How wide and long and high and deep?

From the archives.

This was originally written on September 11, 2001

God is brokenhearted today.

He is brokenhearted because you and I may have at some time in our lives ignored our call to share Christ and to show His love with one of the peopled killed today. We may have been face to face with them, whether we knew their names or not, and perhaps were afraid to speak up. Now, a different kind of fear is spreading.

Maybe we had just put Christ out of our minds at the time. Just what were we thinking? They may have been watching us from a distance at some interstate rest stop or an amusement park or a shopping mall or some other outlet where our paths may have briefly crossed. Had we taken a vacation from our responsibility to Christ as well?

God is brokenhearted over unique pieces of His creation embracing evil. Oh, the blessings He had in store for them. Sadly, their choices just blew them all away. As much as it may have physically hurt to have a Boeing jet crash into your office and land on your desk, as much as it may have hurt to have the temperature register hot enough to melt steel, God’s hurt is even greater; greater now because some of His precious creations are lost. Not in a pile of rubble and debris, but lost eternally.

God is brokenhearted that any of His creation has to needlessly suffer. He, most of all, knows what it means to suffer. But it is suffering that causes us to trust God for who He is, not what He does. And who He is, is bigger.

God is bigger.

As far as the fall was for those who jumped from the buildings, as far beneath the rubble as some were buried, God’s love will go farther.

As long as it takes to search, as long as it take to recover and rebuild, as long as remembrances of these days will be voiced, God’s love will last longer.

As deep as those pictures are ingrained in our minds, as deep as the hurt is, God’s love will always be deeper.

As far across the earth as the repercussions have been felt, as far as those rescue works and relief effort have increased the boundaries of our generosity, God’s love will stretch even wider.

Our God is bigger than any tragedy.

God is in control.

For this reason I kneel before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name. I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Ephesians 3:14-19

Sunglasses and a Savior

I think I’m a little late with the spring fever. I’m always the last one to fall into the latest trends.

(I heard somewhere that oversized sunglasses are in? Is that true? I'm just not sure I can go there yet.)

I think it is spring fever because I seem to have lost my motivation for anything. ANYTHING.

So, I’m making a list. Maybe if I document at least the passing thoughts through my brain, then maybe I can then check some of it off and feel like I’ve accomplished something.

My list is of things that have been on my mind that are truly post-worthy, but I haven’t been able to finish one single post. I’ve started several hundred of them. “Started” is the key word. Apparently “finish” has dropped out of my vocabulary lately. Along with the words “diet” and “exercise”. Oh, and “work.”

My list is a reminder to me that if I ever do get back to my regular posting and don’t have anything to talk about, well, here’s a place to start.

But who am I kidding? By the time I get back around to anything I’ve started and not finished, the beginning of a hundred other things will have taken their place.

And so it goes.

My list of totally unrelated things to which I should have dedicated entire individual blog posts:

1. So, I have a new car. It was truly an ordeal. It took about a month to actually get it to my driveway. I haven’t quite found the balance between the joy of a brand new car and the sickness of car payments. Does anybody ever feel like they got a good deal on a car? Really? I mean, people who sell cars do it all day every day. I buy a car once every five or six years, if that. How can I win with those odds? Anyway, we simply HAD to buy a new car because I couldn’t keep buying new sunglasses every week. It seems on two separate occasions with two different pairs of sunglasses, I left them in cars we test drove. So, two lucky new car owners got a free pair with their new car purchase. Now that’s a deal.

2. One day when I’ve lost all my inhibitions I’m going to write a book about all things your minister will never tell you. There are lots of sub-topics under this one, but lately I’ve been thinking about weddings. ONE: never, ever schedule a church wedding in December. Yes, the holiday decorations make lovely pictures, but the sanctuary is already booked every Saturday in December for all the extra choir rehearsals and programs. If you want the minister to focus solely on your special day, do it during a season when nothing else is going on. June is good. TWO: You pay the band for making music at the reception, why not pay the guy who sings the sweet love song during the ceremony? Unless, of course, the guy singing the sweet love song is the groom, then paying him would be weird. THREE: Pick up after yourselves. Or at least ask your mom and dad do it for you after you’ve gone on your way to honeymoon paradise. For the rest of us, coming to church on Sunday after a Saturday night wedding and finding dress hangers, empty panty hose packages, pins, flower petals, and cans of hairspray sitting in your Sunday School class seat or in your choir chair is a little unnerving sometimes because it leads the mind to think of people changing clothes (and thus, in their underwear) right here in the very place I’m trying to, well, not think of people in their underwear.

3. What on earth have I have I got to complain about? I have a friend my age that’s been fighting cancer for several years and the battle is getting harder every day now. I have another friend my age that fought a seizure demon and had several years of victory, only to have it seize her again. I have a friend I went to college with whose wife has been on a respirator. These are people in their 40’s. I have younger cousin whose Air Force soldier husband was just sent to Iraq for six months. I can’t even keep track of how many times he’s already been over there. She’s home with her 2 girls.

