The Power of One

One lone tulip popped from a planter I loaded with bulbs last fall. I don’t know whether to rejoice over the one survivor or decide my green thumb carries the black plague. I’m not enough of a gardener to know what went wrong, but I do know one is better than none.

That got me thinking about “the power of one.” I did an internet search and found quite a few sites devoted to that slogan. Then I opened my Bible concordance (the one thick enough for a baby booster seat at the dinner table--wrapped in a towel, of course!). There I ran across about 1,000 references to the number “one.”

I could think of even more where “one” was implied, like the book of Esther. It reveals the power of God through one young woman, chosen to be the number one queen, who did one difficult thing to save one displaced nation condemned through the actions of one evil man.

Some others that came to mind:
“The one thing needed” (Luke 10:42) was Mary’s choice in sitting at the feet of Jesus.
One thing was lacking in the life priorities of the rich young man, who couldn’t bring himself to give away all he had to the poor (Luke 18:22).
One child offered up his lunch to feed 5,000 (told in all four Gospels).
One leper returned to thank Jesus for his healing—and he was a Samaritan who, presumably, lacked the finesse of gratitude (Luke 17:11-19). (Ouch! How many of us fail to thank Jesus for all He has done?)
Committing one sin is as bad as breaking the whole law (James 2:10). But by the sacrificial death of One, we are redeemed (Romans 5:19).
“There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.” (Ephesians 4:4-6)
There is one God and one mediator, Christ jesus (1 Timothy 2:5).
One day is as a thousand years to God. The impatient early Christians (and we, too) needed this reminder (2 Peter 3:8). One day Christ is coming again!

My lone tulip bloom, besides reminding me of biblical powers of “one,” also stirred up disturbing thoughts. What of the other tulips that just sent out foliage? They’re not doing what God intended them to do, and that’s bloom. How often am I failing to bloom for God? With what useless activities to I fill my hours? There’s a lot of truth in old poem that adorned many wall plaques (including one belonging to my late mother-in-law): “Only one life, ‘twill soon be soon be past. Only what’s done for Christ will last.”

Easter Sunday Psalm-Drive

Photo: daffodils blooming in my neighbor's yard. I grew up in Puyallup, Wash., famed for its "Daffodil Festival." Besides a daffodil's bright yellow beauty, I love its "trumpet" shape, so appropriate for proclaiming this promise of our own resurrection: "The trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed" (1 Cor. 15:52).

In my childhood, when gas wasn’t so expensive, my father enjoyed taking the family on a Sunday afternoon drive. Even on familiar roads, we’d discover a new sight. Occasionally, my husband does the same thing. Our favorite spring route winds through orchards and foothills with astonishing patches of wildflowers.

My repeat journeys through the book of Psalms are something like those drives. I have no idea how many times I’ve read that book. I do know the edges of its pages are well-thumbed, with notes and underlining on every page. Yet I still discover new things.

Often when I come back to a psalm, I remember when it previously connected to a life challenge or event. I personalized Psalm 18 in a time of great anxiety and need. I was 32 at the time and still single. My parents had recently died just six months apart. I’d interrupted my master’s degree studies to return home and settle their affairs and empty their home. While it sat unsold, I returned to graduate school and finished that degree. I was near the end of my personal savings and could not find a job in my field. Going “home” was no longer an option. My parents’ still-empty home was 2,000 miles away. I needed to vacate my college housing by the end of July.


My desperate prayers reminded God of scriptural promises to take care of widows (and single women, like me, I hoped), orphans (my parents were gone) and aliens (I was just a temporary resident of this college town). One morning in my personal devotions I read through Psalm 18. Many verses became prayers: “I call to the Lord, who is worthy of praise” (v. 3). “He rescued me because he delighted in me” (v.19). “To the faithful you show yourself faithful” (v. 25).

As I walked to the block-away college track to jog, squirrels cavorted in the old trees along the sidewalk. I thought of verse 33: “He makes my feet like the feet of a deer” (the poetic “hind’s feet” in old translations), referring to the strength and agility of deer in mountainous terrain. This time, however, I adjusted it to the prayer that God would make my feet like the agile feet of squirrels flinging among the branches. I needed His strength and miracle to get through these difficult circumstances.

