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

WATER TORTURE

Two of my swimmer essentials in college.....

For whatever reasons (maybe that I was a sickly child), I bypassed the usual early-life-skill rung of “learning to swim.” I chose my college for its good music program (I played violin), not for its general education requirements, which included a brutal three-quarter, seven-credits-each curriculum in world history, literature, and culture. I also hadn't anticipated its insistence on three physical education classes before you could walk across the stage and get your diploma. One of the p.e. classes involved the college pool, and what class you took depended on the results of a swimming test.

Therein floated my problem. I had never learned to swim. (Yes, I know, that sounds odd.) Perhaps being a puny child (I purportedly had rheumatic fever and heart damage), physical exertion wasn't emphasized in my lifestyle. I was, in fact, because of this medical concern, excused from the “participation” part of high school gym classes, though I still had to dress “down” into the funky red shorts/white snap-close shirts required as p.e. attire, and watch the others run and jump. Oh yes, also swish through the showers at the end of class for “shower credit” toward my grade. Okay, this was a long time ago.

Then came college, which wasn't as lenient at that time toward folks who had so-called invisible disabilities. Graduation required three p.e. credits. Two that I took were low impact: “movement fundamentals” (basically slow, isometric exercises) and “beginning folk dancing.” The girl-to-boy ratio of the second class was understandably off-balance as the guys who opted for folk-dancing were—well, I'll let you figure it out. But a swimming class was mandatory, and when the tester realized I was telling the truth about being a non-swimmer, she graciously qualified me for beginning swimming.

Thankfully, the shallow part of the pool only came to my armpits, but by the end of the 10-week term I would have to pass a test that included jumping from the lower diving board into the deep end, coming up alive (well, that part wasn't specified in the rules), and then swimming several laps of the pool, one of which had to be entirely the crawl stroke. I decided I was facing “Mission Impossible.” Thus, at nighttime “free swims,” I was there in the tepid water for practice, trying to strengthen my skinny limbs for the inevitable “final.”

The scariest part for me was diving. Recently, watching the summer Olympics and divers who jumped, flipped and twisted at warp speed into the water, I recalled my own carefully aimed hands-first pose at the deep wet monster. No twists or tricks. Just “down.” And when I jumped in for my “final,” and my hands hit the bottom of the pool, I feared I'd run out of air before I returned to civilization. Whew, I surfaced, and then began my required “laps,” wondering if I'd be able to finish. Well, it was finals week, and those late nights of studying were taking their toll.

To dive (pun intended) to the end of the story, I passed. Without passing out. And with the help of one part of my story I haven't yet shared: prayer! I'm glad I learned to swim, but learning so was hard and fast. I was no mermaid, just a skinny late-teen who faced her fears (with the Lord!) and came out the other side (or maybe I should say, “surfaced”) with success (more or less).

Whether or not we'll admit to it, we all have fears, some afflicted more than others. And we have plenty of company in history, as well as “overcomers” who cheered us on with their own lessons. Like Paul, who said, “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13). Remember, the apostle Paul swam, too, in a storm, after a shipwreck. Makes my diving board fears seem pretty puny.

 

TURN ON THE LIGHTS! (Psalm 27)

(A continuing series on 48 psalms recommended by pastor/counselor David Seamands for getting through depression.)

I was a young teen piano student when I was first introduced to Psalm 27, via the 1897 musical version of English songwriter Mary Frances Allitsen. The piano score I tried to learn (my small hands couldn’t reach all the chords) starts out with grandiose chords, then settles down to reverential quiet before returning to a loud, assuring recap repeating the psalm’s opening verse:

The Lord is my light and my salvation,

Whom, then, shall I fear?

Years later as I read, re-read, and tried to “own” this psalm as hope in my difficulties, I realized how little of its stalwart truths I understood.

This psalm, attributed to David, is full of hope and strength as it expresses how God’s presence leads to the inner resources to overcome fear in difficult experiences. But its most poignant verses start with the simple phrase, “One thing.” The “one thing” the author wants above all else is to stay close to God. How does one do that? David describes it the best way he can, as dwelling in the safety of God’s house, meaning His presence.  

The psalm opens with a panned shot of David's enemies coming at him.  Then quickly, even as war breaks out against him, he finds safety and peace in the presence of God. And it’s not just the sword/knife/spear-wielding wild guys. Verse 12 points to verbal abuse, something I’ve experienced at different times in my life:

They accuse me of things I’ve never done and breathe out violence against me. (New Living Translation)

Unlike flesh-and-blood battles of old, where casualties decided how long a fight would go on, we don’t always see the “end” of our invisible battles. That’s why Psalm 27 leaves us with the reminder to “turn on the lights”—to reaffirm the Lord as our light and salvation:

I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.

