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Archive for the ‘Walking with God’ Category

 

IMG_3475I have been snapping and sighing up a storm this spring.

With each tree in bud, each flower in bloom delight has entered my heart. In an way I feel a bit parental, as each plant has a story, a beginning, significance.

There are the many perennials, tubers and bulbs that I have received from the sweetest three older women from our church. Each of their sharing of their beauty came with stories as well.

There are the living gifts I received in the form of a Magnolia, Red Maple and Japanese Maple from my kids and hubby. They all now sit were they began (most plantings in my garden don’t have the benefit of sitting in one spot, as I keep moving them around, never letting them become truly comfortable).

There are the boxwoods along the driveway, each one began as a hard cutting, pushed into the soil, and left on their own to do what they do best … grow. And now they are all one to two feet tall.

The trees and bushes that I transplanted from their original locations … the Oregon grape, rhododendrons and the forsythias that delight me each early spring.

There are the strawberries, thriving in my vegetable garden, the grapes that line the fence to the pool, the chives that have delighted baked potatoes for years.

Everywhere I look, there is an abundance of beauty for the eyes, the nose and even the taste.

This garden is lovely to spend time in, but it has also been my place of refuge and sanctuary. It is where, like the garden of Gethsemane for Jesus, I can pray without interruption, without ceasing.

It has been my place of worship, and thanksgiving, and praise. The flowers have been fertilized by my sweat and tears. There is even one, secret place, in my garden where I can go when “my soul is overwhelmed with sorrow” (Matthew 26:38).

But my present garden, my little piece of sanctuary, can go with me, can go with each of us, wherever we live, work, trod. For the refreshment from a garden, comes from the gardener of all gardens, and, as the Song of Solomon says,

“you are a garden spring, A well of living waters”
(4:15)

It is the Spirit of God, dwelling in us, that brings our refreshemnt, that brings refreshment to those we interact with, allowing us to have and to be the conduit for refreshment, for growth.

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Screen Shot 2018-05-21 at 9.00.01 PMAs the purge of household goods continues in our preparations for our move, I have come to understand the phrase, less is more, in a new, fresh and true way.

We have sold and given away usable items, taken loads to thrift stores and to the local garbage facility. Much is packed, with empty boxes soon to be filled, filed and stored.

There are items we simply will no longer need in a townhouse, with a maintenance package. No longer will we need multiple hoses, tools or a lawn mower … thus, no longer will we spend weekends doing maintenance on a house or property.

As a trash can full of rakes, landscape fabric, shovels and other gardening items was picked up by a purchaser, last weekend, my smile widened.

Freedom is in the air!

All of a sudden (perhaps I am just a bit slow) I am realizing how our possessions have a way of possessing our time, us.

I am reminded of Romans 13:11, and I love how the Message records it:

“But make sure
that you don’t get so absorbed and exhausted

in taking care of all your day-by-day obligations
that you lose track of the time and doze off,
oblivious to God.” 

I can, to be sure, attest that I have met God in those obligations (more about that in a couple of days). I can certainly also attest to dozing off, after a day of gardening, house maintenance and yard work, oblivious to God.

As we prepare for our move I find myself eagerly anticipating smaller living with a bigger life.

Perhaps this is the change that we didn’t even know we wanted or needed.

 

 

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Though NO ONE would ever want to hear me sing, I do so love to sing at church. Then, a couple of months ago, I found that I couldn’t sing at a church service.

It wasn’t that I was unfamiliar with the songs. It’s not that I had laryngitis or another such ailment. It’s that I couldn’t sing the words anymore. It was as though my voice refused to go through the motions.

The next week was worse. Not only could I not sing, but my throat got involved with a very hard lump … resting right in the middle of my throat.

The Sunday following was the height (or depth) of my non-worship ability, for this week my emotions joined in, along with my tear ducts. As soon as the worship began, as soon as I was on my feet, I knew I was in trouble. My knees weakened, lump lodged in throat, emotions accelerating my heartbeat, tear ducts filling and ready to flood down my red-hot cheeks.

I could not sing … I couldn’t even stay in the room.

So I left until I knew that singing was completed, until I had control over my voice, emotions, heart and tear ducts.

Driving to work, a few days later, I heard the lyrics of a song that filled me with guilt.

“how can I keep from singing Your praise”

Why do I share this? I mean … it’s kind of personal, right?

I was recently reminded of Psalm 13. This is David’s famous lament … this is David’s finest psalm/song (my opinion).

In this Psalm, David is not in a happy-clappy worship mood. He is, as Anne of Green Gables would say, in the depths of despair, and he is not hiding it from God. He actually accuses God of “forgetting him”. He demands, of God, “look at me”.

David is filled with sorrow, and not holding it’s reality back from God.