God did answer my prayers, just in time, that last week of college housing. A failed interview at one large institution opened the door to an interview at a sister company, and a job offer there. Plus, the boss arranged for me to have temporary housing with one of his employees. Because I had no car, she drove out and got me and my few belongings, and took me home with her. For several months, until I could afford to live on my own, I slept on a mattress on the floor. Yet even this was of God, and how He “brought me out into a spacious place” (Psalm 18:19).

Other portions of that psalm reminded me of the awesome power and character of God. But I recently realized how much deeper I could go in understanding it. Bible teacher William MacDonald (1917-2007), in his Believer’s Bible Commentary, said this is really a psalm about Easter and the power that raised Jesus from the dead. Psalm 18:49 is quoted in Romans 15:9 as referring to Christ. MacDonald comments: “Nowhere else in the Bible are we given such a vivid account of the tremendous battle that took place in the unseen world at the time of our Savior’s resurrection.”

May I suggest reading and meditating on Psalm 18 this Easter? Some sections to consider, as broken down by MacDonald:
1-3: Praise to God.
4-6: Christ’s dying.
7-15: Celestial war against evil.
16-19: Victory in the resurrection.
20-30: The raising of the sinless One.
31-42: Christ’s second coming.
43-45: Christ’s reign.
46-50: Closing praise.
For your own closing praise, consider speaking back to God the doxology of Romans 11:33-36 which begins: “Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!"

It's Friday, but...

The hardest part about Easter is the Friday before. My church’s Good Friday service ends in darkness with a recording of thunder and storm, and then the wham of a bass drum. And quiet.

The tomb.

That’s the mood I brought this morning to scripture reading. My journey back through Psalms landed me at Psalm 17, a sweet song of seeking to live for God in the midst of arrogance and evil.

“Friday” is the violent (v. 4), the wicked and mortal enemies (v. 9), calloused hearts and arrogant mouths (v.10), predators (vs. 11-12), people whose reward is “this life” (v. 14). It’s life without hope of something better or something pure or something with God.

It’s life without Sunday coming. Without Easter.

A relative died last week at 47. So did a godly friend, at 63, barely home from a trip to Israel to walk where Jesus walked. Such news came like the wham of a bass drum. But to borrow the title of a sermon by Tony Campolo, “It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.” Easter Sunday has come. Death is not the final “wham.” Thus the hope expressed at the end of Psalm 17:
As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.
Or, as translated with greater accuracy and fuller meaning in the Amplified Bible:
As for me, I will continue beholding Your face in righteousness (rightness, justice, and right standing with You); I shall be fully satisfied, when I awake [to find myself] beholding Your form [and having sweet communion with You].

One of my favorite Christian songs asks us to imagine waking up in glory, and finding it Home. That’s Easter. Not eggs, bunnies, or new clothes, but glory and hope forever after hopeless Friday.

Early-morning groans

Morning is the great human dividing line. We’re either roosters or slugs (or somewhere between). Aging has shifted me toward the “slug” side, although some mornings I wake up before the roosters and decide to keep going anyway.

That’s what happened the other morning. I eased into my favorite chair, turned on the heating pad for my back (doc says I have arthritis there, oh joy), and opened my Bible to read Psalms 5. Long ago I’d memorized Psalms 5:3 in the King James Version: “My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.”

Well, we got the “in the morning” right, like 5 a.m.! As I re-read this psalm, my memory replayed the Maranatha scripture praise song of the 1970s based on it that began, “Give ear to my words, O Lord, consider thou my meditation.”

Meditation? Just what did the psalmist mean by that? Today we hear “meditation” a lot in connection with Eastern religions, even though the Biblical sense of it is ruminating on scripture, like a cow with its cud. I stopped to explore the word.

Other Bible versions render that word: “groaning” (NAS); “sighing” (Holman); “lament” (Today’s NIV, 2005); “sighing and groaning” (Amplified); “ramblings, groans and sighs” (The Message).

