Get it!

When I open up my internet’s “home page,” besides the usual distressing news, I sometimes spot a “teaser photo” of a silly cat feature. These are the ones with cats playing the piano or chasing laser-pen beams up the wall. Ho, hum, my son’s cat has chased lasers for years. In fact, the cat wore out one laser pointer so I took over ours, which our cat had no interest in. Actually, our cat would dismiss himself when he saw the dot running around the rug.

Not so “Rosebud,” my son’s cat—she (now “it”) of exceeding fluff and two-color eyes, adopted from an animal shelter.  Absolutely an indoor cat (except for rogue slipping out the door when groceries are being carried in), her life consists mostly of sleeping, carrying around her grungy Ty © toys, slipping under the furniture covers to illegally scratch the upholstery, and letting her humans know (1) she is hungry or (2) her litter box is foul beyond belief.

 

She comes alive, however, when the dot from a laser pointer starts dancing over the rug and up the wall. Her vertical leaps, for her girth and weight, would make her a star recruit for a pro basketball team. My two-year-old grandson stands there and hoots (which is funny enough in itself) when a parent engages the cat in the fantasies of laser play.

Chasing after fantasies....that reminds me of some ho-hums from a book of the Bible, written by a king who had all the wealth and entertainment earth could offer.
I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind. (Ecclesiastes 1:14)
Had he lived today, Solomon might have edited that to “chasing after the cat toy with a laser beam.”

 My point (pun intended) is this: We can be numbed by artificial pleasure or seek after the God who provides genuine and pure pleasure.  Remember, Adam and Eve were created with all the senses that brought enjoyment.  For example, I can’t imagine an apple with the taste and texture of cardboard.  God really packed that fruit with pleasure: color, crunch, taste, smell. Without the capacity for pleasure, we’d be robots.

But if we pursue only “pleasure,” we’re missing the real deal.  Having created us in His image, God also intended for us to pursue things that reflect His character. Paul gave us a good list of “pursue-afters” in both his letters to Timothy, his protégé and a young pastor surrounded by pleasure-seeking.  These included: righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, gentleness and peace (1 Timothy  6:11, 2 Timothy 2:22).

Such character qualities aren’t flashy (like the cat’s elusive laser toy), but they’ll go a long ways in building a life that’s meaningful.

Cast Away

One of the most important pieces of furniture in our kitchen is “Igor.”  Thanks to four hefty batteries, he obediently yawns open whenever we wave his direction with things to throw away. Yes, we have allowed ourselves the charming luxury of a magic-eye trash can, whom we affectionately named for its “eager-ness” (Igor-ness) to open and shut.  He replaced a trusty old plastic trash can that after several decades had terminal hinge fatigue despite attempts to extend its life with duct tape. 

At times I could wish for a spiritual “Igor,” who’d yawn open and swallow all the banana peels and coffee grounds of my spiritual life.  (Yes, I know I should be “green” and composting, but that’s another subject.) My human-condition (read that: sin nature) means I’ve had to deal with a lot of garbage, some of my own, some slopped into my life by others.  I’m talking about stinky attitudes, messy situations, the foulness of anxiety and worry, the sludge of grudges.

I’m often drawn back to The Lists in Galatians 5.  Galatia was no Mayberry which barely kept Andy Griffith and his comic deputy occupied. The list in verses 19-21 make you think “Vegas,” except what happened in Galatia-Vegas didn’t stay there. It stunk enough to bring out Paul’s censure—everything from immorality to fouled relationships and out-of-control behavior. 

Open, Igor.  Here comes the trash life.

I’m grateful Paul didn’t stop at these negatives.  He goes on to name God-pleasing traits that come from a life under Christ’s control: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Nothing trashy here.

“Since we live by the spirit,” Paul said, “let us keep in step with the Spirit.” It’s not a passive thing where God sprinkles “God-goodness” all over me as I waltz through the tulips. Instead, He’s at work conforming me to His image. Making me Christ-like.  Getting rid of the trash-life.  Nudging me to review the Owner’s Manual (the Bible).

Open wide, Igor.  I  have some sin confessions to cast your way.  Yeah, that stinky attitude...that wormy worry....that occasion of putrid pride....   How grateful I am that He clamps down the lid: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9).

Grin & share it!

Here’s my second grandson, Zion, doing a “test drive” on a baby-safe rocking horse my husband found at a yard sale.  I’d say he liked it. Now nine months old, he’s a jug of joy. Maybe those smiles are extra special because during the first four months of his life, until his first cleft lip surgery, that little mouth had a split up through his nose and he had to endure pre-op treatments of mouth-molding devices and taping.  Often when I hold him, if I smile at him, he brightens up and returns a 100-watt grin.  Of course, like any baby, he has his fussy times. But the pure joy we sense in his smiles certainly overcompensates for the times we get the “baby grumps.”

