Framed faith

We call it our “Faith Box,” the 7x12-inch glass-fronted display case that hangs above the piano. It’s full now of tiny things that remind us of faith-stretching times of our lives.

A small bag of broken auto glass from our wrecked family car (bottom row, second from right) represents the October night in 1997 when we came within inches of a head-on, fatal crash caused by a speeding, drinking driver. Instead, he “T-boned” us, destroying our car and leaving us injured but alive. A few years later the nightmare became my call to action. I began speaking to convicted drunk drivers.

By their body language, most reveal their disgust for being required as part of their sentencing to attend this non-profit “educational panel” featuring drunk driver victims. Yet afterwards, some come up and thank me graciously for telling our story and those of friends, like our former neighbor and babysitter, Angela. She had grown up to be an excellent violinist and music teacher. A wrong-way drunk driver near Albany, Ore., killed her at 31. She became one of an estimated 15,000 a year killed by alcohol- or drug-impaired drivers.

Other tokens in our box don’t have such sobering connections. A tiny paper scroll labeled “mortgage” represents the joyful day we paid off our home loan early. Another paper simply said “Mammo—Psalm 90” for the Bible passage that carried me through uncertainty with a cancer biopsy. A single wrapped Lifesaver ® candy represents my husband surviving a river-tubing accident-- a story our children had not heard until we assembled the Faith Box. One holds a little acorn pin, given my husband one year for an “Outstanding Teacher” award. Tiny books represent the profound privilege I’ve had to write published books. Even my daughter added to the Faith Box, slipping in a note about how money came for her to participate in a junior high class field trip to Washington, D.C.

Some friends inspired our “Faith Box” after telling how they framed the first dollar they earned after working off a large debt. Later, in reading Joshua 4, I read of how the Israelites, while miraculously crossing the river bed of the halted Jordan into Canaan, gathered river stones and restacked them as a “faith memorial” for future generations. Gathering our own tokens of faith-events, we created our current box.

It’s good to remember milestones, just as long as we don’t get stuck in the memories. That’s why I embrace this principle: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I [God] am doing a new thing!” (Isaiah 43:18-19).

God is still in the business of offering fresh starts. After an auto wreck…or a personal or business wreck. I’m a different person because of these faith-moments, and that’s a good thing.

Prodigal cat

Three weeks after he sneaked out the door, an injury "cone" on his head, Augie the cat is back. He showed up at the back door yesterday, leaving us wondering how he survived three weeks in freezing weather, barely able to eat or drink with his "cone." I'd already gone to the Humane Society with his license renewal and said to take his name off the list as he was probably dead.

Instead, we brought out the fatted calf (aka fresh can of Friskies), which he inhaled. He turned up the volume of his purr to fortissimo to let us know he was glad to be home. The feeding dishes, litter box, and cat bed were "re-installed" in familiar places.

Amazing.

Yes, I immediately thought of the Prodigal Son. More specifically, the painting of that Biblical story by Rembrandt (c 1662), which hangs in The Hermitage at St. Petersburg, Russia. The famed artist chose his lighting to focus on the father's hands, not the shamed face of the Prodigal nor the exasperated expression of the "good" (but proud) other son.

My prayer notebook includes names of several "prodigals." In small measure, as I bring their names to God every week, I share the sorrow of their families and the hope that someday they too will come "home" to the Savior. Two verses that hold me steady in persistent prayer are these:

Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his ear too dull to hear. --Isaiah 59:1

How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! --1 John 3:1

That was the plan from the very beginning, that prodigal people would be reconciled to the God who continues to love them. Perhaps that's why I'm so drawn to the hands in Rembrandt's painting. They remind me of hands stretched far apart and nailed on a cross, as eternity-shaking symbols of God's infinite love.

So, welcome home, Augie. And thanks for reminding us that God saw you all along those three lonely weeks, just as He continues to watch over people He loves and who've chosen, for now, to go their own miserable way.

Escapee

With a sigh of memories, I just washed cat nose-prints off our living room window. For hours, barely balancing all 13 pounds of furry blob on the narrow windowsill, our cat would sit and contemplate the world outside.

Augie the gray tabby cat ran away Christmas morning. A determined outdoors guy, he’d had his fill of staying inside for the last three weeks while major battle wounds on his throat healed. For three weeks he’d endured a plastic “cone” on his head to keep him from scratching the wound that merited a $77 trip to the vet.

