Bible Heroes

This past Sunday morning I was a substitute teacher for the 1st and 2nd grade class. After Sunday school, all the classes for kids 1st-12th grade are divided into two segments: church kids and bus kids. For my class, the church kids were first.

I wanted to share some of the life lessons I've been learning lately. Before I got to class, I was thinking my audience would be a little older. When I walked in and saw half-a-dozen 7 and 8 year olds, I hesitated. How am I going to knock this down a notch so they actually get more out of this lesson than my babbling?

Turns out it wasn't that hard, because I also forgot that, after roll call and songs there isn't much time for more than a simple lesson. I dove in with all enthusiasm, though.

My text was out of I Tim. 4:12, "Let no man despise thy youth". We looked at the youngest kings of Israel (Josiah is the second youngest king, by the way, and contrary to what everyone in my class thought), David, and then the Fiery Furnace.

Even the "church kids" weren't all that familiar with this story, which was a blow. How do kids not know the staple Bible stories? So I spent my precious 10 minutes pacing and waving my hands and adding inflection when the Chaldeans tattled and the king raged. I threw back my shoulders when the three men, far from home and years removed from any godly influences but each other, boldly and respectfully declared that they would not bend their knees.

When I was done, I asked the kids what their favorite part of the story was. All agreed it was how God brought Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego through the furnace without a mark.

I grinned. "That part is cool, but that's not my favorite part."

And then I showed them something I picked up a couple months ago during a Sunday night service:

they didn't know God would protect them. They knew He could, but they had no guarantee He would preserve them.

The most powerful point of that story is not the part where they refuse to bow to the idol, or when God brings them through the furnace. 

Shadrach, Mechach, and Abednego, answered and said unto the king, O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this matter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to delivery us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of thine hand, O king. But if not, be it know unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up. (Dan. 3:16-18)

Those three young men, probably little more than my age when they came to Babylon, and so far removed from everything familiar and godly, stood up to a king and declared that under no circumstances would they bow to his idol. There was no way they stood up to him confident that they would walk away alive and well. On the contrary, they had to acknowledge that they very likely would die that day. From what we know of them, I seriously doubt they stood there in denial of the danger they faced.

And on top of everything else, look at how respectful they remained toward the king. I know things were different way back then and people in general had better tact, but even so, they called him by his title and politely but firmly told him they wouldn't obey his command. It paints a stunning picture.

God doesn't promise to bring us through every struggle unscathed. Rather, scars are evidence of the storms we've survived. They're proof of living and overcoming. They're reminders of the lessons we've learned. And some people enter storms they don't come out of except into Glory.

According to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life, or by death. - Philippians 1:20

I ended my lesson with a reminder that being a kid doesn't mean a person can't still stand up for God and ushered those kids on their way.

The second step in the schedule was to pick up the bus kids at their previous class, wait while all 13 of them used the restroom, and bring them upstairs to discover their incentive of a quiet seat prize wasn't available. To their credit, most of them listened well anyway.

I skipped David and Goliath and took a quick look at Joash. When I mentioned off-hand how his grandparents were Ahab and Jezebel to demonstrate the brilliant legacy he had to look up to, I was met with blank looks on all sides (except those who were staring at the floor). And I hesitated, then asked if they knew who Ahab was.

Nada.

Elijah?

Who?

Much as I wanted to facepalm and then turn to that portion of the Bible, I brushed it aside and moved on to the lesson I did have planned.

And none of them knew about the Fiery Furnace, either.

"I think my brother learned that one," a boy in the back offered.

So with time winding down, I repeated my enthusiastic storytelling and prayed they were listening. At this point I didn't really care if they took away the deeper lesson, though that was important; I just wanted them to know this story. I wanted them to be able to turn to their friends later and say, "Hey, remember that gold statue that was ninety feet tall? And the guys who wouldn't bow to it and got thrown in the fire?" 

