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Archive for 2011

At least once a month I either share a favorite new (or old, or old made new) worship song, or talk about my worship experience, or I talk about the virtues of worship (even when you don’t feel like worshiping God). Truly worship is my hobbyhorse, my obsession, the heart of my (undiagnosed, except by hubby) obsessive compulsive disorder.

One of the things that I love to do when I hear a new worship song that touches me (either by it’s lyrics or it’s tune) is listen to it over, and over, and over again (if you ask our oldest daughter about ‘Shout to the Lord’, she will tell you I turned her against it, due to my excessive overuse of the ‘repeat’ button). By doing this I can really get a feel for the emotions the song makes surface in my life.

The next thing I love to do is research the story behind the writing of the song. This provides deeper meaning from the lyrics on the page, and again allows me to connect deeper, more intimately with it’s message.

Then, finally, I check out how the lyrics fit with what the Bible says. Some songs are full of emotion (much like David’s psalms), some are direct quotes from scripture and some are ‘feel good’ songs (I, personally, do not have a problem with that. I love jellybeans, and do, on occasion eat a few. The problem comes when I lose my understanding of moderation, and eat a steady diet of them).

So, recently, I was checking out the song “Allelujah, Thine the Glory” by the group The Museum (who ‘borrowed’ the chorus from the hymn written in 1863, by William P. Mackay, then added their inspired verses). It is such an easily singable piece of music, with strong biblical theology throughout each verse.

The chorus is also from Psalm 85:6, which says, “Won’t you revive us again, so your people can rejoice in you?” When I was hunting for the story behind this song I came across the following video, in which the lead of the group tells of the inspiration for the song.

It is a story you can hear for yourself, but I asked a few questions of myself after watching this:

What will our churches today do to avoid becoming lifeless and dead?

Can we, this generation of christians, choose to have joy, even in hardships?

Are we willing to do what Christ will ask of us (as individuals, as a local church, as a part of the world’s christian churches), if we choose to say to Him, revive us again?

Can we start focusing on our God, rather than on ourselves, and our petty issues with each other?

For God to have the glory, we, his church need to be revived. But God will not force it on us, we need to choose to get into His word (and start spreading the love that He placed within us).

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C. S. Lewis said, of prayer, “I pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God- it changes me.”

If you read my blog post yesterday (Something is not Right) you might be wondering how my father’s surgery went. It went just great, thanks. And if you sent a note, or prayed for him, the surgeon, the medical staff, our family … thanks so very much.

As the hours minutes of his surgery crept by, my own understanding of prayer haunted me. I agree with C.S. Lewis. I too believe that prayer is not a means of changing God, but of changing me. And, although I hold firmly to that belief, praying for my dad’s surgery to go well (aka. to go as I want it to), while acknowledging that God’s bigger picture perspective might not mean a successful surgery, or repaired body, or … another day.

Then there was my disappointment yesterday when, after hours of asking God to enable me to pray for and with my dad on the phone (it is just not the sort of thing that we do), I called to discover that he had a houseful of people there. So, I called back later, only to discover that he was already sleeping (a four hour time difference often results in this). I had missed my chance, and felt so heavy with disappointment in myself.

But, here is where God answered my prayers, just not as I had ‘planned’ that He would. Apparently a business colleague who he has developed a friendship with, called him that day, and … prayed with and for him on the phone.

Prayer changes me, it does not change God.

How arrogant of me to think that I am the only one who could give that gift to my dad! How could I ever forget that, as much as I love my dad, God loves him far more?

If I do not believe that the purpose of prayer is to change me, where would I be? Would my prayer requests that go unanswered the way I wish mean that I did not pray enough? Or with enough faith? Or with the my heart in the right place? Or maybe someone else was praying ‘harder’ than me? Yikes!

God is not my sugar daddy, who lays all of my requests at my feet. He is my creator, my sustainer, my redeemer. And, He is my teacher, who teaches me to pray, and then to allow Him to be God, as I am changed in the process.

“I pray because I can’t help myself. I pray because I’m helpless. I pray because the need flows out of me all the time- waking and sleeping. It doesn’t change God- it changes me.” C. S. Lewis Carole

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For some, to initiate conversations about our pain, or sufferings, or struggles is not a comfortable thing. I suppose it is mostly due to pride and, for some, being introverted. I often refer to this discomfort as not wanting to ‘bleed’ publicly. I am certain that, like me, there are others (maybe even most people) out there who hold their heartaches inside just waiting for someone else to ask the right question, or to ‘guess’ our situation.