Wait for the LORD, be strong and take heart, and wait for the LORD. (v.13-14).

If you want to read this psalm in a fresh and inspiring way, go back through it as an account of the life of Jesus Christ, particularly His suffering and death. Bible teacher and author William McDonald (1917-2007) in his Believer’s Bible Commentary saw many parallels. For example, Psalm 27:2 talks of enemies stumbling and falling when they tried to attack. Even more was that true of Christ’s arrest as recorded in Luke 18:6. When the rascals Judas rounded up came to the Garden where Christ had prayed, He identified Himself. Then, “When Jesus said, ‘I am he,’ they drew back and fell to the ground.”  

Tracing the parallels to Jesus’ last hours serves as a poignant reminder that He understands and has gone before us through all the mucky and murky stuff that life can throw at us through incidents and people. That’s also the reminder of Hebrews 12:2-3:

Run with perseverance….fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith.  For the joy set before him, he endured the cross…consider him who endured such opposition from sinners so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

The Transformation of "Much Afraid"

Hurnard's allegory frequently mentions falls, leading me to share this late 1980s

family photo showing falls at Rainy Lake in Washington's North Cascades.

My children  (pictured with their dad) are adults and parents of their own children.

How would you like to be named “Much-Afraid” and feel stuck in your negative life? So starts one of the lesser-known Christian allegories titled, Hinds’ Feet in High Places.  I recently re-read my copy of the 1955 work by Hannah Hurnard, who spent most of her life in missionary work in the Holy Land. Hinds' Feet is counter-cultural to a world that promotes the idea of “upward mobility" in social class, wealth and status. Instead, like another recently revived Christian novel (What Would Jesus Do?—remember WWJD?), it promotes “downward nobility,” moving “down” to the high example of Christ’s servanthood.

Hurnard’s book title comes from the concluding verses of the Old Testament “minor prophet” Habakkuk, who lived in perilous times as his nation fell apart:

The Sovereign Lord is my strength; he makes my feet like the feet of a deer [hind].  He enables me to go on the heights. (3:19)

Like John Bunyan’s allegory “Pilgrim’s Progress,” Hinds’ Feet is a journey metaphor. The main character is an orphan from the “Family of Fearlings” named “Much Afraid,” who had crooked feet (probably “clubbed” in today’s terms) and a disfigured face with a “crooked mouth.” She was being raised by her aunt, “Mrs. Dismal Forebodings,” along with her two cousins, sisters “Gloomy” and “Spiteful” and their brother “Craven Fear,” a bully. But she yearns to be near the kind “Chief Shepherd” (Jesus) of the nearby mountain. When faced with an arranged marriage to “Craven Fear,” she flees the dark and gloomy hamlet of “Much-Trembling” in search of the Shepherd. During her long and treacherous climb to “spiritual high places,” constantly taunted by evil faces of her old life in the valley, she learns deepening trust in the Shepherd.  Finally, she is healed and her name changed to “Grace and Glory.”

The names given places and characters lend deep symbolism to this classic book. They also reflect Hurnard’s personal story. She once stammered and had many fears, and described her “old self” as “a miserable, morbid, self-centered person who never felt love for anyone, shut up to my own torment.” But Hurnard’s spiritual life was transformed after attending the evangelistic “Keswick convention” meetings of her times. She became a missionary and an author, leaving a legacy of hope and trust that rose above her old pain and fear.

Talk about coincidence: As I finished

writing this blog in April, I looked

at my desk-side calendar and realized

its photo was a breathtaking falls

Much of her inspiration for this allegory came from her trips to the mountains of Switzerland, where she especially reveled in the thundering, dizzying mountain waterfalls. Through such splendid scenes, she said, God taught her that “love’s eternal, ecstatic joy [comes in] ceaseless, blissful giving.” For her, these alpine falls symbolized how Christians share the ever-flowing love of God:

1. Humility: “The pouring of oneself down lower and lower in self-effacement and self-denial.”

2. Giving: “The poured out life gives life and power to others.  The more love gives, the more it fulfills itself,”

3. Service: The water plunging over falls eventually nourishes crops or is turned into electricity. Similarly, true Christian love is “utterly abandoned to the goal of giving oneself to others.” *

Or, as the apostle Peter said, quoting Proverbs 3:34: “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble” (1 Peter 5:5).

