness gathers, to the breaking dawn.

Come, Lord Jesus.  

(If your soul needs a song of inspiration to sing while you wait through the oppressive night, listen to this wonderful advent hymn)

 

The hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy. But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

Romans 13:11-14

originally posted 12/15/14

assorted passengers

Wind and whitecaps today, but we’re on the boat anyways. He steers us right into the stomach-dropping waves, and as we cruise along I observe the manifold reactions.

One asks me questions I can’t answer: “How big are these waves? What happens if this or that happens? Is this a good idea?” I’m not sure, but I think it’s safe because I trust his dad, and his dad is going forward (with a small smile, even.)

One snuggles close to me.  He puts my arms around him just so, and then he bows his head in prayer. He keeps his eyes closed, praying, fearing, enduring.

The youngest knows just how to cope: it’s time for a nap.  He pulls a blanket over his head and is asleep in an instant. I’m not sure if this is evidence of strong faith, or some kind of stress overload shutdown effect, but I watch his sleeping body bouncing all over with the waves and I am amazed.

A giant wave, a hard landing, and I let out an angry, “HUN!” Yes, I’m a little scared, and my anxiety can easily turn into anger at the one with the steering wheel.  He can’t control the waves, he says, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh at me.

One child does much better if he can stand. He holds on loosely, and his knees are bent so he can sway with the boat and keep his balance. He’s not in control, and he’s not trying to be: he’s just keeping his eyes forward and accepting the waves as they come.

And then, there’s the group of crazies. They’re sitting in the very front, hollerin’ encouragement to the waves.  One keeps flying off his seat while his sister holds the tail of his life jacket.  Water sprays them and they scream-laugh; it pours down their faces and they greet it with wild-eyed excitement and screams for more, more, more!  When we get there, they will be the ones to talk excitedly about the ride to anyone who will listen for days to come. They will be exhausted but happy.  I admire them, but I do not sit with them.

And the captain simply keeps driving forward.

A wild one gets scared and comes back to snuggle me. The sleeping one gets brave and moves to the front. The standing one gets tired and sits down for a rest and a prayer. And still, the boat stays the course. The captain knows the seas, and he can keep his bearings even in rough weather.

The captain guides his boat with his assorted children, and eventually each one gets to land safely.  Because, you see, the success of the venture depends on the captain.

Father in heaven,

Captain of my ship! Guide me in rough seas and in calm. Thank you for your strong hand on the wheel, for your promise to carry your children to safety.  My own feelings toss me about so; thank you for staying the course even when your children aren’t handling it well.  Keep me in the boat that you are steering Lord: I am helpless out there without you!  In the name of Jesus, Amen.

church bells

I quickly switch the laundry, get out the snacks, make sure there is a plan for dinner, know who has practice and who has memory and who forgot to do their chores this morning, take one more sip of coffee, and then dash out the door to pick up the kids from school. I’m multitasking at super-speed and I almost trip over the dog as I step outside. 

WHAM. The air is different out here, and it’s like running into a wall.  It’s the  smell of wet leaves and pine trees, the cool air, and the sound of church bells. I have been smacked in the face by Life: the sensory delights of fall combined with the music that lifts my soul straight to heaven. I slow my pace, no longer walking as if I have to conquer the world. I walk slowly, inhale, and look to the sky.  My help comes from the Lord, maker of heaven and earth.

I am small.  My mountain of tasks set before me, they are small too, really, when I remember who I am and whose I am.  I walk this path daily, the one that leads me from my afternoon quiet to my evening of noisy vocation. And my transition is helped along by the songs of the church.

The bells ring and my soul is nudged to pray and to remember:

God is my Mighty Fortress and my helper.  

Abide with me Lord!

Amazing grace: it is in the very air we breathe. 

God Himself is present here!

God is not silent. He calls and gathers us, He sets us apart from this dog-eat-dog world into something new: a gathering of people loved by God who are learning to love one another.

I know that my redeemer lives, and this changes everything!

The youngest greets me with a running hug.  Another greets me with a pile of papers and a “Hi-mom-how-are-you-what’s-for-snack?”  There will be racing, probably falling, definitely arguments. One or more will be delayed by the excited dogs or the call of the trampoline.  The tasks continue their relentless demands. Yet in the background, the bells are still ringing their song of welcome and grace. 

Surely the Lord is in this place.