Since the middle of August, when I went to the East coast to visit my parents, my dad’s physical health has been deteriorating rapidly. My thoughts as we parted when I was returning to the west, were like the words of Ludwig Bemelmans, in his classic children story Madeline, “something is not right.”

When I left the East, Dad was having episodes where his leg would buckle under him, with no forewarning, and no reason for it. Now, only three months later, he no longer drives his car, he uses a walker, and cannot stand to make biscuits (see biscuits).

It has been a frightening time of appointments, tests, and waiting. There have been appointments with his GP and two neurologists, blood work that made him wonder if a transfusion might be needed, and two MRI’s. All of this with only one hint of what the doctors were considering as a possibility for his symptoms … ALS (Lou Gehrig’s Disease, the disease that was focused on in the non-fiction book and then movie Tuesdays with Morrie). ALS is a terminal disease, it is a death sentence (and one that you would not hope on anyone).

All of this, and here I live, over four thousand miles, and no less than six hours of flying (that is a very conservative estimate, since there are no direct flights) twiddling my thumbs … and praying.

Our family has been blessed to have many people praying, and I believe that it is through these prayers that we have endured the waiting, and that the waiting has not been as long as it could have been (first estimates were that his MRI could be as late at January). I know that I have felt upheld by the prayers of many people, as well as cards, emails and individuals who have taken the time to ask.

Last week was our ‘D-Day’. It was the day a diagnosis might be made, and one of the longest mornings of my life. Finally I got the text, followed by a call for the details. It was not ALS! The problem was rapidly deteriorating vertebrea, requiring surgery as soon as possible. Without surgery, my dad could be a paraplegic by Christmas.

I wish I could have been there for that appointment to ask lots of questions, and take notes on the diagnosis, the surgery and what to expect for recovery. Mom and Dad … I do not think they heard much other than, ‘not ALS’ and ‘surgery, immediately.’

The surgeon said that he expects complete success. It may not correct the deteriorating that has already occurred, but it will halt the regression.

So today, Wednesday, November 23, 2011, at about noon (Atlantic Time … 8am Pacific), my Dad will be in surgery (as long as he is not ‘bumped’).

My dad … the one who, through his adoption of me, and lavish love for me, has taught me more about how my Father God will never let me down, than any christian on this planet.

I am telling this asking that you pray for him, for my mom, and for those of us who love him (near and far). He still has so much to give … and to receive.

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Long, long ago, in a nearby land, there was a fair maid and a handsome prince who were very successful in eliminating bad habits, starting new good habits, and shedding the pounds of (many) Christmas past.

They had walked the grounds of their palace, they had wandered through forests near and far, and they had done so with their noble beast at their side.

They became acquainted with the freshest of greens, the purest water of local springs, the most weighted and heavily grained breads, and the sweetest of fruits, from lands near and far. They passed the dainties in the shops, they resisted the flavors of farmer Angus, and discovered that less was more.

Low and behold, an evil demon crept into their kingdom, and their lifestyles started to make slow, subtle changes that have put the health of their kingdom at risk.

Recently the maid and her strong prince hopped on the royal torture measuring machine to see just how much damage had been done in these months of sitting on their royal thrones, and eating at the banquet table in increasing frequencies. Alas, the news was not good. Both the maid and her prince had empirical (actually ‘imperial’, as in the Imperial system, which measures in pounds) data as to why their royal gowns and tights were getting tighter than they had been in the past.

It was time for changes in the kingdom!

Sadly the season of great celebration and banqueting was but around the corner. That most wonderful season of butter-laden delicacies full of spices and herbs from lands near and far. That season of sweets and chocolate fit for a king. It will be a daily struggle for them both! He will sacrifice his love of gravy and sauces. She will sacrifice her adoration for the sweeter things in life. But, they will conquer this enemy … together.

May the prince and his fair maid arise with the sun at the break of the New Year back to where they were months ago, when their lowest was their high point!

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The website, freedictionary.com, defines ‘disowned’ as “to refuse to acknowledge or accept as one’s own.”

As a daughter, I cannot imagine being disowned by my parents. I know that I might choose to reject my parents, and their love. I may even choose to disown them (although I cannot personally imagine making that choice). But, I am certain that their love for me will never fail.

As a parent it is impossible to me to fathom disowning one of my children. My love for them is not dependent on them (their actions or their choices), for it is a parent-love, one which is only defined by their being mine. They are a part of me, they are inseparable from me. There is no way for me to see them as anything but mine.

