THE MOUNTAINTOP

Mar30

It’s been more than forty years, and I can still see the mountainside when I close my eyes. No water bottles, no candy bars, backpack or intelligence, apparently, just a hillside in the mountain range. West Virginia’s state song refers to those “hills, those beautiful hills.” The fact is, those hills are part of several huge mountain ranges, but are still referred to as “hills.” Now I was looking at a mountain higher than any I had ever seen when I had lived in my home state.

My tennis shoes grabbed hold of the dirt or stones, trying to find a small foothold; my hands didn’t dare let go of the tiny roots that grew within reach of each step upward. It didn’t seem so hard at first: energy and adrenaline flowed strongly enough to give some deftness to the climb. That lasted about ten minutes. I clung to a small tree base long enough to turn my head, and the bile rose in my throat. What had I been thinking? It looked straight down, although the incline had to have been at least 60 degrees. I knew if I let my hand slip, I would not stop until I hit bottom. After only ten or fifteen minutes, I couldn’t have been too high up but it looked like a mile. By half an hour the bottom was about as far away as the top. Only will-power kept me going. Sweat ran down my entire body, part from stress, part from workout. The fun had stopped long ago.

Eventually, with much internal conflict, the top came into view, and after another year of time, reached. As I sat looking at the gorgeous sight, I felt my spirits rise in cadence with the beauty my eyes were feasting on. Nature at its best can be seen from the top of a high mountain. But my joy was dimmed as I looked at the only way back down, deciding there was no way I was going to take my chances on leaving this secure seat for a death ride. I would rather sit at the top until an airplane spied me and made a recovery, or I died from starvation. As evening wore on it became obvious my only option was limited to going back down the mountain. I would rather have been shot, but there was no one in sight who had a gun.

“Don’t look down, don’t look down,” became my mantra as I descended the hillside. Looking down would do me in. You can’t throw up easily while hanging on to every root and stone available. My hands were bloody, but I wouldn’t look down. At long last the valley floor began to make itself felt. Now, these decades later, I have never been tempted to do anything so foolhardy again. Climbing Stone Mountain in Georgia is the closest I have ever come to duplicating that one day, but Stone Mountain didn’t leave me with nightmares.

In Christian circles we talk often about “mountaintop experiences.” Those who have them mean they have had some type of encounter that has left them breathless with wonder and blessing. Wonder at the goodness of God, and blessings that have been given to them at a time when they needed them. But did you ever wonder how they got to that mountaintop? Believe me, I know.

Mountaintops are reached by going across a valley. Some mountains are not so high as others, so it’s not as far down to the next valley, but most of the time you have a very long trek as you leave the floor and start to climb. It’s hard, stressful times that you go through to reach the top. A mountain by the very nature of its name indicates a tall, steep side. Spiritual or physical, mountaintops are reached by hard work. Coming down can be just as taxing. You can do as some do: sit on your bottom and take your chances of stones and thorns! Others, like me, come down slowly, never looking to see how far it is. But you’re going back to the valley.

Our Lord didn’t promise to keep us on a mountaintop. He didn’t–as His disciples Peter, James and John–suggest that we build a tent and stay there. He brings us to a mountaintop by bringing us through the valleys, and up the steep slope. The valleys are often dark, but He’s beside us. The slopes are slippery, difficult and sometimes we think we can’t make it, but He’s right beside us, comforting, encouraging, or giving strength when ours fails. In other words, He’s never left us, whether in the valley or the good times, and He isn’t going to start today.

That’s where people make mistakes. They think life should be all mountaintops if you serve Him, call Him Lord. That’s not the way it works. Mark tells us we will be tried by fire. That hurts, burns. And if our faith is shallow and made of hay, it will evaporate into ashes. If it is made by trusting Him whatever the circumstance, we will come forth “as gold.” If you think about it, every valley you come through should make you less fearful and more trusting. Every steep slope you climb to get to the top of a mountain gives you more stamina. Spiritually speaking, every day we should be able to look back at the path we’ve come and see that we have a faith stronger than we did yesterday, or a month ago, or maybe a year ago.

And as always, we have a choice. Stay in the valley, climb the mountain, or leave the whole situation and decide He’s not worth it. I’m so glad He did not look down from the Glory He had in Heaven and decide we were not worth the sacrifice He made on Calvary. I hope you’re glad as well–and willing to walk with Him wherever He goes.

TRUSTING.. OR NOT

Mar11

Don’t get me wrong–I love my son dearly. I’m just saying… sometimes there are lessons we miss that illustrate how to live the life of a Christian, and sometimes we actually get them. This time I got it. I don’t always connect the dots, do you?

