A Life-Changing Gift



Wearing a dress I made for
her 50th high school reunion

 Her name was “Halcyon,” not one you find in today’s baby-name books. It meant “calm, peaceful,” referring to the legendary halcyon bird which reputedly nested at sea about the time of the winter solstice, to calm the waves. Except she found her “calmness” in a solid relationship with Jesus Christ, which she generously shared with someone nearly fifty years her junior—me.

The other day I stopped by the cemetery a mile from our home where she is buried. Less than three months before her death, I was able to lay my firstborn baby in her arms, honoring her grandmotherly role in my life. By then strokes had already begun their swift erosion of earthly life. Within a few weeks, she was bedbound and speechless in a nursing home. I’d come visit with the baby, propping him against her bedrail so she could touch him. I could sense behind her clouded eyes that she felt her role in my life was done—and well done.

I am a richer, fuller person because I invested in a friendship with a godly older woman.

We met after the morning service of her church the first time I visited it. Her son, who worked at my company and brought her to church, had alerted his widowed mother that I’d be coming. She invited me home for lunch. She had no car, so I drove us to her old, worn, but welcoming little home.

That invitation, and more, eventually morphed into standing Friday night commitments to potluck our leftovers. When she learned I was using a somewhat unsavory public laundry facility, she invited me to use her washer and dryer. Not wanting to take advantage of a widow on Social Security, I bought a fun child’s bank for her laundry corner and left there money to help with utilities.

While my two weekly loads of laundry chugged, and we ate and talked, I was drawn into a spiritual banquet of instruction and counsel. Although I had grown up going to church, I had not fully connected the dots that Jesus died for me. One night, alone in my apartment, I finally personalized it, asking Him into my life. I soon realized how impoverished I was in my understanding of the Bible. She was a seasoned student of scriptures, her Bible limp from use and filled with underlined passages and notes. She patiently answered my questions and we always parted with prayer.

When I moved away to another job, her letters followed me, typed on an old manual typewriter with a shredded ribbon. After seven years away, during which my parents died, I returned to her hometown to be married. Now, the one who had helped me so much in my emotional and spiritual growing places, was needing my practical help.

I had started calling her “Grandma G” (her last name started with “G”), for even though we were not related, she fulfilled that mature and caring role in my life. My paternal grandmother had died before my birth. I rarely saw my maternal grandmother, widowed before she’d finished raising nine children and living several states away.

I could have kept my distance from Grandma G, categorizing her as “old and not friendship material.” Yes, we had followed different occupations: she was a retired nurse, I was a reporter. But we came together at the feet of Jesus, our hearts connected with prayer and caring. She encouraged my baby-steps of faith, even listening to me recite Bible verses I was memorizing in a Bible correspondence course. She just loved me where I was at, and probably prayed bold prayers for me when I was absent.

Her life wasn’t easy. Her sons didn’t follow her example of steadfast faith in Christ. She was poor by the world’s standards, but her true wealth was in Heaven, and she was looking forward to going there. I will never forget the hope in her moistening eyes as she recited to me her favorite verse, from the end of Jude: “Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion, and power, both now and forevermore. Amen.”

Calm, peaceful—because her faith was firmly staked on the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Just before taking the photo of her grave marker,  I dropped a few tears and then thanked God for our life-changing gift of friendship. How grateful I am for her investment in my life. I’m confident we’ll meet again in Heaven.

By the way, if Heaven has board games, I'll stand in line to play her. Sometimes while my clothes dried, she'd challenge me to Scrabble (R). She was a true competitor with the tiles, especially Q and Z!

Goats and God's "go-getters"

This one came close to the fence, probably hoping for a snack.

Just a block from my home, goats munch in the fenced pasture of an “urban farm.” On a walk the other day, as I paused at the fence to watch them interact, I thought of their use in an end-times prophecy. With tomorrow (December 21) the ancient Mayan supposed calculation of the “end of the world,” it’s appropriate to see just what the Bible has to say.

First, a little background about Bible-time goats. We’re probably more familiar with biblical sheep, such as Psalm 23’s “the Lord is my shepherd,” and John 10’s “I am the good shepherd.” At one time in ancient Israel, goats probably outnumbered sheep. They provided meat, milk, and milk byproducts, like butter and semn used for cooking. Goat hair was woven into fabric. Goatskins became bottles. Goats were even used for sacrifices (Lev. 4:23) and accepted as a “clean” animal. Some goat breeds were white and hornless, making them blend in with sheep in grazing lands. That challenged the shepherd when time came to separate them.

But in Matt. 25:31-46, a prophecy about Jesus’ second coming, He gives goats another role: of representing people bound for eternal punishment. In Matthew 24 Jesus tells of signs of the end: deceivers, wars, famines, earthquakes, persecution, the preaching of the Gospel throughout the world, desecration of the holy place, false Christs, signs in celestial bodies—and then the unmistakable seen-by-all return of Jesus. When? “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son” (Matt. 24:36). I’d say that includes the ancient Mayans.

Then Jesus taught some parables about being ready: the faithful and wise servant (24:43-51), the Ten Virgins with ready lamps (25:1-13), and the investment of “talents” or money (25:30). We’re not to fritter our time and resources away in selfish, empty pursuits, but actively invest the abilities and resources the Lord has entrusted to us.

Following these parables, sheep and goats come on the final stage. Theologians have had hearty interpretive conversations over this passage, but most agree these animals represent the peoples of God-fearing and God-scoffing nations. The Lord separates sheep (true followers of Christ) to His right, the place of honor, eventually to enter His glorious kingdom. That’s because their kind actions toward “the least of the brethren” were done as unto Him. The goats go to the left, then to eternal punishment, for in neglecting others' basic needs, they neglected Him.

Though you don’t find it quoted in Christmas cards or hear it in new holiday choruses, this is really a great passage for Christmas time. That’s when organizations that minister to the poor and disenfranchised do their greatest fund-raising push. Think: Salvation Army red kettle, for one. Or Christian and humanitarian organizations that advocate for the homeless, children and orphans, clean water, victims of sex trafficking, the persecuted, and others. And what do they do? Exactly what the “sheep” are commended for doing: “for I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me” (25:35-36).

In his book The Practice of Godliness (NavPress, 1983, p. 241), Jerry Bridges remarks: "Jesus is teaching in that passage not that doing good deeds earns our admittance to heaven, but that they are necessary and vital evidences that we are bound for heaven."

If your holiday preparations so far have been about what friends and family expect or want, might this passage suggest a change in focus? It’s not too late for the "sheep" tasks done out of love for the Lord Jesus, through personal involvement and financial investment. And don’t worry about a December 21 "deadline." The world will end when God decides.
Consider this prayer by William Stoddard in his devotional First Light (Multnomah, 1990, p. 93). It’s a reflection on Psalm 90, but it’s just as apropos for thinking about end times: “I cannot count the days that remain, but I can make the days that remain count. Let them count under the light of eternity. Let them count as vessels to be filled with grace and emptied in love. Let them count with things that can never be counted or priced or bought or sold. Let them count in loving surrender, obedient service, and cheerful faith. Let them count for You!”

Slaughter of the innocents

Our flag, like others, is at half-mast to honor the students and teachers killed last Friday in Connecticut. Droopy in a snowstorm, it reflects how many of us feel: emotionally low and limp. When I first saw the news alert about the slayings on my internet home page, I pushed back my office chair, wept and prayed aloud, “Lord, show your mercy to those who hurt. This is so awful.”

