DURATION V. DONATION

Sometimes, the hanging of a fresh year's calendar is cause for reflection. What will happen this coming year? Did my life this past year make a difference for someone? What could I change? Despite medical advances, for every one of us (unless Christ returns beforehand, of course), there will be two dates after our names: one for birth, one for death. For some, the hyphen between those dates will be long. For others: very, very short.

The “short” hyphen marked the dates for missionary pioneer Winfield Macomber: 1865-1896. Yes, he died at 31, in Portugal, en route home to Maine from mission work in the Congo. But during his brief life, after missionary training at a Christian college, he plunged into ministry in the Congo. In four years he learned enough of the tribal language to compile a grammar and dictionary for future missionaries, plus teach the Congolese language at his college alma mater (now known as Nyack College).

Linguistic work occupied most of his time, but he left behind a hymn known as “Safe is my refuge, sweet in my rest.” Its refrain goes like this:

Oh! what wonderful, wonderful rest!

Trusting completely in Jesus I'm blest;

Sweetly He comforts and shields from alarms,

Holding me safe in His mighty arms.*

Sometimes I'm saddened how the historical faith and sacrifices of mission work go unheralded. They may lack the glitz and media appeal of contemporary Christian “stars” of the pulpit and music stages. But God sees every heart and act of ministry “down here.” And He's aware of those who have settled for mediocrity or blandness in their faith walks.

In writing that last sentence, I think of a God-arranged encounter I had during graduate school. I was hurting deeply as a single thirty-something; the previous year, my parents had died six months apart. After moving home for a year to handle paperwork and empty their home, I'd returned to a Christian college where I'd started a graduate degree that I hoped would open doors in my vocation.

One day, I wandered into the college coffee shop. Its booths were full except for one, whose sole occupant waved me over. After introductions, I shared my grief as an age-32 adult orphan, and my hopes for the future. A week or so later, I returned there and saw the same person. As I sat down across from her, she handed over a paper and said, “God showed me this verse for you.” This was the verse—Hebrews 6:10:

“For God is not unjust so as to forget your work and the love which you have shown toward His name, in having ministered and in still ministering to the saints.”

She added, “You've been faithful to the Lord. He will be faithful to you.”

She had no idea how our chance encounter in the college coffee shop would become the extra-boost of hope I needed. As God stretched my faith over the next couple years, I learned (as did Winfield Macomber) that our merciful, loving God does hold us “safe in His mighty arms,” tenderly watching as we move forward in faith.

The piano score for this lesser-known but encouraging hymn is here:

Held in His Mighty Arms | Hymnary.org

This site features a soloist: Bing Videos

PLUMED HATS OFF TO THEM....

Quail tracks in the snow

Maybe I first heard it sung by my mother or father—that 1926 pop song with lyrics about a red-red-robin that went bob-bob-bobbin' along. Move over, Mr. Robin. Make room as well for the quail, which faithfully visit my yard, especially in late fall and early winter. I know the quail are about when I hear their quiet chortles as they forage for food, their heads bobbing up and down. A rose hedge, full of rose-hips, was once their bird-friendly gourmet dinner. That hedge is now gone, so I'm hoping other treasures of the yard will draw them back and I'll again hear them chortling “Rebecca, rebecca!”

Of course, there are many quail species; the one most commonly seen where I live has that distinctive top-of-the-head six-feathered plume, which reminds me of an old-time military guard's helmet. Although it's a bird, it's a ground-dweller as its wings can barely lift it off the ground. When it feels threatened (like by an approaching human or predator) the quail scurry away in a ground-running flutter.

Despite their fraidy-cat behavior, they're a delightful sound and sight. I know winter is hard for them; they don't fly—they cannot fly—to a warmer climate. So they hang around our northern, snowy environment, working hard to find something to eat. In the spring, they show up with their tiny just-hatched chicks jockeying just behind, learning the ropes of finding food. Sometimes I wish they could understand “human-talk.” When, after a snowfall, I see them nosing around my yard, I want to tell them, “Hang on, I'll throw out some bird seed.” It doesn't take much—even the door opening—for them to react and scatter in a noisy mass fluttering.

THE BIBLICAL QUAIL-TRAIL...

For whatever reason God created these earth-bound birds, I'm grateful for the spiritual lessons they bring to mind. One is the Bible verse I taught to fourth grade girls in a Sunday school class decades ago:

Fear thou not; for I am with you; be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.(Isaiah 41:10)

I recall using hand movements to help the girls memorize it.

“Fear thou not, for I am with you''--head-turning for “no.”

“Be not dismayed, for I am your God”--pointing upward (for God).

“I will strengthen you”--arm lifted into “show your muscle” pose.

“I will help you”--arm lowered, outstretched hand.

“I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness”--arm raised, pointing upward.

Even decades later, that verse (with its hand movements) comes quickly to mind. And not just when I see the local quail skitter around with their “fraidy-cat” reactions to any possible threat. I've had to deal with my own threatening situations and angry people, which do get the adrenaline flowing. But right behind those spiritual tests I hear this affirming verse anew: Fear thou not, for I am with you. And isn't that, at the heart, one of the key messages of Christ's coming?

