This fragile grass

My husband is a substitute teacher, and one recent snowy day he went to the tiny rural school at Palisades, about a 40-minute drive from here. It’s at the end of a narrow coulee carved long ago in the Ice Age. Part of the coulee has been scrubbed of sagebrush for alfalfa fields and orchards. Coming home from teaching, he passed dozens of deer foraging where they could. Going back up there the other day, we counted probably five dozen, chewing what they could out of the frozen turf.

I’d been thinking a lot about Psalm 90 recently, and those hungry deer reminded me of verse 5: “You sweep men away in the sleep of death; they are like the new grass of the morning—though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered.”

Talk about a downer verse! A little background may help. This is the only song by Moses included in the book of Psalms. Though he wrote other songs (like the epic one in Deuteronomy 32), this one must have been significant enough to pick for an ancient hymnal largely featuring the songs of King David.

We’re not told when he wrote it, but I imagine it was near the end of his life as the Israelites finished forty years of wandering before entering the Promised Land. Moses wouldn’t go with them, a consequence of dishonoring God with a temper tantrum at Meribah (Numbers 20). Plus, as judgment on unbelief and cowardice after spies checked out Canaan, all but two who left Egypt (the believing spies, Joshua and Caleb) would miss out on the Promised Land. Thousands of graves dotted the landscape of their wanderings around the Sinai. Now only descendants remained.

If I were in Moses’ sandals, I probably would have said this, too: “All our days pass away under your wrath: we finish our years with a moan” (v. 9).

Psalm 90 has been on my mind in part because of people we care about “finishing their years.” In some cases, it’s been when they’re too young¸ like a talented violinist who befriended my daughter at college. She married a widower with child, had two more children with him, and is now gone in her thirties—of colon cancer. A friend our age is slipping away with ALS. Another couple we know nearly lost their son to a dying heart until a heart transplant gave him extra years. He married, and last week his wife (age 36) had her life turned upside down by strokes.

Three weeks ago I helped an older friend with Alzheimer’s navigate the curb to a car; her funeral is Friday. This week someone died as a result of an accident barely a block away in early December. I remember coming home at dusk after my walk and seeing the red lights of emergency vehicles just beyond my street. A 79-year-old man who lived alone in a little cottage was struck when he jay-walked across the street. He was walking home from the grocery store, as he had done hundreds of times—sometimes nodding to my “hi” when we passed. The police markers of where he landed reminded me how life can change in an instant. I could sing a duet with Moses: “Relent, O Lord! How long will it be? Have compassion on your servants!” (v. 13).

Psalm 90 has this discouraging “you-live-and-then-you-die” tone to it—unless you hear the “Hallelujah Chorus” ringing behind stanzas like this: “Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days” (v. 14). In this I hear echoes of the Westminster confession: “The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy him forever.”

Moses would have had a different song if he knew what we now know: that Jesus changes things. And that includes death. Our earthly bodies may be as grass, vulnerable to the day’s heat and dryness (or to the nibbling of starved deer). But Christ has “destroyed death and has brought life and immorality to light through the gospel” (2 Timothy 1:10). We have the assurance that “to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21) and being with Him in Heaven will be better by far (v. 23).

Moses almost got it all correct. “May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us,” he wrote (90:17)—and indeed it does, for those who believe in Christ, and who express that through growing love and service in His name, for however many days allotted on this planet. And then, for God’s children—better by far!

Breath mints or meat?

Thirsty for God as the new year opens? Maybe you feel like the parched deer in the opening phrases of Psalm 63: “As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. Where can I go and meet with God?”

The answer, of course, is anywhere the Word of God can reach your heart deeply. Americans are blessed with an abundance of helps to study and apply the Bible. But we’re also plagued with spiritual apathy and impatience. We’re prone to want the quick fix, the minute (or less) devotional, a spiritual “tweet,” as it were. We want a spiritual breath mint in the morning (or evening) rather than something meaty we need to chew on.

For those just starting their life with Christ—or exploring Christianity—those quickie devotional guides are helpful. A quick quoted verse, maybe 200 words of story or discussion, and something of scripture touches you life in about a minute. But a minute is also pronounced mine-OOT, as in “small.”

But if you’ve come to the point of wanting more, of looking over the shoulders of saints who’ve thought and prayed deeply, may I make some suggestions?

