Druthers

“Druther”: it’s a contraction of “I’d rather,” or as a noun means “personal choice.”  For example, if I had my “druthers” between eating liver and crunchy green bell peppers, I druther take the peppers any day. But sometimes those “druthers” belong to negative choices. Although posted in jest, this photo of our family cat (“Keep your paws off my remote”) suggests how entertainment can grip us like a cat’s claws. It’s not just about television (programming, videos/DVDs). So can the internet (browsing, games, social media), smart-phone play, music devices, and, on the darker side, pornography. Though technology has changed, the problem is old. Even back in the First century, Peter warned about the “druthers”: “Be self-controlled and alert.  Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8).

J. Oswald Sanders, a great missionary leader and preacher in the last century, wrote in The Joy of Following Jesus (Moody, 1994, p. 80): “In one sense, life consists largely of making habits and breaking habits, for we are all creatures of habit.  We are unconsciously forming and fracturing habits all the time, and for that reason this area of life must be brought under Christ’s control.  It is an essential part of the soul’s education.”

Contrary to some popular thinking, God doesn’t treat us like marionettes or string puppets, twisting the guide strings this way and that to rid us of bad habits. They must be broken the way they were made: by our own choices. We’re not left alone in that task: “It is God who works in you to will and act according to his good purpose” (Philippians 2:13). Sanders added: “The aid of the Holy Spirit is always available in the forming of a new and good habit, but it is we who must do it.  God does not act instead of us: it is a partnership.”

When a negative habit lures, some have found it helpful to pray right then, either aloud or silently, “With God’s help, I choose not to do this.” Being accountable to a trusted friend or group may help. So may keeping a log of how much time this habit takes. Sometimes the wake-up call about a habit is a desperate circumstance, like a family crisis, arrest or intervention that leads to a rehab center. 

Not all habits are bad. Saunders points out this one: “In the culture of the soul, no habit is more crucial and formative than maintaining a consistent devotional life—a regular time reserved for fellowship and communion with God.  Not everyone finds that easy, but its importance and value cannot be exaggerated. Since that is the case, it is only reasonable to expect that the habit will be the focus of relentless attack from our adversary” (p. 81).

Talking about “druthers,” Satan would “druther” we neglect habitually drawing close to God. At such times, we need to dig in with spiritual claws and tell Satan to scoot!

The Amateur Hour Christmas Pageant

My son knew he’d finally been allowed a “rite of passage” when he no longer had to play “Joseph” in the annual neighborhood Christmas play. He was sprouting a few whiskers and his voice changing when he finally shed his bathrobe costume. Instead, he showed off his newly-acquired guitar-playing skills as he helped lead the small audience of family and neighbors in singing a few Christmas carols.

Up through the junior high years, my creative neighbor Teri planned a “Jesus Birthday Party,” with our children re-enacting the nativity. As the only boy of the bunch, my son was pre-cast as Joseph, with the girls doing Mary, various angels, shepherds, and other parts, with a doll in a homemade feed trough. After singing, we enjoyed a dessert.

Now, all those kids are out of college, most married, and one (the ex-Joseph) with a son of his own, named Josiah. The other day, when we put four-month-old Josiah on a rocking/rolling horse found in a thrift store, I thought how it won’t be long before he’s ready for his first “nativity story” education.

 

Before my neighbor’s nativity parties began, we’d already started with a hands-on crèche with plastic figures that our kids could touch and move about. Admittedly, telling the story was simple at first. I had a nursery cloth book with this stunning plot line: “Mary” (turn the page). “Angel” (turn the page).  You get the idea.

Then came a little sister, and by pre-school years, we played out the nativity. Dad was the hee-hawing donkey carrying “Mary.” Our son was faithful old Joseph.  And Mom was the angel in the living room, and the innkeeper saying “no room” behind our bedroom door.  In addition, every year the crèche was put at kid-level. My son, who’d grow up to be an engineer, would organize all the people on one side and all the animals on the other.  His sister was a bit more freestyle.  She was our “dolly” girl, and in the midst of her imaginary stories would have her fashion doll drive up in a pink corvette to pay a courtesy call on the holy family.

We still have the crèche under our Christmas tree.  Josiah’s too young to understand it this year, but maybe next year we can find another book with that gripping plot line: “Mary” (turn the page). “Joseph” (turn the page). “Baby Jesus.”

In a sense, we’ve already turned the page, passing on the ageless story to our descendants, and that’s a good thing.  And maybe the real-life now-grandpa-donkey will offer his back and a good-hearted hee-haw.  I can hardly wait.

           

A true Christmas story: The Wise Man's Four Gifts

This true personal story, which I wrote thirty years ago, was published by four magazines. It just seemed the right thing to share again with Christmas just a few days away. Maybe there’s someone to whom you can be that “farmer from Bickleton.”

Our wise man came not on a camel, but in a pickup.  His blue jeans bore stains of ranch work, and his thinning gray hair lay in disarray from the icy December wind. He brought three gifts: a 50-pound sack of potatoes from his farm, a quart of his locally famous home-canned sauerkraut, and a freshly killed turkey from his flock.

My sister’s family called this man their “farmer friend from Bickleton.”  They knew him through church.  They were surprised he’d heard about Dad, since very few people in my sister’s town knew him.  And they were even more surprised that he’d come thirty miles over snow-slick, hilly farmland roads just to say,” I hurt with you.”

 A few days before, while 2,000 miles away at graduate school, I got the shocking phone call telling of my dad’s fatal heart attack. It had been just six months since Mom died of cancer.  I wasn’t ready to hear such news again.  Now I was at my sister’s home in a town 200 miles from where our parents had lived.

There wasn’t much time to pause in the kitchen and gaze at the man’s gifts.  On the other side of the wall in my sister’s ma-and-pa style bookstore, customers waited impatiently at the cash register with their Christmas purchases.