Did anybody see the Life Today program a few weeks ago where Beth Moore was talking about being in a doctor’s office waiting room anticipating an appointment where she would get some test results? One of her daughters was with her and passed the time by reading all the medical brochures in the waiting room. You know, the ones that inform you of all the different kinds of cancer and diseases. Her words were, “He knows it’s scary to be us.”

Indeed, He does.

Stress over things like losing my sunglasses to making car payments.

Frustrations of being married to a minister.

People all around me who have a special need for comfort and care and healing.

God knows it’s scary to face all those things. And He doesn’t want us to face them alone.

All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us. We have plenty of hard times that come from following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort—we get a full measure of that, too. 2 Corinthians 1:3-5 The Message

Advertising my flying cheerleader days

I tried out for the cheerleading squad when I was in the fifth grade.

By that time in my life, my oldest sister was away at college. The middle sister was taking the school bus to the junior high school in the next community. Both Mom and Dad left early every morning to get to their jobs. I was pretty much left with getting myself to and from the elementary school I attended. It was about a one mile walk through the neighborhood from our house to the school.

(Really, this is NOT my I-had-to-walk-5-miles-in-the-snow-uphill-both-ways-to-get-to-school story. It was a different time then. There are different threats these days. Taking it slowly on long walks to and from school was one thing us latchkey kids did to pass the time so we wouldn’t be at home alone so much.)

I remember watching the bedroom clock every morning waiting for exactly the right minute before setting out on my hike to school. I had the walking distance perfectly timed so I wouldn’t get there too early. The mornings weren’t so bad because of the anticipation of the walk and of the school day. It was the afternoons when I got home that were hard. Boring. Lonely. A little scary sometimes.

I think that’s why I tried out for cheerleading even though I wasn’t the cheerleader type. I needed some afternoon entertainment; something to fill up the empty hours. (We didn’t have all the homework kids have now).

I didn’t make the squad first time I tried out, but I did the second time. That was about the time things started changing in the cheerleading world. Things were moving from saddle oxfords, Keds, and sweaters to jumpsuits, mini shorts, and boots. Our squad was the first to wear the blue mini shorts jumpsuits that zipped up the front and black knee high boots. I was 10. (There are no pictures, thank goodness).

I told my parents about staying after school for the practices the week or so before the try-outs, but I don’t think they took me seriously. Like I said, I just wasn’t the cheerleader type. The day the actual try-outs came and my name was called, I was so excited that I think I ran that entire mile home because I couldn’t wait to call my mom at work and tell her. She didn’t believe me. I can still hear the skepticism in her voice as she asked, “Are you SURE?”

That cheerleading squad turned out to be a little pathetic. We weren’t very good. At all. And the newness of the knee high boots and mini shorts style was not as widely accepted as appropriate as the trend-setting sponsors had hoped. It was a second rate kind of group. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed every single minute of every single practice and every single game. But we were pitiful. I just didn’t know it at the time.

I thought I was a good cheerleader. What I didn’t admit was that there were so many others that were better than me. Since I wasn’t really the cheerleader type, I realize now that maybe part of the reason we weren’t very S-U-C-C-E-S-S-ful (do they still do that cheer?) was partly because of me.

That scenario follows me.

After college, I worked as a flight attendant. It was exciting and fun and I put my heart and soul into it. I thought I was a pretty good flight attendant. People who knew me back when I got hired for that job most likely thought to themselves, “She’s just not the flight attendant type, is she?”. The airline I worked for was one that none of my friends had ever heard of. One reason I no longer am a flight attendant is because that airline is no longer in business. Again, maybe since I wasn’t really the flight attendant type in the first place, perhaps I’m a tiny bit responsible for their downfall.

Fast forward a few years. I got a job in advertising for a department store. The store isn’t on the level of Macy’s or Nordstrom or Saks Fifth Avenue. It’s a department store that a lot of people wrinkle their noses at. My job was copywriting and graphic design. I learned a lot at that job as I put my heart and soul into it. Still, I wasn’t quite the best at it because though the stores are still around, all the advertising has moved to the corporate conglomerate instead of continuing to do it regionally. Maybe my contributions were partly the reason for that transition.

I have gotten sucked into a lot of things that were exciting and fun and even a little educational. For whatever reason, I have thrown myself into them and tried very hard to make it work for me. I try so hard. I try to do everything right. I try follow are the rules correctly. I try to meet all the expectations and exceed. I bet I get on other people’s nerves trying to be the little miss perfect.

Those things that have drawn me in never seem to last very long.

That often leads to the conclusion that there’s not much I am good at (maybe not rightly so, but still, my mind goes there for a bit…).

This is often, thankfully, followed by another opportunity to do something else.

Which is followed by my cry to God, “But I’m just not good at that.”

To which He responds, “Well, I’m glad we finally agree on something. Now let it go and let Me handle it for you and show you just how good it CAN be! Go ahead, let go. Try it. It will be exciting. And you might learn something.”