You see, it started when he decided to take his wife on a surprise trip to Europe. The first thing he did was to make certain that we would be looking at an empty calendar that week, so that the children would be cared for. Brownie point–or, in this case, Scout point. Then all the arrangements started being put into place, passports, luggage, hotels, cities… the whole “nine yards.” She realized he was planning some type of trip, so the question was “Where???” “Colorado,” he replied. (Off the top of his head. Who goes to Colorado when they can’t ski?) She didn’t believe it, but figured, like Delilah, she could wear him down. Thirteen years of marriage hasn’t taught her she can’t. She didn’t.

The weeks have gone by and the time was arriving. He meanwhile gave us tons of instructions for the kids: when they had this practice, that test, did their homework, had their showers–a whole list. Scout point 2. Great dad.

By the time the day before leaving arrived, he had gone over every list conceivable to raising children. They are not babies, but 3rd, 4th and 5th graders. And we raised him. But the details were written down, talked about; food for the week was bought (would grandparents let them starve? Ok, so he doesn’t feed them junk food, but we eat reasonably healthy). I was amazed that their mom, his wife, had said nothing–and I mean NOTHING–to me about the kids!

The morning we picked them up to take them to the airport, I asked her, “Why haven’t you given us any instructions for the kids?” She just looked at me. “I’m leaving the kids with you two. It didn’t occur to me to worry about anything.”

As I pondered her reply, the spiritual aspect hit me between the eyes. What an example of the way we should trust God! Our daughter-in-law knew we would have the kids, and whatever happened–even a crisis–they and their safety would be our first priority. When we give our greatest possessions or worry to God, we should have complete confidence that He will place a priority sticker on it. We don’t have to fret about it any more. Our son, on the other hand, did what we usually do with God: he made sure that we understood how their schedules ran, what they ate, when they slept. That’s fine–and good that he was so concerned, because ultimately he was trying to make it as easy on us as possible. But still, I believe we do that with God: we give Him the details of how we want Him to take care of a situation, and make sure (in our hearts) that He understands this is how is usually works.

Did we follow his schedule? Well, we tried to. Sometimes we did, and sometimes we wanted to build a memory, not just a regular week. Ok, maybe a little bit more pizza, or fun, but we’re the grandparents, so there’s a latitude that is unwritten. I’m sure God does the same thing. There’s our schedule–then there’s HIS schedule. His takes precedence when we’re turning it over to Him.

The thing is, we need to let Him do what we’ve asked, with complete confidence that He will do it His way. And it will be right–and maybe fun.

Just like our week has been!

POURED OUT AND OVERFLOWING–The Aftermath!

Feb28

The pick-up truck pulled in beside the bins, just another vehicle in a long line. An elderly gentleman and his wife got out of the truck, walked to the back and started taking boxes out. There were sheets, dinnerware, comforter sets, crib sets, canned goods and health products. They filled one of the bins completely full, got back into the truck and pulled off. They had smiled and nodded at the workers, but made no show of their generosity.

The large group of college students jumped out of the bus, tools in hand or tool kit, gloves and boots on, ready to work in one of the more damaged areas. They started cleaning, hammering, fixing–anything that needed to be done. At lunch they stopped for a short break, ate their packed lunches, and went back to work. Some of the students circulated among the householders, trying to find out if there were immediate needs that required priority. They weren’t pushy, obnoxious or arrogant; they were just a large group of students helping out in a neighborhood full of needs, to the best of their ability.

A group of teenage girls came from a local youth group, cases of crayons, books, puzzles and more, ready to entertain children, calming them while their parents needed to get their lives re-arranged after a tornado. The girls were sweet, caring, and helpful with the children. They had come to do a job in loving their neighbors, and were doing it the best way they knew how.

This community is like thousands of others around the nation. People who have had their lives completely blindsided, being helped by other people whose only motive is to make things easier for those suffering during a time of disaster.

The humanitarian organization was there, handing out water, blankets, food, and other essentials. They, too, were serving. They, too, were motivated by concern and love.

You look around at the lives interacting, and see the services offered in love, see those who need love at the moment, need comfort, encouragement and physical needs met, and you have to ask–where did these people come from, the ones who are helping? They’re not military, nor paid workers–just ordinary folks like you and me, alert to a time of tragedy and how they can help. It’s love in action.

At a time in America when Christians are taking the flack for everything from reading their Bible in public to having their social media censored, these people aren’t letting it bother them. One looks at them, not trained, but helping without being asked. You look beyond where the vehicles are parked and see van after van, a bus here or there, all with church logos on them. All putting their faith into action.

Did they stop and ask those who need help if they are worthy? Certainly not! Did they bring up anyone’s lifestyle, their hobbies, their language, their race, their looks? Certainly not. These people did nothing to deserve the help, material items or love brought to them: they received it because they are made in God’s image, and the church is to love them. To show love such as Jesus would show. To perhaps cause one of them to question, “I thought Christians were hypocrites, were judgmental, and arrogant because they say their sins are forgiven! But you aren’t acting like that. Can you tell me why?”