“You’ve got to fix the turkey,” my sister said as she rushed out.  I balked.  It wasn’t that I didn’t know how.  I’d fixed my first turkey less than a month before when I helped a Norwegian student family celebrate their first American holiday. It was just that I was having trouble putting my heart into any kind of project.  But dutifully, I gathered ingredients for stuffing and located the roaster.

Outside, snowflakes spit over the gray, chilled parking lot.  People, with lots to do and much to shop for, hastened past.  For us, this Christmas meant a funeral and no more holidays with Mom and Dad.  But for others it would bring happy reunions and parties.  There would be gift-giving to carry on the tradition of the wise men, who gave the baby Jesus gold, frankincense, and myrrh—the king’s metal, a sacred incense, and embalming spice.

Three gifts.  Then I realized our wise man had really brought four gifts, one of which was greater than gold.  He could have stayed home, warm and uninvolved.  But he came, and though he said little, he offered much in offering himself.

The store apartment began filling with the aroma of his turkey, a fragrant offering of love and—in its own way—frankincense for a watching King.

Getting off the Xmas Xpress

The hobby building of our local county fair featured this huge set-up belonging to a miniature railroad enthusiast.  As I listened to him tell visitors how his train-land grew, I recalled the simple set my son set up in his bedroom for several years at Christmas. He had a tiny room, ten feet square, and hauled half of a Ping Pong table in there to hold the train. He had to crawl under it to get to bed!

Lately, I’ve been thinking how the Christmas season is a lot like that miniature train. Once a train is set in place, and the tracks are perfectly aligned, it will go round and round until someone hits the “off” button. So it is with “traditions.”  Yes, we had some “traditions” when our children were young.  On Christmas eve they opened the package that contained their new home-sewn pajamas. On Christmas morning, their first package was a box of usually-forbidden sugary breakfast cereal. (Yes, I tried to be their health-conscious mom.)

But as I consider what has become “Christmas tradition,” I wonder if we have courage to call it the “Xmas Xpress”: the intensive retail and party season that propels us into winter with barely a nod to the huge spiritual significance of God coming to earth as a baby.  Have we made too much of gifting each other, and not gifting back in gratitude to God? I can think of several “gifts” that honor the Lord’s birth lots better than the way many are doing it now:

*The gift of kindness and service.  I hope we’ll never forget the simple gifts of showing the Lord’s love.  Like visiting a shut-in. Taking a meal to someone who’s lonely, ill or bereaved. Offering to clean, repair or do yard work for someone who can’t.  One young couple we know, living on a tight college-student budget, decided to do “Twelve Days of Giving” for their Christmas family gift.  They decided on twelve number-related “giving tasks,” and took photos of each for a small album they gave parents.  For example, for Day 10, the wife had ten inches of hair cut off for a non-profit that makes wigs for medically-bald children.  For Day 4, they offered “four hands” of serving in a local food bank.  Day 8 was picking up litter on eight blocks near their home.

*The gift of appreciation.  Has someone’s kindness made your life easier?  Tell them in a heart-felt note. Has someone’s close walk with Christ inspired you or helped you?  Tell them. This year, while adding notes to Christmas letters (yes, I still do that, but to a limited number), I took extra time to write some former, aging pastors and their spouses.

 

*The gifts of alms. It’s not just the red kettle bell-ringers. Our mailboxes are flooded with solicitations at Christmas because it is, after all, a time when we acknowledge God’s amazing way of intercepting history with the birth of His Son. He was born into poverty—not the way we might have chosen things for history. He ministered to the poor. In our family, we decide on at least one “Jesus gift” to support a ministry that has burdened our hearts.   We’ve encouraged family members to do the same in lieu of “gifting” us. It brings me joy to know that instead of more “stuff” for me, that money is instead  buying food for a child in Africa, chickens for a family in Central America, or electricity for a ministry to the homeless.

*The gift of deference. Not everyone in my circle of influence agrees with cutting back so drastically. To them, Christmas isn’t Christmas without gifts. They’d be disappointed without several packages to open.  I accept where they are, and try to gift wisely.

*The gifts of reconciliation.  My heart aches for families where there is enmity.  Often it’s because of a divorce or separation or some other family difficulty.  I pray for two families divided after a stepparent's death. I imagine Jesus weeping over this, even more than I do. What a gift it would be for either family unit to write or phone and say, “Let’s turn away from the past.  Please forgive me for my part in our conflict. Let’s make a fresh start before the Lord.” Such bold, humble steps are like the image of reconciliation in Psalm 133--of family harmony like precious anointing oil spilling over a priest’s head.  Surely, this is what pleases God.

The scriptures say of Jesus’ coming, “Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift” (2 Cor. 9:15). As Christians, we know the secular celebration has gotten out of hand. But in simple ways like this, maybe we can show the world that it’s still about how very, very much God loves us—so much that He sent a Savior.

The other Black Friday

Last week saw “Black Friday,” a day that news sources say 47 million shoppers spent an estimated $40,000,000,000. As I considered this annual $pending $pree,  I couldn’t help but think of another “Black Friday.”  We remember it every year, and this year it will return just 19 weeks from today. Last week’s frenzy got its name because a retailer’s “red ink” balance will supposedly turn “black” with pre-Christmas sales.  But the original “Black Friday” came on a desperate, ugly day of execution for two criminals and One without sin:

“From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land.”—Matthew 27:45

“At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour.” –Mark 15:33
Shortly after those three black mid-day hours, Jesus died.

Some try to minimize the importance of the mid-day darkness.  They claim it must have been an eclipse. But this was at Passover, which is carefully dated at the time of a full moon, and eclipses cannot occur during a full moon. In addition, eclipses typically last a few minutes, never three hours. There had to be a supernatural intervention, as happened with the ninth plague of darkness in Egypt (Exodus 10:22) before Moses led the Hebrews out of slavery. 

It’s hard to miss the connection between spiritual and physical darkness. In his inimitable 19^th century prose, the great preacher Charles Spurgeon commented: “The sun could no longer look upon his Maker surrounded by those who mock him.  He covered his face, and traveled on in tenfold night, in very shame that the great Sun of righteousness should himself be in such terrible darkness.”