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Here's a photo and more on this beautiful bird: 

California quail - Wikipedia

MIST-TERY

When my home was first built, more than forty years ago, this tree was barely thigh-high when planted. I'm not good as guessing heights, but I think it's more than twenty feet tall. It commands a corner of the front lawn. No, I don't string lights on it at Christmas, but it's “evergreen-ness” is a regular reminder of God's amazing plan for plant life. This tree quietly sheds some needles, but just across the fence, my neighbor's willow generously drops its autumn-yellowed covering. (You can see some of its branches just to the right.), Leaf-fall and fall-mist seem to be constant cousins, painting their own canvas of a land settling in for winter's chilling pause.

I recently came across this quote: “The past is history, the future is a mystery, the present is a gift. Every day is a gift—that's why it's called a present.” For those of us who live in cooler climates (with the vivid change of seasons), the cycle of winter-spring-summer-fall brings vivid reminders of a Divine plan even for earth's weather. A season to grow. A season to rest. A reason to awaken and grow again.

My three grandsons were here the other night for dinner. I'd already wrapped their Christmas gifts, which sat in a pile in the living room. Oh, they noticed those! Snicker, snicker, pinch, pinch. They've probably figured out the contents—the typical Grandma-sewn pajamas, now a holiday tradition. Last year they begged to open their gifts after the Christmas eve service, and promptly, one-by-one, dashed into the bathroom to change from “regular clothes” to their new Pj's.

The next morning, they would tear into the “stash” under their family's Christmas tree, including kits of all those little snap-together plastic blocks. You know the ones—their name starts with the letter “L.” Their current “cache” (a full storage bin) isn't enough to their little minds. There's always the “new kit” with a new project to build “just out” and beckoning....

And maybe there's a comparison here between a growing tree and a growing pile of tiny plastic play-blocks. Each has its purpose—the one to sustain the environment, the other to “grow” little minds. The blocks certainly “trained” their dad's mind to “configure” and “connect.” He became an electrical engineer.

Back to that tree. Who would have imagined its steady growth from a “wee thing” to a giant of needled green beauty? And so it should be with us, spiritually. Planted in faith, nurtured with the Word, we are to “grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ” (2 Peter 3:18). And when those spiritual growing pains come—when life is hard—to remember: “Tribulation produces perseverance, and perseverance, character, and character, hope” (Romans 5:3-4).

Not wimpy, half-hearted, mist-blurred “religion,” but stalwart faith in a loving God.

SIGNS OF LABOR

If winter's cold is getting you down, imagine yourself back in summertime... when instead of mittens or stout snow gloves I was wearing...garden gloves.

My  garden gloves were a mess—torn, somewhat mended with duct tape, definitely ready for the trash after years of grubbing out weeds. I guess my sister-in-law noticed when she stopped by one day while I was down-on-my-knees wrestling with rose-bed weeds. Soon after, here came her practical, loving gift: new gloves.

I purposely chose the word “wrestling,” as my “knee-level” gardening stance regularly reminds me of another implication of “on-your-knees”: that of earnest prayer. Prayer doesn't need a certain body posture. But I've experienced how the “down-on-the-knees” posture helps adjust my heart-attitude when I'm wrestling with heart-wrenching prayer needs.

That's also the word translators chose (from the Greek pale) for the earnest prayers of one of the leaders of an early New Testament church located in today's nation of Turkey. The word is tucked away in Paul's letter to the church in Colossae (near today's modern city of Honaz in southwest Turkey*).

Epaphras, who is one of you and a servant of Christ Jesus, sends greetings. He is always wrestling in prayer for you, that you may stand firm in all the will of God, mature and fully assured. (Colossians 4:12 NIV)

Even though Paul had never been to the city (see Colossians 2:1), he had once hoped to come there in person to encourage the Colossian believers. Christianity had been planted there through the ministry of Colossian resident Epaphras, converted during a trip to Ephesus (about 100 miles away). Now, years later, this new church had adapted some heresies into their faith platform, including a descent into legalism and Gnosticism. Epaphras knew he needed help to lead this congregation, so made the long trip to Rome to consult with Paul, now a prisoner on house arrest.

In response to Epaphras' concern, Paul wrote this pastoral letter, full of doctrine and theological correction. It ended with extensive “final greetings” that revealed his appreciation for those who were carrying on the Colossian ministry. Ten names dot the final ten verses—quiet reminders of believers who put on their “work gloves” to serve that church.

I wonder if, at this point, Paul felt something like worn-out work gloves. He'd traveled thousands of miles, enduring beatings, stonings, and persecutions. Yet, stranded in Rome as a prisoner, he realized he'd probably have to give up hopes of “hands-on” ministry in Colossae. He had to turn it over to “new gloves,” new leaders who had to confront the false legalistic teachings and affirm the Gospel message of faith in Christ.

Or, to continue the analogy: it was a situation of “out with the old rules/rituals and weird Gnostic ideas” and “in with the new life-giving Gospel.” Crusty, dirty, worn-out religious ideas OUT, the fresh, working-gloves faith in Jesus, IN!

*See map here: Honaz,Denizli, Türkiye - Bing Maps

**For a little more on the Colossian heresy, go here: 

Whatis the Colossian Heresy?