“An alarm summons nameless masses to their task. A church bell summons human beings to the worship of God. An alarm is a veiled threat. A church bell is a solemn welcome.” Anthony Esolen

Father welcomes all His children to His family through His Son

Father giving His salvation life forever has been won

Fall (ing)

I’m not used to the tiny cars any more.  I feel vulnerable as we drive on the expressway.  There is a boy, barely 16, jammin’ on his steering wheel, going 80 on our left; an old man drives his truck slowly to our right.  So many variables, cruising down the expressway; if just one gets out of order it’s twisted metal and mangled bodies. I pray, as I often do at high speeds, for angels to guard our way, for protection that I don’t deserve, that He hasn’t promised.

He hasn’t promised protection, not in the way I’d like Him to. He hasn’t promised to navigate us through this broken place and not let it touch us; we will break, too.  

My eyes are drawn to the fire-red trees against the October blue sky, bursting bright with glory for a moment.   Then, brake lights flash red and we slow quickly.  Black smoke billows up ahead.  It does not look good.  Folks heading to the football game to tailgate, happy campers, semi drivers just doing their job: we are now in line for a funeral, it seems.  Traffic slows to a stop; it seems fitting, if a life has stopped.  But we didn’t sign up for this in our travels today, and each one copes in his own way. Some turn up the music, check their phones, hide their faces. One girl fingers the rosary beads that swing from her rearview mirror.  One taps the steering wheel impatiently; one gets out of his car repeatedly, too restless to sit and wait, perhaps trying to avoid the reality in which he sits.

45 minutes later we pass the skeleton of a burned out car- wait, no, it’s a minivan, black and gray and completely torched. Oh God, no. Were there babies in there? I will not think of burnt children; I look at the trees instead.  We are back to high speeds. He giveth and He taketh away, but still today for us He giveth. And I receiveth, with fear and trembling.  We will break too, but not right now, and when we will do we will break only to be put back aright by His hands.

Well He knows what best to grant me;
All the longing hopes that haunt me,
Joy and sorrow, have their day.
I shall doubt His wisdom never,--
As God wills, so be it ever,--
I to Him commit my way.

TLH 425

an invitation to be held.

For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength."

Isaiah 30:15

I hear this verse with a child on my lap, fighting me. The other kids are sitting by my side, doing their best to use their "church manners" and not to be distracting.  It's not working.

Rest and quietness!?  
I wish. 
Grumble. Resent.

But do I?
Do I really wish I had a quiet house and a short list and all the time in the world to rest, relax, and be still with God?  Or, if I had a quiet house and a short list, would I simply add things to the list until I had a noisy house and a full day again?

I'm driven, busy, and task-oriented to a fault.

Rest and quiet are about as natural to me as... well, returning, and trust.

Returning to the Lord. 
Returning, when my life has changed suddenly, to God Who does not change.
Returning, when darkness threatens to swallow me up, to The Light of the World.
Returning, after a failed battle with my own sin, to God Who forgives.

Ceasing from activity, from problem-solving, from justifying myself, and from worry,
and quietly resting in His love for me.

And remembering who I am, Whose I am.

A child of God.
Weak and loved. LOVED.

Mary hears the invitation to rest,  but Martha is distracted with her many things. I understand the distraction, I see the many, many, many things.  But Jesus speaks to me and to you with a rebuke-invitation: there is only one thing necessary!  Sit, child, and let me be your host.  Let me provide that which your soul needs.  You are not the glue that holds the world together: I am.

Let me hold you.

For thus said the Lord GOD, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength."


Father,
Teach my heart to do what does not come naturally.  Open my eyes to the pockets of time in my day when I may rest in You.  I often miss those moments, when the children are quiet and no tasks are urgent, and I fill them up with mental chatter, worry, or little things that could wait.  May I not just breathe and to rest my body, but rest my heart as well, in You.  Fill me with returning and trust, and let Your strength be my strength as I enter this day.

In Jesus' name, Amen

receive what's in front of you

 “What you have made me see,” answered the (sinless) Lady, 

“is as plain as the sky, but I never saw it before.  

Yet it has happened every day.  

One goes to the forest to pick food and already the thought of one fruit rather than another has grown up in one's mind.  Then, it may be, one finds a different fruit and not the fruit one thought of.  One joy was expected and another is given.  

But this I had never noticed before-- that the very moment of the finding there is in the mind a kind of thrusting back, or setting aside.  The picture of the fruit you have not found is still, for a moment, before you.  And if you wished-- if it were possible to wish-- 
you could keep it there.  

You could send your soul after the good you had expected, 
instead of turning it to the good you had got. 