As the news stations recounted emerging details, a common remark was how terrible that this happened before Christmas. It reminded me how our culture has stamped Christmas with a happy image of pleasure and gift-giving. Excessive merchandizing and “political correctness” have diminished the celebration of a holy Birth.

Yet even His birth brought murder to innocents through the decree of a very spiritually sick person. His name was Herod the Great, and he was a greedy, suspicious, ostentatious, sensual, ruthless man who didn’t want anything or anyone to threaten his claim to power. When “wise men” from a far-away eastern land came to Jerusalem to seek a new king heralded by a strange star, he was more than disturbed. Behind a fake grin, he told them to report back about this king so he could come and worship him, too. When they didn’t return with information, he was beside himself. He ordered his soldiers to rampage Bethlehem, killing all little boys two years and under. That, he figured, would eliminate any competition.

Take a deep breath and imagine the wails of mothers and fathers, clutching their murdered babies. One Bible commentary suggests about 26 baby boys were slaughtered in the little hamlet. (Twenty-six were killed in Connecticut: 20 children, six adults.) With this desperately sad, ruthless act, the prophecy of Jeremiah came true. Ramah, near Bethlehem, was the burial place of Jacob’s wife Rachel, who represents the nation Israel:

A voice was heard in Ramah, Lamentation and bitter weeping,

Rachel weeping for her children, Refusing to be comforted for her children,

Because they are no more.” --Jeremiah 31:15

Herod, who intended to enhance his rule through this act, today is remembered only in annals of infamy for the slaughter of the innocents. Sadly, the deeds of the troubled young shooter in Newtown will stain his extended family. They, too, are grieving as we all weep and ask questions.

But it has to come back to this: Christmas is about a baby born to die. Herod’s decree was not Jesus’ time to die, so God had warned Joseph to flee with his family to hide in Egypt until Herod died. Three decades later, at the appointed time, Jesus did die, but as a Savior. As Savior, He understands our deepest grief: “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). He was there as each child and teacher died in Newtown.

Can there be “Christmas” this year? Maybe not as people traditionally think of it. But there will be Christ in the midst of this, offering comfort in the unspeakable circumstances that happen because we live in a sin-dominated world. Someday, though, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4).

Even as I share a tiny corner of national pain, that gives me hope.

Gold, frankincense, and more



A friend brought me this carved wooden
box from Uzbekistan. Could a "wise man"
 have come from that part of central Asia?

 Have you ever thought about, “why” myrrh? Yes, at Jesus’ birth, wise men from the East brought him royal gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh (Matt. 2:11). No doubt Joseph later sold those gifts so he and Mary had something to live on when they fled to Egypt with the infant Jesus. Two millennia later, we hear sermons on the gifts’ symbolism: gold to befit a king, frankincense for a priest, and myrrh, for the One to die.

Hold those thoughts and consider this from Puritan preacher Thomas Watson (c. 1620-1686). In discussing Matt. 5:6 and one who hungers and thirsts after righteousness, Watson said, “He can feed upon the myrrh of the gospel as well as the honey.”

The “honey” part makes sense. Passages like Psalm 19:10 say God’s Word is sweeter than “honey from the comb.” Indeed, we all cherish scripture passages of comfort and hope, our “spiritual honey.”

But what’s the “myrrh of the gospel”?

First, myrrh was a pricey aromatic, extracted by scoring a small tree to tap its resin, similar to rubber. Its smell has been described as a warm, comforting resin, deeper in aroma than frankincense’s more pungent balsamic odor.

Most are familiar with how myrrh was used to mask the death odor as a body was prepared for burial. Nicodemus lugged 75 pounds of a myrrh-aloes mixture to a freshly-hewn cave tomb to help wrap up Jesus’ corpse (John 19:39).

But myrrh was also a perfume for the living. In a rather steamy portion of the Song of Solomon, myrrh graced a cleavage (1:13). Psalm 45:8, a king’s wedding song, extols the royal’s garb as fragrant with myrrh, aloes and cassia. No doubt that’s what Henry Barraclough had in mind in 1915 as he penned the lyrics to “Ivory Palaces.” That old hymn speaks of Christ in garments scented with myrrh and other fragrances welcoming the believer to Heaven.

In Bible times, mixed into wine, myrrh was used to dull the senses. The soldiers crucifying Jesus offered Him the concoction before they nailed Him on the cross, but He refused it (Mark 15:23). He experienced the full horror of the dying process.

So how can the gospel be “myrrh”? Perhaps these point to the answer:

*The gospel is Christ coming to earth, but more than sweet babies in fresh hay cooing, angels singing, shepherds awing, and foreigners of high birth gifting.

*The gospel is the gift of eternal life through God’s Son, refusing a primitive sedative, groaning on a splintered cross groaning, beseeching, dying, buried with spices to cover the stench.

*The gospel is also that provocative little verse in Song of Solomon 1:13, Christ as the myrrh over one’s heart spreading its precious perfume obtained through a pierced tree.

Charles Spurgeon (1834-1892) said of this: “Myrrh may well be chosen as the type of Jesus on account of his preciousness, its perfume, its pleasantness, its healing, preserving, disinfecting qualities, and its connection with sacrifice.”

And what of those whom Watson said would seek the myrrh of the gospel? Bible teacher William MacDonald (1917-2007), in his commentary on the Beatitudes of Matthew 5, said such people have a passion for personal righteousness that seeks honesty, integrity, and justice in society and practical holiness in the church.

Thus, the “myrrh” of the gospel is dying to self so that the lovely righteousness of Christ—our King, Priest and Redeemer—spreads through us to a world suffocating in sin’s death stench.

Yes: gold, frankincense, and more--lots more.

A layer at a time

When I was a youngster, my mother was still carrying on a Depression-era habit of making her own soap. For months she’d save grease from cooking until she had enough to mix with lye according to her family’s passed-on recipe. I remember little of the process except it was hard work and dangerous. After cooking in a huge enamel pan on the stove, the concoction was poured into newspaper-lined boxes in the garage to cure. Later, she’d shred it into the washing machine.
I was so glad when she gave it up and just bought detergent! I also remember the worries about kids being around lye, which had a distinct skull-and-crossbones sign on it for “poison.”

I was reminded of its power as I recently re-read a classic missionary biography by Isobel Kuhn titled Green Leaf in Drought. The book recounted the suffering experienced by the last China Inland Missionaries trapped deep inside China in 1951, when all others were evacuated due to political turmoil. Despite severe hardship under ruthless local rulers, who brought them to the edge of starvation, Wilda and Arthur Mathews trusted God for the impossible. It would be two years before they were able to leave, first Wilda and their small daughter, and a few months later, Arthur.

Throughout their years of unjust and unfair treatment, the couple sought solace and hope in prayer, scriptures and devotional books. One poignant quote, from English preacher Alexander MacLaren (1826-1910), was this: “The meaning of all that God does with us—joys and sorrows, light and darkness…is that our wills may be made plastic and flexible.”

Wilda would look back on this excruciating time as her spiritual “lye bath,” remembering her job in a fruit canning factory when she was a girl. Peaches were plunged into a lye bath, then rinsed, to hasten the skinning step, then sent on conveyor belts to workers to put into tins for caning. For months after that job, the damage lye caused to her hands resulted in successive layers of skin coming off. “And so with this crucible experience,” the author wrote. “The layer of looking at other causes had to come off; then the layer of quickness to anger in the heart; the layer of longing for pretty things; the layer of over-sensitiveness; the layer of impatience (can’t we go now?), the layer of mere submission, and so on” (p. 45, 1981 OMF reprint).