We’ve come to know that day as “Good Friday,” because the completely good and pure Son of God took on our punishment for sin.  But the day was full of blackness: shameful injustice, parades of misguided mockers, the raw and negative side of humanity.

Hmm...as I read of this era’s disorderly crowds and pandemonium over electronics, big-screen televisions , clothing, and toys, I wonder if we’ve made any progress since the day Christ hung on a cross. The crowds shouting “Crucify Him!” were disappointed that this “Messiah” wasn’t a political figure. They sought a leader to overthrow the Roman rule, which had kept them from enjoying life’s nicer things. They wanted comfort and toys, not a Savior from sin.

Perhaps the psalmist can lead us to an answer:  “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.” (Psalm 116:15-16).  There’s no “gift” in all the Black Friday sales that can ever match the gift we have of salvation in Jesus Christ. We should respond by giving, not to those who already have so much, but as the hands of Jesus to those who have so little—in our land and abroad.

The Truth Tellers

It’s the Friday after Thanksgiving, and you probably did this. No, not dived into the crowds wanting “Black Friday” bargains. How about “stood on the scale”? We currently have two scales in our bathroom. The clear one (right) was left behind in a vacated rental that we helped the landlord (a relative) clean out.  A friendly scale, it weighs you two pounds lighter than truth, and can’t be adjusted.  (It will eventually get donated somewhere.) The white scale is our Old Faithful, which gives the brutal facts about true weight. 

I’d like to believe the untruth on “light” scale, but I know the other tells me what I need to know.  The scales also remind me of a story in the book of Daniel with the key verse, “You have been weighed on the scales and been found wanting”  (Daniel 5:26). Well, I’m wanting to weigh less on the “truthful” scales, but we’ll move on from there. The quote comes from an account about a rascal king named Belshazzar, the grandson of more famous Nebuchadnezzar. King B had thrown a party for a thousand noblemen, bringing out the sacred gold and silver goblets they’d raided from the temple in Jerusalem.  While chugging the bubbly, they began praising their various idols.  Suddenly, a giant hand began writing on the wall, bringing a quick end to the party. He finally called in the Hebrew worker Daniel, known for his wisdom in such puzzling situations.  Daniel interpreted the three words written by the giant hand: mene, tekel, and peres. Their meanings (numbered, measured, divided) spelled doom for Belshazzar.  “Tekel”(for “measured”) brings up the idea of double-panned scales used by merchants, like that in the famous blindfolded “Lady Justice” statue of the 1500s. Belshazzar’s sins and arrogance made one side dip to the max, while the other side of true faith was empty.

Now, a disclaimer. A lot of people use the idea of “spiritual scales” the wrong way. They say something on the line of this: “Well, when I die, I guess God will put my good deeds on one scale and the bad on another, and hopefully the good will outweigh the bad so I can go to heaven.”  There’s not a single verse in the Bible to support that. We’re never “good enough” for heaven.  We are able to go there only through accepting Christ’s atoning work on the cross for our sins.

The other problem comes when people think they’re good enough already for Heaven—in other words, the scales are already stacked in their favor.  They echo Job’s opinion that he was so good that he didn’t deserve to suffer: “Let God weigh me in honest scales and he will know that I am blameless” (Job 30:4). In truth, as “good” as he was, Job fell short of perfection. Proverbs 16:2 seems to point to his blind spot: “All a man’s ways seem innocent to him, but motives are weighed by the Lord.”

Instead of trying to affix our own measuring system on God, maybe we need to step back and simply worship Him for His wisdom, power and majesty.  In images that drew from “measurements,” Isaiah did that with a magnificent picture of the God who measured water in the hollow of His hand, marked off the breadth of the heavens, held earth’s dust in a basket, and “weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance” (see Isaiah 40). Nothing, absolutely nothing, can compare with the greatness of God.

The disparity between God’s purity and our sin is hard to admit. But seeing ourselves as we really are requires that we use the “truth scales” of scripture.  For example, the book of James reveals my spiritual flab in a lot of places: trials, controlling my tongue, guarding against favoritism, helping the poor, avoiding quarrels, not grumbling, and praying in faith. “Humble yourselves before the Lord,” James says, “and he will lift you up” (James 4:10). 

Well, “lifting me up” as I stand on the household “truthful scales” might lower the numbers a bit. But I know wherein I stand, and that’s in need of grace!

Fashion Flub

Always ready for a bargain, I decided I’d go along with my local grocer’s 10%-off everything offer. It involved promoting the state’s professional football team, the Seahawks.  If a customer wore a Seahawk jersey to shop on a Seahawk game day, he’d get that 10% discount. Remembering my husband had a blue Seahawk sweatshirt, I pulled the familiar color off a hanger in his closet and hurried out the door with my shopping list in hand. After filling my basket, I showed up at checkout and said,  “I wore a Seahawk shirt to get today’s special discount.”

The clerk glanced at me and muttered, “A Seahawk jersey.”  “Oh,” I replied, concluding that sweatshirts didn’t come under their “jersey” rule. I didn’t pursue the conversation as there were many customers behind me.  When I got home and took off the sweatshirt, I realized I’d put on another of his sweatshirts, same blue, but this mischievous, old-age message: “I don’t want to, I don’t have to, you can’t make me, I’m retired.”

My blunder has caused gales of laughter among family and friends. Somebody said, “You’ll figure out a blog from that.” Well, I did think of a few things.

*Our clothing can be a billboard of our values.  I’ve seen too many that are offensive beyond words. They’re good for the gutter, and no more.  I’m reminded of a story told of the 19^th century Russsian priest, Father John of Kronstadt. Unlike other clergy of his times, he purposefully went into the impoverished villages near his cathedral to interact with the people.  In the slums, he’d get down in the gutters where drunks were sleeping off their hangovers. He’d cup the man’s chin, look in his eyes and say, “This is beneath your dignity. You were created to house the fullness of God.”  Some of today’s clothing offerings are clearly beneath the dignity of a child of God.