If they, as ordinary human beings, can serve and love their fellow neighbors like that, without asking “are you worthy for us to help you,” how much more does the God in heaven love them. He doesn’t judge them by their past or their present, either. If they decide they want to believe that He is the Son of God, turn from their sins, and follow Him, every sin they have ever committed is instantly forgiven! A debtor whose debts are paid, and a bill marked “Paid In Full” hand-delivered by Christ to them.

For those of us who have loved Him for years, we have found Him faithful. He has never left us, never moved away–through the hurts from the world, through the evils that have occurred because the world truly is full of evil, through the bad times and good. He has carried us, held our hands, snuggled us closely while we wept, and carried our burdens. Is life always easy? Absolutely not. But the advantages of being a follower of Jesus Christ–and having a relationship with Him–is so overwhelmingly in our favor that it’s hard to understand someone rejecting Him. He is good, He is faithful, even when we are not. How much more can you ask?

Don’t get your eyes on people who fail you, for there will always be those, both inside and outside of a church building. Get your eyes on Jesus, knowing He will love you through it all. But He’s not a Genie to be used only when you need a favor–He’s the holy creator of the universe, the One Who spoke the world into existence. He has plans and a purpose for you, if you’ll trust Him enough to take His hand. Just do it.

FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE..

Feb26

The clock said it was a little past 2:30 p.m. Almost time for the grandchildren to get out of school, but it was really getting overcast. I hate to have them out in a storm anytime, even just running for their daddy’s car. The weather was acting crazy, and yet the forecast had been for storms along the coastal area, several hours to the east of us. Still… The wind began picking up, and soon the rain started. I looked at the clock again, 3:15. The kids would be safe in the car–or maybe running for it. Why didn’t I think to turn on the radio? Because it’s not a normal part of my day, that’s why. I went back to work at the computer just in time to hear a storm take over. Wow! Water gushing, wind howling.. but I still didn’t connect the dots.

It wasn’t long before emails started coming through: Route 460 closed. Tornadoes in Appomattox, Concord, Red House. Destruction everywhere. Power out. The feeling of reality didn’t hit, because we had been on the storm’s edge. I couldn’t put pictures with what I was hearing. In a little while a pastor-friend called; he had heard we had a generator, he had his grandchildren, and no power. Come and get it! He did. We wished we had had a hundred to give out.

Today, in the aftermath of twenty-four hours ago, the destruction is like any place where a tornado has left devastation and destruction in its wake. Homes demolished, cars wrecked, trees down–only if you’ve been in one, or been through an area immediately following a tornado can you picture what the reality looks like. But what a picture it is!

Do the homeowners have to worry, while they are adjusting to their lives being turned upside down, that thieves will come in and vandalize their homes? Probably. This is today’s world. Riding by, you feel the helplessness and lack of control to “fix” everything. But then… you start seeing with eyes that are really open, not just topical observation at the mass destruction. You begin looking more closely. Look! Those people had … and you find yourself looking deeply at the inner lives of those who lived in some of the homes. Things they would not have exposed to the world in a normal time. Things that would embarrass them, or cause them to be ashamed. Oh, not all, of course! Just “some.” But to those people, it was the baring of their souls—this showing to the world what was inside their home, which they could keep hidden on any given day. Now it was exposed for all to see because some part of their exterior had been torn away.

And yet… does it take a rocket scientist to realize that, with God, all of our lives are like that? We are thinking we have the outside looking great: we’re dressed right, our hair is in place, nice shoes, nice car. We go to church or meet together, and are we glad they can’t see our thought life, our inner heart, our motives? But what if some of that exterior were stripped away and suddenly everyone could see those thoughts, those motives? Would they know some may covet their money? Or their car? Or perhaps her figure? Or their power? Or fame? Does “so and so” pick up that they are barely tolerated, wishing they’d move? What happens behind those closed doors of the outside shell?

Yet, just as the world could now ride by those homes and see right into them, so God looks right into the closets and crevices of our lives, and nothing is hidden from Him. Yet so many go through life acting as though everything is private, and no one knows anything. He is the only One who matters–He will be judging everyone eventually, whether anyone wants to believe it or not. There is nothing in our dirty, wind-blown, tornado-ridden heart that He does not see and know intimately.

How ashamed we should feel, right? He loves us so much, and wants, as He said, to “gather us as a mama hen wants to gather her little chicks, but [we] would not.” Like our parents wanted to do but it embarrassed us. Ahh, we need to confess every sinful act, every sinful thought, and anything that would hurt our relationship with Him, and run into His arms, asking Him to be Lord of our life. Let Him be the Father He has promised to be. Let Him be our Guide and Shepherd and Savior.

