My "Testimony"-- the beginnings

I alluded last week to the deceptive potential of a  testimony.  But it is clear in Scripture and in life that an honest retelling of what the Lord has done can be a powerful encouragement as well.  It's not always easy to put it into words though. That's what I've been wrestling with this week--how to boil down the story of God's working in my life to a blog-bite's worth of text. 

When I was a kid we went to 'Testimony Meeting' on Wednesday nights at church.  The service was a short one. It opened with a few hymns and then the microphone was turned over to whosoever-will-may-come!  There were various regulars, some more predictable than others.  Mostly it was the grown-ups that made their way up to the microphone to say a bit.  But there was this wild-card.  When Mr. T led the service one never knew what might happen.  

Now I admired Mr. T.  He radiated a love for the Lord and for His creation. He was an avid bird watcher and he was also my highschool Bible teacher.  But when he led testimony meeting it could be intimidating.  For he was very eager for the 'young people' to be a part of the service.  And he didn't mind making it happen.  Every so often he would verbally lasso the whole lot of us.  And we'd find ourselves lining up at the front to take a turn at the microphone dispensing a 'testimony' of what God had done in our lives that week or that year, or once-upon-a-lifetime-and-worth-repeating.  This could be very uncomfortable, especially if you couldn't quite figure what there was to say, beyond what you'd already said the last time this happened!  To make the matter even more intimidating, the first half hour of  these services was broadcast over the radio!  And this was not small-town radio.  Our testimonies would reach all the way to New York City!  There was definitely pressure to have something worth saying!

We youth usually came up with something fairly formulaic to say, patterned after our elders and kept very brief:  "I'm thankful that God saved me and I'm on my way to heaven"  or something of that nature.  Rarely would we volunteer a testimony and  how well I remember the uneasy tension of waiting till we were off the hook and the meeting over.

I've grown up quite a lot since then and have experienced the Lord's good hand in many more situations but still this week I've been grappling with how to give a 'testimony' here that would be of some encouragement and not merely a glorified personal history.  A classic salvation testimony is supposed to tell the before, the 'then what', and the after.  Ideally there should be a big contrast of 'before' and 'after' and just enough spice thrown in so the listener can relate and be 'wow'ed by the obvious transformation without being dragged through the messy details. Well, that's not my history.  Mine is a rather 'boring' story given those parameters.   For I was born into a Christian heritage of believing parents and grandparents on both sides.  I grew up with believing cousins, surrounded by a community of dedicated Christians in our own little protected world.  We not only sang hymns and read the Word responsively together.  We ate together after church and the people we saw on Sunday we went to school with and were taught by on Monday. In the summers these were the ones we picked strawberries with on Saturdays and even swam with at our own local pool.  Into this heritage I was born, as my parents had been born before me. 

Still, I remember a moment of personal 'decision'. 

I was ten I think, when I went forward with my friends at the close of an evening service to kneel at the bench and pray.  I didn't anticipate it being a life-changing moment in my life.  It just seemed like the right thing to do.  It's what people did at Camp Meeting.  You prayed around the 'altar' (beautiful low wooden benches) following the official closing of the service.  And maybe there would be more singing, and maybe if people were very happy there'd be marching around the perimeter of the auditorium and back up the center aisle, just for the joy of it.  That was Camp Meeting. 

But this particular evening a wise older lady knelt beside me and asked if I knew that Jesus had died for my sins and whether I had ever prayed to receive Him as my personal Saviour.  I supposed that I hadn't but it certainly seemed the right thing to do.  So I did.  As did my friends.  And we were very pleased with ourselves on rising from our knees.  And happy to know Jesus was in our hearts.  As I recall we dashed out the side door into the balmy summer evening  bubbling over with joy.  But really, it's a bit of a  foggy memory for me. Though I have a definite recollection of Mrs. Wolfram's gentle entreaty to me but I couldn't tell you if there was a dramatic change in my life after that.  Maybe so. I don't remember.  So much for the crucial 'before' and 'after' of a good testimony!

Mine has always been a 'boring' testimony consequently.  But the older and wiser I grow the more grateful I am for a 'boring' story.  It is the one God has scripted for me to walk out for His glory.  He eased me into this faith I call my own. He did the drawing and shaping and destining me for what I would become.  Even the temperament with which I was born was His doing.  I was a child eager to conform to others' expectations of me.  Having grown up in an atmosphere of devotion and service to God it was as natural as breathing to follow in this path. 

Here of course is a potential deception.  For children are not born like radiant sunflowers pointing God-ward.  We are born in sin and bent on having the world revolve around us.  I was no different.  It's just that pleasing others pleased me. My motives were self-serving. Only in retrospect do I see the great mercy of God in welcoming me to His family despite my very limited awareness of my desperate plight.   I  assented to needing a Saviour but, conscientious pleaser that I was, I thought I was pretty good already. (I've been unlearning that every since! It's been no small feat, but God is faithful.)

So that was the beginning of my 'testimony' as I see it.  Perhaps the clearest evidence of God's spirit at work in me though was my love for His Word.   I cannot remember a time when it was not important to me.  I had the advantage of Christian schooling, and dedicated teachers that taught us to memorize it and to personalize what we were reading by asking questions of the text and noticing the details.  That was Junior High.  Reading the Bible through in a year was a challenge we kids all took up more than once.  My parents modelled a dedication to reading the Word. Their morning quiet times were a part of my definition of morning! 

What was missing though was a reminder of the difference it makes to know Jesus.  Because I didn't rub shoulders with 'the world'  I lacked this appreciation.  The Word began to seem same-ish and old like stale bread. I didn't see it changing lives. Then God sent Audrey.  She was a top-notch student, eager and studious.  She even liked History class, which I did not.  Unlike me she wasn't afraid to ask questions and we became good friends.  But she was not like my other friends from childhood.  She hadn't grown up in our kind of church.  Her mother was staunchly religious but not approving of the evangelical idea of salvation in a personal sense.  However, Audrey's parents had recently divorced and Audrey was interested in a relational God.  One night at youth group she asked me how she could become a Christian.  True to form I doubted I could get her there so I took her to George, our leader, and he had the honor of introducing her to Jesus.  That's when life began to change, for her and for me.  Overnight she developed an insatiable appetite and enthusiasm for the Word of God.  She copied down verses on wee scraps of paper  to share with me each morning at school.   Little verses jumped off the page and into her heart--promises and sweet truths she was seeing for the first time.  And her  enthusiasm was contagious. It revived my faith.  We grew together, played guitar together, wrote songs and ate ice cream on waffles.  She was God's gift to my life that year, just when I needed it.  She was pulled out of my school and my life the following year.  This sort of faith was too radical; it ran counter to her mother's form of religion.  So ended  our friendship and so began an intense testing of her newfound faith.  But that is her story to tell.

As for mine, God had plans I wouldn't have dreamed of.  I wasn't much of a dreamer really, just a quiet somebody content to have a few friends, to read my Bible and to love the natural world around me.  I imagined growing old in my childhood home in New Jersey beside a little woods with a little stream running through and a little lake for skating when it froze a little in the winter...Mine was a small and protected world that I had no particular interest in leaving, but God had bigger dreams for me. To Him I owe all that I am, all I have and all that I will yet become.  It's His doings. He has carried me all the way...The journey has been a good one.

That is hardly the place to stop my testimony but for this week it will have to suffice.  Hopefully next week I can commence another installment without such a struggle to 'step up to the microphone' and find something worth saying!