Because we need these heroes. We need stories we know are true about people who stood for God and saw extraordinary things done as a result. The fact that these stories are incredible and also true is in itself an encouragement.

The Fiery Furnace has come to be one of my favorite old Testament stories. It is not, however, my favorite.

I had a moment similar to this past Sunday several months ago when I was helping Wesley with his class. This time, none of the kids knew who Ruth was. We were looking at the kings of Israel and Judah, but when I found out none of them even knew about Ruth, I switched gears.

Ruth is one of my favorite Bible stories. She didn't really do anything amazing. She didn't see anything supernatural happen in her life, apart from God allowing her to have children (and I'm not trying to downplay that, but that's the only true miracle in her story). She is one of those background characters whose presence turns a tide.

Ruth was just a Moabite girl who married an outsider when his family left their home because of a famine. She didn't see God do amazing things and come to Him as a result. Her father-in-law, her brother-in-law, and her husband all died on foreign soil, leaving penniless widows behind. But for whatever reason, when Naomi heard that the famine was over and decided to go home, Ruth went with her. Ruth stayed by her, despite the shame of poverty and the burden of now being the foreigner.

She wasn't too proud to gather the leftovers when the harvesters worked the wheat fields. She didn't complain when a day's labor in the sun yielded barely enough to eat. And for Naomi's sake she sought out Boaz to be their kinsman redeemer. (By the way, Boaz is pretty cool, too.)

She traveled, yes, but it was to a place far from home with no hope of returning to what she knew. She didn't perform miracles or command nations with her words. But she has a whole book int he cannon of Scripture dedicated to her. God honored her quiet faith by giving her a son and placing her in the lineage of King David and of Christ. I have to wonder if, when David was a boy, he talked to his great-grandmother about her life, or if his parents told him stories?

And my lunchbreak is winding down. I'll be back!

Plank Update: Day 10 and I'm still alive and able to walk. Yesterday my abs were absolutely killing me but I feel better today. Also, my legs no longer give out when I stand up, so that's a plus.

But God

I've lacked blogging inspiration in my surroundings lately, so I'm turning to the scatterbrained musings of this 20-odd-years head to maintain what little momentum I can muster. As I'm writing on the last half of my lunch break and am short on time as well as inspiration, it works out pretty well.

There is a phrase in the Bible that always gives me chills when I read it. (Hint: it's in the title of this post.) It's like a light that bursts on in a place crowded in darkness; a small smile given to someone who's too weak to press on, as if to say, "Watch this."

I know a lot of people who have "life verses". Yeah, I tried doing that. The verse changes depending on the stage of life I'm in. Years ago when I first tried this, the verse of choice was Romans 5:8. It's still a favorite. Here's the context:

For when we were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly. For scarcely for a righteous man will one die: yet peradventure for a good man some would even dare to die. But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. - Rom. 5:6-8

There we were, wallowing in the mire of sin without a light or a hand to help us out. We had intentionally turned from God. We were without hope, utterly lost and blind. Man couldn't save man. No man is that good, that righteous, that powerful. Man would barely surrender his life for a good man, let alone the whole stinking mess of the human race.

But God

See? Chills.

While we wandered that darkness, unable to carry ourselves away from it, God stepped in. He found us worthy of His love. He deemed us deserving of His blood. Man couldn't fix the mess, but God could.

When I'm wandering around in a daze wondering how I'm going to do something with my life that counts, I'm reminded that I am not. I don't have that strength. I don't have that wisdom. And I don't need to. God can use anyone, with any education, from any walk of life. We don't bring anything to the table but our hearts and our faith. Isn't it easier to hand it over to Him? He gave us all the talents we possess. It seems He would know best how they can be used.

For ye see your calling, brethren, how that not many wise men after the flesh, not many mighty, not many noble, are called. But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God had chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty. And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are. - I Cor. 1:26-28

The enemy is waving his fist crying, "See what I've done? Fix that if you can." To which we can calmly reply, "Yeah, that's nice. But God."