Vine’s Concise Dictionary of the Bible said the word in Hebrew, hagah, means “to meditate, moan, growl, utter, speak.” The author added: “This word means to think about something in earnest, often with the focus on thinking about future plans and contingencies, possibly speaking to God or oneself in low tones.” He added that hagah is an onomatopoetic (“sounds like”) term, reflecting how people of ancient times sighed or made low sounds while musing. By the way, hagah also expresses a lion’s growl (Isaiah 31:4) and a dove’s “coo” (Isaiah 38:14).

I’m not one of the “ancients,” but I can understand hagah. After reading my Bible, I open up my prayer notebook. I often groan over the names on its pages. Some are battling cancer or other serious diseases. I pray for women seared by a spouse’s rejection. Others have baffling and troubling needs, like being “stuck” in life. Still others refuse to see their need for Christ. Sometimes I can only say a name then wait in silence as I ponder the mind of God on this person’s behalf. At such times I cherish the promise of Romans 8:26, that when we’re unsure how to pray, “the spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” He gets the prayers, even our groanings, through.

By 6 a.m. the sun had risen, a fitting metaphor for the light that a brief word study had cast for me upon this particular verse. I’ve now written “Heb: hagah=groaning, sighing” in the margin of my Bible to remind me that the word translated there means more than the King James Version rendering of “meditation.” “Groaning, sighing” also fits the message of the psalm, which wrestles with the pain of living among arrogant and evil people.

What comfort to know that God doesn’t expect me to pray eloquently-worded prayers. Sometimes I just groan, and He understands.

F is for Frugal Family

A is for apple, B is for blog…no doubt you’ve read your share of children’s alphabet books. When I browse the children’s book section at thrift stores, I’m amazed by the variety of subjects that lend themselves to teaching alphabet names and sounds. Sometimes even adults need to come down to basics. Here’s my take for those with tight finances: “F is for Frugal Family.” A is for advertisements, asking yourself “how much is enough?” and deciding you have enough already. B is for bookcase. Each of our children had one, filled with books they picked out at yard sales, thrift stores, or the school’s carnival “used book sale.” When they tired of the books, back those books went for the next year’s book sale. C is for coupons. Clip ‘em, file ‘em, and match them to a sale price for products you actually use when you can do better than with a store-brand or generic product. D is for delayed gratification, avoiding the credit trap. The couch that my beloved brought into our marriage was, well, abstract art. I never was fond of its splotches of turquoise, brown and orange. But I waited several years (knowing its colors would camouflage any baby oops) as we saved up for a couch that wasn’t as flashy. E is for extra life, what my husband gives bikes he finds at yard sales and that need the magic touch of soap-and-water, steel wool, oil, or a patch for the tire. Once redeemed, they’re ready for another little biker. F is for “frugal family,” of course! It’s also for furniture bargains. After used-crib days, our daughter grew into a bedroom set that originated as hand-me-downs or thrift store finds. But white paint and stencils gave her something very feminine. G is for “gift cache,” the dresser full of bought-ahead or sewn-ahead generic gifts such as aprons, homemaking books, burp cloths and newborn baby clothes. H is for haircuts in the kitchen. Hubby’s “buzz” takes five minutes. (I stretch out my cuts, but “invest” in good professional haircuts on my shorter hair.) I is for instruction books, gathered either into a hanging file or punched and put in a three-ring notebook (the sales slip stapled on it in case something goes kaput before the warranty’s out). J is for junque-ing, a cheap Saturday morning date idea. (Junque is junk with a price on it.) K is for keeping my sewing notions in a huge plastic guy-style tool tote with all its handy flip-top sections. L is for library. Why buy when you can borrow? M is for make-do. My parents and grandparents, shaped by the Depression, did. When you’re grateful for what you have, you’re less apt to think you’re entitled to more. N is for napkins, easily sewn from fabric scraps. O is for office supply cache. It has paper bought on sale, spiral notebooks from thrift stores (a few pages are missing, but who cares), recycled file folders…whatever we’ll somehow use and find cheaply through a store sale, thrift store, or yard sale. P is for the patches I ironed on inside the knees of my son’s jeans when he was younger. It’s also for patchwork quilts I make from scraps given me. Q is for quilt. Yes, I just named “patchwork,” but I did create some useable “art” by sewing a "Log Cabin" pattern quilt for our bed. Having sewing for a hobby helps me create things people can use. I just never got into hobbies that result in things you have to dust and move around. R is for rebates and “free offers,” up there with coupons for saving money. We even got a family portrait for sending in the appropriate number of soup can labels. (And it wasn’t cream of say-cheese soup, ha-ha). S is for sun-dried sheets, up there at the top for “simple pleasures” in our household. Sun-dried towels? Well, it saves electricity, but a quick tumble in the dryer might keep them from feeling like sandpaper. It’s also for stretch cords, hung on a curtain rod in the garage. T is for toys that created excitement even though many were used or make-do. Barbie and her family slept on upside-down shoe boxes, covered with a scrap of fleece. The “bathroom” included a sink made of a cocoa box and a tartar-sauce cup from the fish restaurant. Oh yes, the “house” was a yard sale book case, giving her a four-story home. Barbie’s “closet” was jammed with one-of-a-kind garments from sewing scraps. (Don’t ask me about the nightmare of sewing dresses for a doll with a three-inch waist.) U is for “under the sink,” which I’ve claimed for storage in my tiny kitchen. Baking sheets and clunky appliances live there. The covered trash bin is nearby, cleaners on a utility room shelf. V is for vinegar, which is lots cheaper than commercial cleaners and does its share of cleaning tasks. Clogged drain? Soda and vinegar, chased five minutes later by a kettle of boiling water. Vinegar and salt clean copper. W is for wrapping paper, found at yard sales or ironed for re-use from gifts we received, snug in a long box under a bed. It’s also for white toothpaste, which fills nail holes in white walls in a hurry. X marks the hot spot where important act-on-it stuff (like things to deliver, letters to mail, a to-do list) is consistently put. Y is for yard stick. One slipped into an old sock is a handy duster in tight places, like under the refrigerator or tape player. Z is for stuck zipper. Sometimes it just needs some candle wax or soap run over the teeth. Found something helpful here? Please forward the blog link to a friend!