Thanks for your patience,

--LS

"He chose our heritage for us..." Ps.47:4

"Listen to me, O house of Jacob...who have been borne by me from before your birth, carried from the womb; even to your old age I am He, and to gray hairs I will carry you.  I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save." Ps.46:3,4

We’ve outgrown our life plan…

It’s the time of year for Christmas letters, time to re-cap what has transpired month-by-month in our lives.  Births and deaths, weddings and vacations, accomplishments and happy memories.   Meanwhile we relegate the sad, the bad, and the hopeless to wait in the closet till the Christmas letters are signed and mailed, or till we’ve pressed ‘Send’ in our e-mail window.  Everything’s looking good in our house…. (Hmm…but that’s another topic for another day) As for our house, we’re getting ready for two things this year: Christmas, and moving.

I was looking back to see what I said in our Christmas letter last year.  I liked it so well I thought I could use it again this year!  Just fine tune a few details.  Add a year to the new grandbaby’s life. Add a wedding. Add a new job for one of our kids.  Put a chick back in our empty nest and voila.  Not much has changed.  In fact last year at this time I wrote:

So… we are enjoying a quiet winding down of our first year with just the two of us rattling around in this big house. Having gotten past the initial withdrawal ache we are enjoying the chance to rediscover 'us' as we wonder what to do next…Our life goals were evidently too limited; we're only 52 and have run out of ideas! Thirty years ago we started our family and now we're back to square one, alone together again. We sure are glad we still like each other!! We want our lives to be about family still and it sure would be nice to live a little nearer to those precious grandkids…so we're asking the Lord to direct our steps with that in mind.

We’ve been thinking about a move for a long time.  The grandkids just keep growing up without us! But the truth is, we’re comfortable here.  Beautiful surroundings, minimal cost of living, maximal leisure time, low stress…low crime rate--safe place to raise a family.  We have enjoyed eleven years of retreat in this place (and what a spot for a retreat center it could be!)  It’s not that we haven’t been willing to move, at least in theory.  And little by little we’ve been weaned from our first loves here.  My hiking adventures largely died with Louie three years ago.    Jim’s sailing ventures ended with the sale of our boat last year.  [To conclude that story, she actually sank in the Strait last spring during a race at the hands of her new owner!]  Our sailing era is over.  

We have found fellowship here and purpose among God’s people, and we have been refreshed, but there is a sense that it is time to move on.  But still… we are here, asking God to move us, lead us, show us, what more He has for us.  And we wait…

I’ve been mulling over Psalm 32:8’s description of what it means to be directed by God: 

“I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go: I will guide thee with mine eye.  Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto thee.” (Ps.32:8 ) 

What does it mean to wait on God for direction with understanding?  Not idle and mute.  Not stupid and stubborn.  What does it mean to be guided by His eye?

Our recent car crash shook us with the reality that life is indeed short.  We are not guaranteed endless years of health and leisure to come and go as we please.  Our lives are not our own.  We are God’s own possession for His purposes.  And we want to be holy people—not just in the sense of ‘what we don’t do’ but in the sense of being all that we are meant to be. 

For what has He designed us in this stage of our lives? 

I’m a homebody.  I love having my own home, my own quiet circles of family and friends, my own little world… I am comfortable here.  But I have always viewed life on this earth as transitory.  No one stage is guaranteed to last a lifetime.  Perhaps this comes from our early married days in missions; we moved constantly, never expecting to put down permanent roots.  Despite being a homebody at heart, finding my ‘dream home’ would be a hazard for me.  I don’t want my heart to be entangled with a place.  I don’t want my security to be based on having found a comfortable routine, a predictable lifestyle or a familiar circle of friends.  Where is the living by faith once I’ve found my ‘dream home’?  Most of all I don’t want to be ‘as the mule’ who must be coerced to move or he will not.  I want to be willing and ready to gladly lay down my love of home and go wherever…

And that’s what I’m pondering these days, as our talks of moving become tasks of getting ready to actually move.  We have laid down more roots here than ever before.  Literally.  Up until this move our fragile sense of permanence has always prevented us from planting trees.  Here we have planted scores of trees—dozens and dozens of firs, seedling maples that tower over us already, and fruit trees that are just coming into their fruitful years… I understand the longing for the permanence of home, to watch trees and kids grow through all the seasons of life.  But we were never meant to love houses and lands and the comforts of home to such an extent that ‘Follow Me’ precludes leaving these. We were never intended to feel completely comfortable in this world.

So as we sense a move coming up we are sorting and sifting the ‘stuff’ of our lives that has brought us a degree of security but which now weighs us down.  And we are asking: Will we need this to fulfill God’s calling on our lives?  

I thought this part would be easy—this knowing what to take.  When it was about furniture, the choices were more clear.  Ages ago we glibly discussed what furnishings we would take if ever we moved.  Since we started out here with next to nothing—sleeping bags and toiletries, random pots and dishes, we have few sentimental attachments to furniture.  But then we officially moved up with a moving van and there were beds and the antique kitchen table and my heirloom rocker and of course, my desk.  And the rest has just grown on us over the years, as ‘stuff’ is wont to grow in a culture that values ‘things’ as the measure and means of happiness.  And we have been carried along on this tidal wave of ‘blessings’.  Imperceptibly my ‘stuff’ and my comfortable place have become a source of security so that the thought of abandoning it gives me shivers in the night.  What if…Jim dies, the economy crashes, we can never own a house again, we hate living in Alberta… What if…

 

….without you I fall apart…

The two songs that brought me peace on the night when my worries got the upper hand were these:  “Lord, I need you” and “My Hope is built on nothing less than Jesus blood and righteousness.  I DARE NOT trust the sweetest frame (or home, or comfy situation) but wholly lean on Jesus’ Name.”

Never mind the modern adage to ‘follow your heart’.  Mine is a traitor.  It loves its simple comforts and predictabilities.  It is bound to set its hopes on things seen and to quiver at possibilities unseen. It loves the illusion that everything’s under control. It isn’t. Not under my control anyway.

Have you listened to your heartbeat lately? (another example of something not under my control!)  Not just that physical one that pumps the blood that keeps you in life, but your heart of hearts.  It was designed and installed by God,  custom-made to reflect its Creator’s desires, true enough.  But it’s been sabotaged.  In the garden when Eve opted to make her own decisions, to ‘follow her heart’, to get a better understanding of good and evil…on that day the human heart proved itself untrustworthy.

David was known as a man after God’s own heart despite his failings because  he truly wanted what God wanted. When his own heart carried him away he always made his way back by confessing he had been wrong and God right:

“But David's heart struck him after he had numbered the people. And David said to the LORD, “I have sinned greatly in what I have done. But now, O LORD, please take away the iniquity of your servant, for I have done very foolishly.” II Sam.24:10

I want a heart like that.  Saul’s heart was not so pliable.  He cared more for his own glory than God’s. He died for His breach of faith.  Not only did He disobey God’s clear command, but he justified himself.  In addition, because “He did not seek guidance from the LORD” but sought out a medium instead,
“therefore the LORD put him to death and turned the kingdom over to David…” I Chron. 10:13,14  He couldn’t be bothered to do things God’s way.  His own heart betrayed him.

I don’t want this.  So I am speaking ‘Silence!’ to my quivering heart in this transitional season of our lives, and I am asking that  God would plant His desires in my heart.  I want His peace and His vision for our futures. I want my heart to be weaned from finding security in things and circumstances and to truly set its hope in God.  As He makes His desires to be our desires then we will be holy to our God--

“…but let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which in God's sight is very precious. For this is how the holy women who hoped in God used to adorn themselves, by submitting to their own husbands,  as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord. And you are her children, if you do good and do not fear anything that is frightening.” I Pet.3:4-6

Knowing God’s heart is what I’m after, rather than following my own into disillusionment.  I need a refit done on my heart to outfit it with His desires for me. The process is underway.  Part of me is willing to go or stay, to cling to or fling my possessions as He dictates, to forsake this home and fearlessly follow into the great unknown…  He’s got the blueprint for these holy souls he’s making of us. He can see the unique reflection of His glory we are and will be.  He’s got the design and our eyes are on Him for the next steps.