*Our clothing is not all that should clothe us:

“Clothe yourself with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the sinful nature.” –Paul, Romans 13:14
“Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion,kindness, humility, gentleness and patience...Bear with each other...forgive...over all these virtues put on love.” –Paul, Colossians 3:12-14.
“Clothe yourselves with humility toward one another.” –Peter, 1 Peter 5:5
 

That’s the way it should be for those who wear the garments of salvation (Isaiah 61:10)!

Elevator music

I noticed three odd things when I recently walked into one of our large supermarkets. First, the lights were dimmed. Second, all the chilled displays (dairy products, meats and frozen goods) were either tarped or taped shut. Due to a nearby accident, the store had lost all its power and was running only essential things (like the checkout lanes) on generators. Finally, it was quiet except for "people chatter." There was no background music.

My culture has attuned me to having something “in the background” when I’m in a public place. It’s called “elevator music,” and though not confined to elevators, it’s any type of background music intended to please the subconscious.  Usually it’s an arrangement of some popular song, the genre depending on the location. My local mall’s teen fashion store assaults passersby with hard rock. The sounds coming from the manicure store are soft and comforting.

My husband mixes his own brand of “elevator music.”  He likes to have some sort of sound going all the time. The other night it was simultaneously baseball  on the TV and football on the radio. Other times it’s CDs or videos of old-time Gospel ensembles. He often sings along.

When I recently stepped in one of our local thrift shops, a cowboy tune twanged away with the usual plot of “My horse is lame and my woman is vain, and all the hills look the same.”  Some local hee-haw radio station was doing the honors.  When we’re driving somewhere,  either the radio or CD help the miles go faster.  The other afternoon, my husband tuned in a station that plays classical music.  As a sonorous cello piece filled the vehicle, he said, “That is absolutely beautiful.”  I was staring out the window, fighting tears because it really touched my classical-music-lover’s heart.

It’s been said that music can bring out either the beast or best in us. About forty miles from our home is a large outdoor amphitheater known for attracting pop and rock groups...and drugs and disorderly crowds. No, I’ve never been there. But there’s a pile of books next to our piano that reaches deeper into my heart the older I get. Thanks to years of exposure to Christian music, dozens, maybe hundreds, of hymns and choruses “elevate” my spirit. I only have to scan the index of titles or first lines, and snatches of their melodies send me to the page where I can read or sing the lyrics. Even with the memory losses of aging (we have our share of conversations that go like, “Who’s that lady whose husband is thin and I think the name starts with R”?), those melodic jewels of the faith are firmly fastened in my heart.

The other day, I was sad, very sad, over a difficult situation. Yet God seemed to be prompting me to turn my mourning into rejoicing. As I started about my household chores, I recognized a scripture chorus coming to mind. It’s one that combines three verses from psalms: one about entering His gates with thanksgiving (100:4), a second about rejoicing in the day He has made (118:9), and the third about rejoicing because He has made me glad (16:9). All the way through cleaning scrambled egg off the fry pan to treating clothing stains to mopping the floor, that persistent melody and its scriptural words stayed with in me.

My heart was lifted.  And that’s what I’d call true “elevate-her” music.

Possessed by possessions

Among local annual yard sales, this one has to be the biggest. The ad, in fact, bragged that it was the family’s 17^th annual sale.  Extended family, obviously. I found a partial bag of quilt batting.  My husband found a fishing pole. But as we pulled away from the piles (much of it soggy from the previous night’s rain), I found myself asking, “Why so much?” That view of foothills in the background reminded me to “look higher” than the motley collection of used stuff below.

Disclaimer: we have our own “piles,” but we’re working at paring them down.  “Stuff” collects via my husband’s hobby of restoring broken bikes and mowers to usefulness, and recycling quality used children’s books to local schools. I turn fabric scraps into baby blankets for the local hospital to give the homeless or impoverished who deliver there. But there comes a point of too much stuff. When I’m in the home of a hoarder (now classified as an obsessive compulsive behavior), I feel so “closed in” that I can hardly wait to get out.

The Bible says a lot about our possessions:

*Stuff breeds greed.  One day a man came to Jesus wanting His help in an inheritance dispute. Jesus declined, saying, “Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions” (Luke 12:15). Paul put greed in the same list with sexual immorality and impurity, as “not proper for God’s holy people” (Eph. 5:3).

*Too much “stuff” masks the real “us.” When Paul planned a return ministry trip to Corinth, he said he didn’t want to be a burden to them.  He was a low-maintenance missionary, anyway.  He didn’t require a luxury suite with a hot tub. “What I want,” he said, “is not your possessions but you” (2 Cor. 12:14).

*Having less leads to more that truly lasts. When the writer of Hebrews talked about those who were persecuted, even to having their possessions taken away, he remarked, “You...joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions” (Hebrews 10:34). Sadly, this wasn’t a First Century incident. It still rings true today for believers in lands hostile to Christians. For a powerful fiction treatment of this, get into Randy Alcorn’s novel, Safely Home.

*Abundance enables sharing. The apostle John lived long enough to see a lot of inequity among the rich and poor. To better-off believers he gave this advice: “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need, but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?” (1 John 3:17). My husband is part of a ministry that receives still-useful furniture (from upgrading, downsizing, or estates) to distribute to the very needy (like women fleeing domestic abuse). I’ve been given boxes of fabric by people who learn of my “needy-babies” blanket project.

*Sharing gives back. Someone with a giving heart once remarked to me, “I don’t miss what I gave away.” There’s so much truth in this proverb: “One man gives freely, yet gains even more; another withholds unduly, but comes to poverty” (Proverbs 11:24).

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go through some things I don’t use...like those white dressy heels I wore for my daughter’s wedding.  My once-broken ankle is too weak for heels any more.  And then....

Looking to the rock

It’s known as  “Castlerock,” and the rocky prominence at the edge of my town does seem like a castle. But I like to think of it as “Fortress Rock,” for it seems to have a more military look to it as it guards the valley. It also makes me think of Martin Luther’s hymn, “A Mighty Fortress is our God,” inspired by Psalm 46.