In the joy of that type of relationship, we won’t have anything to be ashamed of when our lives are opened before Him.

A MERRY HEART DOES GOOD.. LIKE MEDICINE!

Feb6

Supper was explosive. Pinto beans dripped from the ceiling in big blobs onto the ceramic tile floor. They slid in congregation down the cabinet doors, and sizzled on the kitchen light fixture. They flooded the range hood, clogged the motor and it ground to a halt. Somewhere–maybe on the other side of the kitchen–the pressure cooker lid was resting, and who knew where the little gizmo that regulates the pressure was? Hiding out behind the frig, probably. Silence reigned except for the “drip, drip, drip” of slushy beans.

Two ashen-faced twin boys stood with eyes as big as saucers, waiting for Dad’s reaction. They needed an indication of the direction his emotions were going to go. Five-year old Wendy, living her life in a wheelchair, sat in shock watching her eight-year old brothers. No one moved.

Rotund Bob M. surveyed the scene, wishing he had looked at the pressure cooker directions. In one twinkling second he realized his wife had given him the special unction of watching their three precious children while she went on a ladies’ retreat for the weekend. He wasn’t young and immature; she trusted him with her heart, with her children, and with her home. What if she walked in now?

Supper was to have been pinto beans, green onions, corn bread, and macaroni and cheese. Dessert was a store-bought chocolate cake. Bob looked at the disaster. How can one bag of beans cover a beautiful kitchen? In two seconds flat it had turned the trendy appliances, the granite counter-tops, the glass-front cabinets and ceramic tile into a cleaning service’s nightmare. And he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Laughter came out in great waves, tears rolling down his cheeks. The slap-stick comedy of the whole scene was too much. The children, in relief, were allowed to let go with the belly laughs they, too, had been holding back.

Bob always swore for the next eight years they found beans in strange places.

This experience has been one of the memories I love the most. Not because it was the funniest thing that ever happened, but because it had so many lessons for me, and the way it was handled. We have an instant choice we can make in the midst of a gigantic, colossal, accident that will be remembered by our children for the rest of their lives. I guarantee if you saw Pete, Gil, or Wendy today, the pinto bean supper would be a memory they cherish–and their father laughing hysterically, rather than cursing.

Bob died not too many years after that. Yet the laughter he always shared was felt by friends, family, co-w0rkers and church. In the midst of heavy emotions we carry daily, like the state of our country, the deconomy (doesn’t “de- mean going downhill? Like de-scend, de-feat?) of the nation, the lack of values, the political rivalry that transcends the country’s needs being replaced with the candidate who can sling mud the longest distance, we need things that make good memories. We need to laugh, to enjoy funny experiences that will outweigh the heaviness of life. Old Johnny Appleseed knew “an apple a day keeps the doctor away,” but King Solomon knew “laughter does good, like a medicine.” Everyone is on medicine. Maybe everyone just needs a good memory to make them laugh once a day.

Someone recently told the story of being in NYC, and leaving her suitcase on the back of the cab’s trunk, accidentally. It blew off, broke open, and her “unmentionables” went blowing in the wind. The cab driver…..

THE TECHNOLOGY GENERATION GROWS UP

Jan18

Do you remember the magic you felt as a young teen, thinking about “growing up”–to at least 21?? Years ago I KNEW I would never live until I was 21, it would just be too wonderful. To be on your own, without your folks (or others) telling you what to do, when to get up, when to go to bed,when to go to school, how to act.. and five hundred million other highly original thoughts that can go through the teen mind. You don’t factor in things like a boss, a wife, children–just freedom. But I was wrong. I made it to twenty-one.

More years went by. But I was POSITIVE I’d never make it to the year 2000—that was an eternity away. Good grief, my children (or any I might have) would be grown, I’d be old, sitting in a rocking chair, not able to do anything at all, because I would be sooo ancient! That year came, too. Drat, wrong again.

Recently I knew an apartment room was full of boys who thought like this: boys in their late teens, boys who thought being almost 21 was better than it had ever been. Boys who thought their age somehow gave them immunity from any harm, who could live and defy odds of being the one driving drunk, or getting cancer from smoking, or destroying their brain on drugs—or even playing Russian Roulette. Boys whose parents knew they were “rooming” together, but after all, these boys were friends, whom the parents knew. And friends don’t let friends… play Russian Roulette. The parents were wrong.

