PURE

White, purity, innocence—roses of this hue convey many quiet messages. Appropriately, they’re often carried by brides. But for me, the bush of white roses in our yard communicate life. In 1998, in the foothills of Oregon’s snow-capped Mt. Hood, my family of four was almost killed by a drinking driver. Our car was demolished; we were injured, but lived. Not long after, we needed to replace an ailing rose. My husband chose this one whose name is—appropriately—“Mt. Hood.” Its first bloom is full of clusters of white beauty, and it often reminds me of scripture that speak to purity, like these—among the first I memorized as a young adult in a Bible memory program.

How can a young man keep his way pure? By living according to your word. I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. (Psalm 119:9-11 NIV)

DARK AND LIGHT
That verse sits in the back of my mind as I try to be understand people and situations that seem just "not right." One thing that's helped is a daily diet of Proverbs--reading the chapter that corresponds to the day of the month--in addition to other scriptures. Over and over, as I read and think through its aphorisms, I absorb its truths and gain God's perspective. Yesterday, as I noticed the pen-dots I'd previously put by certain verses in Proverbs 29 (which says much about anger and scoffing), I realized God was reminding me again that behaviors I was enduring from a troubled person were just not right in His sight. "Whoever trusts in the Lord," said the end of verse 25, "is kept safe."  And that's what I took into my day.

Recently I was researching the story behind the hymn “Take Time to Be Holy,” whose lyrics were written by William Longstaff, a 19^th century businessman who gave generously to God’s work. Among the evangelists he  befriended were Salvation Army-founder William Booth and evangelist Dwight Moody. Longstaff was inspired by this Bible verse: “Be ye holy, for I am holy” (1 Peter 1:16, related to Leviticus 11:44). His poem based on that verse eventually found a tune match in 1882, and became a favorite through Moody crusades.

There’s some good stuff in that hymn about growing closer to God: Speak oft with thy Lord. Care for God’s children. Let Jesus be your Guide. Let people see Jesus in your conduct. Be led in love by God’s spirit.

But don’t take my word for it.   Find a hymnal and read the lyrics. Then think of a man in the sometimes rough rounds of business seeking to make a difference for Christ. Trying to be the white rose against the darkness of a world that’s lost its Jesus-perspective. Doing what’s right (which, by the way, rhymes with “white”).

THREE

Ever give a second thought to the number “3”? Through the Bible’s lenses, it’s more than the third real number in our counting system (provided you don’t “count” zero). It’s considered the number of “completion.”  Think:

The trinity of the Godhood: Father, Son, Holy Ghost.

Noah had three sons (Shem, Ham, Japheth) who survived the flood to begin the world’s repopulation (Genesis 7-10)

Three angels visited Abraham to tell him and his barren wife to prepare a nursery (Genesis 18).

Joseph, now a VIP in Egypt, let his hungry brothers sit in prison for three days when they came for food during the famine (Genesis 42)

Jonah sloshed in whale digestive juices for three days and nights  (Jonah 1:17).

Matthew 2 reports that the baby Jesus received three gifts from the wise men.

After Jesus fasted for 40 days and night in the desert, Satan tried three times—unsuccessfully-- to tempt him. (Matthew 4:4-10).

The Bible tells of three people whom Jesus raised from the dead: the widow’s son (Luke 7:11-14), Jairus’ daughter (Mark  5), and Lazarus (John 11).

The man beaten almost to death by robbers on the way to Jericho had three people see his plight. Two (priest and Levite) wouldn’t dirty their hands to help. But a Samaritan did, and went the extra mile (literally!) to help him.

The third day after His crucifixion, just as predicted (and the way Jews figured time), Jesus rose from the dead.

Don’t forget the trio of “faith, hope and love”—the greatest of these is love (1 Corinthians 13).

Perhaps Reginald Heber (1783-1826) had some of these “threes” in mind when he wrote the hymn “Holy, holy, holy.” Find a hymnal and read through it. Pause at the triad phrase, “which wert and art and evermore shall be.”  Yes, it’s old English but it’s timeless truth. Past, present, future. God is unlimited by time.

The church my family attended in my early childhood highlighted that hymn.  Every service opened with the robed choir processing down the aisle, singing it. Once in the choir loft, they paused, then sang a cappella this verse from Habakkuk 2:20:

The Lord is in His holy temple (2x), let all the earth keep silence. Let all the earth keep silence before Him. Amen.

The Trinity. The conjoining of so many threes in scripture. Such things give me holy pause, wanting to say as Habakkuk did two verses later: “I stand in awe of your deeds, O Lord” (Habakkuk 3:2b).

WORKS OF ART

This loom on display at an Amish bakery in Idaho fascinated me—not that I’d never seen a loom before, but that the “work in progress” prompted me to wonder what the weaver’s design would be. The “warp” are the threads that run lengthwise, and the “woof” run crosswise. The weaver decides what colors will run each way, and as the shuttle for the woof goes in and out of selected threads, a design emerges. But this part is important: the slamming tight of the crosswise threads to make a taut, strong fabric.

Weaving is hard, and noisy!  Like life, sometimes. We have a choice: to yield to the God-appointed hard “slams” to tighten the fibers of our being, or to ask Him to lay off, with the result of a weak and hardly-useful product. The writer of Hebrews wrote of the spiritual aspect of those “hard slams”:

God disciplines us for our good, that we may share in his holiness.  No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful.  Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. (Hebrews 12:11)

Another “fiber art” illustration further emphasizes our need to trust God, even in the times that seem dark and confusing.  It’s one frequently used by the late Corrie ten Boom, survivor of the Holocaust, who spent the rest of her long life in weary travel and speaking, pointing people to Jesus. She would show the back side of an embroidery project, full of knots and stray threads, and not very pretty. But turned over, it revealed a glittery crown. She’d quote this poem:

“My life is but a weaving / Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors / He weaveth steadily.
Oft’ times He weaveth sorrow; / And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper/ And I the underside.
Not ’til the loom is silent/ And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas/ And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful/ In the weaver’s skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver/ In the pattern He has planned.
He knows, He loves, He cares;/ Nothing this truth can dim.
He gives the very best to those/ Who leave the choice to Him.”