Thanks for sharing our journey by your thoughtful words and prayers.

--LS

“…you have not been like my servant David, who kept my commandments and followed me with all his heart, doing only that which was right in my eyes”
I Kings 14:8

And he walked in all the sins that his father did before him, and his heart was not wholly true to the LORD his God, as the heart of David his father.
I Kings 15:3

‘I have found in David the son of Jesse a man after my heart, who will do all my will.' Acts 13:22

“Who am I, O LORD God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far?” –David, I Chron.17:16

Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding, In all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will make straight your paths. Prov.3:5,6

“Delight yourself in the LORD,
and he will give you the desires of your heart. 
Commit your way to the LORD; trust in Him, and He will act.”
Ps.37:4,5 ESV

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus…” Heb.12:1,2

 

 

 

Small Starts

I am learning something about free time.

It is not the missing magic ingredient that will automatically free us to make all our long-held dreams and ambitions come true.

"If only I had time I would…"

Really?

What uncharted amounts of 'free' time do is call our bluff.

Perhaps you know how it is… When the kids are young we long for time to ourselves… just a little more time than we have. Then they get a little older and more self-sufficient but life somehow isn't any less busy. And we wish we had time from what we are doing, to get to things that we aren't doing—whether it be that shoebox of photos we want to put in albums, or that book we'd read if only, or maybe that book we'd write if we had half a chance! Or maybe we just want some 'down' time to relax and rejuvenate. We could pray more, play more or develop our artistic bents if only there were time…right?

Well, then the kids all up and move away leaving a void of space and time. Time to pursue our dreams, to do all those things we've waited to have time for. And surprise! It takes more than mere time to get down to them.

For me, one of those things I figured time would free me to do is writing. But it's been comically difficult to devote swaths of time to it now that the time has arrived on my doorstep!

As a writer to writers has said: "…the greased slide to writer's block is a huge batch of time earmarked: 'Now write.' "  (*Cameron,13)

This is SO true! Have you read the adorably illustrated children's picture book: "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie"? [You can have it read to you here]  Here is an exaggerated depiction of the unforeseen string of consequences that can flow from the simple offering of a cookie. For me, that cookie has been time. And if you give a would-be-writer unlimited time, beware. A host of other activities may eat it right up! Here's what may happen:

First, she will notice it's practically lunch time (where did the whole morning fly anyway?!) and she really shouldn't try writing on an empty stomach… While she's making short work of chronic leftovers she will realize how cold she is. She decides to warm up with her 3 minute weight-lifting routine, aww…why not do some lunges while you're at it? More fun with music… Oh and look here, a whole exercise routine on You-Tube, and it's 'Christian'. Fun!

Well, there, that warmed things up. Oh, wait, this is actually elliptical exercise day. May as well get that out of the way now so the writing will be uninterrupted. Maybe just do a shorter workout than usual. It'll only take 10 minutes. But the music is rousing; why cut it short? A half hour later it's time for a shower--a quick one of course. (Are you kidding? Who takes quick showers? Water is in endless supply in our locale. What we don't use flows out to sea. We live with the rain; long showers are a dividend.)

…OK, there. All ready to settle down and write, right?

Well, then up pops a 'should'…she really should phone the kids and see how they're doing. It'll be quick. Minutes tick by. No worries. They're free. Good phone plan. All caught up with the 'mama'; better talk to each of the grandkids too… Finally, 'Bye,bye'.

There.

Oh, what's this? New email message? These smart phones are so handy. Ah, and a notification. Hmm… ought to re-schedule that get-together for a different day. Monday's a holiday. Hmmm better do that now before I forget.

And so goes the would-be-writer's afternoon. This is evidenced in the fading daylight coming in the study window. But maybe there's still time to tap out a few words at the computer…Hmm…best get a snack first; all that exercise, you know. What's something quick? How 'bout a frozen waffle with Nutella? Gotta toast it…………….then the spreading with luscious gooey chocolaty goodness…Mmm. But it's still rather dry. Better get a glass of milk to go with it.

Now we can get started, at last. Wait. Messy fingers. And while she's in the kitchen rinsing fingers she realizes it's almost time to start dinner and she really should make something special from scratch, since she has all the time in the world…right?

And behold. All that vast expanse of fertile time just waiting to be turned into timeless words has vanished! What happened?

Truth is it's a daunting thing to come face to face with opportunity to do what you've only dreamed of having time for. Dreams tend to preserve ideals that can't stand the light of day. To imagine doing something, to wonder if you might be able… is quite different from pulling it off. Procrastination is just the outward symptom of a greater malady.

So, if you're waiting for an elusive quantity of time to present itself so that you can accomplish great things hitherto only dreamed of, may I make a few suggestions based on my experience?

• Don't wait. Start now with any 15 minute chunk you can scavenge from some dusty corner of your busy day. Then take a tiny imperfect faltering step in the right direction. It sure beats standing still.
• Start small. Set a measurable clear daily objective.

"A small daily task if it be really daily, will beat the labours of a spasmodic Hercules." –Anthony Trollope

This thought inspired me to make a 30 day grid on watercolor paper of the month of November, and into each tiny square to daily plunk a momento in watercolors. In this way I've broken the stalemate of wanting to begin but not knowing quite what or how.

• Don't require a perfect product. Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly at first… You have to start somewhere! My little squares of color, my scribbled pages of journaling, my roughly composed essays…are not finished products in themselves. But neither does the pianist expect to play in the concert hall without hours of daily practice spread over months and years. Once you are willing to do a thing poorly you will find you have time to begin. Or as Julia Cameron says in an essay of advice to writers:

" We have time to write the minute we are willing to write badly." (The Right to Write, Cameron, p.16)

• Do create arbitrary deadlines, occasions for which to accomplish a thing. That's what a weekly blog deadline does for me. As Friday draws near, ideas condense and writing happens because it must. It becomes a priority. Birthdays and holidays make great occasions for which to create that personalized 'something' that will get your creative juices flowing. But don't insist that it be perfect. Give who you are at present. It really is the thought that counts.
  
• Be patient with yourself. Consider how long it takes an infant to become an athlete… First he must learn to stand and then to take those first faltering steps that most surely will end in a fall. Many falls. Many messes will happen before a beautiful creation is accomplished. Becoming proficient requires practice. Practice looks immature, silly, and yes, messy. Somehow babies manage to always be 'cute' whether toddling unsteadily, plopping unceremoniously, or scribbling indecipherably. But not so the rest of us. We must be prepared to look silly, to produce work below our own standard of acceptability, to be learners.

But above all, don't ignore that creative God-given bent that burns in your bones to be given time to blossom… Ask God to open your eyes to the time that you have now and to hold your hand as you toddle forth… What's in your heart to learn / to do someday? Today is a good day to make a small start.

--LS

So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. ... And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it. Ps. 90:12, 17 KJV

“Who dares despise the day of small things…” Zec.4:10

P.S.  A helpful book on jump starting your creative bent, written from a Biblical perspective, is Janice Elsheimer's: The Creative Call .
For more information click here. 