These kids were not city slickers, but country boys: raised by dads or granddads or uncles who took them hunting at four, serious shooting by 9, had them in gun safety classes, and taught them the dangers and value of a firearm. They weren’t ignorant of the rules, but they were ignorant of life and death. Christianity was for their folks; they’d take God seriously when they got older. It wasn’t needed right now because–after all–they were young and it was time for fun! And it didn’t occur to them that they had an enemy who is in the world to steal, kill and destroy. Because if he (Satan) can destroy these kids, they can’t turn their lives around and change the world for other kids. They mocked God, because He wasn’t–in their minds–going to step in and stop their good times. He was going to turn His head while they drunk, did some drugs, sex, and played their games, and had their time of rebellion to the rules the parents had had in the home. They were sure God would go ‘tsk, tsk,’ with His tongue, saying “Boys will be boys.” They were wrong.

This group of close friends had a .44 Magnum in the apartment. It was brought there by the boy whose father had bought it for him, who believed his son to be mature enough to own a gun. He believed him to be mature enough to use it for protection, not to play games like four-year olds. That dad was wrong.

“Let’s play Russian Roulette!” Who wanted to be the one who said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea”? No one wanted to be the ‘parent’ in the room. So everyone shouted “Yea!” One, a younger brother to another in the room, handed the gun to his older brother, whom he looked up to. The older took the gun, spun the clip and said, “It’s not going to go off!” He was wrong.

The bullet went through his head. In an instant the friends had a tsunami of emotions: shock, denial, terror, fear, and more. Someone, somewhere, called 911 for the gunshot. The police, the EMT’s, and others arrived. He was transported to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead. He was already standing in front of the Judge, the Creator. He had been wrong once too often. God didn’t say “Boys will be boys.”

Why are our children not listening to what we say? Were we gone so much in their youth that our words bounce off their brains, or were they so filled with garbage from being babysat by a television that they lost the ability to reason? I don’t know. But I do know a mom not far away buried her “baby” because he thought he could outwit God. Oh my, was he wrong.

Galatians 6:7: Do not be deceived, God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.

Serving Two Masters….

Jan9

Attitude is everything.

The child climbed into the car’s back door, but refused to get in his car seat. Usually this wasn’t a problem, but this particular day he decided he wanted to stand right behind Dad, holding on to the head rest. “Sit down!” Dad raised his voice at this second warning. The look of rebellion on the child’s face told the father that it was not going to happen today. Is there anything that exerts more will power than a 3-year-old who doesn’t want to do something? His chin jutted out, and he stayed standing.

Dad put the car into park, got out, took hold of his son, and with necessary movements put him in the car seat, snapped the buckles and got back into the driver’s seat. As he pulled out of the parking space his son yelled, “I may be sittin’ down on the outside, but I’m still standin’ up on the inside!!”

It seems to meet that I’ve been standing up on the inside a lot lately. Christmas has come and gone (but will be here again soon, for sure), and I morph into Scrooge during that time. I fight the materialism with everything I am, but it does no good against all those sweet faces turned toward me. My attitude needs a major overhaul after the holidays. I probably wrote the same thing last year.

But in the midst of all the bad attitudes, the chaos, the trials (already!), the crises (already, note the plural!), and the hurt feelings, God spoke to my heart. Don’t ever underestimate the power of the Creator Who “spoke” the world into being (John 1). As I turned to my Bible this morning, I began reading and verses I’ve read hundreds of times “lit up.” That’s God, speaking.

These were the verses that were prepared for me to be reading , the next set of verses on a morning “ritual”—not one of those “put your finger in a passage and read it” type thing. But as I read the verses “You cannot serve two masters; for either you will … love the one and hate the other…You cannot serve God and [the world]. Matt. 6:24).” Years of teaching came across my mind, God and the world… God and money… and then suddenly God shone His light directly upon those verses into my heart, and I knew He was telling me these verses can go much deeper than what I have heard all my life, and how much I needed to hear Him alone.

You see, it’s been a struggling week, one of those Stress Level Ten weeks, one where I felt caught in a conflict between an adult child and my husband. Nothing–nothing!–comes between a momma and her child (or should) no matter how old they get. A momma bear and her cub is a great analogy. Another–which I experienced a lot of years ago–is a cow and her newborn calf. I have been torn, taking up the offense of my child, and mad (as only a wife can be) that my husband would have allowed this situation. But then, God spoke to my heart.

He turned the light bulb in my mind onto the passage, and I saw, a Mother cannot serve her adult child and her husband if there is conflict. It doesn’t matter who is right and who is wrong. The truth is, the situation is out of my control and I can’t make them both happy. I can’t change anything, can’t go back and re-do the offense, can’t “fix it.” But if I keep on with my warring attitude, I will end up “hating” one and “serving” the other. But that isn’t God’s best. He made us one in marriage, and to split that unity and go against my husband is wrong, and becomes sin, and He made my child “leave the parent” when they became one with their spouse. Yuk. Yikes. Double yikes.