"If you want to give it all you've got," Jesus replied, "go sell your possessions; give everything to the poor. All your wealth will then be in heaven. Then come follow me." That was the last thing the young man expected to hear. And so, crest-fallen, he walked away. He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and he couldn't bear to let go. As he watched him go, Jesus told his disciples, "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for the rich to enter God's kingdom? Let me tell you, it's easier to gallop a camel through a needle's eye than for the rich to enter God's kingdom." Matthew 19:21-23

Have you ever seen an alien with arthritis?

A few days ago my friend Steve’s facebook status was something about how being at Lowe’s was somewhat of a religious experience for him. Several people, including me, posted comments to his status. Some of the comments were analogically clever (not mine) about tools and possibilities. Some comments were just snarky (yes, mine). Steve responded with his own comment saying something like Lowe’s is the only place Noah could get enough gopher wood to build that ark.

That got me to thinking about old Noah.

Genesis 9 says that after the flood Noah lived 350 years and that he was 950 when he died. According to my math, that means he was 600 years old when he finished building the ark. Without any help, mind you.

Can you imagine building an ark all by yourself right now in your life? At your age and in your current physical condition?

Me either. And I’m not even 100 yet.

How did a 600 year old man do it?

That got me to thinking about all the other people in the Bible that lived multiple centuries. Adam lived 930 years. Adam’s son Seth lived 912 years. Enoch lived 365 years. Moses was 120 when he died. Methuselah lived 969 years, for heaven’s sake.

Why don’t people live that long anymore? Google has all kinds of different answers for that question. Scientific climatic changes caused by the flood. Measuring years by fruitfulness rather than by the actual number of sunsets and sunrises. God time vs. human time. Inaccuracies in oral histories from the tendency to over exaggerate for emphasis. On and on.

The truth is, I don’t think anyone really knows for sure.

Here’s my unsubstantiated analysis for why we don’t live hundreds of years any more: It’s just too hard now.

I think God’s original plan for man did not include death. I think the original plan was that we would all live longer than Methuselah and in God’s company, forever and ever, amen. I think every day we lived that way would have gotten better and better. Sweeter than the day before, if you will. It’s not hard to imagine living hundreds or even thousands of years like that.

But we messed that up with that original sin issue and all.

Praise God for the sacrifice of Jesus to bring us back to the living forever in God’s company plan. In the meantime until I can see Jesus face to face, I’m here living on this earth.

Living on this earth is not like riding a bicycle. It does not get easier every day that you do it. No wonder He told us to become like little children. It was a lot easier then. He knew it would get harder with every birthday.

Yeah, I can learn to tolerate some things easier with a little practice. I can do a little preparation to make some things more manageable. I can find some laughter and some joy along the way and some funny people to share it with.

Overall, though, it’s tough. I face more and more challenges with every single day that I live. I get especially bothered by the challenges that I face that are beyond my ability to do anything about. Throw a few other people and relationships in there with all their separate issues, and voila, you’ve got a recipe for shortening anyone’s years.

A few of the people that are blessed with being a part of my situations and circumstances really add to my personal challenge. It happens often. Someone will say or do something that makes me think they have absolutely lost their mind. I think to myself, “What in the world were they thinking!?” That thought progression always leads me to go a little further towards another conclusion: perhaps they are not the looney tune; maybe it’s me. Every single time that brings me back to the fact that I am truly a stranger and an alien on this earth. This world is not my home.

I am reminded of that almost every single day.

Which makes me oh so thankful I don’t have to live to be 969.

Which makes my 40’s not look quite so bad.

And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:3-4

Why do children have to die?

The past weekend Scott and I went to the upstate to visit with Scott's dad, my father-in-law. We call him Pop. Scott's sister was there too. Sunday was the 2-year anniversary of my mother-in-law's death and Pop wanted his family to be together on that day. Pop wanted Scott to sing in his church on Sunday the song Scott sang at her funeral.

My mother-in-law was on hospice care for nine months before her death, so there was a lot of time to think about her funeral service. Nobody actually did much talking about it, but everyone was thinking about it, and I think everyone must have been thinking something different. Pop was absolutely sure he wanted Scott to sing. Scott was absolutely sure that he would never make it through trying to sing at his mom's funeral without losing it. Scott spent all of those nine months telling me so.

When my mother in law did finally leave us for heaven, not only was Scott grieved, he was also a nervous wreck about the whole singing or not singing business. Pop has always been stubbornly persuasive with Scott. In the end Scott decided it was easier to say yes and struggle through it for Pop than to say no for his own personal relief.

During the funeral and with his agreement beforehand, I spent every minute up until it was time for Scott to sing trying to distract him from what was going on in the service. I guess a better way to say that is that I was trying to help him keep his focus on nothing but singing to help prevent him from losing it. When the time finally came and he got up to sing, a voice came out of him that I had never heard before. And it was beautiful. Scott made the sacrifice and let himself be used of God to bless others. I'm convinced that it was the voice of the Holy Spirit that I heard that day.

So, here we are two years later. Scott did sing that same song in his dad's church on Sunday. Lois was the reason we were all together that day and she was definitely missed, but it was a little easier to celebrate her life this time.