_____________________

*Cameron, Julia. The Right to Write, Putnam, 1998, p.13

“He has my heart”

The little guy sat among all those adults coloring while the preacher preached. He was only six but his parents thought the whole family should sit in church together-- whether they 'got' everything that was said or not. So, here he was, coloring as Pastor Roger laid out his theme…

God treasures our sacrificial love. We show we love Him when we give the best that we have… The widow gave her mite. Mary spent her precious bottle of perfume. Cups of water given in His name count too. As the message came to a close its theme was brought home with a pointed question: "Does Jesus have anything of yours in His treasure box?"

Without hesitation, the little fellow looked up from his coloring and responded matter-of-factly: 'Yes, He has my heart.'  Few heard his little voice. But his mother, sitting beside him, teared up at his words. To her they were precious—an indication that he really understood the transaction he had made with Jesus several weeks previous.

It had happened on the walk to the school bus stop. How she hated to release her tender first-born to the wide cruel world in this way, but at least she could accompany him to the bus stop… She had baby brother in the Snugli and little sister in tow. And as they walked they couldn't help noticing the majestic billowing clouds on the horizon. It had made her think of Jesus' promise to return and to whisk away His children to meet Him in the air. And so they talked about that.

Would everyone go? No, only those who had invited Jesus to live in their hearts…Well her firstborn son sure didn't want to miss out on that. They had stopped and bowed their heads right then and there on that long dusty driveway under the shade of a big blue umbrella and they had done business with God. It was a simple beginning to a relationship with Jesus. But that child knew that Jesus had his heart, and  counted it precious.

That was twenty-three years ago. The little fellow grew up to be a strapping young man—handy and hard-working, daring and doing all manner of things hitherto unheard of in his family. He was a dynamo, that boy. Everything he did was done with intensity. He threw himself into stamp collecting and odd jobs, magic tricks and juggling. He swam competitively and memorized AWANA verses the same way. He composed and performed rap lyrics that echoed long after the performance ended. He wrote unforgettable essays and plays--unforgettably revealing and convicting, that is. And eventually he graduated from high school and moved away to see what in the wide world he had missed in the protective environs of home…

Many things vied for his heart; it was a big one—strong, and eager to live fully. He embraced mistakes as an effective way to learn, and grew wise. All the while his heart was kept in Jesus' treasure box. Try as he might to give it away to lesser things, the reality of his childhood decision pulled him back. He himself would remind his anxious mother of the reassuring proverb that a child well-trained will not turn away from his upbringing. And his mother watching from afar gradually let out her breath and thanked the Lord for keeping this one's heart in His treasure chest. And she watched as her son became the devoted husband of a God-fearing and beautiful wife, and the affectionate father to his own little ones.

And as she watched, she prayed… This was her calling. This is her calling still. Her first-born's 29th birthday is coming up. She is proud of all that he has become and is becoming. She feels privileged to have been called to the role of "mother" to this whole-hearted son. And as she watches God's hand at work in his life, she stores up all these things in her own treasure box. And one day, when Jesus comes in the clouds to whisk His children away, she will present it to Him in gratitude for letting her share this small part in furthering His Kingdom.


Happy Birthday Son!

I am confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus!

--LS

Who is the faithful and wise servant, whom his master has set over his household, to give them their food at the proper time? Blessed is that servant whom his master will find so doing when he comes. Mt.24:45,46

But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart... Lk.2:19

"Thine is the greatness and the power and the glory and the victory and the majesty… all is thine." I Chr. 29:11

The Essence of the Editor

I've finished reading three books in the last month or so--one by a fledgling Christian author not yet 30 years old, another by a long-time bestselling author, now dead, who didn't begin writing till he was 40. [The third, by an acclaimed novelist I had never read--but that story will keep for another time.]

Each of these books--the first: a memoir, the second: fiction--has shown me something valuable about who I am and who I want to be.

The In-Between, by young blogger, now author-in-print, Jeff Goins, reminded me that the thing we press ahead to attain may not be all that we intend if we manage to make it happen prematurely or without the necessary teamwork. An accomplishment reached before its time is like a rosebud forced open and spoiled. Maturing and reaching the ideals we most admire takes time. The 'in-between' interim is not a waste of time, but crucial to our growth and integral to the becoming we await…

This is the main point of Jeff's book, but ironically, it is also the truth I see underlined by the poor quality of this, his second paperback in as many years. I have appreciated Jeff's good words at his blog for writers. He does an excellent job at it. But his goal was to get published, and so he has. The product is rough and awkward, not the well-honed product one expects from a major publishing house. Granted, The In-Between is readable and of inherent value as Jeff's candid personal memoir, but it is not excellent. It lacks the eye of an experienced editor willing to come alongside and help him sort and polish his words to greater clarity. Could it be that rushing to the goal of 'getting published' has short-circuited the crucial 'in-between' time of preparation?

Or maybe the world of publishing is just changing and audiences are more tolerant of 'mistakes' as long as the author has something to say and shares a piece of himself in the process. Jeff has done this.

Perhaps the reason I find myself criticizing the quality of his finished work is that concurrently with reading his book I have been reading The Novel by seasoned writer, James Michener. Written back in 1991 toward the tired end of his successful career as a novelist, it lacks the 'umphh' and excellence of his popular earlier works. [Contrary to cover descriptions it is neither riveting nor suspenseful, at least not until the last 35 of the 435 pages, which unveil and hurriedly solve an unexpected murder mystery!] It is not his best novel but what did fascinate me about this slow-moving fiction was its thorough depiction of the inner workings of the publishing world. The role of the editor enthralled me. Was I born for this?!

The book is divided into four segments, each written from a different point of view: The Writer, The Editor, The Critic, and The Reader. I had imagined the part of the writer fairly well but had little idea how influential the editor's role is in determining the final product. Here is the person without whose expertise the writer will never achieve his best work. Here is the person who must not only spot the author's faults and quirks but must be able to cheer him on to remedy them.  She must inspire him to improve, to revise his story line if need be, to re-cast his characters more credibly, to rewrite and revise until his story truly represents his best effort. Her role is indispensable. 

Ironically, the editor is tasked with inspiring and facilitating a task which she herself is unable to do. She is not a novelist. She is an editor. But her skill or lack thereof will be clearly evident in the finished product. The author is deeply indebted to a competent editor, but the book will not bear her name. She is just the editor. But the book will not fulfill its potential without her best efforts.

How like the Body of Christ this is. We are not intended to be 'solo' saints, heroes doing exploits single-handedly, pedestal people clambering over one another to be the best--'conceited, provoking one another, envying one another.' (Gal.5:26) We are each only parts of the great published work that will chronicle our Lord's glory. Only together with each member doing the part for which she/he was designed will we showcase the manifold wisdom of God to all the powers that be, in both heaven and hell! (Eph.3:10)

It's a team effort. One may be chosen to write. Another will have suggestions to add to that work, and corrections. Another will work to make the formatting and cover design attractive. While yet others will be busy with the technical features of printing and binding, and still others the ‘people’ aspects of marketing and sales…All contribute their best so that the reader can know the thoughts of the writer. Without any one of these experts the end-product will not achieve its fullest potential.

A book with a professionally designed cover and immaculate formatting will be a failure if the editor has neglected its content.

And even the most insightful writing, edited to near perfection will miss its greatest audience if it is wrapped in a glum unattractive cover and left on a shelf to be discovered.

But back to Michener's novel... the third point-of-view was that of the Critic—the one who assesses the worth of the finished product, but has no vested interest in its success. Depending on his expert opinion, sales of the book may rise or fall, unless common good-sense and relish for the book override his intellectual opinion. The critic's reviews may be scathing and heartless; encouraging the author is not his task. Promoting excellence in literature is. But if he is not watchful, his elitism may blind him to what is truly good and praiseworthy. The Critic in this story was my least favorite character, but I also recognize my own propensity to fill this role. Pronouncing judgments without regard to the person behind the work is an odious fault.