I also saw that “two masters” could easily be me–with all my desires to control the situation, to control what had happened, to make everything okay again (because I hate confrontation, and disunity)–and my husband, who had done what he thought to be best in a situation where, he felt, there would be no winning. He knew ahead of time it was going to cause friction, and he wisely chose to do what was best for me, rather than for our child. I needed to CHOOSE to love him. Lesson Two.

Two masters, He spoke to my heart, is always a potential in a marriage: if you and your spouse are not dedicated to seeing that you are in agreement with discipline (one of the areas where the most combat is initiated), you are causing your child/children to choose which of you to “love/serve” and which to hate. Lesson Three.

This dredged up a long-ago illustration when we four–dad, mom, son, daughter–got in the car to leave church. Our son turned to me, asking if we could stop by the local ice cream shop and get cones. I said “No.” He got a tragic look on his face and said, “Mom! I didn’t mean to ask you, I meant to ask Dad!” We went. They had learned which questions to ask which parent. To food, I usually said no; Dad said yes. After this we also made (and stuck to) rule #783: if they asked one of us, the answer was set in stone (unless extenuating circumstances dictated otherwise), and they could not ask the other parent. Good rule, even for today.

Be sure you are not serving two masters: yourself and your spouse. Or, your child and your spouse. Or… anyone but God. Even then, you have to be vigilant that you do not present a second master to yourself. God only is the First and Last in our lives, and He only holds the keys to family unity, love and working out stressful problems when we look to Him to watch our backs. He alone is holy, praise His Name.

Has the situation gone away? No, but my attitude is adjusting, and I see both sides. I also have confessed, and am sorry for the “tantrum” I threw when I first found out. God is in control, I have no doubt at all about that, and my repentant heart can now be worked on. It will be okay. This hasn’t come to stay, but has “come–to pass.” I’ll be grateful when it’s passed!

WHAT ARE YOU TEACHING?

Oct25

The child could not have been more than seven or eight: an adorable looking boy, happy and having fun at the football game. He was obviously among family who loved him. I saw him take a big drink of a soda, and something made him laugh. It happens to all of us–young and old! We laugh, and the soda (or crackers, or food) explodes from our mouth with an intensity we can’t control! Which of us can say we’ve never done that? His family instantly laughed hysterically, and, observing the fiasco, I had to smile.

In the flash of a second, however, the man sitting in the next row in front of him–and a little bit lower, as football seats go–got some drink on the back of his head, and down his neck. With the speed of a striking snake he turned, jumped up, grabbed the drink out of the little boy’s hand, and stalked out of the seats, looking for all the world like he wanted to take revenge. It was so very humiliating for the family to be caught in such a situation in public, and so distressing for on-lookers to witness such a spectacle of rage. I wanted to grab the little guy, who instantly rolled himself into a ball and tried to hold big drops of tears back, and hug him until his little spirit was calmed. It couldn’t have been more than a teaspoon or tablesp00n of soda, but you would have thought the man got soaked. And the man had not even waited to see if it had been an accident.

Scripture poured into my mind as I watched: “Who can bear a broken spirit?” (Prov. 18:14), “A [seasoned Christian] is [should be] above reproach, self-controlled” (1 Tim. 3:2), and “The anger of man does NOT achieve the righteousness of God,” (James 1:20). From the interaction when the man returned after throwing out the drink, I realized he was the boy’s grandfather. My heart was literally breaking, for many reasons: the man had not asked what happened, and whether it was an accident, he didn’t give the little boy time to re-act, and he was providing an example of what a hair-trigger temper is all about, and what it means to display it. Worse, the child was the victim of an adult who should have–by the grandfather’s age–learned self-control. Somehow I got the impression that the child saw anger like this more times than he should have.

The man’s wife tried to talk to him; I could tell she was indicating that his attitude had hurt the child terribly, and that he needed to heal that “wounded” spirit. Okay, so I sound like any problem with a child is the child’s fault, and amends should be made immediately. Not so. But let’s face it, we all laugh at “slap-stick” humor–witness I Love Lucy! Had the grandfather laughed and wiped his neck, it would have created a tighter bond and a happy ending.

I watched the older man turn around and could not believe the words out of his mouth, which I could overhear: “YOU didn’t even say ‘I’m SORRY!'” Good grief, who had had time? The trigger was pulled before the child had his mouth closed! I felt sorry for the man’s wife. But even more, I was appalled at the “Blame Game” the man used. What?! He was blaming the child for HIS own lack of being a godly role model? Again, sometimes it’s a curse (but always a blessing) to know Scripture: “Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us” (Matt 6:14), or “How many times do I forgive my brother…” (Matt. 18:21) and more. Did I see anything Jesus said about them having to immediately–with the next breath–say “I’m sorry!”? No. You forgive immediately because it’s the right thing to do. And this wasn’t even a sin! Imagine that? Wonder how the man treats his enemies.