I know that has not been the case for all. There are horrible stories that we have all heard of abuses, and rejections and even of parents disowning their own children. In some cases parents have even chosen to disown their own child due to a behavior or choice of the child. For those who are reading this, who have experienced the deep and damaging rejection that accompanies parental disowning, I offer my most sincere sympathies. I cannot imagine the heartache and confusion that would cause a person.

As a child of God, I have a choice. I can choose to accept, or reject (disown) the love of my Father. He has given me the ability to choose, because He is not a demanding, guilt-inducing, self-gratifying Father. He wants me to choose His love, He wants my choice to be one of personal acceptance of Him, and all that He offers.

He gives me the choice to disown Him.

But, no matter what choice I make, he still loves me. Jeremiah 31:3 says of God’s love, “I have loved you with an everlasting (eternal) love; I have drawn you with (or continue to show you) unfailing kindness. His love for us is not dependent on us, because He loves us with Father-God love. Oh, we can still mess up, and natural consequences come from that. But, He still loves us.

There is someone who I believe needs to realize this. There is someone who I think might read this today, who does not realize that the greatest evidences of unconditional love that they have received in this life has been a God-like, parental love. It is this Father-God love that is available to you … now.

And it is your choice.

Psalm 136

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good.
His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the God of gods.
His love endures forever.
Give thanks to the Lord of lords:
His love endures forever.

to him who alone does great wonders,
His love endures forever.
who by his understanding made the heavens,
His love endures forever.
who spread out the earth upon the waters,
His love endures forever.
who made the great lights—
His love endures forever.
the sun to govern the day,
His love endures forever.
the moon and stars to govern the night;
His love endures forever.

to him who struck down the firstborn of Egypt
His love endures forever.
and brought Israel out from among them
His love endures forever.
with a mighty hand and outstretched arm;
His love endures forever.

to him who divided the Red Seaasunder
His love endures forever.
and brought Israel through the midst of it,
His love endures forever.
but swept Pharaoh and his army into the Red Sea;
His love endures forever.

to him who led his people through the wilderness;
His love endures forever.

to him who struck down great kings,
His love endures forever.
and killed mighty kings—
His love endures forever.
Sihon king of the Amorites
His love endures forever.
and Og king of Bashan—
His love endures forever.
and gave their land as an inheritance,
His love endures forever.
an inheritance to his servant Israel.
His love endures forever.

He remembered us in our low estate
His love endures forever.
and freed us from our enemies.
His love endures forever.
He gives food to every creature.
His love endures forever.

Give thanks to the God of heaven.
His love endures forever.

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There is nothing more delightful for me than the sights, sounds and hope of fresh falling snow.

The beautiful, clean, whiteness of snow blankets all that it touches with perfect precision. The sounds of the tiny weightless flakes as they land on everything they touch. And then there’s the hope that results from it’s falling … a SNOW DAY … NO SCHOOL … NOTHING THAT HAS TO BE DONE!

Truly the hope that comes from snow falling can touch our lives with perfect precision (just when we need a break), and the sounds, well they are not so gentle since the gradual late waking of a household of school kids, whose day at school has been canceled, can be one expression of noisy joy after another.

As the snow is falling this evening, hope is rising!

This evening while out to pick up my daughter, it took forty minutes to drive a distance that is normally fifteen minutes, AND I felt more relaxed than anxious, as I entertained the hopeful possibility of school cancellation tomorrow.

I am not alone in my snow filled dreaming, because as I looked on a rather popular social networking site, I noticed that there were more hopeful school staff with a status that shared my hopes, than students on my daughters account.

I admit that I am more ridiculously hopeful of a snow day than the average adolescent. It is not that I do not enjoy my job, because I do love it. It is more the bliss of a day off, with a good excuse to go nowhere, and do nothing. For me, as an adult, that is a dream!

Now, chances are that the temperature will warm, the snow will turn to rain, and I will be going to work (at school) along with my kids. But, on the off chance that we do get a school day off tomorrow … and for all our friends and family in the east … ‘we got a school day off … for three inches of snow!’ There’s gotta be at least one advantage to living in the monsoon season of the wet west coast.

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Man, I did it again! I forgot something that I was supposed to remember! This did not happen to me ten years ago. Heck, it didn’t happen to me two years ago! Now, it happens so frequently that I am beginning to get concerned. Maybe I am about to explode due to brain (not BRAN) overload!

In the past it was not unusual for me to forget to dust, or clean the house, or pick up dry cleaning. Lets face it, some of those things were ‘forgotten’ on purpose. Recently though I forgot to let the dog back in the house (three times in four days), I forgot where I left my water bottle at work (three times in five days), I forgot to go to work on time for meetings (twice in two weeks), and I forgot to sign my kids up for youth camp!