I photographed an onion with lights to show its layers as another symbol of this “peeling away” the Spirit does to bring us closer to the Father’s heart. Whenever I peel onions for chopping, they bring on copious tears. And whenever God is doing some serious work in peeling away my sins of “looking at other causes,” there are going to be tears.

The process isn’t fun. But the end result, of growth in spiritual steadfastness and trust, is worth it.

Making it straight

If you’ve listened to Handel’s The Messiah a few times, you can almost hear in your memory the tenor’s solo from Isaiah 40:3: “Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” As the orchestra comes in, the tenor continues with verse 4: “Every valley shall be exalted and every mountain and hill shall be made low: the crooked straight, and rough places plain.”

I’ve long associated these words with the return of our Heavenly King, the Lord Jesus. To the Jewish exiles in Babylon, however, this prophecy stoked their fervent hope to return to Jerusalem, with God leading them back in victory.

But there’s more behind those words. In his Tyndale commentary on Isaiah, J. Alec Motyer pointed out that the exiles may have been aware of a pagan Babylonian hymn that said, “Make [Nabu’s] way good, renew his road. Make straight his path.” This referred to how special processional routes were created for carrying idols during festivals.

These had to be the very best and kept work crews busy for some time. “Exalting” the valleys and “making low” the hills and mountains probably meant a lot of earth moving long before big diesel machines. Straightening crooked places and smoothing rough places again were huge efforts done mostly by manpower.

I think about how much human sweat went into those ceremonial roads whenever we encounter road construction or even go by a train crossing. Especially in railroad construction, there’s little margin for error. The tracks need a strong gravel bed, evenly spaced tracks, gentle curves and easy grades. If something is off, a whole train will derail.

But the message here is more than road construction. It’s about anticipating the glory of the return of Jesus Christ. Again, words from scripture used in Handel’s work: “And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together; for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it” (v.5).

I hadn’t realized, until reading William Coleman’s Today’s Handbook of Bible Times and Customs, that one group’s interpretation of the Isaiah passage resulted in one of the most amazing discoveries of the 20th century: the Dead Sea Scrolls in a remote cave at Qumran where the Essenes had once lived. This group had decided to retreat to the desert to escape worldly contamination, and hoped to prepare a society ready to welcome the Messiah, in fulfillment of Isaiah 40:3-5. The community existed about 200 years, from 200 B.C. through the time of Christ. Their plan didn’t work out, but their library stash, preserved in the desert, was an incredible boon to Bible scholars.

So much for history! But what does that passage mean for us today?

William MacDonald, a Bible teacher whose commentary has a strong devotional slant, says the preparation for our Messiah is not topographical, but moral and spiritual. He said the mountains and hills represent proud, arrogant people. The valleys are people “of low degree” (those suffering hopelessness and self-pity). All uneven and rough character must be smoothed out in preparing for the Messiah’s coming. This was the message of John the Baptist, who was connected with Isaiah’s prophecy as he called people to repent because the kingdom of God was near (Matt. 3:3). Indeed it was. Jesus soon stepped into the river before his baptizing cousin.

You may be quite aware of the rocks and holes in your life’s road that need repair. Maybe there’s hidden sin, pride, addiction, hypocrisy, laziness or greed. Continuing along those “roads” only keeps you from being ready to welcome the Messiah. Don’t forget: He is coming again.

So this Christmas, with fresh bomb rubble in the Holy Land, don’t forget Isaiah’s refrain of hope: “The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together!” As someone who grew up hearing and playing classical music, I never weary of hearing The Messiah—for its Biblical text shouts glory and hope, no matter what time of year it’s presented.

Castaways

We had chopped down a messy evergreen adjacent to the house that was a fire hazard because of dry needles trapped inside. Afterwards, it seemed we’d never quit filling garbage bags of the debris. On our trash pickup day, as I came out to help the truck driver cast the bags into his dump bin, I thought of several ways garbage bags can symbolize aspects of the spiritual life.

Salvation. Some people say they can’t come to God because they have too much “garbage” in their lives. They think they need to clean up their acts before they make the decision to be a Christian. Yet, as one person quipped, “You don’t clean up the house before the cleaning lady comes.” Jesus died for sinners, not perfect people: “While we were yet sinners [surrounded by sin-garbage], Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8, comment added).

John Bunyan’s classic allegory Pilgrim’s Progress pictured that as the main character, Christian, carries a heavy back pack representing the burden of the knowledge of his sin. He comes to a place with a cross and empty tomb. There, the straps that bound his burden to him are broken, and the burden rolls into the empty sepulcher. But Christian isn’t suddenly catapulted to the Celestial City upon being relieved of his sin burden. He’s free of its penalizing weight, but he has a long way to go before reaching his destination. All sorts of tests come his way as his character is prepared for the beauty and holiness of that city where God lives.

Spiritual growth. Years ago I wrote a children’s story titled, “The Great Garbage Bag Lesson.” The fiction concerned two grade-school kids, who knew only kid-gossip about the other, being assigned partners for a science project on recycling. They decided to give each classmate a bag to collect personal throwaway garbage for a week. In the process of learning about recyclable waste, the two learned how their misconceptions about the other person being “unfriendly” were all wrong. The story inferred how pride, fear, anxiety, and other relationship-killers are spiritual “garbage” that keep us from enjoying the full life that God has planned for us.

The apostle Peter put it this way: “Cast all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7). The word for “cast” in the original Greek is epirrhipto and it literally means “to hurl upon.” Its only other use in the New Testament is in Luke 19:35, in describing the disciples hurling garments on a donkey for Jesus to sit on as He entered Jerusalem. Peter’s saying we can hurl onto Jesus our black bags of fears and anxieties. He’s strong enough to take care of them.

Selfish refusal. In my town there’s now a homeless woman in a long black hooded coat, who keeps a handkerchief pressed to her nose. As she wanders from place to place, she carries four plastic grocery sacks stuffed with more sacks. One day, concerned about her, I approached her with a clear zipped bag of purchased, wrapped snack items. “I thought you might be hungry,” I said as I got within about ten feet. She glared and waved me away. “All these are packaged,” I added, hoping to allay her fears poison or germs. She kept shooing me, insisting she didn’t want them and claiming she was okay.

Obviously, she isn’t okay. I’m not going to get into a discussion of mental illness here. But other days, as I have watched her trudge down the street, I have thought about how God must feel when we refuse His help and clasp ever tighter to our bags of problems. How much more would He’d rather hear this, as Charles Wesley expressed it his hymn “And Can It Be?”: “My chains fell off”—and I’d paraphrase, I gave up my black bags—“my heart was free, I rose, went forth, and followed Thee!”

PRRRRRaise!



The full quote of sign on our porch:
"When I count my blessings, I count
 you twice." The cat's "blessing" was
probably a sunny spot to nap!

 The family cat was waiting when I slipped out of bed early for private time with God. As I headed to the kitchen for tea, he followed with a crescendoing purr. It had something to do with “plop of wet cat food in dish.” As he ate and purred, and I opened my Bible, I thought how that’s the attitude I want for God-time. Prrrrraise…anticipating, then savoring.

If our cat counted blessings for Thanksgiving, there would be just some broad categories: food, brushing, warm lap, private sleeping corner, the great outdoors in moderation.

We have so much more to inspire our thanks. Although its message has been blurred by the traditions of turkey and football, Thanksgiving is still about giving thanks. Or, as ancient Asaph of the temple music department put it, “Sacrifice thank offerings to God, fulfill your vows to the Most High” (Psalm 50:14).