I reflected the next few hours on the scene I had witnessed. The child was having fun. He did something accidentally that, yes, should have had a “Grandpa, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that!” but there had been no time. But he learned that it’s okay for a person who says he loves Jesus to instantly have a rage attack against a child; he learned it’s okay to do it in public; that it’s okay to blame the other person–because, after all, for goodness sake, they caused your rage. So the Bible must be wrong–anger is okay, because it was his grandpa; anger is okay but what if I make God mad? What will He do?

What a lesson in love. Is it any wonder the world calls us hypocrites? We talk the talk, but the instant our body or feelings get tramped on, we walk a walk Satan is proud of. I pray for this little boy, that he comes to realize anger is a choice that people make when they have no self-control, when they set themselves up with pride as if they themselves never make mistakes, so it’s okay to throw a stone. Especially at a little child. “Whoever offends one of these is [in danger of hell-fire]” (Matt. 18:6). I pray this little boy does not think God is like his grandfather, and think that God re-acts in anger when he has not meant to offend.

There’s not enough fun in life on the good days, let alone on the bad days. A child laughing in fun is a beautiful thing–and a merry heart does good like medicine (Prov. 17:22). Maybe that’s why so many of our children are on medicines in this age, you think?

The painting is by Drago Ivanisevic, copyrighted, and not able to be re-copied or painted. If you have questions, please contact me.

SHOW ME YOU LOVE ME….

Oct10

Walking into the ICU room, it took our breath away to see the man hooked to seemingly every machine the hospital had available for keeping someone alive. There was the breathing machine, inserted directly into his neck in the trachea, the filtration (dialysis), removing all the blood from his body, eliminating the fluid from the it, then putting the dry blood back into the body. The body responds by saying, “Hey! I have no fluid in this!” and goes into emergency mode, pulling fluid from arms, legs, hands–wherever it can, in order to keep the blood flowing and to keep his body from filling with fluid. The IV’s were providing some nourishment–not enough, but some. Because of the throat tube, he could not speak nor swallow–only small ice chips which could run down his throat were able to be in his mouth. Talking was not possible.

By the time we left, our hearts had been wrung to the point of despair. He is not an old man, being kept alive at the whim of family, but a virile, middle-aged man, whose thinking processes are alert and high. He is aware of everything said around him, and able to interact with lip movement. It was hard to learn to lip-read in an hour, but we did the best we could.

Everyone says, “Don’t keep me alive by machines!” In this case, it is necessary. The problem? The doctors aren’t sure. His breathing, when it stopped originally, caused the family to call 911, and the rest has been almost seven months in the hospital, trying to find a diagnosis.

When we got home, I began praying “fervently.” That means you recognize God is the only one Who can do anything and man’s wisdom is wholly reliant upon Him. I prayed for just ONE doctor who would go home at night, with the thought of this father, husband, son and brother not able to move, talk, or eat, and search every book known to man for an answer–but above all, one who would seek the Healer to give wisdom.

We went back a few days later, while the doctor was in, along with several other members of a team who were changing bags, adding medication, and doing everything in their power to help him. As the doctor was leaving, a member of his family stopped him to say, “He’s nervous about what you’ve been saying; can you explain to him?” The doctor stopped at the foot of the bed and in strong, direct words said, “Don’t worry–it’s all simple [what he had been doing and saying]! Everything is looking good,” and then he explained the medication, the numbers in the tests, and more. He exuded strength and knowledge. The patient took him at his word. When he left, the family member said to us, “He’s the best doctor we could have gotten. He told us he goes home at night, and has cried tears before God, asking for wisdom for what is wrong, and how to heal him.”

My mouth fell open as I told her that is exactly, to the letter, what I’ve been praying! God had shown me in one sentence that He had heard my prayer, and was answering that one. The rest? That everything will turn out the way we want it? I don’t know yet. But God does–and He will answer in His time, and in His way.

Do you think we’re the first people to cry out to God: “God, help me to believe You are here with me! Increase my faith! God, PLEASE, show me You love me!”? No. Does it help you to know that your deepest Valley of the Shadow is one that was walked by even King David himself, as well as countless others? In Psalm 86:16, 17, David cries out, “O, turn to me and have mercy on me! Give Your strength to Your servant and save the son of Your maidservant. Show me a sign for good, that those who hate me may see it and be ashamed, because You, Lord, have helped me and comforted me!” David was crying out, “God, show me You love me!”