Have any of you who visit this column read Hinds Feet on High Places? I’d love to hear from you in the comments section.

*Hannah Hurnard, Hinds’ Feet On High Places (Wheaton: Tyndale/Living Books, 1975), p.259.

Paul's Think Tank: final instructions

Last of a series on Philippians 4:8.


An older neighbor who is battling renal failure and other
complications of diabetes gave us this orchid with a
note to "remember me by it." She gave specific
instructions of how to keep it blooming for years. I thought
this plant was the best way to finish illustrating
Paul's counsel to counter anxiety and worry  with thoughts of
God's love and wonderful future for believers!

When I was sick with pneumonia this spring, I was ready for any advice the doctor could give. He knew best: a powerful prescription and a strong cough syrup to better control my “cough-your-insides-out” hack. As I write this, a week after the worst of the illness, I’m grateful for the medical care available to me. As I’ve been thinking and writing about Philippians 4:8, I’ve come to see it as a “prescription” for the germs of anxiety and unbelief that can infect Christians and leave them miserable.

Paul knew the best medicine: to keep your eyes on Jesus. Paul suggested practicing this by rejoicing in all things, seeking to be gentle rather than troubled or harsh, and praying with thanksgiving. Then he added a second “medicine” for fear and anxiety: to get your eyes on the skies, thinking less about troubles and more about the praiseworthy attributes and works of God. And so the “think on” list--certainly not complete, but a good start for realigning our spiritual focus: true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy.

In considering what this looks like in real-life, I quickly thought of someone who has every reason to complain. A teenage diving accident broke her neck, leaving Joni Eareckson Tada paralyzed from the neck down. Today she’s known as a best-selling author, respected mouth-artist, and active advocate for the disabled. But fifty years of paralysis has taken its toll, and she suffers with chronic and often excruciating pain. In an interview with Today’s Christian Woman (Nov. 21, 2015), Joni was asked what helps when she’s in pain and unable to do anything about it.  Her answer: she asks her caregivers to pray for her, and she sings or quotes a scripture over and over in her head. She especially likes hymns because the tunes stick in her mind and heart through the day. At the time of the interview, the second stanza to “Be Still My Soul” especially helped her “think on” the right things:

Be still, my soul, Thy God doth undertake

To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul, the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

Not until Heaven will we know a perfect world. But that doesn’t diminish God’s power or trustworthiness when life’s problems leave us frustrated, fearful, or anxious. Swedish hymnist Lina Sandell Berg, who helplessly watched her pastor-father drown when he fell off a boat in a storm, knew what it was like to trust God in unimaginably difficult circumstances. In one of her better-known children’s hymns, she expressed the challenge we all face: to trust God in whatever comes:

Neither life nor death shall ever from the Lord his children server;
Unto them His grace He showeth, and their sorrows all He knoweth.

Reject anxiety. Think on these things.  Praise God for all that He is!

Fraidy Cat

I was vacuuming the house and had just pushed the cleaner into the bedroom when I heard a scuffle and saw a gray form streak across the bed.  I soon realized I had just experienced a close encounter with a “fraidy cat” who had been sleeping under the bed. Our family cat, who yowls and hisses down any feline threatening his territory, has two traumatic fears in his furry brain.  One is our toddler grandson coming through the door.  The other is a vacuum cleaner. That benign machine, which sucks up his constantly shedding fur, becomes to him a yowling monster.

 

As we laugh off his antics, we jokingly attribute them to his “deprived childhood.” He came to us as a kitten of about two or three months, rescued from a culvert at a park next to a hydroelectric dam. My husband and son had gone there one August 1^st to escape the blistering summer afternoon (while I sweated out cooking dinner at home). These men of my family have soft hearts, and hearing a weak “meow,” lured out the critter with chicken nuggets found in a sack in a nearby garbage can. At that time, many illegally dumped unwanted small animals in the park’s shrubs, leading to feral rabbits and cats. Nearby coyotes found the area a wonderful feeding station.

 The old movie title “Guess who’s coming to dinner” took on new meaning when my husband and son walked in at dinnertime with a wide-eyed, scrawny kitten wrapped in an old towel. He inhaled a saucer of milk and made a dent in another saucer of tuna.

 “If we keep him, he will be an ‘outside cat,’” my husband said, knowing my allergies to cats.  Famous last words.  He will soon start his fifteenth year with us, half of that as the “only child” (feline type) after our son and daughter grew up. Well into his senior “feline” years, he much prefers the inside of the house where he can keep an eye on his food dish.