P.S. A special "hi" to Amber who attended the Colorado retreat where my friend Cindy spoke. I'm so glad you connected!

Feed me!

When our son and daughter went away to college the same year, leaving their parents empty-nesters (at least during the school term), I tried to recruit our family cat for a joke picture. I propped him on our daughter’s dining room chair with his paws on the table and a dish in front to demonstrate that we still had one “child” (a furry one) at home. But before I could get a decent photo, the cat had jumped to the floor, where he knew he belonged.

With both now married, we’re truly empty nesters, and the cat’s still around. No, we don’t set a plate for him at the table. But his internal alarm (or at least his sniffer) knows when we are about to eat, even if he’s off in the corner sleeping. One time as he sauntered between our chairs, his meow coincided with our “amen,” reminding us to “drop it down.” Yes, we have stooped to offering our cat scraps of “people food” —and he expects it!

That’s probably why I had more than the usual level of interest in a passage from which our pastor recently preached. He tackled the story in Mark 7:24-30 about the Syrophoenician woman barging into a house near Tyre, where Jesus had gone to rest. She broke social barriers of both good manners and racial discrimination to beg Jesus to heal her daughter.

Teaching on this passage often explores the use of the word “dog,” used as a negative label for non-Jews. In contrast to our culture (which dotes on animals), dogs of Bible times were dirty, diseased scavengers—something like four-legged waste management. Everybody else would have sneered at her as another non-Jewish “dog.” Jesus used a word with more compassion, kunariois, indicating little dogs, like a family pet (rare in those days, but possible). She replied similarly, but with humility as a non-Jew seeking such a great favor, saying the little puppy-dogs (kunaria) got the scraps under the table.

The spellings differ because of the Greek “dative” and “nominative” cases, but don’t worry about that. My point is that going a layer deeper in Bible study opens up fresh understanding of a passage, even the ones we’ve read repeatedly since childhood without knowing a truly accurate rendering. Bible translation, because it deals with diverse language families and evolving vocabularies, is a complicated art and science. The “close” word isn’t always the precise word. My friends who are translating the Bible into tribal languages can vouch for that!

So what of our cat’s begging at the dinner? Maybe it’s a reminder of how much more Jesus loves us. He doesn’t throw scraps at us. Instead, He offers Himself, the very best. Though unworthy of His extravagant love, we’re exceedingly blessed.