Later that afternoon as we got ready to leave Pop's house to head back home, another funeral procession was underway. Pop's house is right across the street from the cemetery so standing in the driveway, we had front row seats.

We had to wait for the procession to drive by before we could get out on the road. It was unlike anything I've ever seen before. It was Heather Brooke Center's funeral. She was a 8-year old little girl who was shot four times by the estranged husband of her father's girlfriend. It is a sad, sad story (you can read about it here). None of us know the family, but it didn't matter. We were still moved by what we saw.

There were hundreds and hundreds of motorcycles in the processional. One motorcycle even pulled the casket behind it in a carriage. I'm willing to bet that most of those riders didn't know the child either, but they wanted to pay tribute to this special situation.


Scott, who has sung for countless funerals for people ranging from those he didn't even know to his own mother, said, "but it's different when it's a child."

I stood there on the driveway in the sweltering heat. I had a napkin in my hand that I had been using to wipe perspiration off my face. As the cyclists drove by, a time or two I found myself waving my paper hankie at them before I realized what I was doing. Then, I was wiping the tears from my eyes with it. Again, I didn't know the child or anyone in her family.

But it's different when it's a child.

I have two good friends that are close to my age. They don't know each other because they live in different cities and are from different times in my life, but they have something in common besides having me as a friend. Both of these women lost sons to cancer before they ever reached double digits in age. I know that the death of those little boys changed their lives completely and forever.

I never knew Blake or Tyler either. (The anniversary of Tyler's death is this week too.) I didn't meet their moms until after they were gone.

I don't know how Ron & Cindy and Linda & Bobo have managed to beat the odds and stay married in spite of how difficult it must have been.

I don't know how they managed to continue to raise little girls after that, teaching them to love a brother they never really knew.

I just don't know. As I sit here and think about it I just can't imagine what it must be like.

Then I hear a voice in my heart and maybe I understand a little better.

"It's different when it's My child."

And I know it's the voice of God.

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16

What's in your house?

I had lunch with a friend today. She and I and a third friend try to get together for lunch once a week. Emphasis on the TRY part. We always plan on it, but it doesn’t always work out. Intersecting the schedules of three busy women is no easy task, but we do try. Today it was just two of us.

Our goal of getting together is to help and encourage each other in our own spiritual walk. We have a 3x5 notebook of index cards filled with scriptures we have attempted (again, emphasis on the ATTEMPTED part) to memorize. We share our prayer needs and pray together. We try to keep the conversation focused on how God is working and moving in and around our lives at that particular time.

Today, when my friend asked me what God was teaching me this week, I told her that God has had me looking around my house. I’m looking to see what’s in there. Really.

Elisha is the one who made me start thinking about it. There’s a story in 2 Kings (chapter 4) about a widow whose husband died leaving her and her two sons with a great deal of debt. The man that all the money was owed to was coming to take the sons as slaves as payment for the debt.

Elisha asked her, “Tell me, what do you have in your house?”

Turns out all she had was a little bit of oil.

After she followed a few instructions from Elisha, she filled not just a few, but many empty jars with oil. She ended up with more oil to sell which brought in enough money to pay back the debt with enough left over to live on.

The oil was in her house all along.

That’s what has stuck in my mind. It was in her house all along.

When I told my lunch buddy about it, her eyes got big and she could hardly wait to tell me what she’d been thinking all week.

She’s been studying John 2. There was a wedding going on there and they ran out of wine. After a few instructions from Jesus, they filled all the empty jars with water. They ended up with not just wine, but the best wine.

They started with empty jars. And water. Those things were in their house all along.

Those things were already there.

God took the provisions that the widow and the wedding party already had and made more than enough to go around. And made it the best.

My friend asked me, “What is it that you don’t have enough of that you need?”

Oh, my. How do I answer that?

I have plenty. I have more than a lot of people in this world and I am grateful for it all.

Still, there are some empty jars in my life. Emptied of things that money can’t buy.

But I’m going home to look again. I know I don't have any wine, but I do have a little oil. Whatever else is there, I know that God can and will use it to fill my jars if I follow His instructions.

His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." John 2:5

Kentucky wild Catts

I didn't go to church yesterday, which is unusual. I'm always at church. Scott and I spent the day traveling instead. We traveled through four states and this is where I woke up this morning:

Scott said this picture was appropriate with me in it because of the slogan and/or web address. Is he saying I'm wild? I think he meant that as a compliment. ;-)

Anyhoo....

So, back to the church thing. Like I said. I'm always there. Except for yesterday. And even though it is one of the most consistent things I do always and forever, I did not miss it one single bit yesterday. I was even a little giddy as we drove past church after church with cars in the parking lot, thinking to myself "nanny nanny boo boo, y'all are at church and I'm not!"

I think that's a good sign that it was time to take a break from it.

But I made up for it today.

I heard several wonderful men of God speak today. One of them was Michael Catt. He's the pastor of Sherwood Baptist Church in Albany, Georgia. They are the ones that made the Fireproof movie (and Facing the Giants and Flywheel).