But the critic in this story had an epiphany. He was intent on writing his own novel, one that would tower above the common lot. But try as he would, he could not. Being also a university professor who taught writing, he had a sense of excellence that he himself could not produce. But he could train others. At last he had to concede:

"…I had an obligation to become honest about who I was and was not. I was not a novelist. I did not have the insights and poetry required by the creative writer. What I did have was a powerful understanding of what good writing was. I had a nose that unfailingly identified rubbish. And I could teach others to do what I couldn't." (Michener, The Novel, p.291)

Isn't this too what it is like to be a part of the Body of Christ? Some of us are noses, others livers. Some are hands and feet, others eyes. There is no point in envying or longing to duplicate another's excellence (though I still do at times). But we can honor others' abilities even as we contribute our own to their success. Only then will we all "attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ…" Only together, "when each part is working properly," will "the body grow so that it builds itself up in love." (Eph.4:13,16)

Fulfilling our callings is not an individual pursuit, anymore than a writer can create a masterpiece alone. But with each one doing his part the final copy will be amazing. And whose name will the cover bear? not ours, but Christ's who dreamed up the story of redemption before the beginning of time and has given us the privilege of taking part in its being published!

-------------

Meanwhile, behind the scenes at the Skelton house, I am studying the trade of Copy-editing. This is what I want to be when I grow up! I am seeing now that it is not all negative—finding fault and circling it in red. That part comes naturally to me! The true goal is to see beyond the errors to what a manuscript might become if the author will persevere with the editor at his side cheering him on. And I think that's a pretty awesome role to aspire to in this next season of my life…

--LS

"…speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ.” Eph.4:15   " He must increase, but I must decrease." Jn. 3:30

Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. Gal.6:2

"Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them…” Rom 12:6

Clearing Streams…

I’ve been thinking lately of my life as an obstructed streamlet. As a kid our house adjoined a small woods through which a stream trickled carrying run-off from the surrounding farmland to the small lake where we skated in the winter and might catch a fish or two in the summer. Every year leaves would fall and rot and clog the flow of water to the lake.  I appointed myself the task of dragging the leaves and muck away so the water could run freely. In company with my dogs and a stick it was a happy pastime.

Now, at this stage in my life, this lull between stages actually,  I am taking stock of the baggage I've hauled around for all these years, both literally and figuratively. I'm not only cleaning out drawers and whole rooms for better utility and greater beauty but I'm looking at long-held habits-- ways of thinking, acting and reacting. Habitual burdens that make life heavy and clog my streams. And I am thinking the time is now, if ever they are to be jettisoned—these fears I haven’t challenged and the pride that fuels them. These endless reasons why this or that is not feasible and really not a good idea after all...  I long to be done with them. 

What am I waiting for?  Why do we cling to our baggage instead of checking it through to never-never-land!  What would it take to drag all this muck out of the stream so it can run freely. 

If I wait till I have ‘ME’ all figured out

     my fears, doubts and foibles

ironed out---solved---vanquished

    my purpose in life clearly charted and understood….

All questions answered

All uncertainties clarified.

When then will I begin…

to try my hand at the things I am drawn to

to serve in love according to my design

            available

                a living sacrifice

                     ‘as-is’

                        imperfect, weak, and ineffectual in glaring ways,

BUT chosen, appointed, useful, and declared ‘just right’

because of Jesus—who died on my behalf

                             ---who lives to intercede for me (and you)

Who infuses my mind with truth,

                 my heart with desire,

          my hands with strength,

that is equal to His purposes for my life.

        Not equal to my ideals perhaps,

                   nor to my envies

            nor to my every whim or compulsion

But equal to His calling and intents—

            His image overlaid on my uniquely created personhood.

He is prepared to take me ‘as is’,

   His servant,

           for His own glory.

What am I waiting for?

 

A scene from my childhood comes back to me now.  I have long had this compulsion to be more dedicated, more holy, more ‘something-I-don’t-seem-to-be’, more pleasing… In this instance I recall I had plunked down with my journal in a quiet place in the wood, not far from that streamlet I had cleared, and I was considering what it would mean  to be a ‘bondservant’. Marked for life, by one’s own choice, as the slave of a cherished Master.  Paul called himself ‘a bondservant of Christ’.  I wanted to be that too.  My reasons may have been more a prideful compulsion to please, than a pure love of my Master.  I remember being sober and fearful to trust Him with my life.  But I wanted to trust.  Little knowing what this would entail in the years still ahead of my young-teen self, I wrote out my commitment in words that day, pledging to be a bondservant of Christ.

And here I am, all these years later, still clearing leaves from streams, still sensing His Spirit beckoning me to trust Him to complete the good work He has started--to make of me all He has designed for me to be. But I find it is He who has done the serving. He who has been committed to me through the thick and the thin of my professed love.  And I know it will be His doing if living water is to flow through my streamlet or burdensome baggage yet be jettisoned from my life.  It is good to be bonded to such a Master!

With living words He woos me to more effectual service:

“Walk by my Spirit and you will not fulfill the lusts of the flesh... Whatever you do, do it as unto me. Abide in me. Walk in my yoke. It's easy. It's light….”

He beckons me to lay aside every weight to which sin clings so closely-- these weights of expectation. These ‘should’s. These demands for things to be other than they are.  Unbelief and discontent with His provision cling closely to these weights. He calls me to lay them aside and run with endurance the race marked out for ME. (Heb.12:1) Not another's race, but mine.

To trust God to complete the work he’s begun in us, this is the ‘obedience of faith’.(Rom.16:26) To live in confident hope of a yet-to-be-revealed righteousness, this is our salvation (Gal.5:5).  And for our every need, our every weakness, our every propensity for sin Jesus’ blood intercedes and grants us free access to God’s mercy and His grace. (Heb.4:14ff)  What more do we need? 

What pleases God?  Jesus does.  He in me and I in Him,  this is enough. (Jn.15:4) Here may I rest my case, beside the quiet streams…

1. Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
   Let me hide myself in Thee;
   Let the water and the blood,
   From Thy wounded side which flowed,
   Be of sin the double cure,
   Save from wrath and make me pure.
   
2. Not the labor of my hands
   Can fulfill Thy law’s demands;
   Could my zeal no respite know,
   Could my tears forever flow,
   All for sin could not atone;
   Thou must save, and Thou alone.
   
3. Nothing in my hand I bring,
   Simply to Thy cross I cling;
   Naked, come to Thee for dress;
   Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
   Foul, I to the fountain fly;
   Wash me, Savior, or I die.
   
4. While I draw this fleeting breath,
   When my eyes shall close in death,
   When I rise to worlds unknown,
   And behold Thee on Thy throne,
   Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
   Let me hide myself in Thee.

--Augustus M. Toplady, 1740-1778

--LS

 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light. (Mat 11:28-30 KJV)

“… being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ” (Phl 1:6 NKJV)

My Haunted Home

Hauntingly lonely.  Those were the words that came to my mind as we walked in late after dropping our ‘baby’ off to fly away to school.

Having dropped her off very early that morning Jim and I  had spent a lovely day together, albeit punctuated by glances at the clock and calculations as to where Rachel would be by now…

‘Ah. She’s getting on the plane now…She’s realizing how tired she is…Oh. She’s arriving in Houston… Oh, she’s on the last leg of her trip—must be relieved and excited…Ah. She’s heading for the baggage claim and shuttle to meet the others.  So exciting. So tired..’