I’ve been spending more time in psalms lately, and want to suggest some praise psalms for your reading list as Thanksgiving approaches. Here are seven, one for each day until Nov. 22.

Psalm 30, David’s composition for the dedication of the temple. I like how it contrasts life’s dark times with its hope. My favorite verse: “For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning” (30:5). Thank God for bringing you through a dark time in your life.

Psalm 34, by David, when he pretended to be insane for his safety (1 Samuel 21). After getting out of that too-close-for-comfort danger, he sang out huge stanzas of praise. My favorite verses: “Glorify the Lord with me; let us exalt his name together” (34:3, also our wedding verse). “Those who look to him are radiant” (v. 3). “Taste and see that the Lord is good” (v. 8). “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (v. 18). Praise God for His protection.

Psalm 40, by David, another hymn about protection. Most memorable image: “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand” (v. 2). For a real-life example of this many years later, go to Jeremiah 38 and read of the prophet’s sinking punishment. Another: “I do not conceal your love and your truth from the great assembly” (v. 10b). Share with someone or a group about a time when God helped you.

Psalm 65, by David, packed full of praises for God’s work among people and in nature. Favorite verse: “You crown the year with bounty” (v. 11). Thank God for His benevolent care through food and shelter.

Psalm 103, another by David. It lists blessing after blessing. One precious to many is forgiveness: “As far as the east is from the west, so far as he removed our transgressions from us” (v. 2). Pick one blessing from the psalm’s list to praise God.

Psalm 107, no author listed, recounting God’s powerful plan seen in history. Key verse: “Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for men” (v. 8). With today’s perspective on yesterday’s problems or challenges, thank God for His superior plan.

Psalm 116, no author listed, praise for God’s sustaining power in difficulties. Memorable verse: “How can I repay the Lord for all his goodness to me? I will lift up the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord. I will fulfill my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people” (vv. 12-14). Verse 15 touches the event most have a hard time linking to praise: “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.” In my mother’s last hours before her death of cancer, my father read this psalm to her. As he came to that verse, I knew she would soon be one of those “precious ones.” I also affirmed that death, though a painful parting on this side, transitions to something wonderful for those who are Christians. If you have loved ones who aren’t yet Christians, pray for their salvation.

Extra credit! Psalm 145 (also by David) is an ABC praise poem (except using the Hebrew alphabet, from aleph to taw). Make an alphabetical list of your own thanksgivings to God.

Driver's-license living

There must be an unwritten rule at the Department of Licensing that all photos taken for driver’s licenses be as ugly as possible. My current license photo looks like a desperate woman who is either a mother of teething triplets or who just learned her credit card was hacked and thousands in charges made in some Caribbean Island.

            I really tried to have a smiling visage for it. As I stepped to the line for photos, I put on my most pleasant face, with a smile that was neither too phony nor too hesitant. When the clerk said “okay” and I heard a click, I thought he meant he’d taken it, and I relaxed. Then the lights popped, capturing the prize droopy-faced mug shot of the day.

            Whenever I have to show my I.D., I say, “That’s really me. You know the DOL.”  Most nod agreement.

            For all the jokes about driver’s licenses, I came upon a simple but profound use of them in describing the spiritual life. I recently read Scot McKnight’s The Jesus Creed: Loving God, Loving Others (Paraclete Press). He covers a lot of territory about what it means to be a Christian, building off how Christ transformed the Old Testament rule of life known as the shema from Deut. 6:4-5 about loving God with one’s heart, soul, mind and strength. Christ amended it to include loving one’s neighbor as oneself (Lev. 19:18). He calls this new spiritual mindset “the Jesus Creed.”

            McKnight uses analogies from ordinary life, and in chapter 10, when he traces the life of Peter, he talks about different views of conversion. “The Jesus Creed,” he writes, “is more like a driver’s license than a birth certificate.”  The birth certificate proves we were born at a certain time and location, but the driver’s license gives us permission to operate a vehicle. He likens “birth certificate-only” Christians to babies who need to be pushed around in strollers. But the “driver’s license” view produces adults who can operate on life’s roads.

            Learning to drive a car isn’t easy! It’s especially challenging for adolescents, whose brains aren’t mature enough for all the decision-making involved in traffic situations. Yet that’s when many seek licenses as some sort of rite of passage in our culture. I was a late-to-learn driver, back when driver’s education wasn’t pushed in the schools. By then in college, I’d gotten a summer job that required driving. Dad coached me on the basics, and when I barely missed a fire hydrant a block from home, he turned my training over to my mother. I probably aged her early.

            After your license gives you official permission to be on the road, you continue to acquire driving skills. Similarly, conversion is a progression of spiritual understanding. McKnight calls it “a lifelong series of gentle (or noisy) nods of the soul” (p. 96). We don’t know it all upon asking Christ into our lives. Learning to live as He did takes all our lives.

            In driving, unfortunately for many, that first accident or near-miss is part of the learning process of sharing the road. In the spiritual realm, life-learning is often connected to some sort of affliction. Robert Murray McCheyne, the Scottish preacher mentioned in last week’s blog, made this wise observation: “Affliction brings out graces that cannot be seen in a time of health. It is the treading of the grapes that brings out the sweet juices of the vine; so it is affliction that draws forth submission, weanedness from the world, and complete rest in God.”

            By the way, that lousy photo I.D. from the Department of Licensing doesn’t come under the umbrella of “life afflictions.” Amusements, maybe…

Got dust?

Whenever I harness all my courage for beyond-the-usual house-cleaning, a whole nation of dust bunnies rises up, chanting, “Be sure your sin will find you out” (thank you, Numbers 32:23).

            It happened for me recently when the smoke from massive forest fires finally crawled out of our valley and I retired the breathing mask I’d had to use even to go to the mail box. Feeling energized and virtuous, I asked my husband to help me pull the mattress off the bed and the bedside stands away from the wall. Just as I predicted, I got a “Why? Nobody looks there!” response until he saw that, indeed, silent invaders were lounging in all their gray glory. As an asthmatic, I want those sniff-and-wheeze triggers gone.  Armed with the vacuum cleaner hose, I got down on my knees to suck up the worst of them.

            I’m not one of those perfectionist housekeepers who weekly dusts the top of the refrigerator. That’s when I would say, “Why? Nobody looks there.” Okay, every few months I remove the coupon basket, the extra potholders, and the cat treats to give it a swipe.

            I thought about dust recently when I came across a scribbled note that I just couldn’t toss.  Dr. Hubert Harriman, of World Gospel Mission, spoke at my church in February 2004 with an appeal to personal holiness.  I jotted this quote from him: “The problem in our churches, he said, is that we just want to be dusted, not cleansed of sin.” In other words, we don’t want God moving around the furniture and showing us the neglected or dusty parts of our spiritual walks. We’d rather avoid the blazing, exposing light of His holiness.

            Yet spiritual deep-cleaning is exactly how God grows us in spirit and in service.

            One of those who knew and practiced that was a Scottish preacher named Robert Murray McCheyne (1813-1843). Like David Brainerd (last week’s blog) he died young, only 30, of typhus. But what a life. He taught himself the Greek alphabet at age four. At 23 he became pastor of St. Peter’s Church of Dundee, Scotland. At 24 he went to Palestine to research how to best evangelize the Jews. In his late twenties, a revival that began in his church spread through Scotland.

            It was later said of him, “It is not how long you live, but how you live that counts.”