Oh, oh, oh, what a message.

Here are some highlights:

• Everybody either knows Christ or needs Christ

• Carnal people won't care about lost people. Only spirit filled people will care about lost people

• There is a difference between being just welcomed and truly wanted

• If you're slinging mud, you're losing ground

• A great problem in our churches today is the presence of an absence - the absence of the Holy Spirit.

• Whatever your choice is regarding living in the spirit or not, either way there are consequences.

Wow. He said more in that 30 minute message than I've heard in several months of Sundays. Made me glad I came all this way to hear it.

I'm not going to want to go home.

As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace. There is one body and one Spirit—just as you were called to one hope when you were called—one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. Ephesians 4:1-6

Dust on the Table

Have you ever had that moment when you read a familiar verse in the Bible, one you've read a thousand times or maybe even have memorized, and all of sudden it hits you like something you have never heard before? And then you think, WOW, why haven't I ever seen it like this before?!

It happened to me recently with Psalm 23. Yes, a very familiar verse. But this time it was much more personal than it ever has been to me.

I had been unknowingly and unwillingly thrown into someone else's unsettling circumstances. It was nothing I planned, nothing I intended, nothing I even imagined, but there I was - a little speck of dust sucked up by an evil vacuum cleaner. And it was very clear that they didn't like my particular variety of dust.

In the midst of it all, one morning I grabbed a little devotional booklet that I pick up at church every month. The devotionals in the booklet are brief one-pagers that include one verse of scripture, about 4 or 5 paragraphs of inspiration, and a one-sentence prayer. I don't usually use this booklet for devotions, rather, I read it when I need a quick inspiration or Word.

This particular day the verse was Psalm 23:5.

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows."

I read that verse and realized I would be sitting around that table later that day. I had an appointment scheduled with the vacuum cleaner operator. And they certainly felt like the enemy. When I read this verse I realized that God had prepared that table for me. FOR me. And He had anointed me with oil to protect me from being penetrated by the evil of my enemy.

Psalm 23 wasn't just a chapter of comfort any more. It was written about me. For that particular day.

After that, I couldn't seem to get away from Psalm 23. I came across it in reading and in conversations over and over again.

It all reminded me of a study I took at least 15 years ago, Prayer Life by T.W. Hunt. In that study one of the assignments was to write your own 23rd Psalm. Hunt explained that David was a shepherd, so he wrote using his own personal daily language. He wrote about things he knew and dealt with every day - shepherds, green pastures, rod, staff, those kind of things. The assignment was to use our own buzzwords and write our own.

I went through my stack of study notebooks last night and found mine (yes, I hang on to all those things....for years). Here is it:

1. The Lord writes my story; I don't have to find the right words or even make it rhyme.
2. When I follow His outline, the storyline takes me to such peaceful places.
3. The things He writes always leave me wanting more. He has not only written the script, but has given it the direction that will always lead me back to Him.
4. Sometimes the words He's written are painful and make me cry, but they are always followed by words of love and compassion.
5. You write my story in such a way that other people can read it too; even those who want to write their own ending to it.
6. You have given me so many words; they often spill out of my mouth with very little prompting. You have written Your words on every day of my life and because of that, there is no end to my story.

Psalm 23 is only six verses. You should try writing your own.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he restores my soul. He guides me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Psalm 23

I die a little bit every day

Last Wednesday I called a friend of mine. It wasn’t really a good time for her to talk then, so I promised I would call again later.

She and I became fast friends as freshmen in college. Our dorm rooms were right across the hall from each other. We did a lot of laughing and learning and sharing secrets in that dorm hall.

Marriage, children, careers, divorce, time and miles have all played some part in us not being as close now as we were back then. Plus, you’re just never as close to someone again once you give up sharing a bathroom and a hall telephone (imagine that, we went away to college without cell phones!).

A couple of months ago I received one of those “it’s-been-ages-and-how-the-heck-are-you” emails from her that we trade every few years or so. She told me in that email that she has cancer.

I couldn’t seem to get her out of my mind earlier this week, which is what prompted me to call her. I tried to call her a second time on Thursday. Alas, it was still not a good time to talk. I told her not to worry, I would keep trying to call until we finally hit the right time. I hung up the phone again not really knowing any updates on her condition. I didn’t know how she was feeling or what she was thinking or anything.

Even though I knew nothing about her current condition, I sensed a great burden to pray for her. I know we’re not that close any more, but suddenly she became the only friend I could think about.

I went to bed that night unable to stop tears from dripping down my face. I prayed for her family. She’s a single mom with four sons. The youngest is still in high school. She teaches music to elementary school children. I prayed for them. I laid there thinking how it just didn’t seem right. I mean, I know death is imminent for all of us. But why this way? Not that I have any kind of death wish, but why did it have to be her instead of me? I mean, there are only two people in my office (including me), I don’t have any children, and I do have a loving husband. If I were dying, there would be far fewer lives affected by it.