Seriously, where are my brain cells?

And don’t anyone out there use the ‘a’ word either, I think I am just overloaded. Age has no bearing on my mental capacities, I am not that old anyway (although I did feel old one day last week … I got a group invite to my high school twenty-fifth reunion, and that same day I heard a radio advertisement for an upcoming Prince concert. Those two events had me flashing back into the eighties so solidly, I feared that I would start wearing leggings again … yikes! I am wearing them right now! But, I digress)!

I am starting to really take this forgetting seriously. My forgetfulness has me searching out web sites on memory loss. Could I have alzheimer’s? Amnesia? Dementia (my kids would say ‘yes’ to dementia). Or maybe I am stressed? Or tired? Need Exercise? YES to all of those! Somehow it is comforting to think that it could be anything other than age-related!

If only extended health care plans covered tropical vacations … I am certain that would fix me up in no time! And it is a drug free treatment (although I have heard it can have addictive effects). I am pretty sure that within one two weeks I will be remembering to do things that I had never even planned to do.

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These words come from God, in Exodus 9:1, when he told Moses that he needed to declare (not request) to Pharaoh, “Let my people go!” Now the people God was referring to were the Israelite people who Pharaoh had been using as the equivalent to pack mules, working in fields, building the kingdom for a king who seemed to forget that they were the majority people group in his land. It could be said that the Israelite people were singing “another brick in the wall,” (Pink Floyd) with all the brick making they were to do.

The words God instructed to Moses came into my thoughts the other night when I attended church with my eldest daughter. She has been attending a different church, of a different denomination from us, for over a year now. I was eager to go with her to church, to worship together, and to see her in her ‘own place.’

I am a strange mother, when it comes to church. I tell my kids, once they are in middle school, that they are free to attend any youth group, of a Christian church, that they choose. I tell them they are free to attend, or not attend, the youth programming at our own church. All that I ask is that they go, and participate in a youth program, on a regular basis.

I am stranger still, because hubby (aka. their dad) is a pastor of a church.

He has also been a youth pastor, many years ago. From that experience, he, and we have come to understand that our kids experiences with God and church do not have to be isolated to where we attend (and where their dad works). It is far more important to both of us that our kids worship and serve sincerely than to worship and serve with us, just because WE want them with us. We want them to never think that God is only where we are. We want them to see God as there for them, as individuals, not through the experiences and choices of us, as parents.

Over the years we have worked intentionally in broadening our kids experiences of church, and christianity. When hubby is off, we attend other churches, of varying denominations, of varying worship styles, and of varying means of expression. We have encouraged awareness to things of the christian sub culture (music, literature, camps, missions). We want them to know that God is bigger than any church, any denomination, any method of expression, and any pastor.

Exodus 9:1 … the entire verse says, “then the LORD said to Moses, “Go to Pharaoh and say to him, ‘This is what the LORD, the God of the Hebrews, says: ‘Let my people go, so that they may worship (some versions say ‘serve’) me.'” God does not want US (as parents) to be worshiped, or served, but God, who we are all called to go and serve.

And so, with all that said, last night, I was longing to worship with my daughter, for a change. My mother heart just wanted to sit and stand beside her, worshiping and serving our God … together. And, it was good. But, it is better knowing that she is seeking God, for herself, not to please me or her dad. She is on a journey that we, as her parents, blanket with our prayers. It is a journey that does not stop when a person finds ‘their’ church, but when one finds themselves in the arms of our Savior, at the end of their earthly life. And it is there, in heaven, that I will get to worship and serve my God, with all my family around me. And it is there that longing will be no more.

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I wrote this post, while sitting in my pj’s, drinking my coffee, watching Canada’s national Remembrance Day service in Ottawa, on the television. As we live on the west coast we are afforded the time to watch the nations memorial before attending out own local one.

As we lived in Ottawa for six years, it is like being there again when we watch it.

Every year, whether at a Remembrance Day memorial or watching it on television, I am intrigued by one person in particular (in Ottawa). It is not the leader of the country, or of the riding. It is not the clergy who speak and pray. It is not the player of the trumpet. It is not the Governor General. It is not even the members of the royal family that we have seen in Ottawa. It is the Silver Cross Mother.

The Silver Cross is given, by the nation, to one mother each year. according to Veterans Affairs Canada, this “Memorial Cross, the gift of Canada, was issued as a memento of personal loss and sacrifice on the part of widows and mothers of Canadian sailors and soldiers who died for their country during the war.” It is an award, a medal, a distinction, in which the winner has lost. To receive the silver cross, is to have lost a son, or daughter, in military service for Canada.