            The renowned English preacher Charles Spurgeon, in Lectures to My Students (Zondervan, 1962, 7-8), included this powerful quote from McCheyne: “Remember, you are God’s sword, His instrument—I trust a chosen vessel unto Him to bear His name.  In great measure, according to the purity and perfection of the instrument, will be the success.  It is not great talent God blesses so much as the likeness to Christ.  A holy minister is an awful weapon in the hand of God.”           

            When God wants to use us in His kingdom, His standards are high. You don’t get away with “Why? Nobody looks there.” God sees it all: the slimy secret sins, grubby grudges, icky-apathy, and crud-crusted cravings.

            Ready to deep-clean, spiritually? The best position is on your knees. It was for McCheyne, for whom the prayer closet was a refuge of fellowship, holiness, and intercession. The hidden life prepared him for his brief yet dynamic public life of serving God.

One burning heart



Brainerd's book--atop an old Bible

 What chances would you give a boy whose father died when he was nine, and his mother when he was fourteen—and he was the third of nine children? Bear in mind there was no government welfare; this was the early 1700s in colonial Connecticut.

            Add to those a heart that truly sought after God, believed Him for the impossible, and pursued God’s calling with diligence and earnest prayer. After a stint of farming, college and ministry, he died at 29 of tuberculosis. A few months later the same disease took his betrothed, Jerusha, daughter of famed New England preacher Jonathan Edwards.

            Yet this man’s diaries inspired Henry Martyn, missionary to India and Persia. William Carey, who went to India. Adoniram Judson, who left his mark in Burma. And, within more recent times, Jim Elliot, who gave his life for a small tribe in Ecuador (then known as the Aucas).

            His name: David Brainerd. He lived 1718-1747.

            I recently read a thin volume of his diary excerpts that’s been in our church library for more than half a century. The cover is an ordinary gray, but the pages glow with the passion of a man who lived his all for God. Brainerd didn’t stay stuck in grief, thinking his life didn’t matter. It did matter, for many Native Americans in Delaware whose language he learned so he could preach and translate scriptures. He led many to faith in Christ, all while living under primitive conditions.

            It’s a convicting book. Repeatedly he tells of fasting and praying, of self-examination, and of finding “unspeakable sweetness and delight in God.” One entry after extended prayer: “There appeared to be nothing of any importance to me but holiness of heart and life, and the conversion of the heathen to God.” A few sentences later: “I cared not where or how I lived, or what hardships I went through so that I could gain souls to Christ.”



The article telling Anna's story

         I decided to check out Brainerd’s diary after reading a feature article in the Autumn 2012 Wheaton alumni magazine about student Anna O’Connor. When barely 17, Anna was diagnosed with neuroblastoma, a rare form of cancer that develops in nerve tissue. After nearly a year of treatment, the cancer wasn’t responding. Doctors expected her to die within the year.

            She lived nine more years. “But the real miracle,” the article about her said, “took place within, as she began to see ‘God’s clear purpose’ for her life.” In a chapel message, she encouraged students to “learn what it means to be fully alive to the presence of God.”

            In reading that, I flashed back to Brainerd’s diary, and this description of his conversion: “My soul was so captivated and delighted with the excellency, loveliness, greatness, and other perfections of God, that I was even swallowed up in Him…Thus God brought me to a hearty disposition to exalt Him, and set Him on the throne as King of the universe.”

            Anna didn’t sit back and “be sick.” She established a non-profit organization, hosted a music festival, finished her master’s in psychology (professors hand-delivered her master’s diploma to her in the hospital), and raised hundreds of thousands of dollars for cancer research. She connected with people, comforting and counseling. Even when sent home from the hospital on hospice care, she continued to lead a small group of young women.

            When she died at 26, some 1,700 people attended her service in Wheaton’s Edman Chapel.

            Wheaton, by the way, is also the alma mater of Jim Elliot, 1956 missionary martyr who was influenced by Brainerd.

             Try this: list  what was important to you as a twenty-something. What would you have changed in obedience and love of God? If He's nudging you to go deeper spiritually, pray about that.Then pray for the spiritual journey of a young adult you know.

The Secret to Connections

Talk about “connections”—I couldn’t even begin to count the silks woven atop a shrub in front of my home. My, those spiders had been busy! I’d been thinking about the end of the book of Romans and found, yes, a symbolic “connection” with truths about “connecting” in the body of Christ. Call it “friendship,” or “belonging,” or “feeling fulfilled”—it’s all the same basic picture of believers weaving together their skills and compassion.

Most people recall Romans as a Grand Canyon of theology. It goes from the depths of man’s depravity, through the layers of Jewish history, to the heights of salvation by faith in the risen Jesus Christ. But at the end Paul seems to let out a big “whew” and say, “Hey, greet my church friends there at Rome, especially these.”

But here’s the catch: Paul had never been to Rome when he wrote the Roman church! Most Bible scholars place him writing this about A.D. 56 at Corinth, where he lived about three months before being chased away by plots against him.

So how did he know so many people in Rome? Possibly some were converted at Jerusalem on the Day of Pentecost, and met Paul a few years later after his conversion. Others he may have met during his own missionary trips. Somehow, sometime, they’d moved to Rome and started or connected with the church there. Paul wouldn’t get to Rome himself until around A.D. 60, and then as a prisoner.

Name after name fill Chapter 16. Others are counted as being parts of house churches. But when Paul pauses to say a little more about someone, he often commends their service for the Lord.

Phoebe was a “great help to many people” including the apostle.

Priscilla and Aquila, also hard workers for Christ, even risked their lives in ministry. We know from Acts that they had a church in their house and had discipled the talented speaker, Apollos.

Mary worked “very hard.”

Others were commended as “fellow workers,” “tested and approved,” “women who work hard in the Lord,” those who “worked very hard in the Lord. The mother of Rufus was praised as being a like mother to Paul, too.

Spiritual gifts are woven all through this list. People served others. They taught and led. They stood against persecution. Rufus’ mother must have been an encourager. These people were web-builders as they deliberately cross-connected for Christ. Even as transplants to Rome, they weren’t shy about digging in and serving one another.

I used to think of Romans 16 as something of a Biblical “autograph book” bearing names of people whose identities have passed with time. Now I see it as a powerful reminder that, wherever God has put us, He has planned a way for us to serve and honor Christ. It might happen through church-sponsored programs or another opportunity that’s Christ-centered. The most important thing is that people are served for Jesus’ sake, and our faith grows.

Paul said it better in his final statements—that the end result of all this is that “all nations might believe and obey him” (v. 27).

In both the spider and spiritual world, webs grow one strand at a time. It doesn’t happen when we sit on the sidelines. Being a part of the grand web of spiritual connection, in some way, is expected of those who claim the name of Christ.

P.S. Talk about "connections"--several years ago, at a Christian writers conference, I met Grace Fox,  another writer with Northwest connections. She writes and speaks from British Columbia, Canada, and has published an excellent book on a felt need of many women: Moving from Fear to Freedom: A Woman's Guide to Peace in Every Situation. She also writes a blog where she features other authors, and this week I'm her guest:  http://www.gracefox.com/2012/10/19/friendship-friday-author-interview-with-jeanne-zornes/

Dusting off the past

It was definitely the stereotyped antiques/second-hand store. Dust coated the cluttered stacks of knickknacks, old kitchen items, antlers, music instruments, magazines and books, records, tables, rusted wood stoves, souvenirs…and more hung from the ceiling. You had to watch your step to keep from stumbling in the narrow aisles while the store’s “watch cats” slithered here and there.