Thinking the cat was sound asleep in the corner, my husband came in the door with his arms full of wood for the fireplace. And the cat made his escape. Cone still on his head…..

We searched the neighborhood, but after five days of no cat in twenty-degree weather, it’s likely our eight and a half years of cat-care have ended.

I have a two-word conclusion: dumb cat.

As my husband remarked, “He knows where there’s a warm bed, water to drink, abundant food, and somebody ready to brush him. He made a choice.”

Maybe because he was a “rescued” cat (see the Nov. 9th blog on “The Cat of a Hundred Names”) I’ve thought of some life lessons from that. The Bible parallel that keeps coming to mind is Gomer from the book of Hosea.

No, this isn’t the “Gomer” of TV fame—the simple-minded, slack-jawed, wide-eyed gas station attendant from the “Andy Griffith Show.” This Gomer was a woman drawn to red lights, as in “immoral behavior.” By God’s command, Hosea married a harlot to illustrate Israel’s disobedience as a covenant people. Despite God’s love and miraculous care for the nation, it went after idols. Eventually, Hosea bought back his broken, wasted wife for half the going price for a slave (Hosea 3) and resumed taking care of her needs.

If you really think of Hosea’s overwhelming love, it grips your heart. And it should, because God loves us that much, and even more! Even when we pursue our own selfish agendas and end up in deep sorrow and trouble, He waits to take us back.

And so yes, we’re waiting for Augie, though it’s likely he became a coyote’s Christmas dinner or hunkered down somewhere and became a furry popsicle.

We still check the back door, thinking he might show up, still cone-headed and repentant for his impetuous escape.

But today I washed the old towels used for his bedding. I scrubbed out his eating bowls and tucked them in the container with too much uneaten cat food.

Pets come, pets go.

But one truth is certain—one I read in Psalm 103 this morning:
But from everlasting to everlasting
The Lord’s love is with those who fear him. (v. 17)

God never changes. He delights in us. And He will wait for us when we stray, loving us from afar and desiring to restore us to the joy of being His.

With New Year coming, that’s a comforting truth. No matter what we did in the past, God promises new beginnings, new hope, new purpose.

Home—enjoying God—is good.

Thank-you note

A bride I know was a gem. She promptly and graciously acknowledged every shower and wedding gift. Except one. The package of pink towels came minus any sort of card or I.D. Would the gift-givers think her ungrateful because she never sent a note? How could she ever find out who they were?

As far as I know, she never solved the mystery. But her dilemma made me thankful that there’s one amazing, priceless gift for which I can daily give thanks. I was reminded of it a couple days ago in reading Paul’s first letter to Timothy. The venerable apostle starts out talking about people who reject God. Then he turns the finger on himself, the ultra-religious Christian hater, proud of his religious pedigree, and whose life changed dramatically to Christ-lover. Imagine the angst in his voice as Paul declared, “Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst” (1 Timothy 1:15).

He writes of Christ’s unlimited patience with him, then breaks out in a doxology: “Now to the King eternal, immoral, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever. Amen” (v. 17).

Paul knew how to say “thank you” to God. He knew what God had given Him—the priceless gift of eternal life. And even the midst of his serious discussion about false teachers and other problems of the religious community, Paul stopped to say, “Thank you, God.”

The King eternal. There are no other Gods besides Him.
The immortal God. The One without a beginning and without an end.
The invisible God. At least for now. But someday, “we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2). I hope that grips your heart like nothing else. It does mine.
The only God. Not a shelf of gods. The only God, ever.
Honor and glory for ever and ever. Match this with the celestial hymn of Revelation 15:3: “Great and marvelous are your deeds, Lord God Almighty. Just and true are your ways, King of the ages.”

Here on a chilly early winter day, the fire is crackling and my husband is cracking open walnuts. I’ll soon assemble a mega “green bean casserole” for a big family dinner at my sister-in-law’s. Our daily newspaper with its 45 pounds (just kidding) of ads purring, “Buy, buy, buy” is in a disheveled pile near the couch. Often at Thanksgiving, I read my favorite “thankful” text, Psalm 103, as a reminder to praise God for all His benefits. But this year my heart is drawn to that verse in Paul’s letter to his protégé, Timothy.