The Psalms repeatedly refer to God as a fortress, strong tower, refuge, bulwark or rampart.  To people who live long ago, these defensive features of walled cities and castles protected them from ground assaults. The era of long-range gunfire and air support changed all that. Today the enemy can sneak and strike within, as we have seen in recent mass shootings like that in a Kenyan mall.

Yet God is bigger than these atrocities that strike our sick, fallen world. Maybe that’s why we need the reminders from scripture that God was, is and forever will be our defense, our fortress, our sure help in time of need.  Of the many psalms that visualize Him in these ways (18, 31, 46, 59, 62, 71, 91, 94), I’m drawn in a special way to Psalm 62. Many of the others are laced with the psalmist’s fears with pleas of “God, help me.” But in Psalm 62, David faces danger with solid faith and trust in God alone. Of particular note is “alone.” Translators had to deal with the Hebrew ‘ak, which has no easy matches to English. Closest are “God only” (NASB) or “God alone” (NIV), which are peppered throughout the text.

The late Dr. James Montgomery Boice, in explaining this psalm, remarked that one problem among today’s Christians is that “we do not trust God only, meaning that we always want to add in something else to trust as well.” In other words, people tend to rely on methodologies and tools to the reduction or exclusion of God’s power.  God can work through people, but our ultimate hope is in God alone.

Psalm 62 brims with affirmations of God’s love and power. It’s a scripture you’ll want to mark up, linking similar terms and repeated words.  In doing so, remember the background of its author.  Before he became king, David was a fugitive from mad King Saul, whom he’d replace. David had to go to “God alone” when enemies attacked and even when his own son tried to usurp the throne.  His enemies wanted to topple him like a feeble fence (v. 3). But he kept his spiritual sights on God alone: his rock, salvation, fortress, salvation, and refuge.

I’m thankful that I can praise God via Luther’s hymn as my “mighty fortress.” I also appreciate the contemporary praise song by Philip McHugh, sung by Steve Green, which lifts this phrase from Psalm 62: “God and God alone.”  When we look to God as our fortress in time of trouble, we can be certain of two things David mentioned in concluding this psalm: God’s love and His power. He will never leave us nor forsake us.  Knowing that, we can find rest in God alone.

The Salve Psalms

Autumn’s dropping leaves are reminders that life includes times of loss that can leave us bewildered. I know at times I identified with the psalmist who cried out, “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?” (42:5, 11; 43:5). Psalm 42’s spiritual metaphor of a deer desperate for water made sense for me, too: “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God” (42:2).  

I was drawn to these psalms when I experienced major life disruptions and turmoil with emotional and physical consequences. A man I loved rejected me. Several times I faced adjustments in moving far away from home. My parents’ months-apart deaths and resulting estate tasks overwhelmed me. Other times of despair came with a serious car wreck, care-giving ailing in-laws, and coping with the “empty nest.”

But recently, as I reflected on both psalms (which are linked in original Hebrew manuscripts), I found I’d missed how that despondent query ended with the salve of a hopeful “yet”: “Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.”        

The psalmist reveals several possible reasons for this downheartedness. One is spiritual opposition. Non-believers scoff, “Where is your God?” (42:3, also implied in 43:1-2). He misses familiar ways of worshipping with others (42:4). Scholars think he’s homesick—possibly displaced from Jerusalem to someplace near Mt. Hermon and the headwaters of the Jordan (42:6, 7). Yet even there he realizes that the place’s natural beauty (“deep calls to deep,” 42:7)) is nature’s music drawing him to the omnipresent God. I recalled how getting out to a place of beauty refreshed me when I felt down.

But the greater salve is embedded in the psalms’ names of God. He is “the living God” (42:2), true and able. He is the personal “my God” (42:5, 11: 43:4), He is powerful covenant God known as “the LORD” (v. 8). This name (rendered in small capitals in English Bible translations) is so holy to Jews that they will not speak or write it. We know it as YHWH or “Jehovah.” The psalmist also voices submission to “God of my life” (42:8). He prays to the solid, safe “God my rock” (42:9) and “God, my stronghold” (43:2). From his despair, he appeals to “God, my joy and my delight” (43:4). 

Even before studying this psalm, I had begun a practice of meditating on the names and attributes of God.  When problems kept me awake at night, I started going through the alphabet, recalling the names of God that gave me courage and encouragement.  I considered Him as the “Almighty One,” my Burden-bearer, my Compassionate Comforter—and on and on. By “Z,” peace and sleep would usually come. The practice reminded me that God, in the fullness of His deity, is far greater than any problem I might face.

The last part of the psalms’ thrice-repeated refrain also reminded me of God’s care in difficult experiences: “Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.” The King James version renders that last part, “the health of my countenance, and my God.” The idea is that the God who lifts our saddened faces to show us His profound love is indeed the One who wants to save us from this despondency. He may use medical professionals to aid us out to health.

For me, the refrain’s key word is “hope.”  The apostle Paul reminded us that “we rejoice in hope of the glory of God” (Romans 5:2). He emphasized that life’s tribulations can lead us, in God’s plan, to hope that never disappoints (5:5).

Psalms 42 and 43 are no longer the “despondency” psalms for me.  Yes, they describe someone who’s downhearted.  But the psalms’ refrains don’t leave me stuck on “downcast.”  They remind me that, in life’s spiritual autumns and winters, to hang on to hope. They assure me that it’s okay to thirst for God and seek a deeper relationship with Him. When I admit my need, He will lead me to His waters of spiritual refreshment. Thus renewed, I will again praise Him, my Savior and my God.