“I’d call that a museum without the admission price,” my husband said as we finished our wide-eyed browsing. “One other impression,” he added. “The prices he put on things told me he loved his stuff more than he wanted to sell it.”

The owner didn’t get a dime out of us. But the owner did give me something—and that was a reminder of our human tendency to hoard. Besides “things,” we hang onto memories that have outlived their usefulness.

I think that is what God was addressing in an admonition tucked into Isaiah 43. As the chapter begins, He tenderly reminds the Israelites that He who created, formed, redeemed, and called by name will protect them in the difficult times ahead (the “floods” and “fires” in v. 2).

He can make that claim because He is…God: “I, even I, am the LORD, and apart from me there is no savior” (v. 11). They only had to think back a few centuries to the miraculous parting of the Red Sea, freeing them from enslavement in Egypt. Yet as fantastic as that was, God told them to look ahead, not back:

Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland. (vv. 18-19)

Through Isaiah, God was urging His people to look beyond their current negatives, which would lead to captivity in Babylon. Someday, they would return—as they did in small numbers later. But as true with many prophecies, there is a "forward look" to a time in the renewed earth when wastelands and deserts will have plenty of water (v. 20). God’s gifts of refreshment will cause His children to praise His name (v. 21).

I have occasionally shared verses 18-19 with people going through the death of a loved one, relationship, or dream. We have a tendency to romanticize the past to get us through a less-than-pleasant present. But God says the old parts of our lives, even if they had good in them, are not to be dwelt upon to the exclusion of new things God wants to do in our lives. The "old" become like dusty, chipped dishes and deer antlers in a junky “antique” store. He has better.

In applying that counsel, I’ve needed to think twice in re-telling some of the “glory stories” of God’s work in my life from decades ago. If I don’t give equal or more time to the newer stories of my spiritual journey, I’m essentially saying God took a break—and that’s not true at all! Sometimes He works with breathtaking miracles, other times through quiet but essential changes in my heart.That’s part of my ongoing testimony, too.

No matter where we are, God has better things ahead—things that will bring Him praise. Things that refresh, like water in a desert. New things, that in His wisdom and power He can bring about. We’re to be living with anticipation for fresh workings of God, not muddled in dusty memories.

Beyond cocoons

I’d just come back from my morning walk, a bit discouraged from a time of talking to God about hurting people I know, when He surprised me with a gift the size of a quarter. On a dead rose I spotted a tiny butterfly with exquisite black and white wings. “I made that,” God seemed to be reminding me. “I planned the process through which caterpillars become butterflies or moths. Can you trust me for greater things in these persons’ lives?”

“Metamorphosis”—that’s the scientific term for the process through which caterpillars turn into winged beauties. I recall it being one of those wicked “challenge” words for Third Grade Spelling. But as an adult I realized how God used this miracle of nature to illustrate what can happen in a human heart. The word shows up in the original Greek of New Testament scriptures: metamorphoo, meaning “to change into another form.” One place it’s used is Romans 12:2: “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” Another is 2 Corinthians 3:18: “And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory” (boldface added).

In both cases, according to Vine’s Expository Dictionary, the word expresses a complete change of human character and conduct under the power of God.

In the natural world, a caterpillar doesn’t suddenly become a butterfly. There’s a dying, then a hidden creative process of a new likeness. Breaking out of the chrysalis to become a butterfly is a strenuous process. Once out, it must join the halves of its proboscis together, pump up and dry out the wings, harden the exoskeleton, and firm up legs and other body parts.

In the spiritual world, in being “transformed” into Christ’s likeness, we’re up against more—a lot more. Obeying God in changing things about one’s life isn’t easy. And some simply resist that change. So why pray for these stubborn believers?

J. Oswald Sanders, whose insightful book Spiritual Leadership I try to read every few years, helped lead me to an answer. “People are difficult to move,” he wrote. “It is much easier to pray for things or provisions than to deal with the stubbornness of the human heart. But in just these intricate situations the leader must use God’s power to move human hearts in the direction he believes to be the will of God. Through prayer the leader has the key to that complicated lock” (Moody, 1994, p. 90).

So, for now, even though I see these people preferring their confining cocoons of old ways, I keep praying. God sees what they could become through spiritual metamorphosis, and His plan is beautiful--like that little butterfly who, after my “grace lesson,” flitted away.

Caged In

Just as I expected, the rooster exhibit at the local county fair was the noisiest place on the grounds. Well, maybe second noisiest after the carnival rides at their busiest. I can’t blame them. When you’re used to strutting all over the barnyard, it’s total indignity to be confined to a cage next to other roosters bent on out-crowing you.


I snapped a photo because I was immediately reminded of times in my life when I felt confined by negative circumstances and probably "crowed" too loud about it. I’ve learned that accepting hardship is part of how I mature as a Christian and am shaped into readiness for my future home in Heaven. And it’s more than passive “acceptance.” It’s grabbing hold of those negatives and making positives of them.

Probably no Bible character illustrates that better for me than the apostle Paul, especially in his letter to the Philippians, written while he imprisoned in Rome (Acts 28:16-31). This was a hard thing for a “controller” who liked his space. Yet instead of saying, “I hate being stuck here by these stinky circumstances,” Paul said, “What has happened to me has really served to advance the gospel” (Philippians 1:12). He was praising God for his “captive audience”—the Roman soldiers chained to him who couldn’t escape hearing his testimony. He was praising God that his witness emboldened other believers. He was thankful that God was using his negative circumstances to bring glory to Christ.

Peel back another layer of Paul’s letter to the Philippians, told in Acts 16, and there’s a even more amazing story. Paul had just been trudging through Asia, preaching about Jesus, when he had a vision to “come over to Macedonia,” meaning a whole linguistic and cultural jump. He and his companion Silas ended up in Philippi, a leading city in that area, and after getting their land legs, decided to worship somewhere, as it was the Sabbath. Philippi didn’t have enough Jewish men to form a synagogue, so they ended up down at the river with some women who met for prayer. Paul wasn’t “caged in” by expectations of what a church should be. If that was God’s place for him to start, he’d start. He didn’t say, “I don’t know anybody” or “What if they reject me?” He chatted with Lydia, a seller of luxury purple cloth, and led her to Christ.

Soon after came opposition. Paul cast an annoying evil spirit out of a slave girl, ending her fortune-telling business for her owners. He and Silas were seized by a mob, then taken by local police who stripped, beat and flogged them, then put them in stocks in prison. They didn’t sit in a funk, but in that stinky hole began praising God in front of their “captive audience” of other prisoners and the jailer in charge. Then came a violent earthquake—and many prisoners escaped. But not Paul and Silas, who kept the jailer from committing suicide and led him to faith in Christ.

And this remarkable story (think what Hollywood could do with it!) was the background of Paul’s comment as he began his letter, “I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now” (Phil. 1:5). The “first day” (and week) were chock-full of negatives! Then they were literally caged in, their feet in stocks in the inner part of the filthy prison. But Paul remembered it with joy. It wasn’t the ideal script he would have written, but He trusted God to work through all the negatives.

All of that from hearing the cacophony of crowing at the fair? Well, yes. God can use anything to remind us of His truth. He used a donkey for Balaam, a whale for Jonah and, that day, a rooster for me.

Swine Time

There’s nothing like the pig pen at the county fair to slap a smile on your face. Though not super-models, but you can be sure they’ve been washed, shaved and otherwise beautified for their “showing” and hopefully a ribbon. But nothing—not even the caricature of “beautiful” that Muppet “Miss Piggy” brought to pig-dom—can eradicate the basic “pig”-ness of pigs. Turn ‘em back to the pen at home and they’ll roll in the first available mud to cool off. And snort. Their vocals aren’t exactly on par with meadowlarks.