“Joy” is one of those misunderstood virtues of the Christian life.  It’s not the shallow “happy-all-the-time” personality.  It’s the deep sense of being settled in the love of God, knowing nothing that happens is outside His wisdom and permission.  Joy faces the worst—in trust.  Jesus “for the joy set before him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).  James wrote, “Consider it pure joy...whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance” (James 1:2-3). With chains dangling off his wrists, Paul wrote the Christians at Philippi: “Rejoice in the Lord always” (Phil. 4:5—the entire letter, in fact, has 15 uses of “joy” or “rejoice”).

Someone once tried to define “joy” with an acrostic of its English letters, of loving “Jesus, Others, Yourself.” I once bristled at that, thinking that loving “yourself” was quite ego-centric and didn’t belong in the mix.  Now I realize that J.O.Y. is a triangle, with all points reaching to each other. When we love Jesus, we love ourselves (meaning have a healthy view of we are in Christ).  When we love ourselves, we reach out and love others. Back again, loving others reveals our love for Christ.  I recall having someone ask me, “Why is so-and-so unfriendly at church? They never smile or talk to me.”  Knowing a bit of the background, I tried to explain that this person was on the journey of loving others and loving God, and needing some life skills in reaching out to strangers.  Hey, haven’t most of us been on that journey? 

That’s where smiling babies like Zion and his toddler brother Josiah have a built-in advantage.  In those times when the joy-factor peaks in their little lives, we can enjoy the moment with them.  Such joy is contagious, let this grandma assure you! You should see ME grin when I hear a little two-year-old shout in glee, “Nana!” Yes, I'm enjoying the "ride" of investing in this next generation.

Should old acquaintance be forgot...

Yes, that's me in the upper-right corner, in 1965.

Growing older has its advantages, like senior coffee at McDonald’s and senior discounts at various stores. (For some reason, our “Senior Center Thrift Store” doesn’t have senior discounts. Hmm.) This year I reached another “senior event” about which I had mixed feelings: my fiftieth high school reunion. In 1965 I was among 460 teenagers graduating from Puyallup High School on the west side of Washington state.

 I gave my high school years my best effort, graduating in the top twelve academically. The class “brain,” no surprise, got a doctorate from Yale. (Two B’s in physical education kept me from a 4.0.  I married a physical education teacher. Go figure.) A decade after high school, the many friends who penned in my annual that they’d remember me forever had shrunk to two who sent Christmas greetings for a few years. In those decades before social media, if you didn’t write, call, or get together, friendships tended to fizzle, especially if you moved away from the core community of graduates.   

When the invitation came, I debated over spending $100 a couple for the event at a local casino (presuming drinks and dancing were part of the plan). The strongest drinks in our house are Pepsi or morning-blend coffee. I’ve only done “happy dancing” when I got a book contract in the mail.  My “gambling” is taking a risk on pull-date yogurt from the local discount grocery.  Plus, the reunion was scheduled for our wedding anniversary, and a three-hour drive away. I decided to stay home.

The organizers were doing a “reunion annual” and invited class members to submit a “bio” telling what they had done since high school. Not surprisingly, the student body president became a doctor and the football star spent his life in construction. Many wrote of buying big boats and RVs for retirement. Some had seen the world in military service. One taught in Japan for 26 years. Another spent more than forty years in public relations and lobbying across the nation in Washington, D.C.

 A classmate I didn’t remember earned a doctorate in gerontology and conducted 2,000 workshops in places like Thailand, China, Northern Marianas, Guam and Canada. Oh yes, she also volunteered in Mongolia, trekked with gorillas in Rwanda, and horse-camped in Turkey. Another classmate, to her doctor’s amazement, survived brain cancer.  But the last page held names of 67 members who’d passed away—15% of the class. Some guys may have lost their lives in the Vietnam War. Even 50 years later, without going to our original annual, I could recall their faces

Our daily treks through the wood-floored halls of an old school had united us. But our life choices had separated us.  So had our spiritual choices. I considered going to the reunion for the opportunity to tell what Christ had done for me. But the celebration venue didn’t really lend itself to that. Instead, in my “reunion annual bio” I mentioned that a certain Bible verse had been my life guide.

I know of people who used alumni connections to the glory of God. One from my husband’s high school class went away to West Point and a distinguished military career. But upon retiring to his hometown, he contacted fellow alumni and invited them to participate in a monthly E-mailed prayer request list.

The “golden class reunion” did take me one place, to Psalm 90, attributed to Moses. Two verses especially seemed appropriate for perspective on milestones:

Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom (v. 12)
May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands. (v. 17)

No social event can compete with what’s ahead for those who have trusted Christ. The heavenly “graduation” will surpass it all!