We may never really know why suffering and grief gets distributed the way it does on this earth, but I do know that I cannot waste it. I must find a way to see the glory that God can use it for. It’s not always easy.

When I woke up Friday, I still felt the burden. And kept praying.

Then I began to read other blogs. Ones I read frequently. The first post I read was about a woman teaching her son that life wasn’t fair and if it was, he (and I) would have a lot less than we do and others would have a lot more. She wrote on about going to a medical facility to have blood drawn for a non-life threatening condition and being surrounded by a waiting room full of bald people waiting for chemo. All she could do afterwards was cry fierce tears over the unfairness of it all. And there is nothing we can do about it but trust God.

I cried some more. And prayed.

Then I read a second blog post. It was the one year anniversary of the birth and death of a child. They knew before the little girl was born that she would not survive, but they chose to trust God and not terminate the pregnancy. Apparently they planted a tree in the little girl’s memory and now after a year, it needed to be pruned. The mother wrote how about difficult that experience was for her, even though she knew that God tells us He has to do it in order for us to grow. Pruning hurts.

I cried some more. And I thought about pruning. I had always thought of pruning as something that was done to each individual. Everyone needs a little pruning of their own braches in order to grow. It wasn’t until all of this that I saw pruning as maybe something that happens to the human race as a whole. I mean, maybe some lives are plucked so that others will grow.

I went to the next blog and read on. This one talked about speaking at the memorial service of a long time friend. The service was for a woman who had won a temporary battle with cancer and through it inspired other woman to truly pray in faith. The cancer returned later and God took her home. The speaker at the service talked about the woman who reached out for the hem of Jesus’ garment, and was healed. She went on to say that even with that miraculous healing, that woman still eventually died from something else. We all do. The best we will ever get in this world in just a hem of healing. The real, true healing comes after we leave this earth.

OK. So I cried and cried and cried some more wondering, why is everything I’m encountering focused on death??? I grieved over it all the entire day.

That day was Good Friday.

Now it is Saturday. The dark, dark days in between Jesus’ death and His resurrection.

My friend with cancer; like I said, we’re not as close as we once were. The blog posts I read; I have never met any of the writers personally. I don’t really know any of these people well and yet, I am grieving for them.

I thought about what I would do if they were all my close friends.

Jesus is my close friend. I hate what they did to him.

But I love what He did for me. He came back. He brought life for all of us that are grieving.

There is hope.

On my knees

I’ve had something on my mind all day today and I was just waiting for a little time to myself so I could sit down and write a post about it. But, that will have to wait. Something else has transpired that has outrun that first thing in my brain, and now I just have to tell you about this other thing instead of the first thing. I just need to share it with somebody, and you’re it.

So, here goes.

Back during the Christmas holidays one of the beautiful older ladies at church gave me a Ziploc bag of Amish Friendship Bread “starter.” She was so excited about it. She beamed and clucked about all the different varieties she had made. Some with peaches, some with nuts, coconut, bananas, and anything else she had on hand. I could tell she had been having a blast playing around with this stuff. It sounded like all of her experiments were success stories.

The Ziploc bag of starter is mushy and stinky. It stays in that bag for 10 days and over those ten days there are certain days you’re supposed to add more ingredients to it. The days in between ingredient additions, you are supposed to knead the bag. On day 10, you mix in some more ingredients, then measure out 4 more starter bags to give your friends. After that, with the mixture that is left, you add yet even more ingredients and bake it.

And just so you know, to me, it’s not technically bread. It has a lot of sugar and pudding and stuff like that in it, so it is more like cake.

Well.

I am not a baker. The extent of my baking skills ends with canned biscuits and Martha White muffin mix packets. Scott is the real baker in my house, and he only bakes one cake per year – on my birthday. But, this woman’s joy was contagious so I took the Ziploc bag with gratitude and high hopes for that same kind of joy.

With all the holiday hoopla, I lost track where I was in the 10 days. I didn’t know if the ingredient adding day had passed or not. That will teach me to write things down. Maybe. I finally gave up and threw the bag in the garbage the day after New Year’s. I was a little embarrassed and defeated, but also somewhat secretly relieved. In the back of my mind I knew it would never bring me the joy it brought the woman who gave it to me. I hoped that she would lose track with all the holiday excitement too and forget to ask me about it.

No such luck.

She asked and I had to come clean about putting it in the garbage. She said she had plenty more and would bring me another starter bag. Which she did. Only this time she brought it to me on Day 9, so all I had to do was bake it the next day. She even said I could wait up to two days to bake it.

That was Sunday. Today is Tuesday. I HAD to bake it today. I had to stop by the grocery store on the way home to get oil and baking soda. After that, I scrambled home to get busy and git ‘er done. I wasn’t interested in having fun. I just wanted to finish the job so I could tell my friend that I had finally accomplished the deed.

In my haste, I was not careful about being neat and tidy. I kept thinking to myself, “I’ll clean it all up when I get this baby in the oven.” Which I did.