I’m not a farm girl, but I’ve heard some make great pets. But they’re still pigs (or “swine”), and a breath away from a grocery ad illustration.

In the Bible, swine had a much more unsavory reputation. Declared “unclean” and unfit to eat, only non-Jews (or bad Jews) raised them. The “unclean” ruling was God’s way of keeping the Jews healthy in those days of primitive medicine. Pigs often carried trichina worms which passed on to humans in undercooked meat. The larvae infected major organs and muscles, making people very sick.

To keep things simple, God told the people to just leave ham (and other disease-bearing living things) out of their diets. Thus they acquired the reputation as loathsome creatures. That provides the background for a little proverb tucked into Proverbs 11 between two verses about the righteous and the wicked:

Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout is a beautiful woman who shows no discretion (Proverbs 11:22).

In those days, the women often wore gold nose rings along with other jewelry as their “on-board” savings account. If a woman was widowed or abandoned, she at least had the jewelry attached to her body as an insurance policy. I’m not sure I’d want a nose ring, but in those days it was part of the beauty code. Except, you didn’t honor a pig with a nose ring. Slop and mud would soon coat it.

The contrast is the message. A woman may know how to dress, apply makeup, and do her hair in the latest style. But if her attitude stinks, that won’t make up for the best perfume. If what comes out of her mouth is negatives or profanity, that will cancel any other words. Externals don’t cover for the internals of godly character. Or, as the writer put it a few verses earlier, “A kind-hearted woman gains respect” (v. 16).

Turning over a few pages to Psalm 31, we’re given a get the bigger picture of what makes a godly woman tick. I’ve read it over and over, and I can’t see anything that puts “looks” first. In fact, after praising her industriousness and compassion, it ends up, “charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised” (v. 20).

That encourages aging women like me whose faces now nurture wrinkles and whiskers. At least some of those wrinkles are smile marks from checking out the pig pen at the fair. I know I could have even more laugh lines as I learn how, like Mrs. Perfect in Proverbs 31, to “laugh at the days to come” (v. 25).

Besides, with all my allergies, a nose ring would be a nuisance.

Tested by fire

Choke, cough, wheeze—right now the valley where I live is enveloped in a thick, smoky haze, no thanks to multiple nearby fires that have blackened thousands of acres. The sun, gauzed by the smoke, rises and sets as a crimson globe. Health officials have deemed the pollution level as “hazardous” and are urging people to stay inside, if possible. Schools are even keeping children in at recess. As an asthmatic, I’m staying inside, close to an air purifier.


The fires started Saturday night with an intense thunderstorm that lit up the sky and pounded us with half hour of rain. When we drove to church Sunday, already smoke was boiling into the sky up a canyon just a few miles away. Within a few days, flames had crept across foothills within a mile of our home. The fire encircled the home of friends, who had wisely put a wide perimeter of gravel around it.

Winds blew the fire away from our neighborhood, but the flames continue to eat at scrublands of sage brush and dry grasses, plus parched timberlands. As I pray for the firefighters, I’m also reminded that fires can cleanse diseased lands. Unfortunately, when they’re in populated areas, they’re unwelcome.

Fire is also a powerful spiritual analogy. One comes up in 1 Corinthians 3:11-15, which talks about Jesus Christ being the only certain foundation. What we build on that foundation must past God’s test at Judgment Day. At that time, the lasting influence of peoples’ choices will be revealed. Some will have used the spiritual equivalent of gold, silver or costly stones; others, wood, hay and straw.

That passage doesn’t specify what activities are enduring and what aren’t. But maybe this is a good question to ask: “Does this work or activity have the ultimate end of honoring and serving God, or is it rooted in boredom, selfishness or personal indulgence?”

I think about that as I find “indoor” activities for my time. I’m editing some articles and blogs, and cutting up fabric scraps for more baby blankets for the hospital. And as I look out at the haze, those “arrow prayers” go up for the men and women fighting the hot monsters in my area.

Looking up



My mother painted this version of Mount Rainier for
me in 1978, the year she died of cancer. It's
much like the view of Tipsoo Lake at the
top of Chinook Pass, mentioned in this blog.

 Someone stopped by the house the other day and began anxiously lamenting all the negatives in world news. “Is God still on the throne?” I chided. Every generation will have its negatives, some of which seem to be hurtling our planet toward self-destruction. When worry about these things tries to slither into my heart, I find I need to go back to Psalm 121:

I lift up my eyes to the hills—where does my help come from?
My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth.

This psalm had its greatest impact in my life when I was 32, making numerous trips over Washington’s Cascades Mountains to my sister’s home in Eastern Washington. I was temporarily living in our deceased parents’ home in Western Washington while cleaning it out as part of estate settlement. The four-hour trip included a true apex. At the top of Chinook Pass, I came upon a stunning view of snow-capped Mount Rainier, elevation 14,410 feet.

Often I’d be mulling over my problems and challenges as I drove. But when that mountain came in view, reminding me of God’s power and purity, I got an attitude adjustment. Though I didn’t know how He’d do it, I could trust God for the troubling unknowns I faced.

The Israelites didn’t have Mount Rainier, but they did have Mount Zion, the “big hill” on which Jerusalem was built along the ridge called the “Judean Hills.” The temple hill was Jerusalem’s focus, and in those days the “glory cloud” that signified God’s presence hovered over the Holy of Holies. When they looked to the hills, they had this bright, inexplicable floating mass to remind them that God dwelled among them. Who could be more powerful than the Maker of heaven and earth?

He will not let your foot slip—he who watches over you will not slumber;
indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

Let me tell you about a “foot slip”! Mine on an icy stairwell changed my life and the anatomy of my ankle. Though the broken bones healed, the arthritis there now is a great barometer for weather changes! But in this case, the psalmist is saying God is the ultimate security. He wants to help us over life’s rocky places. Unlike human guards, who are apt to doze off, He’s on constant alert on our behalf.

The Lord watches over you—the Lord is your shade at your right hand;
The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night.

Most Bible teachers connect these verses to demonic religions that deify the sun and moon. In that context, this verse is a reminder that God is greater than that. First John 4:4 emphasizes: “The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.”

The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life;
The Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

This doesn’t mean that nothing bad will happen to us. Instead, nothing will come into our lives apart from God’s permissive will. Bible teacher Kay Arthur often remarks that whatever happens is “filtered through fingers of love” (As Silver Refined, Waterbrook, p. 130). To pull from Romans 8:28, these things happen according to God’s purpose.

God’s enduring care for us shines through the last four words: “both now and forevermore.” His watch-care never ends.

The Bible predicts a cataclysmic end to the world. I don’t know what that will involve. Maybe Mount Rainier will collapse! But I know I don’t need to worry about it. God cares about every detail of my life and will help me through whatever is ahead. And someday, I won’t look unto the hills for inspiration. I’ll look unto the Throne, from whence came my help, and offer all the praise I can muster.

Lost and found

Oh, the things that people lose at church! Bibles, and more Bibles. Copious numbers of coats, caps, and casserole pans. Pacifiers and mouth guards. Planners that didn’t get planned in. Journals that journeyed out of sight.


At least once a year, usually twice, my church displays the lost wares that are normally tucked out of sight in a cabinet marked “lost and found.” People whose names are inscribed inside Bibles are contacted. Some come retrieve them, some don’t.