As her long awaited dream was taking shape before her eyes we were doing rather ordinary things… riding tandem in the balmy morning…sitting in traffic and more traffic…. shopping at at Costco… waiting for ferries, driving home…

But then we’d arrived home and oh how empty the house felt-- hauntingly lonely. Mechanically, automatically as is our custom no matter how late we get in, we unloaded the van and began putting away our few things-- toiletries, laundry, groceries in their old places, warding off words that might lead to disabling tears. It all seemed rather strange, this rattling around as a two-some in a house meant for a family.  But as part of the familiar process we checked the mail, and there was just the reminder I needed. Yes, our house is haunted. It’s haunted by grace.  God knew just what I’d need…

In the mailbox just outside the front door, tucked in with a letter for Rachel from a pen-pal, was a handmade card from old missionary friends we trained with.  Our babies were babies together and then our paths parted to far-flung places.  They are just returning to their post after sending their youngest off to university. The opening words were: “We have come to another chapter in our lives…”  How apropos! What am I whining about; their children are whole continents away!

It was a short note, a grateful one acknowledging the Lord’s goodness, grace, protection and leading in each of their children’s lives…and it closed with a prayer from Colossians: “that you continue to walk in a manner worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to Him, bearing fruit in every good work and increasing in the knowledge of God.” (1:10)  Somehow it was just the reset that I needed, like a silent assurance that God sees, God is pleased, God has purposes yet for our lives. Continue to walk…  This is all we need to do. Just keep walking with Him.  Our roles may be changing but the underlying  purposes for our lives have not changed. We are still here to know Him and live for His pleasure, whatever that may entail.

We are not alone, never have been, never will be.  When Jesus went away He promised not to leave His disciples as orphans.  And so He hasn’t.  The Holy Spirit is alive and well here residing in us to strengthen, encourage and enable us to do all that He will yet call us to do, including living with contentment in every circumstance!  The Voice of God still echoes off the pages of His Word filling our empty moments with grace.  We shall survive and thrive in this our haunted home for His pleasure.

 

And may you too be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light!
(Col.1:11,12)

--LS   

Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think according to the power at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever. Amen. Eph.3:20,21

“I’d be Delighted!”

Once-upon-a-humid North Dakota afternoon on a gently sloping coulee bank two young lovers exchanged words that ushered in a whole new life for both of them.  Their destinies were joined that day when the young girl responded to the eager young man’s proposal of marriage with the words: “I’d be delighted”.

That was thirty years ago.  Just months afterward there would be a formal exchange of vows and the two would drive off into the sunset with all their earthly goods tucked into a quaint hand built ‘doghouse’ on the back of an antique VW truck. They had hopes and plans tucked in too, but really they were blissfully unaware and unconcerned with all that awaited them down the road. It was enough that they were together.

Blizzards, Babies, Births and Deaths, Homes hither and yon, Miles and miles of travel, Years and years of growing up, for them and their brood ensued…then with a flip of the calendar on another humid summer’s day thirty years hence they sat staring at the last month of life as they had known it. The last child was leaving home shortly and what would be next they could only wonder.  There was no real game plan this time.  Their destinies to date had exceeded their hopes and dreams.  They were in need of fresh vision for the remaining years… Where does one go to get  vision?  How do dreams hatch?  

I’ve been pondering these things lately.  What is it that gives the day-to-day a sense of purpose?  We will make meals and eat and do dishes, sleep and get up, clean house and ride bikes, work and get paid.  This is survival.  But what is our vision for the future? Why are we doing all this?

I read again this week Paul’s testimony before King Agrippa (Acts 26). His life was winding down.  The book of Acts is now nearly complete.  Paul was on trial, he said,  for his hope in God’s promise of resurrection.  He had lived to attain this Resurrection from the dead himself—forgetting what was behind, pressing ever forward, as he puts it, ‘for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus’ (Phil.3:11-14)

He was telling his story to the king. There had been a time when he was convinced  he ought to do things that were actually quite contrary to what God had in mind.  He was on the road toward doing them when KAZAM! God intervened.  A blinding light from heaven.  A voice of introduction: “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting.” Instructions.  A brief job resume.  And Saul became Paul, a changed man with a vision that would last his whole life through.  A vision that would carry him through “hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, hunger” (II Cor.6:4,5) and much more!  A vision so strong that he could say “I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus to testify to the gospel of the grace of God.” (Acts 20:24) He never took credit for his work, or boasted of the great job he was doing.  He considered it a stewardship which he carried out in the strength that God provided (Eph.3:7) “For necessity is laid upon me.  Woe to me if I do not preach the gospel!” (I Cor.9:16) 

But this purposeful life began with a calling—God had interrupted Paul’s misdirected zeal with a revelation of Himself and a declaration of His purposes for Paul’s life—I have appeared to you for a purpose: to appoint you as a servant and witness of what I’ve done and will do for you.  I am sending you to open the Gentiles’ eyes that they may turn from darkness to light, from Satan’s power to God, and be forgiven, and join the company of the redeemed by faith. (Acts 26:15-18 paraphrased)

This purposeful life necessitated a willingness on Paul’s part.  He had to respond in obedience to God’s call:  “Therefore, O King Agrippa, I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision.” This ‘I’d- be- delighted’ sort of response kicked off a whole new destiny for Paul. God’s enabling followed on the heels of Paul’s acceptance of his mission, “To this day I have had the help that comes from God, and so I stand here testifying both to small and great…” and the result was the life and teachings of Paul that continue to enrich and encourage believers down through history.  All because he was ‘obedient to the heavenly vision.’ 

On the basis of this obedience he invited believers of his day: “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.” (I Cor.11:1)  We may not have a heavenly vision.  But we do have a calling.  This is it.  This is the big picture when I lose my bearings and wonder what life will yet hold for us now that there is no brood under our roof to nurture.  I am invited to follow Christ’s example—who laid down His rights in order to carry out the Father’s will, obedient to death, faithful to the one who appointed him, glad to do the Father’s bidding, always. “My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work.” Jn.4:34 This attitude of willingness to do whatever God puts before me seems key to following my true destiny, with or without a ‘heavenly vision’.

It wasn’t so much about the vision anyway, but about meeting Jesus! Long ago at many times and in many ways God spoke to his messengers, the prophets, in visions, through donkeys, in dreams in the night, thundering from mountain tops, in burning bushes. (Heb.1:1) It was terrifying. For all but the prophet who heard it, it was a second-hand way of hearing from God. Some still seek these dramatic exchanges.  But in reality we have been entrusted with something more sure than any vision in the night. We have the living and abiding words of Scripture, a sure and unerring revelation of God’s nature and purposes, a sufficient guide for life and godliness, and yes, for understanding his purposes for our lives at every juncture. (see: II Pet.1:19-21;  II Tim.3:14-17) I am thankful.  I am not left without compass or guidebook.

But more than that, I am not left in need of a prophet, a dramatic vision, or an utterance from Heaven in order to perceive my destiny. Hebrews reminds us God has spoken ultimately to us ‘in these last days’  by His Son (Heb.1:1), the Word made flesh,  sent on our behalf to represent God to us and to offer Himself a sacrifice for us.  Because of Him we can approach God, be indwelt by His Spirit, hear His voice internally and know His will, all without being destroyed!

The whole book of Hebrews is a declaration of the supremacy of the Son, the apostle (sent one) and high priest (our go-between) of our confession. He is the Author and Finisher of our faith.  Knowing Him is our calling.  Looking to Him is all the vision that we need (Heb.12:1,2).  Yes, He is still the Way, the Truth and the Life.  To do His will is still my delight and my destiny.  And He is fully capable of intervening, as per Paul’s testimony (Acts 26:9) ,  if I should be convinced of ‘many things I ought to do’ which aren’t in keeping with His mission for my life.