And that is what God desires of us, that we not hold back our sorrow from him. As Matthew Henry’s Commentary says,

“The bread of sorrow is sometimes the saint’s daily bread.
Our Master himself was a man of sorrows.”

God can hear our sorrows, despair and demands … he is one who knows sorrow all too well. He can empathize like no other.

When things go poorly in my life, I tend to respond well, optimistic and strong in the initial days and weeks of the struggle (I often think I would make a good first responder). But patience is not my strong point, and when the struggle drags on … I tend to loss hope, and need to, once again, cry out to God … to really cry out to God.

Those weeks of struggle to sing my praises to God … those were my season of silent lament to God. I got real with him … and God that is what God desires most.

And as I move through this season, I will, as did David, complete my lament with singing.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
    my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing the Lord’s praise,
    for he has been good to
me.”
Psalm 13:5-6

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A beautiful spring Saturday, and I was completely unaware of what I was missing outside, as I wrapped and packed framed photos. It took far longer to pack up these personal items, for each image took my mind back to a time gone by. I kept hearing the words “packing up the dreams” (Michael W. Smith) playing over and over in my mind.

In a number of weeks I will go through this all over again, in reverse.

Times of life transition are like my picture-packing experience. We look ahead with excitement and fear, we look back with longing and thankfulness. We look ahead, and feel that life is moving too slow, we look back and feel life has moved too fast.

The words of Hebrew 13:8 have been echoing in my mind and heart over these past months of numerous life transitions:

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today and forever.”

These are not just nice, fluffy words, they are a promise to humanity for all time.

The yesterday is not just twenty-four hours ago, but every yesterday that has ever passed. Jesus Christ has always been, as he is.

The forever spoken of is just that, every day from this point forward.

He was, is and will always be the same, and he was, is and will always be with us. No changing, no transitions … just the same.

Though I am a lover of, an adrenaline junky for change, knowing that Christ was, is and will forever be the same gives me more comfort and peace than could any other.

And so, as I pack up these dream that God planted, I do so with the assurance that Christ, who lives in me, is the same no matter where I am going.

That should comfort all who are in the season of transition.

 

 

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Walking the hallways of my workplace, one might confuse the high school for a hunting, fishing and camping warehouse store. The theme of this particular dress-up day was camouflage.

The purpose of camouflage wear is to … camouflage oneself into the outdoors environment. It can allow a person to not be visible to others. Camouflage can hide a person from the creature one is hunting.

Reflective wear is different. It is worn to alert others to one’s presence. It is to keep the wearer safe and visible. When one wears reflective wear while hunting it is to alert other hunters to their presence.

Later I thought about camo and reflective wear in terms of our Christian walk. One being to help us blend in and the other to help us stand out. The thing is, as followers of Christ, we have not been called to blend in, but to stand out.

“Do not be conformed to this world,
but be transformed by the renewal of your mind …”

This transformation process is like the metamorphosis that a caterpillar goes though to emerge as a butterfly … no longer who or what it once was. The transformation is complete, and it is a new creature who emerges. So too, accepting the love of God into our lives changes us, transforming us into someone who 1 Peter 2:9 (some versions) calls peculiar.

This transformation is life changing. It affects every part of our who we are. It is something that happens instantaneously and day by day, all at the same time.

God does not call us to be his own, yet to blend in so well that he is not visible. We are to reflect the one who made us his own.

 

 

 

 

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I enjoyed taking pics of various plants in my garden on Friday, as the warm spring sun shone brightly in the sky. I am certain that my garden never looked better!

Then it rained. It rained Saturday, and it is raining again today.

As I growled under my breath to no one in particular (because all others in the house were still sleeping) about the grey skies and the rain, I scrolled, aimlessly, through my social media feeds.

“It takes both rain and sunshine to grow a garden”

The words (above) caught my attention. Immediately I recalled the images from just two days prior, when the sun was shining.

As a gardener (very much in experimental practise) I could not deny the truth of those words, for, on Friday, I had to water a patch of new grass that appeared quite parched. I watered, knowing that my action was not a bad one, but one that was needed for my garden, and what I had planted there.

So, as a gardener who takes joy in the warm sun, and who understands the need for water for my plants to grow well, why do I fret and sigh and complain when it rains …

why do I fret when there are (metaphoric) rainy days in the various seasons of my life?

I know the gardener, and I trust that he will do what is best for my growth … or do I?

My only job is to grow. He will provide all that I need to accomplish that growth.

May I accept that rain as I do the sunshine.

(PS: the sun just came out)

 

 

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Recently students were discussing roller coaster rides they had been on, and one talked about a ride that took you out, over a body of water … and paused. Then, with no hint at what was coming it went from zero to fifty in the blink of an eye, quickly pulling them backwards, and they could not see where they were going.