Streams in the Desert (two volumes) and Springs in the Valley by Mrs. Charles Cowman. Since the first publication in 1925, this has become one of the best-selling devotionals of all time. Combining her writings and others’ meditations, poems, hymns and stories, its overriding theme is discovering hope and God's higher purposes through suffering. If you are going through difficult places, you will resonate with many of the daily entries. Lettie Cowman and her husband Charles helped form the Oriental Missionary Society in the early 1900s during their work in Japan and China. His poor health forced their return to the United States in 1917, and he died six years later. Her experiences and heartbreaks form the backdrop of her selections. She died at age 90 in 1960.

My Utmost for His Highest by Oswald Chambers (copyright 1935). Born in Scotland in 1874, and a gifted artist and musician, Chambers sensed God calling him to the ministry during college. Eventually he came to the United States, teaching six months at a Cincinnati, Ohio, Bible school. Then he went to Japan, visiting the Tokyo Bible School founded by the Cowmans (see above). His world travels marked a transition to fulltime work with the Pentecostal League of Prayer. He was serving as a YMCA chaplain to British Commonwealth soldiers in Egypt, 1915-1917, when he died of complications from an appendectomy. His wife, an incredible note-taking help-meet, compiled his writings into devotional books. When you read Chambers, prepare to be challenged to a more God-focused life and to identify subtle sins that stand in the way. A more recent collection of his writings is Devotions for a Deeper Life, edited by Glenn Black and published by Zondervan (1986).

What am I using this year? First Light: Morning Conversations with God by William S. Stoddard (Multnomah, 1990). Alas, this one is out of print, but available from used book dealers. Stoddard, a pastor who ended his career at Walnut Creek Presbyterian Church, has written a meaty volume of 181 sections that focus on going deeper in prayer. Instead of a quickie verse like “breath mint” devotionals, he sends you into lesser-read Old Testament passages and their complementary portions in the New. Then comes a discussion of the passages and a transparent prayer. So far, I have covered a fourth of the book, and I will admit to a deep—yes, weeping—reaction to some of the topics. God is doing a work in my life through this book.

There’s a smorgasbord of devotional literature available. Billy Graham’s classic Unto the Hills has encouraged and challenges millions. Another on my shelves (Near to the Heart of God) collects readings from spiritual classics, including the “church fathers” and others from the first thousand years after Christ.

Whatever you choose, don’t rush through the devotional without thoughtful time in the scripture it references. Go for meat, not a “breath mint.”

Howdy Doody Time

Back in television’s more innocent era, a red-haired, freckled puppet dominated children’s programming. “Howdy Doody,” who took his name from the Western-style greeting, wore cowboy clothes and had the voice of “Buffalo Bob” Smith. He and his cohorts (like Clarabell the Clown) were most popular in the 1950s. We’re talking my childhood, although I was more a fan of the “Sheriff John,” a Los Angeles-area children’s program. I’d forgotten about the cowboy puppet until one morning at church, when someone greeted me with, “Howdy Doody!” I had to smile and start a conversation.

Like many churches, mine has volunteer “greeters” at entrances. You’d think only outgoing people would take on that role, but a recent article in our church newsletter told me otherwise.

This woman, the article said, considered herself shy, “and in years past has wondered many times why people didn’t make more of an effort to greet her or get to know her. One day she realized that she needed to be the one to initiate conversations and make contact with people. And that’s the day she was done with waiting for someone else to start the conversations.”

Another part of her story was more than a decade of intense emotional pain after her husband died. The article continued, “She learned from experience that isolation is deadly when we are in crisis. Learning to reach out was part of her journey toward healing.”

Thus, she volunteered to greet.

However you say it—“Howdy doody,” “Hello,” “Hi,” “Welcome,” “How are you? My name is…”—those first words are the key to breaking down barriers with strangers. Just the effort to reach out, rather than waiting for others to reach out first, is nothing less than imitating the example of the Lord Jesus.

I think that’s why I’m especially drawn to the Gospel of Mark. Matthew and Luke slide into the story of Jesus via his birth. John begins with theological heavies about “The Word.” But Mark, after introducing John the Baptist, jumps into accounts of the Lord immediately mixing with people, calling men to be His disciples and healing multitudes. Jesus didn’t stand back thinking, “Nobody’s friendly down here on earth. Father, take me back to Heaven, ASAP.” He pursued what He came to do, and that was showing us the Father and then dying so that we can have fellowship with a holy, loving God—now and in eternity.

In the past, “shrinking violet” may have described my behavior around folks at church. I began to see it as a selfish attitude, and sought ways to reach out. Certain people I want to greet with a holy hug (my version of “holy kiss”—1 Cor. 16:20), like a special-needs person my age whose parents died long ago. I know that means a lot to her. I touch base with others for prayer updates.