Yes, I’d be delighted to journey with this Jesus for the rest of my life, even if I can’t see ‘round the next bend in the road.  Since when should I care, as long as we’re together.

--LS 

Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession, who was faithful to him who appointed him…Heb.3:1

“I delight to do your will, O my God; your law is within my heart.” Ps.40:8

Wherefore, my beloved, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of [his] good pleasure. Phil.2:12,13

Now may the God of peace who brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus, the great shepherd of the sheep, by the blood of the eternal covenant, equip you with everything good that you may do his will, working in us that which is pleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen. Heb.13:20,21

Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain, that is, through his flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God,  let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.  Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.  And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works…  Heb.10:19-24

He leadeth me, still.

It’s like I’ve come to a fork in the road. There’s no going straight ahead, no going on just like always. Life is changing, whether I like it or not, and demands that I get my bearings!

Rachel turned 18 this week and took off on a camping trip to celebrate.  How empty the house seemed.  How full of minutes to spend doing something, anything! It’s not that there aren’t projects to do. I spent hours fabricating a custom Kindle cover  .  And there are books to read, and gardens to water and meals to fix but I’m not yet accustomed to the freedom to do anything whenever without interruption.  I’ve got to get re-oriented here.  Make some decisions.  Formulate a plan of action.  Set some goals.  Figure out my purpose in life!

But it’s more than that, this fork in the road has everything to do with attitude.  Will I embrace the next stage of life with joy and with gratitude or with mully-grubbing reluctance, dragging my feet as if it would help time go backwards-- back to the ‘good old days’ when we were young, and busy, and so surrounded by family that there was little question of our purpose in life!

Yes, there are perceived losses.  My eyes strain easily.  My body creaks more than it did at twenty.  My ‘children’ are nowhere to be seen—they’ve morphed into independent adults. My days are uncharted. Yes, I feel a little lost some days, especially when I scan the horizon in an effort to imagine what’s up ahead. But I have a choice how I proceed.  Whining or trusting.  One way leads to life, of the eternal sort. The other just to crotchety old age.

I sat one morning reflecting on these things and I thought of Jim’s mom, now experiencing Glory.  She was very skilled and talented with her hands. She sewed Jim’s wedding suit, complete with pin-tucked shirt.  She created endlessly—knitting, crocheting, making memory albums, crafting with whatever resources were at hand.  Their house was full of the raw materials of her arts—books, machines, yarn and fabric…And then she began developing macular degeneration. And she was diagnosed with a terminal illness that drained her energy and often caused her pain.  One by one, all the things she loved best to do were taken from her.  But as her eyesight dimmed and so many of her possessions became useless to her, her spirit grew strong.  She consciously and conspicuously trusted her Creator with her incapacities and with her days.  She trusted that God’s purposes for her were good.

She got an audio version of the Bible.  She phoned and asked about the kids so she would know how to pray…and she found she had extra time to pray.  She aged gracefully, gratefully, self-effacingly.  She took the fork that leads to eternal life, this way that shines brighter as the physical grows feebler.  I thought of her, a witness gone before and knew the fork in the road I want to be on.

It will necessitate embracing a new normal, stepping confidently into change without a constant looking back at perceived loss. (Is anything really loss in view of God’s eternal purposes? Phil.3:8) It is a walk by faith, willing to believe that God’s purposes override my self serving ones.  He crafts all the days of my life to shape me into a reflection of Himself. This is His purpose for me.  His glory is the end in view, not my sense of temporal comfort or significance. 

And what a relief to know that Jesus will shepherd me through the changes.  The Lord is my shepherd still.  The antiquated words of that old hymn ring in my mind:  “He leadeth me, O blessed thought, O words with heav’nly comfort fraught…”.  [Do click here for a stirring acapella version of this good hymn]  He leads me.  I am not standing here at this junction on my own.  I don’t have to chart my course, or figure out my purpose; He’s got it laid out.  I need only to hang close to Him and He will guide me in the execution of this fork in the road, for His glory.  This is such a relief.

After all, though my life may seem to be undergoing change at an alarming rate, His purpose hasn’t changed from the beginning of time. It still stands—to bring all things together in Christ,and to conform each of us to Jesus’ image!  And His mercy and His grace have not grown thin.  Nor has the modus operandi for me changed.  It’s still by faith I must proceed.  Still walking with Him into a future I cannot see.   Hasn’t this always been the case? 

He leadeth me, O blessèd thought!
O words with heav’nly comfort fraught
Whate’er I do, where’er I be
Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.  --Jo­seph H. Gil­more, 1862.

AMEN!

--LS
In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, so that we who were the first to hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory. Eph.1:11,12

Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving. Col.2:6,7

Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed. Heb.12:12,13

All the way my Saviour leads me, what have I to ask beside?
Can I doubt His tender mercy who through life has been my Guide?
–Fanny Crosby, the blind hymn writer

Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us,
looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith…Heb.12:1,2

Peace in Process…

I am a homebody.  I am happy in my ‘pumpkin’.  I feel safe here, and useful, and competent.  I know the routine.  I’ve been making meals for us for nearly thirty years.  I make bread and cookies too.  I don’t iron but I do laundry, and I vacuum and once every few months I may even dust something or sweep a cobweb from a corner…It’s not the height of excitement being home, but life is meaningful and predictable, pretty much, and peaceful.

Intruding into that sameness come appointments:  Dentist visits.  Eye doctor check-ups…regularly scheduled commitments, the odd ‘occasion’ or event… and my routine is jostled.  My insides flutter. Peace gets flustery.  I’ve always been somewhat this way, easily put off kilter.  But I thought with the wisdom and perspective of age, I would out-grow such nervousness. It seems quite the opposite.  And I’ve been wondering why?

Could it be, I’ve  become confident in a realm I can handle most of the time on my own steam?  And have forgotten that all my competence comes from the Lord and  that for every breath and every day I am dependent in reality on Him?  Could it be that my ‘peace’ is more dependent on my feeling ‘in control’ than on any conscious dependence on God?

As March  rushes to a finish, this homebody too is changing pace.  Lord willing by week’s end we’ll be sitting on the old familiar ferry with bags in tow, heading out for the long drive to visit the grandkids for Easter week.  Wonderful prospect, but first the anticipation, the getting ready, the upheaval of change… Then comes an additional twist to our plans.  Tacked to the tail-end of this trip will be a flight on my own to Alaska for a last-minute ‘reunion’ with family while life and sanity remain.  My dad is failing.  My mom needs her kids to come and see him ‘one last time’ while he may still be mindful of us….

Why do my insides roil at the prospect?  Why does anxiety rise in the face of change?  My sense of being in control is threatened; is that it? Am I only at peace when I feel all the variables are under my control?!  That’s pretty delusive.  Since when is maturity about gaining competence that lets me think I’m ok on my own and no longer dependent on my Father? 

An array of fears that now seem so little  used to drive me to prayer and conscious God-dependence…getting behind the steering wheel, for instance.  I remember too the grace that carried me beyond the safety of my closed little community to a distant place with the strange sounding name of “Alberta” for my last year of high school.  Shy little me was the least likely of my childhood friends to have done such a thing—but for my adventurous mom, the mother with big dreams that had anchored her own to stay home and raise her kids…She had this vision for me and passed on the God-confidence to make it come true, even for me. Little did I know how life-changing it would be, or that one day visiting Alberta would be about visiting my grandbabies, who were all born there!

So as I book flights and make lists and take steps to avoid last-minute rushes, I’m consciously committing myself again to God’s care, asking HIs guidance in the details, and counting on Him to carry out His purposes in this too for His glory!