One of the students exclaimed,

“that must have been so frightening to not know where you were going?”

To which the other replied,

“Nope! If I saw where I was going, I would have been much more scared.”

Her response got me to thinking …

maybe it is better to not know what is coming in our futures?

Then I remembered a verse, from 1 Corinthians 13:12:

 

“We don’t yet see things clearly. We’re squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. “(this is such a visual! Haven’t we all been walking driving through thick fog that had all but blinded us? Can’t we all recall, or maybe currently going through a time when the circumstances leave us blinded to what might be ahead for us?)

“But it won’t be long” (it won’t be long! Don’t we all feel the seconds tick by when life is a struggle? This reminder will come to an end) “before the weather clears and the sun shines bright!” (yes! the sun is what we need to focus on … the sun in the sky, and the son who sets us free. It WON’T be long! The fog WILL lift!). 

“We’ll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!”

Man, when I look back over different periods of time in my life, I could not have imagined the twists and turns, the joys and sorrows, the triumphs and trials that were about to come … or how they would play out in the greater story of my life.

And so we do not see what is to come, how the problems and struggles end, how the difficult road leads to completion, how the blessings become curses, and the curses become blessings.

Our vision is impaired, as though we are in a fog, or going backwards on a carnival ride. But the fog will lift, and from the reversing ride, we can see how vast the image of life appears, and how pieces have fit together.

But we are not called to just sit there and let it all happen, either. For verse 13 gives us our marching orders:

“But for right now, until that completeness,
we have three things to do to lead us toward that consummation:
Trust steadily in God,
hope unswervingly,
love extravagantly.
And the best of the three is love.”

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A good story teller, a good poet, will always include visuals for our brains to hold onto, so that, though we may forget their words, we will not forget their story, their message.

I have always believed that the best story-teller, the best and most creative writer of the poetry and stories of our lives is God, the creator, father, redeemer.

His story is even grander than the Grand Canyon.

Recently an old hymn (about one hundred years) has been playing in my head, but I didn’t hear it until the other morning.

… actually, I heard it, but I wasn’t listening

As I awoke Saturday, with the morning sky still awaiting to break, with the rains pouring down, I began to listen and hear the words, the message,

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
  And were the skies of parchment made;
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
  And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
  Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
  Though stretched from sky to sky.

The words began to form images in my mind, that kept me from thinking of anything else (perhaps that was the intent of God, who had a message).

The evening before my mind was full of a good message on the phone, a bad message on social media and a most frustrating message via email. I was too inwardly focused to even pray, so I did all that I knew to do, and asked that sweet handful of trusted friends to pray.

My early morning alone, became a reminder that joy comes in the morning … after the storm, after the storming down of heaven’s gates by faithful friends. After my eyes were refocused … off of myself.

Those words from the hymn, The Love of God. The first two verses and chorus written by Frederick Martin Lehman, but the third (above) goes back much further into history.

The words of the third verse were found, inscribed on the wall in a room of an insane asylum, after the patient died. It was later discovered that those words were written by  Jewish poet, Meir Ben Isaac Nehorai, in 1050, and can be found in Rabbi Hertz’ “Book of Jewish Thought” for the synagogue Pentecost celebrations.

Perhaps it is because the Hebrew language is a spoken one, stories and poems told, over and over again, from generation to generation. Those which have survived the ultimate test of time, often the ones which create visuals in the minds of hearers. The word pictures searing eternity onto the minds and hearts of those who heard.

The longevity of those words, perfectly inserted into a song about the vastness of the love of God.

Words, written just a millennium after the death of Christ … the greatest imagery of the promise of redemption, of love, used in the prophesy of the Old Testament.

The love of God is greater far
Than tongue or pen can ever tell;
It goes beyond the highest star,
And reaches to the lowest hell;
The guilty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His erring child He reconciled,
And pardoned from his sin.

When hoary time shall pass away,
And earthly thrones and kingdoms fall,
When men who here refuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mountains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still endure,
All measureless and strong;
Redeeming grace to Adam’s race—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade;
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry;
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

Refrain:
Oh, love of God, how rich and pure!
How measureless and strong!
It shall forevermore endure—
The saints’ and angels’ song.

 

 

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cris bdayIt was a trying time, when I was in my years of having babies … dreaming of … praying for babies.

You were the seventh confirmed pregnancy … I knew better than to imagine your future, my future with you, your future with your one older sister, your dad and I. It was always a tentative dance between excitement and frailty.

Sure enough, there was nothing confirmed about your future through all nine, nail-biting, knees bent in prayer months. Even your first breath was delayed … eternity in those moments.

Your first two years were like a smash dance of smooth public appearances mixed with screamo music coming from your lungs deep into every night. You had a voice, and you were not afraid to use it … when you chose to.