Underlined in my Bible years ago with a blunt red pencil, it reminds me that this is what Thanksgiving is all about. Unlike the perplexed bride, we know both the Giver and His Gift. And to Him be all praise and thanksgiving, Amen.

The cat of a hundred names

The theology lesson, all two or three pounds of him, shook in a culvert pipe, alone. Probably a couple months old, he’d been abandoned at the park near our local hydroelectric dam. When no one was looking, people dumped cats and Easter bunnies there, illegally.

Becoming coyote casserole was his likely fate.

Then a father and teen son, on a guy-bonding time, passed by. They’d just left the stagnant oven of their valley home that August first. The rocky hills that shouldered the dam offered some shade, sweetened by the mist wafting off spillways.

They heard the faint “mew.” Two softies, they couldn’t leave him there. Luring him out with a chicken nugget from a nearby trash bin, they swathed him in a towel from the trunk of the car and brought him home.

To a mom who was asthmatic. Who choked and sneezed around cats.

“Where’s some tuna? Get some milk. We’ll just keep him overnight and try to find a home.”

Promises, promises.

That was more than eight years ago. The wisp of a kitten is now 15 pounds of aloofness, deprived of his malehood but not of his territorial temper. Identified with his city pet license and proof of rabies vaccine. Called “Auggie” (for August 1, when he was found) and dozens of other names. More than 150, in fact. When cleaning out the other day, I found a cat-name list my son and his sister had concocted. “Buick.” “Rumplefatskin.” “King Midas of the Golden Drool.” “Bleh.” “Mookie.” “Slug” (my favorite). I’ll spare you the entire list.

No matter how insulting the name, the cat responded in the usual cat way of ignoring us…unless we had a can labeled “Friskies” in hand and he was hungry.

That cat-name list reminded me of something wonderful about our relationship with God. Devotional author Max Lucado wrote about it. God whispers our names. He calls us by name (Isaiah 45:4). Our names are written on His hand (Isaiah 49:16). Even when we muddle under the generic name “sinner,” He knows the name He created us to have: Child of God. Lamb. Beloved. My Precious One.

He rescued us from something far worse than coyote teeth. The One who hung on a cross with a sign declaring “King of the Jews” (John 19:21) took away the condemning name, the hellish destination. He made it possible to have a new name. Redeemed One. Forgiven. Chosen.

His name is Jesus. Savior. Lord.

He whispers your name, in love. Can you hear it?

Look to the ant....

Alone, they weren’t bigger than a hangnail or a thorn in the thumb. But they were even more annoying than those in early spring when hundreds boiled out of cracks in our driveway, then started migrating inside the house. Thanks to ants, I realized I had a spiritual problem.

At first there were just a few that we could whap or wipe away with a wet paper towel in seconds. Then came the morning when they held a wriggling revival in the cat’s food dish (he never was a member of the “Clean Plate Club”), filled the grandstands of the Honey Nut Cheerios box, and started scaling the heights of the trash bin for more delectable discards. Every toaster crumb and ice cream drop came under mass scrutiny.

I shooed the cat outside and sprayed ant poison. Black square ant traps became part of the house décor. And still they came.

One early morning, after letting in our feline night watch guard (for what other reason would he stay outside all night?), my husband crawled back in bed and said, “It wasn’t pretty.” When I got up a little later, it still wasn’t pretty. The kitchen looked like someone had sprinkled coffee grounds all over the floor and cabinets. And this was where I cooked?

Okay, so I had a sanitation problem. But what of the spiritual problem? Sometimes it takes tiny annoyances to help you realize how short your fuse can be. I got snippy at my husband. Whiny to my friends. And, oh so mean, when I came in the kitchen and saw a wiggling line over the floor, up the cabinet side, and into places I’d just cleaned out!

Well, the first frost has come, and yesterday we dared to take the plastic wrap “seal” off the plastic lidded container of cereal. We haven’t seen the enemy for at least a week.