When life's gloomy

Talk about a gloomy day!  Though sunny outside, a storm system had moved inside. Negative thoughts splattered as I went about my chores. This photo is the best way I can illustrate it! I was dealing with some gray emotional clouds that rose up after a morning prayer time. For years I’d prayed for certain people who had a hard time “doing life.” Over and over I’d prayed that these people would drop negative habits, find joy in the Lord, sense purpose for life, acquire quality friends, or discover God’s will. But it seemed nothing was changing for the good. I was frustrated, even worried, about their futures. As my concern grew over the next hours, it was like a shroud over my day. Surely God was noticing how much I cared for these people!  

His answer came in an Email. A writer-friend, Kathy Collard Miller, had a book coming out. Would I be willing to review it? Her request turned out to be “apples of gold in settings of silver.”  No, not that old, famed book of quotes and aphorisms, but golden counsel I needed that week. Kathy is a seasoned author (nearly 50 books) and speaker (U.S. and overseas).

Timely for my “clouded perspective,” this new book is on “worry.” Titled Partly Cloudy with Scattered Worries, it teaches how it’s possible to worry less by trusting God more. Her insights helped me close up my gloom umbrella and realign some spiritual perspectives. Chapter 8, for example, tackles how worrying is really an attempt to control others. She highlights three false attitudes behind that premise.

False idea #1: “Worry communicates love,” as in “I was SO worried about you.” Truth: Worry communicates distrust. Worrying is a control device that can drive a wedge between people. “Prayer is powerful, worry is powerless,” she writes. “Prayer builds the relationship, worry destroys the relationship.”

False idea #2: “Worry changes other people.”  Truth: Worry doesn’t change others. Worry causes us to fall into a rut of thinking we’re responsible for another’s happiness. Kathy recalled worrying about her daughter’s unhappy “host family” situation during a college semester overseas. But her daughter emerged from that troubled semester with a healthy appreciation for her real family. Instead of worrying, we need to let God use a difficult situation in someone’s life. 

 

False idea #3. “Worry controls other people.” Truth:  It’s not our role to “rescue” people. She shared the story of an elderly woman who, worried about a troubled grandson, paid his rent and food for three years so he wouldn’t be homeless. By “worrying” through her financial support, she was actually interfering with God’s discipline in the young man’s life. Citing Proverbs 19:19, Kathy remarked, “Neither worrying nor rescuing does any good. It only brings destruction….He (or she) needs to be needy so that he/she will need God.” 

In other situations where people struggle (like those on my gloomy-day prayer list), Kathy reminds us that their failures are not a reflection on us. Instead, we’re to pray and set appropriate boundaries. There’s lots more, of course, to the book. Should I stop praying for spiritually needy people? Absolutely not! The Bible commands intercession. Prayer does change things, but not in the way nor in the time we think. God didn’t create robots. He created people with free will (make that: strong wills). But He still loves us more than we can imagine. He even loved me enough to allow me to experience a gloomy day. Then He gently pulled me out of it through a writer-friend’s timely counsel.

When you wait, and wait, on God

Have you prayed for years, even decades, regarding something and see no hope of an answer? Welcome to God’s Pray-Waiting Club. Sometimes I sing a duet with King David, who pined, “How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me?”  (Psalm 13:1).

 

Those who think of God as “somewhere out there looking down on us” are probably most discouraged by unanswered prayer. They imagine God is too busy processing millions of prayers to pay much detailed attention to them. But such a view demeans the greatness of God. Still, when no answer seems to come to our prayers, we may feel abandoned or forgotten. That’s when we need scriptural reminders that God always hears our prayers and always responds.  But He will not be manipulated. His answer will come in His way, in His time, and to fulfill His purpose. And sometimes that’s “no,” for some of these reasons:

*In response to disobedience and dishonor. Moses truly wanted to step into the Promised Land. Then he lost his temper in a way that dishonored God. When the people rose up against Moses because there was no water, God had told him to “speak” to a certain rock, and it would provide water.  Instead, he stormed,  “Listen you rebels, must we bring you water out of this rock?” (Numbers 20:10).  The pronoun “we” put Moses on equal footing with God. Then, instead of speaking, he whammed the rock with his staff.  God took that seriously and right then set the punishment: Moses wouldn’t enter the land.  Moses’ heart-breaking disappointment shows how  God loves us but also has laid out how to relate to a holy God. Any sin--public or private, done or neglected to be done--is an affront to His holiness.

*To fulfill God’s higher plan. Jesus knew going through crucifixion would be excruciating. Worse, He’d suffocate under the dark weight of the world’s sin.  His Father would turn His face away. “My Father,” He pleaded that last night in Gethsemane, “if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me.”  But He knew the Father’s will was to go through it: “Yet not as I will, but as you will” (Matthew 25:39). God may leave us in a difficult situation because He sees the end result. That challenging job, difficult roommate,  marital conflict, illness or disability may be the tool He uses to develop godly character that pushes through.

*To help us experience God’s sufficiency.  Paul felt he’d suffered enough. Missionary life had meant imprisonment, beatings, shipwrecks, travel dangers, criminal harm, sleep deprivation, hunger, ragged clothing, and edge-of-death trauma (see 2 Corinthians 11). He also carried a huge emotional pastor’s burden. Whatever the source—an old injury?—he continued to suffer a “thorn in the flesh” that simply wouldn’t go away. To help him endure this, he had a special-delivery message from Christ: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Cor. 12:7-10). To that, Paul responded with words that still instruct us:  “That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

God’s “no” is never arbitrary. In His profound wisdom and unfailing love, He seeks only our best. That’s not necessarily our comfort, but it’s what will bring Him honor and impact our world for good. As we accept the “no” and begin to see His hand in our lives, then we’ll come full-circle to the conclusion of Psalm 13.  After hanging out all his “how-long” questions, the psalmist decides:

But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me. (Psalm 13:6)

Mushrooms and Psalm 1

Talk about “night visitors”! As I went outside juggling a basket of wet laundry, I almost stepped on some surprise squatters. These brown umbrella disks had popped overnight through some scraggly grass where I’d overwatered. If you didn’t know, a mushroom is a fast-growing fungus that feeds off decaying matter and is common in moist places. I knew they wouldn’t last more than a few days, but went ahead and snapped them away, depositing them in the garbage.  I’d recently studied Psalm 1 and toyed with how verse 3 (about the godly man) would read if mushrooms were substituted for that tree planted by streams of water:

He is like a mushroom that pops up in moist places. He feeds on decay, and in a couple days withers away.