Then, you turned two and life with you went from,

a time to weep to a time to laugh
(Ecclesiastes 3:4a)

And your laughter was endless, rockus … and like your cries, it was loud and very much self-determined.

I recently looked back on pictures from the years of childhood of you three siblings, of your childhood, and I was astounded by how many I have of you dancing. You, mid-spin, in the midst of movement, of expression, of dancing.

And, my dear, life itself is a dance.

I did a little investigation in dance.

There is little known about the origins of dance, as it need only involve one’s body, mind and soul … no tutus have been unearthed in archeological digs of the middle east. Certainly there have been paintings in caves that show how dance was used in rituals, religions, cultures and events in early Egypt, Olympia and in early Hindu temples.

But dance, movement of one’s body, incorporating our souls (as in that naked dance before God, performed by David the King), is something that words cannot describe. It is an event, an experience that is innate, what we are made to do, as an expression, as a reaction to having been given breath, life.

As with David, it is an expression of truly getting it … understanding that to dance, like that, is what we were created for, with and by.

To dance, with abandon, is:

  • the butterfly, emerging from it’s cocoon, stretching it’s wings
  • those videos of cows, released from the barns in the spring
  • the baby (maybe delayed) but stretching out it’s lungs for that first breath
  • the little girl, or boy, twirling in circles … moving without a care in the world

I want this for you. This no-care-in-the-world freedom.

The thing is, life is made up of two parts, freedom and survival.

In the midst of life we need to strive for our very survival. We need to work, and struggle and sometimes it is just hard, it just hurts. We want the unabashed, joyful movement of being free indeed.

They go together … freedom and survival, tripping over ones feet and twirling on our toes, holding our breath and breathing, standing still and dancing with wild abandon. The parallelism from those contrasting verses of Ecclesiastes (3:1-8) reminds we mortals that we were created to do it all … in the right time, but also that we do not walk either contrasting life experience without the ability of joy … without the ability of dancing through it all …

for it is what we were created for,

for it is how my mourning was turned to dancing (v. 4b),

in your delayed first breath, eternity in that moment.

So dance, birthday girl.

“I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Livin’ might mean takin’ chances, but they’re worth takin’
Lovin’ might be a mistake, but it’s worth makin’
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you’ll give faith a fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance”
I Hope You Dance

 

 

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“Christ is risen
He is risen indeed”

The traditional greeting of Christians on Easter Sunday. It is called the “Paschal greeting” and was used in Orthodox and Catholic early churches. Sometimes it is accompanied by three kisses, on alternate cheeks.

It is said to have come from the gospel of Luke (v. 34):

“It is true!
The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon.”

This said after two disciples met a stranger on the road, as they walked to a village called Emmaus. This stranger, who appeared to know nothing of the events of the days prior, when Jesus, the prophet, was crucified.

 

You see, the stranger was Jesus himselfbut they were kept from recognizing him” (v. 16).

The stranger was told, but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place. In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning but didn’t find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see Jesus” (v. 21-24).

They seemed to think that, because of Jesus’ death, maybe Jesus hadn’t been the redeemer/saviour that had hoped him to be, and because they did not see Jesus, who was supposedly alive, they had missed out. All this blind disappointment, in the man walking by their sides.

Then this stranger rebukes them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.” (v. 25-27).

So this stranger (aka Jesus himself), slaps them upside of the head with what he always uses … what the prophets said. He reminds them that, according to the prophets, their long-awaited saviour had to suffer, had to die.

Then came the fork in the road, Jesus continuing on, but the disciples stopping in Emmaus for the night.

The disciples “urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.”” (v. 29). So Jesus joined them for dinner. 

It was there, at the table that the lightbulb came on for the pair.

“When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him” (v. 30-31).

“He took the bread,
gave thanks,
broke it
and began to give it to them”

Let’s rephrase that:

He sat before them,
gave thanks for the broken bread,

his body, days before, broken,
for them

It was in the reminder of Jesus’ broken body, for their broken lives, that their eyes were opened to who is was … for them. It is today, Easter Sunday, that we are all reminded that his body was broken, for our broken lives … but are our eyes opened to this, our Saviour?

” … and he disappeared from their sight” (v. 32). A bit anticlimactic … Just when he is known to them, he leaves them … again.

“They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”” (v. 32). Not so anticlimactic after all, for now that their eyes were fully opened, they realized that something in them had been stirring as they walked and talked with him on that road, to Emmaus. Something in them knew they were in the presence of their Saviour, but, as with all of us, they were blind to his presence.

“They got up and returned at once to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven and those with them, assembled together and saying, “It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon” (v. 34-35).

It is true! … almost as if they were saying, Indeed, the Lord has risen!

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