You could refuse the real good; 


you could make the real fruit taste insipid by thinking of the other.”

Lewis, Perelandra, p68

a morning with nets

The orange nets from the dollar store wake us early.  The boys hear them calling from the porch, promising bullfrogs, or at least a dragonfly or two.  

With coffee in one hand and a bucket in the other, I follow them to the pond.  It's not likely we will beat the storm, but we are not afraid, not even a little.  We are big and we have nets.

The boy sneaks and lunges, but it is just a stick. We tiptoe on. I gasp, make them pause, then we realize I'm pointing at dried mud. The little shirtless one is cold. He presses up against my leg as the wind increases.

It is getting darker. Perhaps the bullfrogs are afraid of the storm.

We head home, but we are not sad.
"Mom, you have to see this!" he points at the sky. God is playing with a clouds.
We will not go inside.

We watch the art change on the giant canvas.

We see dragons, and whales, and beds for the angels. Before long, we cannot even guess what God is drawing; we sit in silence and watch Him do a new thing, new to our small eyes.

We breathe in cool, wet oxygen, and we watch in awe.
We are standing inside a living painting, watching the work of our living God.

We watch until the drops are fat and the lightning is near.
We are chased inside.
We are small.
We are alive.
We have nets.

The voice of the Lord is over the waters;

    the God of glory thunders,

    the Lord, over many waters.

The voice of the Lord is powerful;

    the voice of the Lord is full of majesty.

(Psalm 29)

Beautiful waiting

She listens from her hospital bed and her smile does not falter.  She fixes her one good eye on the little girl singing at her bedside. Her husband stands beside her, steadying himself with his walker, and mouths the words as she sings. Is it age that makes him tremble, or his proximity to the Savoir of whom she sings?

The fruit of my womb, now ten years old, holds her hymnal and sings with confidence. "Beautiful Savior..."

And I get to watch.

Dear Wilma. Her body is failing; even speech is hard for her, and yet she waits on her Lord.  She accepts the care of others with grace.  Life is not all about doing, producing, and working.  In this, her quiet season, she shows us the grace of waiting.  Without words, she preaches the futility of placing hope in things that are seen: in heath, in bodies, in life as it is today.   The things of this world are crumbling, and yet her spirit is strong. 

Indeed, her Savior is Beautiful.

And my daughter, she sings.  With the strength and confidence of youth she sings-- words of our shared faith that she has only just begun to learn. She is a tender shoot, a vulnerable young plant, but her song gives us hope for the future.  Perhaps the whirlwind of busy living will not whisk all faith from every heart. Perhaps some will slow to hear, to learn, to sing, and to trust.

Oh Lord, open our ears to your Word, and fill our spirits with that which the world cannot give: peace beyond understanding, and a sure and certain hope in Your mercy towards us. Jesus, Savior, pour out your beauty upon us, and give us eyes to see.  Amen.

Beautiful Savior

By: Gesangbuch, Munster

Beautiful Savior, 

King of creation,

Son of God and Son of Man! 

Truly I’d love thee, 

Truly I’d serve thee, 

Light of my soul, my joy, my crown.

Fair are the meadows,

Fair are the woodlands,

Robed in flowers of blooming spring;

Jesus is fairer, 

Jesus is purer,

He makes our sorrowing spirit sing.

Fair is the sunshine,

Fair is the moonlight,

Bright the sparkling stars on high;

Jesus shines brighter,

Jesus shines purer

Than all the angels in the sky.

Beautiful Savior, 

Lord of the nations, 

Son of God and Son of Man!

Glory and honor, praise, adoration

Now and forevermore be thine!

nearer to thee

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!
 E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
still all my song shall be,
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

(Nearer my God to thee, TLH 533)

Please tell me if anyone out there is able to truly sing this song without squirming?  Is there really someone who can consider the horrors of "cross," look God in the eye, and say, "Yes Lord, bring it on!  If it means it will make me closer to You, by all means, strip me down, destroy my comfort, bring on the suffering!"


I do not say this to criticise the hymn.  It is a beautiful hymn, and expresses a wonderful and holy sentiment.  I just wish that sentiment really took up my entire heart, and not only a tiny little part.  That part sings, and the rest puts on a phony little show, and I see how far I fail to keep the first commandment.  So often my prayers are basically:
Uh oh, that cross is coming close to me...  not that one Lord!  I'm good, thanks.  No cross today. Just comfort.  And joy.  And peace.  And blessing.

It is grace, again, that God shows to me, by not waiting until my heart is ready before He sends the next trial that will bring me closer to Him.