--LS

Not that we are competent in ourselves to claim anything for ourselves, but our competence comes from God. II Cor.3:5

Search me, God, and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting. Ps.139:23,24

You will keep him in perfect peace, Whose mind is stayed on You, Because he trusts in You. Is.26:3

Of Minas and life missions…

Have you noticed how unique the walk of faith is for each of us?

We are called to imitate Christ and yet we will not all be itinerate miracle workers without a place to lay our heads…

Paul invited the brothers to imitate his example (Phil. 3:17), to follow him as he followed Christ, but not all were called to the missionary perils he endured in bringing the Gospel to the Gentiles…

My friend felt compelled to tell everyone that Jesus loved them and could not let a fellow hiker pass without some word shared…

I’ve read countless biographies of ‘great Christians’—missionaries, preachers, musicians, doctors, ordinary and extraordinary people accomplishing great things for God…

And once upon a time I was going to be a Bible Translator, a single woman missionary if need be,  who would bring the Gospel story to an indigenous people who had never seen their language in writing…

That was something I was sure I could do—loving words and linguistic puzzles and bookish work, but skittish of people—yes, this would be just the thing for an intellectual introvert.

Then I was found and loved and invited to marry…and everything began to change. I  worked hard at language study.  I enthusiastically  transcribed stories in a foreign tongue.  But I only endured lessons with a ‘language helper’ as my energies were spent with bearing young and being tugged by motherhood to devote myself to my brood not mere language work…

Eventually, we turned over the language work and translation project to able native hands and I was freed to be a wife and mother without a competing role to play.  Soon,  I became their official ‘teacher’ as well and it was good.  This was a life I had not imagined but I thrived on it, grateful for the God who redirects our steps to fulfill the deepest desires of our hearts… even the desires buried beyond our own recognition…

Now that season too is coming to an end but still I am to follow Christ…If not into itinerate evangelism then what?  I cringe at the expectations put on me by stories of ‘great Christians’.  I have a static attraction for commands that are given to others, as if they were my own.  I hear the word ‘evangelism’ and wilt.  Guilt trips attach to me like lint to velvet.

Then I consider Jesus’ Parable of the Ten Minas…  (Luke 19; Mt.25)  how that the nobleman has gone into a far country to receive for Himself a Kingdom and then return…how that in the meantime he has entrusted his servants with  funds to invest.  He asks only that they ‘engage in business until [he]comes.’ Upon his return he is pleased with their investments, except for the one who has skulked away and refused to invest anything for the King’s benefit.  He claims to have been afraid and to have thought his lord to be harsh and unfair.  But he has not even put his allowance in the bank to gain interest. 

I used to equate myself to this cringing worthless servant--Fearful of risk.  Fearful of opportunity—simply because I wasn’t doing what others seemed to think everyone should be doing.  I wasn’t evangelizing my neighbors, starting children’s clubs for straying goat herders,  or discipling anyone…(?) at least not in the romanticized ways I was picturing! 

But this servant is called worthless, wicked and slothful and thrown into outer darkness.  Gulp.  This man’s story does not reflect what’s in my heart. I may be fearful but I am confident my Master is good, not harsh or exacting.  He is gracious, patient and persistent. He is at work in me to will and to do all His good pleasure.  I am not destined for the pit but for glory. I have long labored under false impressions of what is expected of me. I want to lay it down. 

I want to be open to all He will yet invite me to participate in.  I have to remind myself that He knows the desires of my heart. And that He knows that I know that all that I have accomplished in these years of mothering and teaching, and yes, of soul-winning and discipling my own brood, all this has only been by His grace…I know these things.  And I can trust Him for tomorrow’s business. I can trust Him to shape the desires of my heart to fit His purposes. 

He hasn’t returned yet.  There is still time to ‘engage in business’.  What minas do I hold in my hand?  Where can I invest them?  These are the things I consider as I carry on with the life He has given me to live.  I refuse to obsess about ‘spiritual gifts’.  I suspect that in the systematizing of these we have trampled and overlooked people’s unique designs and hindered the natural process of discovering our places in the Body. I am confident (for today anyway) that as I abide in the Word and let it abide in me, as I embrace godly fellowship, and as I walk in an attitude of submission day by day, attentive to the direction of my Head, the future will unfold as the past has—my heart shaped by His,  my will formed to coincide with His, my life purpose--His glory. 

For it is God that works in me to will and to do His good pleasure…(Phil.2:13)

--LS

This song says all:  By Grace Alone .  Enjoy.

I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service. And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God. For I say, through the grace given unto me, to every man that is among you, not to think of himself more highly than he ought to think; but to think soberly, according as God hath dealt to every man the measure of faith.” Rom.12:1-3

Feeling Brown

For today, I'm departing from the usual fare here—perhaps because it's school time and creative writing assignments inspire me—please allow me some poetic license as I explore the color brown… and perhaps you'll want to add a comment about the color that most appeals to you!

 

Brown of hair and eye, and personality myself, I love the color brown. I once sat beside someone who scorned its flatness unknowingly and extolled the color pink which she wore and carried. She’s right. Pink is lovely too. But I’m most at home with brown.

The cedar shakes of the house Dad built when we were young were brown, a honeyed brown growing dark with age. The wood he lathed and loved was brown, whether golden like oak or rosy like cherry or with the dark dignity of walnut. Rich wood grain and softest leather, garden soil and firewood, all share the natural warmth of brown. Mud is brown too I suppose, but it is good company for bare toes, or mountain bikes exploring, or first pies or desert toads. Brown is no flat dull monochrome. Consider cinnamon and nutmeg, root beer and dear old ‘Shags’ (my childhood mutt)— all brown things I’ve loved.

And don't forget chocolate. Who doesn't love it? Whether milk or dark, chips or syrup, brownies, mousse or hot cocoa, all are variations of delicious brown as are the nuts that compliment them: almonds, pecans, walnuts; all are robed in brown. And did I mention caramel? Or better yet, penuche. Made from brown sugar, it is a treat, particularly on zucchini cupcakes!

But lest we get to salivating, consider just the words themselves that enliven the dull-sound of 'brown': chestnut, fawn and auburn, burnt umber and mahogany, russet and sienna…

And if you’re still hungry consider these tasteless ones: liver, taupe and tan, ecru and desert sand…

But speaking of words, my favorite old Bibles are also covered in brown, one a tawny supple brown, the other a thick dark buffalo hide all beaded in translucent glass pastels by my mother, who incidentally dislikes the color brown because once she wore a uniform of brown that she despised… (Fortunate for me, mine was navy and white!)

In the world of fashion brown is not so popular as black. Dr.Seuss had it about right: "Mr. Brown is out of town…" but with cool weather coming I had a hankering for a light-weight brown sweater. When the mall failed me I turned to second-hand values and what should jump out at me from all the long row of hangered sweaters in the big city thrift store but this elegant soft brown one with pearl buttons… and soon thereafter a fitting skirt, brown of course ( : And one day there will be the perfect purse just right the size, just so the shape and soft and warm to hold, and brown…and then I will not mind the cost, maybe?

Hmm… Now musings, no matter how frivolous are quite incomplete without the question why? Why do I like brown? I ask myself. It's how I'm wired, to treasure what's warm and steady, soft and deep, lustrous without being showy. Serious without being formal. Inconspicuous. It's the stuff of nostalgia and antiques besides, like sienna photographs—things that speak of tradition and unchanging roots... For all these reasons I love brown.

But ha! The joke's on me, for I am turning gray. Perhaps brown cannot stay… but for today, I'll cherish brown. (And go see if there are any cupcakes left!!)

--LS