Here's one more for today because my half hour is winding down:

And you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins; wherein in time past ye walked according to the course of this world, according to the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that now worketh in the children of disobedience: among whom also we all had our conversation in time past in the lusts of our flesh, fulfilling the desires of the flesh and of the mind; and were by nature the children of wrath, even as others. But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;) - Eph. 2:2-5

In Paul's fashion, the sentence runs on for a while longer, but this is the focus here. (Also, "quickened" makes a nice word study.) We used to be like the world, wandering in that darkness. We didn't have anything to live for but fulfilling our fleshly desires, working out the disease of sin in our lives. But then God stepped on the scene. He offered light to any and all, and by His grace and mercy welcomed all who took His hand. He has given us a purpose, empowered us to live for something more, shown us hope.

It was nothing we did. I know from 20 years of experience that I'm far better at making messes than fixing them. But God.

(How's that for a lunchtime musing? Also for your perusal, a few other verses: I Cor. 10:13; 12;24; Phil. 4:9)

Living vs. Existing

"To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all." - Oscar Wilde

It's been over 6 months since my last post. While I thoroughly enjoyed the hiatus (including the one I took from Facebook), I've developed quite a list of topics I have wanted to blog about. Also, a few southern friends requested I restart the blog so they could keep up with the family. Mom covers the chicken topic enough now, so maybe the reading will be better than before.

For the last few months I've been wrestling with the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I go to work, work 8-9 hours a day at a job I enjoy, come home and try to find something creative for supper, tap out a few words of one of my current stories, and go to bed to start all over again. On the weekends, I sleep in until 7:30, read a book, eat one meal, maybe go to town, and tap out a few more words.

Maybe it's just a phase. I don't really buy into the whole "young people finding themselves" mentality, but perhaps this is just one of those life transitions where I'm finding my rhythm. Maybe.

Something with which I have always struggled is being anxious. By now anyone who has read this blog knows this. I worry too much and over-think things and second-guess myself, and I know a lot of what I'm working through is managing that aspect of my brain.  But then I sit still and try to count all the things I accomplished in 2014. It doesn't really amount to much in 10 minutes' hard consideration. Drawing it out, my life is pretty colorless. Again, maybe it's just a stage. Maybe I'm in a quiet place where all I'm supposed to be doing is sitting still and learning, listening, developing. Maybe.

I found the above quote from Mr. Wilde quite a while ago and it often comes to mind when I hit one of these contemplative moods. Much as it scares me to admit, I'm not really living my life so much as muddling through it with as little effort or involvement as possible. I'm so caught up in the personal struggle to find my place, of learning the steps, that I've sunk deeply into myself and blocked pretty much everything else out. (I'll be the first to agree that my social interaction is at a level which is undoubtedly detrimental to my health.)

And then I pop out of that shell, take one look at the world, shiver, and withdraw again. Back to the anxiety.

I know I'm here for a purpose. In my family, in this city, as the particular job I hold, in the certain church where we've found a home. In this time, these circumstances.

Another quote which I hold close is from J. R. R. Tolkien and The Fellowship of the Ring. It's more like my life quote at the moment:

"I wish it need not have happened in my time," said Frodo. 

"So do I," said Gandalf, "and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."

God picked me specifically for this location so I could do something for Him. More and more I'm coming to terms with the fact that it may not be very grandiose by the world's standards or even by Christendom's standards. But it's my role. I may be that supporting character who meets one of the key players ten years down the road and has traveled just the right path to know how to nudge them back onto theirs. When I look at it that way, I can't help but get a little giddy.

It's not about finding a springboard to move one from a quiet town to a big adventure. It's about making the most out of whatever circumstances in which one finds oneself. We can't all be world explorers or geniuses or composers. Those people need the clerks and babysitters and nurses. They need the girl behind the phone whose name they can't remember who relieves one small distraction on their plate by informing them that the timeframe they need will work just fine, and who bids them good day with a smile in her voice and doesn't correct them when they get her name wrong again while saying good-bye. (It's not that I'm bitter, but "Amber" is not an unusual name. I can't count the times I've been Amanda, Amy, Andrea, Samantha, or Heather. At this point I just smile and choke down a laugh.)