As I pondered the life of Augie (so named for being found on August 1), I thought of the fears many of us pull out of the culverts of our lives. My 50^th high school reunion is coming up, and my adolescence isn’t really something I want to review. I did okay in high school. I was in the top ten academically and concertmistress of the high school orchestra. But I wasn’t into makeup and trendy clothes. And hair? My mom cut my hair while I sat on the rim of the bathtub. Beauty shop “cuts” didn’t fit in the family budget. One of my favorite classes was trigonometry, where we were seated alphabetically and which put me right in front of (be still my soul) the student-body president. But I didn’t date or go to dances. My friends came out of a core of similarly down-to-earth teens who were a part of “Horizon Club,” the teen version of Camp Fire.

As for the fear of “not fitting in”—oh, the adolescent mind. Oh, the adolescent bullies. One time on a crowded stairwell between classes, I felt someone poking into my back. When I arrived in English class, someone pulled a paper with an uncomplimentary name off my back. Did that ruin me for life? Of course not. The bullies were the ones “not fitting in.” As I grew up, God prepared the experiences that helped me learn to relate to people and stand out above the conforming crowd. High school was, well, high school.  I left that way behind.

Most of us have learned the old King James version of 2 Timothy 1:7:
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
That verse comes out of Paul’s last preserved letter to Timothy. The old apostle knew his own death was likely not far away. He was urging the young pastor to be a confident, bold Christian leader. And so it is for us. God is greater than any fear based on a long-ago event. He changes us as we walk in faith with Him, with the purpose of bringing glory to Him. We often quote that verse to someone who, as a chronically worried and anxious adult, needs the gentle reminder that such behavior doesn’t honor God.

When we behave like “fraidy cats,” unwilling to face down what we perceive to be a threat, we’re forgetting the principle just a few verses later: “God…has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done but because of his own purpose and grace” (2 Timothy 1:9).

Grace thanks the noisy vacuum cleaner, and Purpose rubs up against the toddler.

 

Looking up



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fear 101

Does the prospect of speaking in public just about scare you spitless? You’re not alone. Researchers say public speaking is among the three greatest fears, right up there with fear of snakes and spiders. Often it’s #1 on the list.


Now, if that snake as a rattle on the end of its tail or a sways out of a clay pot as somebody toots a primitive flute—yes, I’d keep my distance. If the spider has a red hour-glass mark on the bottom of its big shiny black body, no thank you.

But speaking in public? After years of opportunities, it no longer is a discomfort zone for me. I’m not a golden orator, and I still deal with the nervous edge that leaves your armpits dripping like summer in the Amazon, and your mouth dry as Death Valley. But if I’m prepared and passionate about my material, and the audience isn’t hostile, turn on the mike. It’s an honor to share what God has put on my heart. The photo is me speaking to a MOPS (Mothers of Pre-Schoolers) group—and we all survived!

I started thinking more about fears recently when reading a book by Pat Palau, wife of international evangelist Luis Palau. Titled What To Do When You’re Scared to Death, it came out of her diagnosis and treatment for breast cancer. The book isn’t just about her illness, but about the whole issue of trusting God when life doesn’t go as you planned.

One thing that helped her in her cancer struggle was an understanding of what the Bible says about suffering. She distilled it to four points (pp. 96-97):
“*Tough times come to all.
“*There are several possible reasons why I am suffering.
“*It may be clear why I’m suffering, or it may never make sense.
“*My response is mine to display.”

Her response included honest prayer conversations with God, along with reading, meditating and memorizing scriptures. My favorite of those she shared is Psalm 34:4-5:
I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears. Those who look to him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.
It’s true: there’s a radiance, a visage of hope, in the faces of those who’ve risen above their fears. Other points Palau made in overcoming fear: trust God for that day (in other words, don’t be a tomorrow-trouble-borrower); and determine to pray for, and help, others. Distilled another way, one antidote to fear is pulling attention off yourself and onto God’s Word and the needs of others.

“When fears wash over you,” she wrote, “find the trigger. Ask yourself, ‘Where did this come from?’” Instead of giving in to those fears, she added, “train your thoughts to take another route.”

One final perspective she offered applies to all of us. In eternity we won’t be asked about our awards, riches, or achievements. However, God will be interested in how we answer these: “What did you do with the gifts God gave to you? Did you bring anyone with you?” (p. 244).

And maybe that’s why public speaking doesn’t petrify me like it did during my college years in taking Speech 101. Through trials and a deepening love for the Word, God has given me a joy to share about Him. We don’t have to be smooth or perfect, but we need to be real, and willing to be His mouthpiece.