But please, God... just five more minutes?

originally published 4/17/11

To earth He came

Sitting next to my kindergartener in church is not always my favorite thing. But I do like it when he draws, when I see him inspired by the banners and the Word and the grace around him.

I remember this day, when he wrote words I really, truly needed to hear.

Baptized into thy name most holy- we are, even MOM is. The frazzled mom who can't get the kids lined up in the pew without losing her patience, with the daughter with tangled hair, with her own tangled heart.

Sitting in the sanctary, words and images swirl around us, Words, and we take them in, breathe them in, let them forgive, renew, and lead us.  And the brother kicks the other brother, and I force a patient-looking smile, hoping it covers up my clenched fist of a heart. 

And even that heart recieves a shower of grace and mercy through the Word.

And I pick up the little one, and we begin to pray together. And just as gratitude begins to melt my heart, he tries to feed me my own hair while I am speaking.  

And mama spits in church.

This God, he lifts up my head, but he does not lift me up out of the struggles of this life.  Instead, He comes here, with us, in the earthly, normal, frustrating things. He's here in the gray areas, here in the daily exasperation, here in the mama heart that wants to rest but has so much to do she doesn't know where to start.  

The sanctuary is a holy place, but He is with us in all places.

And so the little boy's mind wanders, and he stops drawing the church banners.  And he draws this:

That's a turkey.  And daddy is shooting the turkey... while he's smoking his pipe.

Daddy is actually up in the pulpit at the moment, but this little boy knows his father does other things when he's not preaching. 

And though it seems so out of place, I smile, because God is there, too.

God is God with us, and more importantly- thanks be to Jesus'- He is God FOR us.

God around us and in us, before and behind us, covering us with HIS righteousness and mercy.

And so what is there left for us to do but this?

Live in God's grace. 

In the woods, in the kitchen, in the sactuary, by the bedside, at the mall. 

Live in God's grace

in the knowledge of His presence

for us.

aching for slowness

It is almost Thanksgiving, almost Advent, almost Christmas, and there is much to do.. yet I ache for slowness, for rest.  

And it seems impossible, because my list-- it is filled to overflowing, filled with good things, important things, works of love to be poured out on those around me. Giving and doing: these things are important, and I cannot cross them off the list simply because I am overwhelmed, because life is moving too fast, because I can't seem to find time to breathe and just be with so much to do.  If only there were a pause button, so that I could freeze moments, stare at them, dwell in them and enjoy them without feeling like I am simply falling more behind.

The list of good things can drive me like a slave if I let it.  It can consume me and break me. And I know from experience that a mama consumed, a mama broken is not able to serve her family with love.

A welcoming home, and a welcoming lap- can I not have both of these things?

Not in my own strength I can't. I only know how to be a goat, to barrel through, and keep my head down and my feet moving. But feet that never stop-- they step on little toes.  And eyes that look only to the next thing to be done-- they miss the beauty of the falling snow, and the gifts of God outpoured day after day after day, from His heavens.


I don't want to stampede through the holidays. I don't want to miss Him.

So here's hoping for some slowness, for some rest. No, more than hoping- here's praying. Join me, won't you?

Father,
The busy season is upon us again, and it is so easy for us to become slaves to the things of this world. Slow down our pace, Lord, even if only for brief moments each day.  Teach us to rest in You, to dwell with you.  Fill our ears with Your Word, open our eyes to Your presence with us.  Jesus, our refuge from sin and death, be also our refuge from busyness and anxiety.  Dwell in our homes, in our families, in our mealtimes, our parties, and our days of travel.  And by Your grace, help us to see you, God with us, and welcome you in faith and love.  Amen





Recommended reading, for those who desire slowness, and rest in Jesus

The Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp
Her poetic writing style invites thoughtfulness, rest, and meditation.
Plus, this book includes an optional Jesse tree activity for the children.

The Infant Priest by Chad L. Bird
A collection of powerful poetry and hymns- with vivid (and sometimes shocking) imagery.
I am reading this one slowly and enjoying it thoroughly.

and without words...

Off to bed, boys, and quickly. I have plans for naptime.

There are words to read, words to write.  There is coffee to drink in silence. Mama has a soul that needs to be fed, a brain that wants to be exercised.  Can’t you see I’m bored, boys? I’ve done my time with matchbox cars, wooden puzzles, baby stuff.  I need to exercise my grown-up muscles. I need to think big thoughts, say big things… and I need you little people out of my way so I can do that.