And I went to my Bible.
“Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider its ways and be wise! It has no commander, no overseer or ruler, yet it stores its provisions in summer and gathers its food at harvest.” –Proverbs 6:6-8
“Ants are creatures of little strength, yet they store up their food in the summer.”—Proverbs 30:25

Despite being tiny and fragile, they excel in industriousness. They do their jobs without special incentives! They’re fascinating--if you look up “ant” in an encyclopedia, you’ll learn more than you thought possible. And that’s just a start. A Bible dictionary reveals more:

*Ants in the Holy Land place their nests near threshing floors or storage bins for grain. They stay near the food!
*The grain becomes their winter food. A stocked pantry!
*They consort with certain insects (like aphids) that secrete sweet juices they crave, and store their insect-friends’ eggs with their own for future use. I’m not sure what to call this—slavery? Co-dependency? Let your imagination fly!

But a spiritual application? For me, Psalm 19:10 came to mind: that God’s Word is “sweeter than honey, than honey from the comb. By them is your servant warned; in keeping them there is great reward.”

A regular intake of God’s Word is essential for spiritual survival. In His foreknowledge of difficult events to come, God may impress on us to “feed” upon a certain portion of His Word more diligently in preparation for that time. In my late twenties, I obeyed nudges to memorize large parts of Philippians and Romans 8. A few years later, when my parents died, my heart was fortified to endure a spiritual winter. When my mind was too numb to study scripture, I could still “harvest” the sweetness of His Word—those reminders to rejoice (Philippians) and to know that nothing could separate me from His love (Romans 8:39).

I’m still not fond of ants scurrying all over my kitchen (and even finding my toothbrush in the bathroom!). But I am in awe of their Creator and stand reminded that I, too, need to be industrious in taking in the sweet nectar of Scripture.

Civility and yard sales

The incidents hit the news last week like grenades: a rapper ranted rudely at an entertainment awards show, a senator shouted sarcasm at the President, and a tennis diva threw a tirade over a ruling—all before millions watching on television. “Where is civility?” commentators asked, processing the parade of negative behavior.

These public figures disappointed me, too, but I wasn’t surprised. Hey, I’d just experienced the darker side of humanity while holding a yard/estate sale of my late mom-in-law’s things. These types were among the yard sale’s shoppers:

Stalkers: They ignore starting times. They’re after items with collector’s value to re-sell. The day before the sale, as I lugged borrowed tables to the lawn, one woman showed up claiming the ad said “today,” then asked if I had certain collectibles she could buy while she was here! On sale day, one man showed up at 7 a.m. (an hour before the sale started) as I was frantically putting out items. He, too, asked about certain collectibles.

Stuffers: They practice the tricks of shoplifters. For this sale, I’d placed matching towel sets (bath, hand, wash cloth) in twist-tied clear plastic bags, the “set” price clearly marked. Midway through the sale, while tidying up display tables, I noticed a woman fumbling with one of the sacks. It seemed unusually full when she came to pay, so I opened it and found other items conveniently “included” for the same price. When I pointed out the problem, she glared and left.

Switchers: They re-price items, thanks to easily-removed price stickers. That had to be the case when people brought ridiculously low-priced items to the cash box table. Even though I was tired after two days of pricing things, I knew I’d priced those items higher. What could I say, except, “You got yourself quite a bargain.”

Scammers: They use planned deceit. A friend who’s a swimming coach helped her team hold a fund-raising sale. At the beginning, a woman gave them $15 to “hold” a $30 vacuum cleaner, saying she’d get the rest of the price from her husband. At the end of the sale, she returned and claimed, “My husband doesn’t want me to get it. Please give me my $30 back.” Told she’d left only $15, she began quarreling loudly. Finally the coach said, “I will give you the $30 you are demanding, but we all know you only left $15 and you are robbing these girls of money for their fund raiser.” She took the $30 and left. (Reminder: get it in writing!)

The Bible speaks to such behavior:
“’It’s no good, it’s no good!’ says the buyer; then off he goes and boasts about his purchase.” --Proverbs 20:14
“Like a partridge that hatches eggs it did not lay is the man who gains riches by unjust means.” –Jeremiah 17:11
“The Lord detests lying lips.” –Proverbs 12:22
“The Lord abhors dishonest scales.” –Proverbs 11:1

Yard sales can be a good thing, especially in helping some of us pare down and others of us live more economically. A lot of nice people came to the yard sale, too, enabling us to continue emptying the earthly home where my mom-in-law lived.

But the shady shoppers? The prophet Jeremiah was right: “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure” (Jeremiah 17:9). There’s nothing like sitting over a cash box full of quarters and crumbled dollar bills to remind you that ordinary people as well as celebrities reveal their souls when “civility” is missing.