And I confess that I’ve let “greeting” spill over into everyday life. When I go through a checkout when shopping, I try to genuinely greet the clerk and offer some sort of positive remark. I may be just one of hundreds he or she serves that day, but I want our minute or so to be a bright spot in the day. I think Jesus would do the same.

So, ready for your “Howdy doody” challenge?

A Life-Changing Gift



Wearing a dress I made for
her 50th high school reunion

 Her name was “Halcyon,” not one you find in today’s baby-name books. It meant “calm, peaceful,” referring to the legendary halcyon bird which reputedly nested at sea about the time of the winter solstice, to calm the waves. Except she found her “calmness” in a solid relationship with Jesus Christ, which she generously shared with someone nearly fifty years her junior—me.

The other day I stopped by the cemetery a mile from our home where she is buried. Less than three months before her death, I was able to lay my firstborn baby in her arms, honoring her grandmotherly role in my life. By then strokes had already begun their swift erosion of earthly life. Within a few weeks, she was bedbound and speechless in a nursing home. I’d come visit with the baby, propping him against her bedrail so she could touch him. I could sense behind her clouded eyes that she felt her role in my life was done—and well done.

I am a richer, fuller person because I invested in a friendship with a godly older woman.

We met after the morning service of her church the first time I visited it. Her son, who worked at my company and brought her to church, had alerted his widowed mother that I’d be coming. She invited me home for lunch. She had no car, so I drove us to her old, worn, but welcoming little home.

That invitation, and more, eventually morphed into standing Friday night commitments to potluck our leftovers. When she learned I was using a somewhat unsavory public laundry facility, she invited me to use her washer and dryer. Not wanting to take advantage of a widow on Social Security, I bought a fun child’s bank for her laundry corner and left there money to help with utilities.

While my two weekly loads of laundry chugged, and we ate and talked, I was drawn into a spiritual banquet of instruction and counsel. Although I had grown up going to church, I had not fully connected the dots that Jesus died for me. One night, alone in my apartment, I finally personalized it, asking Him into my life. I soon realized how impoverished I was in my understanding of the Bible. She was a seasoned student of scriptures, her Bible limp from use and filled with underlined passages and notes. She patiently answered my questions and we always parted with prayer.

When I moved away to another job, her letters followed me, typed on an old manual typewriter with a shredded ribbon. After seven years away, during which my parents died, I returned to her hometown to be married. Now, the one who had helped me so much in my emotional and spiritual growing places, was needing my practical help.

I had started calling her “Grandma G” (her last name started with “G”), for even though we were not related, she fulfilled that mature and caring role in my life. My paternal grandmother had died before my birth. I rarely saw my maternal grandmother, widowed before she’d finished raising nine children and living several states away.

I could have kept my distance from Grandma G, categorizing her as “old and not friendship material.” Yes, we had followed different occupations: she was a retired nurse, I was a reporter. But we came together at the feet of Jesus, our hearts connected with prayer and caring. She encouraged my baby-steps of faith, even listening to me recite Bible verses I was memorizing in a Bible correspondence course. She just loved me where I was at, and probably prayed bold prayers for me when I was absent.

Her life wasn’t easy. Her sons didn’t follow her example of steadfast faith in Christ. She was poor by the world’s standards, but her true wealth was in Heaven, and she was looking forward to going there. I will never forget the hope in her moistening eyes as she recited to me her favorite verse, from the end of Jude: “Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, To the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion, and power, both now and forevermore. Amen.”

Calm, peaceful—because her faith was firmly staked on the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ.

Just before taking the photo of her grave marker,  I dropped a few tears and then thanked God for our life-changing gift of friendship. How grateful I am for her investment in my life. I’m confident we’ll meet again in Heaven.

By the way, if Heaven has board games, I'll stand in line to play her. Sometimes while my clothes dried, she'd challenge me to Scrabble (R). She was a true competitor with the tiles, especially Q and Z!

Goats and God's "go-getters"

This one came close to the fence, probably hoping for a snack.

Just a block from my home, goats munch in the fenced pasture of an “urban farm.” On a walk the other day, as I paused at the fence to watch them interact, I thought of their use in an end-times prophecy. With tomorrow (December 21) the ancient Mayan supposed calculation of the “end of the world,” it’s appropriate to see just what the Bible has to say.