But the youngest one cries, and he begs for snuggles, again.

I lay with them both, pretend I will stay.  They’ll fall asleep faster this way. I set a silent alarm for 20 minutes.

And the older boy reaches for my hand.  The younger one sighs, curls up close, and puts his hand on my cheek.  The tear streaks on his face slowly dry.  My feet slowly warm, and my muscles slowly unclench.

In this big bed with these small people, I see something I have missed all day long:

It is not my word that sustains the world.

But it is my arm in this gray sweatshirt that sustains his little world.

I turn off my alarm.

Two hours. No words. And we are refreshed.

Not getting anywhere?

Does it ever feel like you are making no progress whatsoever in your battle against the flesh?

Are you shocked to find yourself a sinner, still? Even after all you've been through, even after all God has done for you?

Do you learn the same lessons over and over, lessons of your weakness, your inadequacy, your shocking selfishness? And are you always surprised?  

Yes. My answer to all of the above: yes.

Yet, as much as I learn and relearn these hard lessons, I learn and relearn the lessons of grace and the love of God for me in Jesus.  Over and over, my hands are emptied, I am stripped. . . and over and over, I am filled, restored, forgiven, and I am clothed by His righteousness.

His ways are not our ways.

My checklist is not His checklist.

He is the author and perfecter of this faith.  He will finish the work He has begun.

I know this, yet when it's done, I know I'll be surprised. 

His ways are not our ways.

Refresh me, Jesus. 

As we mature in faith, we move away from pride in ourselves and our own achievements to a gradual awareness of our spiritual failure and Christ’s work in us as we entrust ourselves to Him. We move away from the conviction that we are self-sufficient to the repeated experience of spiritual bankruptcy.  We move on from delusions of our spiritual importance to a growing sense of our utter insignificance and the glory of God.  We move on from delight in our own power to the painful recognition of our spiritual weakness.  We are brought from our self-righteousness to the increasing consciousness that we are sinful.  In each of these painful realizations, we recognize the glory of God.  Christ fills our emptiness and justifies us by his grace.  In short, the power of Christ is made perfect in our weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

(Kleinig, Grace upon Grace, p 33)

Life Resting

We walk through the air that smells like life and growth.  Boys run ahead. The smallest one stays to hold my hand, but only for a moment. He races ahead on the uneven ground, doing the best he can in his little body, in those little, fat shoes. 

"Respect the corn!" I say, catching up with them.  Respect the corn, the farmers, the life growing here.  They slow down, walk carefully. 

The warm air is full of life, but behind the bright corn field, I see the shadow. I see the seeds that have been planted in love and in grief; seeds that have not stirred. Not yet. They need more help than the sun can give.

The earth is warm and fertile, and God gives life and growth.  He gives to some and not others. Questions ache, and mix with the beauty.  The waiting is hard. 

Walk softly, boys. Life is resting here.

Yet the blood pumps in my veins and I breathe deep.  Today, life flows in and around me. I am one of the chosen receivers, one sustained by His Word for this moment, this day, this scene on this stage. 

My flesh is unstable, weak, dust. And yet I--what grace!-- I am grafted into the ever-living vine.  I receive my eternal breath from Jesus, I drink from my God who is stable and strong, stronger than death.

I will die, and when I do--whether it be in my bed as age creeps over me, or struck by lightning, a meteor, or a UPS truck--when my body and soul find their divorce, His hand will be the one that cuts the thread and shows me the path He blazed through tragedy.  

(N.D.Wilson, Notes from the Tilt A Whirl)

Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed— in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: 

"Death has been swallowed up in victory." 

"Where, O death, is your victory? 

      Where, O death, is your sting?"

 The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.

1 Corinthians 15:51-58

today's peptalk

Rebloggged from 5/20/11
I still need this.

Today's Peptalk

Morning coffee and prayer time-- essential to my survival.  It is worth the minutes the children waste in front of the television (and besides, it's educational TV!)  

I used to try to do this before they all got out of bed, but I simply cannot function that way.  My eyes are so bleary, and I so easily fall back into sleep if I do not have my coffee in front of me.  And if I get the coffee, they will hear me, and I will be sabotaged.  So I do the "get them fed, dressed, and ready for school" routine before I sit with my coffee.  On the plus side, I have a longer time to sit when the girls are off and the boys are fed and in front of TV.  On the negative side, there is always something I need to ask forgiveness for by this hour of the day.  My fresh starts do not stay fresh for long at all.  (but really, HOW hard is it to get your shoes on in a timely manner! rgh!)