It is about making what I have been given count in more ways than monetary. It's about loving sleep a little less and hanging out with a lonely friend instead, or meeting for a Bible study. We're here to interact. We're meant to touch, to see, to hear, to speak to, to sing, to guide, to hold. Not to just revel in a sunset, but to glory in Who painted it. Not just to catch our breath after wrestling with a kid, but stopping to read a Bible story and talk about it before helping them crawl into bed. Not just giving candy to an orphan, but the truth as well.

We may not live expansive, bold lives, but we are meant to live on purpose. Wherever we find ourselves, we are meant to make the most out of it for the glory of God.

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. - Romans 12:1

It's reasonable, after all God has done for us, for us to surrender our lives to Him. 

So this post isn't all I had hoped for it to be. They never are. But I think I've said what I set out to. And here are some other quotes and verses which contributed to the concept:

"The fear of death follows the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time." - Mark Twain 

"Just breathing isn't living!" - Eleanor H. Porter, Pollyanna  

"It is never too late to be what you might have been." - George Eliot 

"Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow, it empties today of its strength." - Corrie ten Boom, Clippings From My Notebook 

"You're not here on accident; you shouldn't live on accident." - Hugh Taylor

The Definition of Happiness

Please note: the following post is long, confused, disorganized, and raw from my brain. I do apologize, but it's something I needed to say, and the best way I know how is to spew it straight from brain to screen.

Recently it was brought to my attention that I possess a crippling habit: list making.

I can't really be sure how this came about in my life. I used to abhor lists. Heather was always the one with the to-do list she was checking off. Maybe it was just the fact that I never seemed to accomplish as much as she did. Or perhaps she wasn't ever as detailed as I in list making. Where she put "clean room", I may have listed: "make bed, sort laundry, vacuum, etc". Who knows? I'll have to ask.

Anywho, at one time in the last couple of years I discovered the thrill of checking things off a list. Something about that tangible evidence that you accomplished something (even though you might be staring at the freshly scrubbed dishes or folded laundry, it's not the same unless you put a check mark next to that line). Hunger for that thrill developed into an obsession, and suddenly every aspect of my life went onto a list somewhere so I could proudly mark complete every visit to the bank; trip to the store to get ranch dressing (check), tissues (check), dog treats (check), flower pots (check), notebooks (crossed out because, turns out, I don't need another); and game prep completed for Wednesday classes.

I think it must have really started when I tried out that Day Zero Project back when I was sixteen or seventeen. At least in that case, it was all fun long-term goals I didn't really need to accomplish, but it was downhill from there.

Lately, I found that those lists were nothing more than a burden. They mocked me, especially when I forgot to turn off the notifications on the newly-discovered "Reminders" app of my phone: "walk your dog", "please put away that horrendous pile of laundry hiding your floor", "find time in your hectic schedule to tap out two or three hundred words so you don't fall behind", and on and on. Also, every Tuesday and Friday for the last couple of weeks, I've scribbled "BLOG!" on my daily list of things to do. Clearly I have a clear grasp of priorities. 

I also found I was relying on my notes for everything, particularly at work.

It hurts, guys. It's painful, like some terrible addiction I know I need to quit but can't bring myself to quit because it hurts. In her own subtle (or not-so-subtle) way, Mom intervened. (Love how I'm making this into a mock-drama of a drug addiction? You have no idea.) She casually remarked that, for goodness sake, I needed to quit writing notes for everything and just use my God-given (and God-ordained rather poor) memory like humans are intended to.

That's probably the most terrifying part: I'm so scatter-brained, without some sort of note to rein me in, I'm bound to forget something crucial at some point. But slowly I'm forcing myself to let go of that security blanket.