This year I watched Patricia Braun, whose son was killed by a suicide bomber, in Kandahar, in 2006 at the age of twenty-seven. She was escorted with her wreath, by Canada’s Governor General, David Johnston. She was the first to lay her wreath, for (in my opinion) she lost more than any other who would lay a wreath in remembrance. She walked with poise, she laid her wreath, and then, as any mother could relate to, she kissed her fingers and laid them on the wreath … and she, and any mother watching, nearly lost it, as the gravity of why she was there fell upon our hearts.

As mothers we all know that in having a child means that we will need to give them up at some time. Just as Mary, when she was told that she would bear the Son of God. But, like Mary, we mothers do not really think too deeply about that giving up when they are a tiny babe. When they are small enough to still be carried in our arms they are all ours, and their world (quite literally) revolves around us as mothers.

The Bible (Luke 2:19) says that “Mary treasured all these things in her heart and always thought about them.” This is just prior to having her little baby boy circumcised. This is just after a week of his arrival, and the visits of shepherds who had been sent by the heavenly host and the angel.

I always wonder, what was Mary pondering? What was she really aware of? Did she know the scriptures that foretold of the coming Messiah? Did she know the scriptures that referred to him as a “lamb before the slaughter” (Isaiah 53), and as one who would “bear our suffering” (Isaiah 53)?

If we, as mothers knew the suffering that life might offer our child, our tiny babe, would we (could we) give them up to the world when they are adults?

I do not know the mind of Patricia Braun. I am sure that when her twelve year old son (my son is twelve) decided to seek a future with the military, she did not foresee where his future was to go, but she may have pondered the foreshadowing his desire created in her mother heart. She said in response to receiving the medal, “It’s kind of bitter sweet. I’m very proud to wear the Silver Cross.” It would seem she saw the bigger picture of her son’s sacrifice, but that does not detract from her personal sorrow.

I do not know the mind of Mary, but I am sure she was aware of the gravity of her babe’s future when Simeon, in the temple said to she and Joseph, “and a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2). That said, she was also was blissfully unaware of his future when her twelve year old son (my son is twelve) had been missing while traveling. When he was found he replied to his parents “’didn’t you know I had to be in my Father’s house?’ But they did not understand what he was saying to them” (Luke 2). She sacrificed, for the good of all humanity, but that does not detract from her personal sorrow.

As we enter the gift purchasing, and gift giving season may we not forget that there is no gift that can equal the gift of life for life. And that is what Jesus came for, to give his life for ours.

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Remember

There are things that others have said to me when I was a child, and those words still come to mind at times. Words hurt!  Words of truth (when spoken in love) only hurt for awhile, but words that have no basis in truth, and have no benefit … the pain that they inflict lasts forever.

Not that long ago I had asked for prayer (in a Christian grouping) for those in our armed forces who put their life on the line, by their own choice, for others who cannot. I heard later that ‘someone’ was offended that I would ask for prayer for … s o l d i e r s … Apparently my prayer request was ‘pro war’ …

And, I would do it again.

Every year we take our kids to the local cenotaph, to remember. They have nothing to remember that has touched their lives directly, but that does not erase their need to be reminded of what we are to remember. George Santayana (a Spanish-American poet) said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” May that not be said of my children, or their generation.

Many of their friends (and ours) will be spending their ‘holiday’ at the mall, sleeping in or playing video games. And, I do not begrudge them of that, since their freedom to choose how they spend Remembrance Day was bought with the blood of the same men and women we remember. But, as for me, and my house, we will remember.

I am not pro war, anymore than the men and women who choose (and have chosen) to stand in the crossfire for the sake of another. Even a pacifist should be able to humbly sacrifice a thank-you, or … offer a prayer for those who have provided peace for others.

I am idealistic enough to believe that words are better than weapons. But, I am also realistic enough to acknowledge that for peace to come through communication and not weapons, it needs to come from both sides. In our war history, there are those who had no intent to compromise for the greater good. People like Stalin, Hitler, Slobodan Milosevic and Bin Laden were not individuals whose ideologies included advice, or compromise. They were individuals whose ideologies only included their own self-serving, hunger for power, and dominance over others. And they could not be stopped by peaceful means … every day meant death for innocent people. Until others stepped in (on behalf of the victims) and risked their own lives, and spilled their own blood, to save the lives of countless people.

That is what a soldier does, they risk their lives to save and protect the lives of those who cannot protect themselves. It is not the ideal that we, or they, would choose, but, we do not always have a choice. It does not make them pro-war, it makes them pro-life. And they are willing to give theirs, even for those who won’t remember.

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