I probably heard her quote that poem when I heard her speak in person in the mid-1970s in southern California. Friends urged me to arrive early at church to get a seat. I did, and was astonished by the crowds already waiting an hour early for the doors to open. I will never forget this simply-dressed older woman, her hair in an old-fashioned bun, speaking through her thick accent of atrocities she survived and the sustaining presence of God.

She would die a decade later on her 91^st birthday, her “weaving” (or embroidery) finished—to the glory of God.

THE GENE MIRROR

I’m not sure what prompted the writer of this little ditty.

I think it’s saying that our parents’ traits (and physical characteristics) show up more as we age. Or, as another wag put it, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the oak tree. I’ll never know how my mother would have looked at my age now. It’s been 41 years since cancer took her at age 59. I do remember her early-crinkly skin—she blamed it on being Norwegian. Chemotherapy messed with her hair cells so much I’ll never know how natural gray would have come.

We both suffered broken ankles (as did my sister), so have a well-earned limp. Her cooking style included “frugal smorgasbord”—using the Norwegian feast word to dress up a menu of refrigerator leftovers. I’ve been known to similarly plan a menu by checking out what’s hiding in plastic containers in the frig. She hardly met a piece of fabric she didn’t want to create something out of. Well, I enjoy making something useful out of scraps, but don’t have the room to stockpile “projects” as she did. (Her sewing workroom/storage was my old 10x10 bedroom—so full it became a yard sale of itself after her death.)

Thoughts of her “at rest” bring up her relaxing in her mustard yellow rocker (oh, such an ugly color) with her “letters box” in her lap.  This was a clipboard with a storage compartment underneath for her stationery and stamps.  She wrote hundreds of letters back in those pre-computer days to keep her eight siblings connected. I have sticky notes near my computer to remind me to drop a note (by mail or e-mail) to someone who comes to mind, especially to bring encouragement.  Even in this era of cryptic, quickie E-notes, there’s something to treasure in a real letter. It seems warmer.

WRINKLES
I’ve come to the stage of life where the title of a Madeline L’Engle book describes my face: “A Wrinkle in Time.” I never slathered it with pricey skin creams; maybe I should have. But then I recall Mother's excuse of having the Norske genes for wrinkles. 

I’ve heard it said that our faces are mirrors to our soul. I’m not sure what people think when they see me. I hope they look past the aging imperfections to my heart. I’m proud of my children, who grew up with quality friends, excelled in high school and college, and now are married with children, responsible employment, still-quality friends, and—most important—a faith in Christ they “own.” I think of Proverbs 15:20: “A wise son brings joy to his father, but a foolish man despises his mother.”  I’ve seen the second happen, and it is very sad.  Then there’s Proverbs 23:22: “Listen to your father, who gave you life, and do not despise your mother when she is old.” During the time Solomon penned these proverbs, women were not respected. Their role was to bear children and keep the household going. I’m glad Solomon paused to encourage respect and honor to mothers.

More than we probably realize, we imitate our parents. If they are, or were, good people, it is a high calling. If they lacked in principle or honor, it’s even more imperative that we seek to change the image of our past. Or, to put it another way, to look into God's mirror, with the perfect image of His Son as our Example, and say, "In my spirit and character, I want to look more and more like Jesus." 

Can't go wrong with that!

APPLE OF HIS EYE

Yes, we grow whopper apples in Washington state. But the saying “apple of my eye” has nothing to do with juicy fruit. Scholars say the English idiom goes back to 9^th century English literature, when it just referred to the dark part of the eye. It was still around for Shakespeare, who dropped it into a conversation in his play Midsummer Night’s Dream. Shakespeare lived about the same time as the 1611 King James translation of the Bible, so it’s understandable that when scholars came across a similar Hebrew idiom, they used the English saying:

Deuteronomy 32:10: "He found him in a desert land, and in the waste howling wilderness; he led him about, he instructed him, he kept him as the apple of his eye."

Psalm 17:8: "Keep me as the apple of the eye, hide me under the shadow of thy wings."

Proverbs 7:2: "Keep my commandments, and live; and my law as the apple of thine eye."

Lamentations 2:18: "Their heart cried unto the Lord, O wall of the daughter of Zion, let tears run down like a river day and night: give thyself no rest; let not the apple of thine eye cease."

Zechariah 2:8: "For thus saith the LORD of hosts; After the glory hath he sent me unto the nations which spoiled you: for he that toucheth you toucheth the apple of his eye."

Of all these, I like Psalm 17:8 the most. It reminds me that I can appeal to the God who not only created me but cherishes and protects me even more than I try to protect my eyes. Even though I may mess up and fail, He’s there to lift me up and restore me when I honestly and humbly ask for his help. 

CHERISHED
On the window ledge just above my computer, along with an engraved stone, I keep a print of an artist’s rendition of Christ praying over the world. It's a reminder of His agonized prayer at Gethsemane. I cannot look at that without tears stinging my eyes as I recall Hebrews 7:25:

Therefore he is able to save completely those who come to God through him, because he always lives to intercede for them.

Jesus may have returned to heaven some 2,000 years ago, but in the mystery of who He is, He is still very present and inexplicably involved in every detail of our lives—when we love on Him and adore Him, and even when we turn our backs on Him. “Apple of His eye,” and the protective shadow of God (His “wings”)—there’s no better place to be.