David went through many trials–we don’t know if God showed up on this occasion, whatever it was, or if His answer was “wait,” or “no.” That’s where trust comes in. That is where faith gets proactive, and not pew-active. That’s where the rubber meets the road. Are you going to trust that whatever He does is right, or are you going to manipulate things so that it goes your way? It always comes back to a choice for us–sometimes so hard we want to throw a tantrum, and sometimes it shows us our heart.

May we all say, “Please, God, increase my faith! Increase my trust!”

QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS!

Sep27

It all began about three years ago, when a question popped into my mind, and I had no idea where to find the answer. Do things like that bother you? Today, three years later, we all have a standard comment to anything like that: “Google it.” In fact, I’ve gotten so used to writing ‘google’ that I recently tried to write a listing to sell some goggles, and misspelled it about 5 times. Eventually it came out right. But things have changed in the past three years, so the question continued to nag me. Can you think of something similar? Really drives you nuts, doesn’t it?

Mine wasn’t even a life or death question. Just curiosity. It reminded me of my mom, who was filled with an insatiable appetite to voice curious questions: we would drive by men working in a ditch; “what do you think they’re doing?” she would ask. I could list fifty pages of examples. Finally, I would just say, “Would you like me to stop and ask?” She didn’t recognize loving sarcasm. Too bad. The questions drove me crazy. (Now, I’d love to hear her ask one–so watch what you wish for).

As I was reading the New Testament those three years ago, suddenly I wondered, Why did the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to pray? It’s not as if praying was a unique once-in-a-lifetime happening! It had been going on since the beginning of time. But why did they ask that? I turned to a few learned men. One answer was “Well, they were with the Son of God! Wouldn’t you want to know His thoughts on what constitutes a pray that satisfies Him?” That was in mid-summer of last year. I had been dealing with it about a year and half.

Finally I knew what I wanted to do! Each year as I read the Bible through, I try to do so with a central goal, so that the chapters do not get tedious. But when the idea came to me, I could hardly wait for the year to end, so that I could begin again at Genesis and write down every prayer or reference to praying that was in the Old Testament. Since there was no “New Testament” when the disciples asked, there was no need to go further at that point. Eventually January came, and I got my notebook out! It was amazing. There were prayers that were heartfelt, some that were mundane, but there were also long periods when men did not seem to commune with God. When I got to the Psalms, although I haven’t documented this yet, there seemed to be a prayer for every emotion man feels, or any need he has! All the disciples had to do, I thought, was go back to the scrolls in the temple, and they could have at their fingertips the greatest and least of all the prayers recorded in Scripture. So I still didn’t have the answer to my question.

Okay, it’s now the end of September. I’m finishing the major prophets, so I won’t be done by December. But suddenly, last night, I knew why it had been bothering me, and why–after immersing myself in the OT prayers–I was trying to quench this thirst. It wasn’t about the disciples at all: it was about me.

A month ago War Room, the movie, came out. It hit me between the eyes. In the mirror of the faith portrayed by the character Clara, my prayer life was worse than wood, hay and stubble! I was able to identify with the main character like she was my sister. Ouch! Afterwards, I wanted to see it again–and again. I bought the novel, the journal, the Bible Study book, and the personal study book. But it wasn’t until I saw it again that I realized, God wants me to make a War Room. I’ve been, as Clara says, fighting the wrong enemy! I’ve been lax and unfaithful in my prayers, and God was preparing my heart for this moment. He was paving the ground, building a foundation of the OT saints who sought Him in prayer, and at the same time men–the Kendrick Brothers–were making a movie that would stir my heart to surrender my prayer life to Him completely. It was an awesome, God-struck moment, and the wonder of it has stayed with me. That I am able to look back for nearly three years, seeing Him calling my heart toward fervent prayer, is incredible. Do you understand why? Because He wants me to deepen the relationship with Him; to trust Him to the point that whatever the trial, He’s got it; that the problems that come–and they will come–can be carried to Him and I can KNOW He has my back, my good, and is working His purpose out. It’s not just coincidence despite what man may say, but the Creator of the universe who wants a relationship with His child.

How humbling! My first thoughts, after realizing what I had seen, were “where in my house can I have a War Room”? I would go claustrophobic in my closet (we don’t have walk-in’s). And then last night it hit me, and I have a perfect small room, a perfect old desk, even a matching chair that I almost threw out! He has prepared the table before me, and it is in the presence of my enemy–and your enemy–Satan! The real enemy of our soul who has come to kill, steal, and destroy. Kill our relationships, steal our joy, and destroy our homes and children! It hasn’t been any other enemy, and yet I have fought battles uselessly. Christ has been the Lord of our home, but I tried to help Him manage. He doesn’t want or need my help, He only wants my prayers.

I pray I can let Him do it all now. What an awesome, amazing God we serve!