The lists are being reduced to taking notes from phone calls and to writing reminders for things I absolutely cannot forget at any cost (which turns out to be very little, really).

And now, I'm starting a new kind of list.

The idea started months ago, when one of the girls mentioned a challenge their youth group team leader had put to their group: every day, write something you're thankful for.

I have often found that I tend to focus on the negative side of life and don't stop to appreciate the bright side: I see the puddles and don't smell spring rain, which I love.

On the radio the other day, I heard something to the affect of "Instead of bashing the things you don't like, try promoting the things you do like". Which is something else I'm working on: not voicing rude things that come to mind when I'm in a bad mood, but smiling whenever I come across something that perked me up.

But back to that list: happiness.

When I force myself out of my own mental puddle and take a breath and a good look around, there are plenty of things that bring that smile to my face. My goal is to learn to appreciate those things rather than getting glum over their muddy counterparts.

Happiness is....

Sunshine

Fresh air

Home-cooked meals

When another driver lets me go first (unless, of course, their kindness results in me getting rammed into, but I've moved on)

Years ago, our youth pastor preached a message which has stayed with me. He talked about our personal levels of contentment, and I believe he used Philippians 4:11&12:

11) Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content. 12) I know both how to be abased, and I know how to abound: every where and in all things I am instructed both to be full and to hungry, both to abound and to suffer need.

The idea was that we can choose how much good we require to be content with ourselves and our lives. We define our own level of contentment. If we can agree with ourselves that we can be content with three square meals, a comfortable house, and a car that runs, we will be happy when we have those things. Furthermore, anything about and beyond that measure will be received as a blessing.

On the other hand, if we convince ourselves that we will not be content until we have a car manufactured after the year 2000, a house with an extra bedroom, money to eat out more than once a month, and our favorite store's entire spring clothing line, we will probably never feel content even with the many things we do have.

I have learned to be content with the condition of my life: my poor beater car, our big drafty house, my amazing family, and a talent for making a meal out of practically anything. However, when it comes to the day-to-day circumstances, my personal happiness can flop like a broken pendulum every time someone walks by.

I have a hard time taking every throw in stride, both good and bad. It takes me a while to recover from a hard word, a mistake, or bad news. And yes, I am severely affected by the weather, and possible the lunar phases as well, but I am consciously working on that.

Last year something I dedicated a post to Philippians 4:5 (or at least I tried to, but looking back, that post was all over the place). Very often these days that verse comes to mind:

5) Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. 6) Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. 7) And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Brave the old post if you dare. In short, the idea is maintaining a steadfastness about your nature, not tossed back and forth from despair to joy as the wind changes; leaning on God, trusting Him with tomorrow (rather than borrowing its troubles today), and letting His peace reign.

Happiness is only part of the issue. Happiness is a temporal thing, measured and dictated by our current condition or circumstance, even when we struggle to be content with our lot. The real thing is joy. True joy is something only God can bring, and it is not defined by our outward condition. It's defined by our inward state and our identity in Christ.

I go back to Paul whenever this topic comes to mind. If you want to read about a man who took everything in stride, look at Paul. And after everything, when he stood before King Agrippa and was permitted to give an account of himself, this is what he said: "I think myself happy" (Acts 26:2).

He had suffered shipwrecks and stonings, betrayals and rejection, and now at last was brought as a prisoner before the king. Yet he found himself happy, because he was exactly where he wanted to be, with the king's full attention. Read Acts 26 sometime; Paul makes full use of the opportunity and lays out his testimony in full. Festus calls him a mad babbler, but Paul politely disagrees. He was confident in his work, knowing full well that he was right where he belonged and serving God to the best of his ability, and that was enough.

So maybe I don't have some "great calling" like Paul. I don't think I'd do too well with that sort of adventure right now, anyway. It's better that I bide my time, training myself to take every rude customer and bad day in stride and learn a lesson from each of them, the better to serve when the bigger opportunities rise.