Obviously, the analogy doesn’t work. The psalmist made the perfect analogy to a sturdy fruit tree whose roots grow deep, producing fruit season after season. The application, of course, is sending out deep spiritual roots that will support the growing of spiritual fruit.

This is the growth process J. Oswald Sanders wrote about in The Joy of Following Jesus: “It is the responsibility of the disciple to be the best he or she can be for God.  To please Him is a most worthy aim. He wants us to realize the full purpose of our creation; He does not want us to be content with bland mediocrity” (Moody, 1994, p. 63).

Perhaps it’s because I’m so aware of media addictions that this quote burns into my heart. The “mushroom mentality” feeds on the world’s decay, widely served up enticingly with the click of a computer mouse or a TV remote. Every morning, for example, when I open up my computer’s “home page” to check the weather or start some research, I’m blindsided by what someone thinks is “news” or “trend.” The computer helps me as a writer on spiritual topics, but I could waste hours following cutesy animal videos, celebrity gossip, fashion, sports, games, or personal trivia.

Sanders hit it on the nail: “Many fail to achieve anything significant for God or man because they lack a dominating ambition.  No great task was ever achieved without the complete abandonment to it that a worthy ambition inspires.” How we use our time is a choice—for good or bad. Sanders cited the story of Thomas Scott (1747-1821), who was the low-achiever of his school.  In those days they called him the “dunce.”  Most of his teachers expected little of him.  But someone, somewhere, said something that awakened in him a master ambition.  Slowly, steadily he worked toward it. Sanders continued, “He grew to be a strong and worthy man”—so well-regarded that he succeeded John Newton (former slave trader-turned-believer, best known for “Amazing Grace”) as rector of the church at Aston Sandford.

 

He also wrote a large commentary on the whole Bible that influenced his generation and is still consulted. Scott didn’t achieve that feeding on the decay of the world.  His roots went down deep with God. His life yielded fruit. His leaves didn’t wither. What he did, prospered.

“Mushroom” choices aren’t anything new. The apostle Paul anguished over those he saw in his times, and encouraged stronger believers to help those so entrapped. But he offered a warning for the “helpers” as well: be careful. His counsel in Galatians 6:1 (at right) is a good “screen saver”!

Coping with Dropitis

So far, “dropitis” hasn’t made it into the medical manuals, but it’s a real and serious syndrome. I should know.  The other morning I hoped to do something noble for humanity, after I changed the sheets and washed the dishes. But as I pulled fresh sheets on the bed, I discovered a dirty sock with an air-conditioned toe. Going to the sewing machine to mend it, I realized my machine’s needle needed tightening. Dropping the sock, I went out to the garage for a tiny screwdriver. I found it okay, but noticed the measuring tape and hammer from the last fix-it project were in a pile on the workbench. Dropping the screwdriver, I tidied the workbench and went back in the house. That’s when breakfast dishes confronted me. After washing them, I decided the dishrag was hosting a few trillion battleship-gray germs, so headed for the bleach. Opening the cleaning cupboard, I saw I needed to buy bleach. I dropped the rag on the floor by the washer and reached for the car keys.

At the grocery store, after dropping bleach into my cart, I remembered wanting to cook a meal for a friend battling cancer. Home again with bleach and a bulging bag of groceries for my family’s and friend’s meals, I dropped my coat and purse and charged into cooking duties. As the sink piled with dirty dishes, I was glad I’d at least washed breakfast’s pile. By nighttime, I’d still hadn’t changed the bed or achieved world peace. But somebody in need had a meal.

 

I take comfort in knowing that Jesus picked disciples who had "dropitis."  Simon and Andrew dropped the net they were fishing with, and James and John dropped the nets they were mending. And don't forget short Zaccheus, who dropped out of a tree and asked the Lord, "What do you want me to do?" When Jesus drops into our lives, priorities change.

Going higher

This stairwell in my friend’s home makes one stop and think!

            At first, I was reminded of  Jacob’s dream of angels on a ladder or stairwell to heaven (Genesis 28). Then I recalled Paul’s testimony in Philippians 3:14: “I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

            And then, I thought of a hymn inspired by that particular verse, “Higher Ground.”  It begins: “I’m pressing on the upward way, New heights I’m gaining every day; Still praying as I onward bound, ‘Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.’”

The lyrics, published in 1898, were written by Johnson Oatman (1856-1922), who, although ordained through the Methodist Episcopal Church, worked in retail and later insurance all his life. In his spare time he wrote an estimated 3,000-5,000 hymn lyrics, meaning he completed them at a rate of about four a week. A few have survived to this century, including this one, “Count Your Blessings,” “No, Not One!” and “I’m Living on the Hallelujah Side.”

Most of Oatman’s lyrics focused on Christian growth and personal victory,  expressing how it isn’t enough to just “know” Christ (through accepting His death for one’s sins) but also to “know” Him better and deeper. Thus this hymn, whose chorus goes:  “Lord, lift me up and let me stand/By faith on heaven’s tableland./A higher plain than I have found:/Lord, plant my feet on higher ground.”

            That “higher ground” includes growing in the traits expressed on my friend’s stairwell.  I don’t perform 100% on any of them, but that’s the essence of growing as a Christian –or, as Oatman wrote, aspiring to higher ground. Many of those traits are found in three “Christian living lists” of the New Testament.

            One is the so-called “love chapter” of 1 Corinthians 13:4-8. It comes after Paul’s rebuke of flashy (and shallow) spirituality in that ancient church, taking them back to the basics of Christian love:  patience, kindness, refusing to envy or boast, and eleven more.   Another list is the “fruit of the Spirit” beginning in Galatians 5:22.  Again, Paul had defined what “not to do” by describing X-rated acts of the sinful. In contrast, the spirit-empowered person grows in love, joy, peace, patience, kindness goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

            The third list, which I think best illustrates a spiritual stairwell, is in 2 Peter 1:3-7.  This portion of scripture discusses making one’s calling and “election” sure—in other words, giving true evidence that you are a growing believer.