I washed the mixing bowls and measuring cups and wiped down the counter. Then I noticed a drip of batter on the lower cabinet, so I bent down to reach it. Once I bent down, I noticed some flour on the floor. I got down on my knees with a Clorox wipe to get the flour up off the floor.

As I knelt there on my knees I saw a few coffee grounds specks that didn’t make it into the pot, fell to the floor and were collecting in the corner. On my knees, I saw a dried up drip of who-knows-what staining the white cabinet door under my sink. On my knees, I noticed all the tiny crumbs on my floor I couldn’t see when I was standing upright. On my knees, I saw the dust and dirt on the baseboards under the cabinets. On my knees, I saw the nasty dirt stains on my floor.

On my knees.

That’s when it dawned on me. Sometimes it takes getting on my knees to really see my own dirt clearly. All the stuff that’s messed up about my life, all the bad choices I’ve made, the responsibilities and opportunities I’ve ignored, my personal failures due to my own stupidity, all the stuff I want to hide - - when I get on my knees before Jesus, He shows me these things more clearly than ever before. He points these things out to me to give me perspective. He brings them to my attention to remind me that the only thing I need to do about them is to admit they are mine. Then give them to Him.

When I get on my knees before Jesus my perspective changes. I see things a little more like He does. Not only do I see how big my pile of dirt is, I also see that great big pile as somewhat of a measurement of the forgiveness He has for me.

I can’t see it that clearly when I’m standing on my own two feet.

Only on my knees.

Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Philippians 2:9-11

Thumbs up!

It’s been one week since I went back to the doctor about my wrist /thumb problem.

He took one x-ray, saw something weird, and then took two more x-rays. And, I failed the Finkelstein test. Apparently my scaphoid is about twice the length of a normal one. Since I have no recollection of any trauma that might have caused it to heal abnormally, the doctor said he would classify it as a congenital deformity. That oversized scaphoid is most likely thrusting my other wrist bones into abnormal positions, which might be why my left pisiform visibly protrudes significantly more than my right one. And all of that may or may not be contributing to my DeQuervain’s disease, which is where the pain is coming from and the main reason I haven’t been able to use my thumb like I should.

Allrightythen. Are you impressed with my medical terminology?

I got my medical degree online. Thank you very much.

Anyway, at least I know what my problem is now.

The treatment? Well, the nice doctor prescribed a Cortisone shot. In my wrist.

The last time I got an injection to aid in the mobility of a small body part, that body part overreacted big time. Granted, it wasn’t Cortisone last time and I was trying to get something to stop moving so much instead of trying to make it easier to move. Still, I was a little leery.

I was, however, tired of dealing with a bum thumb, so I opted for the shot.

I’m not usually too much of a pain wimp, but OUCH, that thing hurt. He put some kind of analgesic on my wrist first, so the initial stick wasn’t bad. It’s all that moving around the doctor did with the needle once he got it in there that made me moan. Afterwards, I asked Scott, who had been sitting out in the waiting room, if he heard me scream.

As I started out saying, it’s been a week since then. Yes, I do believe that the injection helped. There is less pain and swelling and more mobility. How about that?! I do have a bruise on my wrist that looks a little bit like I have been abusing myself, but it is already in the fading phase.

It really was only just a few seconds of pain from a needle, and it’s made a world of difference for the better.

Sometimes it takes that, you know. Pain and suffering. To get to the other side where things are better.

My friend Ginger put it in perspective for me yesterday. She looked at my bruised wrist and winced at the thought of a needle in it. Then she commented about how much more it must have hurt to have a stake driven through your wrist and pinned to the wooden beam of a cross.

All for the glory of what’s on the other side.

Hallelujah.

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:16-18

Oh, my word, the one word is the Word

Right after the New Year began, I read a post at Take 90 West where Lisa talks about not making New Year’s resolutions. After years of planning to wake up and be perfect on Jan. 1 and then, of course, failing, she’s given up making those resolutions. Instead, she’s chosen a word, one word, to focus on for the New Year. She picked a word that she believes will impact her life. She chose the word ‘forgive.’ (it’s a great post – you should go over there read it for yourself).

When I read her post, it immediately reminded me of something I had read in a book several months ago. Something about a “one word” kind of Bible study or prayer method or something like that. Trouble is, I could not remember for the life of me where I had read it. I couldn’t remember the book title. I couldn’t remember the author. All I could remember was the general idea of the one word study.

I spent the next two days driving myself crazy trying to figure out where I had read it. I wanted to go back and read it again. I looked through my book shelves at home. I looked through the book shelves in Scott’s office. I looked through my old Amazon.com orders. Nothing jumped up and said, “This is it!” Nothing.

In bed last Tuesday night, but not asleep yet, I prayed, “Lord, bring it to my mind.” I knew there was something to this whole one word thing and I wanted to go deeper.

The next day at choir rehearsal I noticed the lyrics of one of the songs we were practicing were written by Louie Giglio and Chris Tomlin. The names caught my eye because we had just watched Louie Giglio’s Fruitcake and Ice Cream video with another group at church just a couple of days before. Giglio is not a name you just gloss over (plus, the video’s pretty much WOW and not easily forgotten either). So, when I saw his name on the music I said something about it out loud.