First, a little background about Bible-time goats. We’re probably more familiar with biblical sheep, such as Psalm 23’s “the Lord is my shepherd,” and John 10’s “I am the good shepherd.” At one time in ancient Israel, goats probably outnumbered sheep. They provided meat, milk, and milk byproducts, like butter and semn used for cooking. Goat hair was woven into fabric. Goatskins became bottles. Goats were even used for sacrifices (Lev. 4:23) and accepted as a “clean” animal. Some goat breeds were white and hornless, making them blend in with sheep in grazing lands. That challenged the shepherd when time came to separate them.

But in Matt. 25:31-46, a prophecy about Jesus’ second coming, He gives goats another role: of representing people bound for eternal punishment. In Matthew 24 Jesus tells of signs of the end: deceivers, wars, famines, earthquakes, persecution, the preaching of the Gospel throughout the world, desecration of the holy place, false Christs, signs in celestial bodies—and then the unmistakable seen-by-all return of Jesus. When? “No one knows about that day or hour, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son” (Matt. 24:36). I’d say that includes the ancient Mayans.

Then Jesus taught some parables about being ready: the faithful and wise servant (24:43-51), the Ten Virgins with ready lamps (25:1-13), and the investment of “talents” or money (25:30). We’re not to fritter our time and resources away in selfish, empty pursuits, but actively invest the abilities and resources the Lord has entrusted to us.

Following these parables, sheep and goats come on the final stage. Theologians have had hearty interpretive conversations over this passage, but most agree these animals represent the peoples of God-fearing and God-scoffing nations. The Lord separates sheep (true followers of Christ) to His right, the place of honor, eventually to enter His glorious kingdom. That’s because their kind actions toward “the least of the brethren” were done as unto Him. The goats go to the left, then to eternal punishment, for in neglecting others' basic needs, they neglected Him.

Though you don’t find it quoted in Christmas cards or hear it in new holiday choruses, this is really a great passage for Christmas time. That’s when organizations that minister to the poor and disenfranchised do their greatest fund-raising push. Think: Salvation Army red kettle, for one. Or Christian and humanitarian organizations that advocate for the homeless, children and orphans, clean water, victims of sex trafficking, the persecuted, and others. And what do they do? Exactly what the “sheep” are commended for doing: “for I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me” (25:35-36).

In his book The Practice of Godliness (NavPress, 1983, p. 241), Jerry Bridges remarks: "Jesus is teaching in that passage not that doing good deeds earns our admittance to heaven, but that they are necessary and vital evidences that we are bound for heaven."

If your holiday preparations so far have been about what friends and family expect or want, might this passage suggest a change in focus? It’s not too late for the "sheep" tasks done out of love for the Lord Jesus, through personal involvement and financial investment. And don’t worry about a December 21 "deadline." The world will end when God decides.
Consider this prayer by William Stoddard in his devotional First Light (Multnomah, 1990, p. 93). It’s a reflection on Psalm 90, but it’s just as apropos for thinking about end times: “I cannot count the days that remain, but I can make the days that remain count. Let them count under the light of eternity. Let them count as vessels to be filled with grace and emptied in love. Let them count with things that can never be counted or priced or bought or sold. Let them count in loving surrender, obedient service, and cheerful faith. Let them count for You!”

Slaughter of the innocents

Our flag, like others, is at half-mast to honor the students and teachers killed last Friday in Connecticut. Droopy in a snowstorm, it reflects how many of us feel: emotionally low and limp. When I first saw the news alert about the slayings on my internet home page, I pushed back my office chair, wept and prayed aloud, “Lord, show your mercy to those who hurt. This is so awful.”

As the news stations recounted emerging details, a common remark was how terrible that this happened before Christmas. It reminded me how our culture has stamped Christmas with a happy image of pleasure and gift-giving. Excessive merchandizing and “political correctness” have diminished the celebration of a holy Birth.

Yet even His birth brought murder to innocents through the decree of a very spiritually sick person. His name was Herod the Great, and he was a greedy, suspicious, ostentatious, sensual, ruthless man who didn’t want anything or anyone to threaten his claim to power. When “wise men” from a far-away eastern land came to Jerusalem to seek a new king heralded by a strange star, he was more than disturbed. Behind a fake grin, he told them to report back about this king so he could come and worship him, too. When they didn’t return with information, he was beside himself. He ordered his soldiers to rampage Bethlehem, killing all little boys two years and under. That, he figured, would eliminate any competition.