Peter precedes his list with a command: “Make every effort to add to your faith” (1:3). We can’t ascend a stairwell without lifting a foot, and we can’t grow spiritually by expecting some outside force to zap us with the right attitudes and actions.  It takes deliberate changing of habits with dependence on the Holy Spirit to add to each of these:  goodness, knowledge, self-control, perseverance, godliness, brotherly kindness and love.

Peter adds: “For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ” (v. 8).

            There’s the word “know” again (in “knowledge”)--for to truly know Him is to aspire to the truly satisfying “Highest ground,” of eternity with Him.

 

Remembering Dad

A fun day when I was about two, and one of the few
photos I have of my dad from childhood.

Today would have been my Dad's 98th birthday. I write in honor of him.

I came to the living room that morning to find my dad already in his favorite recliner, an open book in his lap. “What are you reading?” I asked.  "I’m crying with Job,” he replied.  He didn’t need to say any more. I knew the book wrestled with why good people suffer. He hadn’t experienced the catastrophic losses of Job, but his heart was deeply wounded.  He’d been let go of his long-time job just short of retirement.  Then his bride of more than three decades lost a long, savings-depleting battle with cancer. Both his daughters had grown and left home. Then I, the still-single one, returned briefly when his grief of losing his wife was the freshest. I’m glad I had that memory to tuck away in my heart, because six months later he died of a heart attack, age 63.

That memory is one reason why I read Job with different eyes. Unlike the Old Testament's Job, my dad wasn't what our culture would call wealthy. He worked in a paper mill and scrimped to pay off a three-bedroom house. He helped his two daughters finish college debt-free. Later, he and my mother took some no-frills dream vacations overseas. But back home, he did his own yard work and home repair. They made sure church and missions giving were part of their budget. Quietly, they served others, particularly widows needing a helping hand.

But there were gaps in that hedge of protection of humble living. They included Mom’s severe asthma and a pile of other health problems, ending with cancer.  Dad’s heart attacks, starting in his fifties. My “down times” with rheumatic fever. Closer to his heart, his own siblings who wanted no part of his faith. Though he didn’t have the answers to hardship, he lived out Job’s perspective: “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” (Job 2:10).

I’m sad that he died alone in a hospital. I was halfway across the nation at graduate school.  My sister was on the other side of the state. Yet, knowing his faith in Christ, I believe he met death with the hope that Job expressed: “I know that my Redeemer lives…After my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God…How my heart yearns within me!” (Job 19:25-27).

Especially on his birthday and Father’s Day, I think of Dad. I have now lived longer than he did.  But on those “remembering” days, I am a little girl again, sitting in his lap as we rocked together in his favorite platform rocker.  He’d open the book I’d brought him and read to me. I’d lean into his chest, feeling secure and loved. Sometimes he’d complain, “Hey, those elbows are sharp.  You need some meat on your bones.”

Years later, as a young adult elbowing her way through job and roommate challenges, I wasn’t above complaining to Dad. But in the process, I learned something better: praying for those who I felt didn’t treat me right.  That’s exactly what Job did (42:8, 10).

 

Unlike Job, my dad didn’t live to see four generations, just two grandchildren through my sister. But I still live with the legacy of a man who sought after God’s heart.  When life was hard, he weathered it—as Job did--with trust in God’s inscrutable ways. Those are the memories worth treasuring, and learning from.

Be careful, little feet

 

When you’re a first-time grandma (or even a first-time parent) you look at the details of that newborn—like feet. You wonder not only when they will walk, but how they will walk. Already I am praying that my newborn grandson, Josiah, will walk in the ways of God.

“Walk” is a good word. It was a good analogy for Bible times, when people mostly walked or rode wagons or animals.  There were no hybrid cars with amazing MPG ratings. Life was hard, one footstep at a time.

Particularly during the forty years of the exodus, Bible-times people lived from step to step. Thus after explaining God’s basic commands for life, Moses exhorted them with a word they knew well: walk. “So be careful to do what the LORD your God has commanded you,” Moses said. “Do not turn aside to the right or to the left. Walk in all the ways that the LORD your God has commanded you, so that you may live and prosper and prolong all your days in the land that you will possess” (Deut. 5:32-33).

Thus a prayer for my grandson: Walk in the noble way of God’s commands. The Ten Commandments are not just “rules.” They are reminders of how we reflect our Creator, the holy One.

Another is in Deuteronomy 10:12-13. Most notable are its verbs of following God: fear the Lord your God, walk in all his ways, love Him, serve the Lord your God will all your heart and with all your soul, observe the Lord’s commands.

Thus for my grandson: Serving God is at the heart of following Him. It’s not all about you.  It’s about responding in love and awe to the Lord your God through participation in His work on earth.

When my life was at turbulent crossroads, I found hope and comfort in another “walk” passage in Isaiah 30:20-21: “Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; with your own eyes you will see them. Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”

Again, for my grandson: You’ll encounter people who haven’t a clue about the Lord. They’ll want you to follow their way. Early on, I hope you are encouraged to memorize Psalm 1: “Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked.” It’s all around us—in the news that elevates the views of  godlessness, in the pressure of peers, and in our natural inclination to think only of ourselves. Listen to that quiet voice of God’s spirit.

In recent years, another “walk” command has become a comfort and a challenge. When the apostle John aged, his personality mellowed as the love of Christ gripped his heart. Thus it is no surprise that “love” pervades his last letters. In the opening section of 1 John, he wrote about those who claim to be Christians but have dark sides to their spirits, lying and failing to follow God’s truth. In contrast, “if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin” (1 John 1:7).

Dear Grandson, walk in love. Stay in God’s light. Never stop being amazed by God’s love in sending Christ to die for your sins.