If my Bible got lost, I’d be turning every pew upside down to find it. It’s full of devotional and sermon notes. I’d really, really miss it.

In thinking about our lost-and-found table, I considered the Bible's stories about lost things. Four are slotted into the Gospel of Luke, right after another:

*Salt that has lost its flavor (Luke 14:34-35). In Bible times, salt didn’t come in the pure crystalline form we have for table salt. It included impurities that remained as residues in the bottom of salt containers. The analogy is people who start out seeming to be the “real thing” as Christians, but they’re really like the disgusting powders at the bottom of the jar.

*Lost sheep (15:3-7). How many of us can identify with the one lost sheep that the Shepherd risked all to bring back?

*Lost coin (15:8-10). My tendency to misplace things increases as I age, so I feel for this poor woman who’d lost what was probably part of her dowry and insurance in old-age. But the truth here is more like the Campus Crusade evangelistic slogan of a recent decade: “I found it,” “it” being a life-changing relationship with Christ. No wonder Heaven is throwing a party!

*Lost son (15:11-32). Two sons were really lost: one to his materialistic folly, and one to his anger and resentment. One found forgiveness through repentance.

That parable makes me think about things I should be losing, like resentment when somebody else got the breaks. Resentment is not of God. Pass the trash can.

Some other things worth losing: Love for the world’s fads and trinkets, love of pleasure, and love of being admired. John nailed them with this description: “the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life” (1 John 2:16 KJV).

Things I don’t want to lose:

*A love for God’s Word: “Oh how I love your law” (Psalm 119:97).

*Patience. (Anybody else on this one?)

*The sense of awe regarding our holy God.

*The amazement that Christ would die for me.

*My ministry passion.

*My testimony.

Oh, yes: my Bible. After so many years of use and markings, it’s an old friend. Not irreplaceable, of course, but still personalized for me. So far, I’ve kept it off the lost-and-found table. However, when my aging tendency to forget or misplace things causes a few moments of panic, my husband’s been known to say, “We’re in for a ride!”

“For better, for worse,” I retort, “and don’t you forget that!”

Living Looser

Our two kids were both in college when I sent them this doctored-up photo of their parents. How better to “lighten up” the pain of paying for college?

Though my personality runs to the serious side of the spectrum, I’ve found balance in letting humor seep from the seams. Even back in my scholar personality of high school, I self-appointed myself to spiff up the music room’s stale bulletin board with a page of jokes and cartoons, purportedly published by the BBBBBBC (Building Better Boring Band Bulletin Boards Committee).

Enter marriage and motherhood, and humor was a parental survival tactic. It was also one way to help build well-rounded children. Here are some of the things we did.

*Be imperfect. Our kids heard their parents laughing about their mistakes. Mine involved their dad’s new white tennis shoes for teaching elementary physical education. They’d gotten muddy, so one morning I tossed them in the “dark” wash load. They emerged pink, thanks to some new red pants in the same load. His foible as a life-long fisherman: flinging out a long cast with his favorite rod and reel and accidentally letting go of them. Plunk.

*Be imaginative. Our kids’ best toys came in a box that we filled…with yardage remnants, wigs, shawls, funky glasses, hats, allergy masks, old nightgowns and yard-sale costumes. Called the “dress-up box,” it aided hours of creative play. While the kids were still little, at Christmas we re-enacted the Nativity story with the kids as the key characters, Dad as the donkey and Mom multi-tasking the extra roles. Another box held hand puppets (found at yard sales and thrift stores) that starred in original puppet shows behind a “couch” stage.

*Be irrational. Sometimes we changed the rules, like having dessert before dinner, or having the kids be “cook” and “waiter” for guests Mom and Dad at the kitchen table. Over milk and crackers, the parents hammed it up with atrocious manners like talking with food in our mouths, using fingers instead of forks, and arguing over who got the biggest portion. We called it “teachable moments” as the kids saw their own bad habits.

*Be interactive. Playing together included charades with Bible characters (Samson flexed his muscles and combed his hair, bent-over Sarah swaddled a baby). On long car trips it meant add-on stories (“There once was a weary mother who…”) and alphabet drills (F my name is Felix, and I live in Farmington and sell frankfurters). And yes, besides letting the kids play “fort” with sofa cushions, chairs and lots of sheets and blankets, we actually crammed a tent into the living room for a “camp-in.”

*Be infamous. Celebrate being “normal” and prone to funny stuff. We had “code names” for hilarious family events. “Eagles” recalled the zoo trip to see raptor birds and Mom getting disgusting “plops” in her hair while she stood under a tree for shade. “TP Streamers” coded a bare-bottomed 18-month-old streaking out of the bathroom with a lengthening stream of toilet paper in hand. We also started a “Funny File” notebook where we pasted all those too-close-to-home cartoons retired from tenure on the family refrigerator.

Trust me, a sense of humor can defuse some not-so-fun experiences. One afternoon a split scalp from a fall sent me to the emergency room. Home again with the wound stapled shut, I found my teens unusually solicitous in offering me ice and an afghan while I rested in my recliner. Later, after much behind-the-bedroom-door giggling, they presented me with a get-well card in which they’d expressed their love and kisses with X’s and O’s--created with a desk stapler.

Nothing to crow about



Crow atop a fast food business

 Wherever you find road-kill, you probably find crows or ravens. Big, black, and raucous, they have a party that clears the refreshment table. Oh yes, they prefer “carrion,” not carry-out. (Sorry about the pun.) They apparently flunked Singing Class at Bird School, as I wouldn’t call their cawing “pretty.”

Even in the Bible, they were the “hoods” of the neighborhood. Unlike the sweet little sparrows that nested in the nooks of the temple, they weren’t known for good manners. Although Elijah was fed by such birds during his hideout time at the brook Cherith from King Ahab, to do so was against their natural inclinations. By instinct, they would have gobbled the food samples faster than a starved shopper at Costco. This, like Elijah’s other instant meals at the cave in the desert, was a miracle.

Another verse in the Bible that camps on their nasty behavior is a curious one in Proverbs about parents and children. I scratched my head over it many times until I started to do some investigating: “The eye that mocks a father, that scorns obedience to a mother, will be pecked out by the ravens of the valley, will be eaten by the vultures” (Proverbs 30:17).

Whatever did this gory verse mean? For eyes to be pecked out meant the body was left to scavenger birds. One Bible teacher noted that the Jews took dishonoring the family seriously. It was a disgrace to die violently and be denied a decent burial. Another said this connects to verse 11, which talks of “those who curse their fathers and do not bless their mothers, those who are pure in their own eyes.” In other words, they think they know it all and are beyond fault. Still another Bible teacher said the pecked-out eye referred to the inability to look at another with full and transparent attention.

I’ll leave it to question-and-answer time in Heaven to fully understand this verse. But I think it harkens back to one of the ten basic laws of life that God gave thousands of years ago: “Honor your father and your mother, so that you may live long in the land the Lord your God is giving you” (Exodus 20:12).

My parents both died, of cancer and a heart attack, the year I was 31. In my twenties, as I transitioned out of adolescence and into responsible adulthood, I tried to honor them with words of appreciation and practical help. I tried not to take them for granted. I wanted them to see they’d successfully launched me into life as I pursued a career and served God through my church.

It’s dysfunctional families that this proverb addresses, and I pray for several families suffering in this way. And now, thanks to the word picture in Proverbs 30:17, I have an extra reminder to pray—whenever I hear that grating, annoying bird caw.