Take a deep breath and imagine the wails of mothers and fathers, clutching their murdered babies. One Bible commentary suggests about 26 baby boys were slaughtered in the little hamlet. (Twenty-six were killed in Connecticut: 20 children, six adults.) With this desperately sad, ruthless act, the prophecy of Jeremiah came true. Ramah, near Bethlehem, was the burial place of Jacob’s wife Rachel, who represents the nation Israel:

A voice was heard in Ramah, Lamentation and bitter weeping,

Rachel weeping for her children, Refusing to be comforted for her children,

Because they are no more.” --Jeremiah 31:15

Herod, who intended to enhance his rule through this act, today is remembered only in annals of infamy for the slaughter of the innocents. Sadly, the deeds of the troubled young shooter in Newtown will stain his extended family. They, too, are grieving as we all weep and ask questions.

But it has to come back to this: Christmas is about a baby born to die. Herod’s decree was not Jesus’ time to die, so God had warned Joseph to flee with his family to hide in Egypt until Herod died. Three decades later, at the appointed time, Jesus did die, but as a Savior. As Savior, He understands our deepest grief: “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). He was there as each child and teacher died in Newtown.

Can there be “Christmas” this year? Maybe not as people traditionally think of it. But there will be Christ in the midst of this, offering comfort in the unspeakable circumstances that happen because we live in a sin-dominated world. Someday, though, “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Revelation 21:4).

Even as I share a tiny corner of national pain, that gives me hope.

Gold, frankincense, and more



A friend brought me this carved wooden
box from Uzbekistan. Could a "wise man"
 have come from that part of central Asia?

 Have you ever thought about, “why” myrrh? Yes, at Jesus’ birth, wise men from the East brought him royal gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh (Matt. 2:11). No doubt Joseph later sold those gifts so he and Mary had something to live on when they fled to Egypt with the infant Jesus. Two millennia later, we hear sermons on the gifts’ symbolism: gold to befit a king, frankincense for a priest, and myrrh, for the One to die.

Hold those thoughts and consider this from Puritan preacher Thomas Watson (c. 1620-1686). In discussing Matt. 5:6 and one who hungers and thirsts after righteousness, Watson said, “He can feed upon the myrrh of the gospel as well as the honey.”

The “honey” part makes sense. Passages like Psalm 19:10 say God’s Word is sweeter than “honey from the comb.” Indeed, we all cherish scripture passages of comfort and hope, our “spiritual honey.”

But what’s the “myrrh of the gospel”?

First, myrrh was a pricey aromatic, extracted by scoring a small tree to tap its resin, similar to rubber. Its smell has been described as a warm, comforting resin, deeper in aroma than frankincense’s more pungent balsamic odor.

Most are familiar with how myrrh was used to mask the death odor as a body was prepared for burial. Nicodemus lugged 75 pounds of a myrrh-aloes mixture to a freshly-hewn cave tomb to help wrap up Jesus’ corpse (John 19:39).

But myrrh was also a perfume for the living. In a rather steamy portion of the Song of Solomon, myrrh graced a cleavage (1:13). Psalm 45:8, a king’s wedding song, extols the royal’s garb as fragrant with myrrh, aloes and cassia. No doubt that’s what Henry Barraclough had in mind in 1915 as he penned the lyrics to “Ivory Palaces.” That old hymn speaks of Christ in garments scented with myrrh and other fragrances welcoming the believer to Heaven.

In Bible times, mixed into wine, myrrh was used to dull the senses. The soldiers crucifying Jesus offered Him the concoction before they nailed Him on the cross, but He refused it (Mark 15:23). He experienced the full horror of the dying process.

So how can the gospel be “myrrh”? Perhaps these point to the answer:

*The gospel is Christ coming to earth, but more than sweet babies in fresh hay cooing, angels singing, shepherds awing, and foreigners of high birth gifting.

*The gospel is the gift of eternal life through God’s Son, refusing a primitive sedative, groaning on a splintered cross groaning, beseeching, dying, buried with spices to cover the stench.

*The gospel is also that provocative little verse in Song of Solomon 1:13, Christ as the myrrh over one’s heart spreading its precious perfume obtained through a pierced tree.

Charles Spurgeon (1834-1892) said of this: “Myrrh may well be chosen as the type of Jesus on account of his preciousness, its perfume, its pleasantness, its healing, preserving, disinfecting qualities, and its connection with sacrifice.”

And what of those whom Watson said would seek the myrrh of the gospel? Bible teacher William MacDonald (1917-2007), in his commentary on the Beatitudes of Matthew 5, said such people have a passion for personal righteousness that seeks honesty, integrity, and justice in society and practical holiness in the church.

Thus, the “myrrh” of the gospel is dying to self so that the lovely righteousness of Christ—our King, Priest and Redeemer—spreads through us to a world suffocating in sin’s death stench.

Yes: gold, frankincense, and more--lots more.