That prompted Scott to say something about I am not but I know I AM, which is a book written by Giglio. Which then prompted me to squeal with delight because God had answered my prayer right then and there. That was it. That was the book that talked about the one word study.

I could hardly wait to get back to Scott’s office and pull that book off the shelf. Sure enough, right there beginning on page 57. The scripture he studied one word at a time was John 1:14

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.

Giglio took one word of that scripture per day, studied, meditated, and prayed about that one word. All day long.

He started with the word and. By the end of that first day, he realized and was more than just a conjunction. Well, and is never the end. Something always follows and. There is more to come. We have so much more to look forward to in Jesus! Oh, that gets me excited!

Giglio’s revelation on the word became was even more simple and profound. As he studied the word became, he began to see it was a compound word. Two words: Be. Came. I Am – the present tense, active form of the verb, to be. The great I AM—became. BE. Came. I AM CAME!

That, of course, affected his study on the word beheld. Be. held. Be held. He did what?....He held. Do you see it? Can you feel it? The great I AM holding you? Arms full of grace and truth, holding you?

The one word study of that particular verse really gives me the perspective that God, the great I AM, truly is the one that has traveled the distance just to get me. And He’s traveled not just the distance between heaven and earth, but between life and death.

Sometimes I take that distance for granted.

Sometimes I think I try to convince myself (and unfortunately I sometimes I succeed!) that I’m the one doing all the traveling. I get so weary on the journey. My feet hurt. I get impatient with other travelers. I get so tired of trying to follow and understand all the road signs. The voice on my GPS gets obnoxious and repetitive so I turn it off. I close my eyes for just a minute and I miss a turn. I get distracted when I take rest stop breaks. I need to stop for a snack. I’m whining “are we there yet?” And what about this suitcase I keep lugging around everywhere??!

All this started when I read a post that resonated with me about not being able to wake up perfect and be a different person on January 1.

And that led me to the reminder that I am not perfect; I am not but I know I AM.

And that reminded me that the journey I’m on is headed home, not anywhere else. The Great I Am came and made that way plain for me.

And that in the end, He will still be The One doing the traveling. He's coming again. To get me.

And.

And.

And.

There is so much more.

Look, he is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see him, even those who pierced him; and all the peoples of the earth will mourn because of him. So shall it be! Amen. "I am the Alpha and the Omega," says the Lord God, "who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty." Revelation 1:7-8

More or Less

I have never really one to make resolutions on New Years. It usually takes me too long to finally make up my mind about something, especially something life changing. By the time I convince myself mentally, it's way past January 1 and on into the summer. By then swimsuit season is in full swing, so no use to make the weight loss commitment and reading the Bible through in a year, well, if I double up I can do it in six months, can't I? (Have you ever read the entire books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy in one sitting?!)

Plus, the older I get, the harder it is to change my life anyway.

I don't really have a detailed plan, but I do have a prayer for the new 2009 year.

Here it is:

He must become greater; I must become less. John 3:30

Worthy of Worship

This year our church choir has combined with another local church choir to present a Christmas musical. We will present the musical and their church this coming Sunday, and then at our church the following Sunday.

Joining with another choir really heightens the excitement and motivation and volume (in the number of voices and in the decibels of those voices) and a whole lot of the other things. I’ve met some new friends at the combined rehearsals. I’ve gotten to know some current friends a little better seeing them work in a different atmosphere. Overall, I think it’s been a very positive experience.

Why do people choose to attend one of those churches instead of the other? I don’t really know why specifically, I just know that people have their reasons. Both are Baptist churches. They are probably less than five miles apart. The churches may look similar in architecture and landscaping, but what goes on inside is what makes the difference. Even though we are alike in some ways, they way we worship may be completely different.

We thought about all the different ways people worship as we got ready to type up the program. Knowing that there would be some crossover attendees from the different churches (and hopefully some who haven’t yet met the Savior or found a church to attend), we wanted to put some kind of blurb in the program that would reassure anyone that absolutely any expression of worship of Jesus Christ would be gladly accepted and welcomed.

When you’re looking for the right kind of words to say something like that, the best place to go is scripture. Here’s what we put in the program:

We are honored to be able to present this program to you and we would consider it our great joy to have you worship our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ in any way worthy of His majesty and glory.

He has created us to praise Him. He has given us the tools. He has given us instruction.

Worship the Lord with gladness; come before him with joyful songs. Psalm 100:2

Clap your hands, all you nations; shout to God with cries of joy. Psalm 47:1

Lift up your hands in the sanctuary and praise the Lord. Psalm 134:2

Let the name of the Lord be praise, both now and forevermore. Psalm 113:2

After searching the scriptures for that instruction, it sort of made me think about the way I express my worship. Do I do it the way He says to do it? The scripture doesn’t really say anything about “if you’re your comfortable, then do it.” It just says do it. Hmmmm.

What about you? How do you express your worship?