Most of all, I'm learning to be content exactly where I am rather than longing for one more thing, dreaming of a bigger adventure, wasting my time wishing I was doing something else. I'm right where God needs me. I just have to be open for Him to use me in the ways I can't yet see. 

How I'm Slowly Coming to Grips with Adulthood

I'm sitting in another coffee shop this evening, polishing off some hot chocolate and contemplating the wrap and pie I just ate, which almost filled my meal budget for a week.

Yes, it was delicious.

Per usual, I don't really have much to say. I'm trying to work myself back into the blogging rhythm. Bear with me. Or, conversely, come back in a month and see how I'm doing.

In a month, I'll be 20. Yikes.

I'm not ready for that, guys. Mostly mentally, though a little emotionally as well. 12-year-old me was sure I would at least have a boyfriend by now and be halfway around the world on some grand adventure, or autographing my latest best-seller.

I miss childhood. The world felt so much bigger then. Now I'm settled into my adult job, doing my best to budget and dealing with the responsibilities of maintaing my own car, buying my own clothes and food, and not having to run every social engagement by my mother for approval. (Seriously, she is insisting I be the independent little adult she raised me to be and plan stuff without her ok. It's weird.)

Most days I struggle with my lack of time management skills. I get the feeling this may be a life-long practice. Bother it all, but I am bad at it. Once upon a time, I was that little girl in the corner stuck in her book with a bag of chips. Now I only snatch enough time to read right before bed or in the morning before work. It hurts.

Also, I forgot to mention that over the winter (starting in September, really) I went on something of a health kick. Suddenly I found myself enjoying hummus (which I once swore I would never eat), buying essential oils at the health food store downtown, craving organic granola, and snubbing potato chips and pizza. What? Part of it can be attributed to the fact that by September I had been working a real job for a year. A job that required me to be on my feet and moving around. Turns out what I wanted during my beautiful childhood was a little more activity and a little less curling up to read. Much as it pains me to admit. (Come on. One fencing class made up the whole of my school sports career.)
When I switched to my desk job this September, I had a small moment of panic. Suddenly I was back to sitting for most of the day.
In short, I'm more conscientious of what I eat now. I'm even contemplating a membership at the gym. (Please contain your shock.) But I'm still learning, still adjusting. I'm slow like that. My biggest struggle right now is the feeling that I'm just spinning my wheels. I can't quite explain it, but it's like I just can't manage everything in my life, like I'm missing something in the chaos. Not that I have a lot going on, but I'm trying to figure out how to arrange everything so I can still do the things I love, the things that matter.
I think part of it is this horrible weather. Usually I love winter, or at least know how to endure it, but this one is making me feel a little stir crazy. I'm daydreaming of my garden this year. We didn't get one in last year, and that was rough. Which is silly, because before then I had a grand total of two years as a gardener. I put in a load of bulbs around the front of the house, and I'm eager to see how they will look. Mom is making plans for the vegetables we will have. Mostly I'm happy that the chickens will be contained to their run and I will be able to enjoy the fruits of my labors in peace without worrying that someone's beak will destroy them for a snack.
I'm also hoping to get into a good walking/running habit with Sasha. She's been driving us all a little crazy lately with her boundless energy. It's embarrassing what a terrible dog owner I turned out to be. Live and learn, right?
The beauty is that I can only imagine the ways God is going to use all of what I'm learning. I'm just trying my best to make the most of it while I'm here. My inner child whispers that somewhere there is a lesson that could save my life one day. That annoying mature, practical part of me groans.
I came here tonight with Mom, who had a Search and Rescue group meeting. Wanting to meet the people she and Dad always talk about, I joined them in their separate room for a while. It got weird when I choked on a bite of lettuce and realized if I showed signs of distress, I'd have half-a-dozen people jumping to offer assistance. Wesley and Heather know how well I handle the suggestion of CPR. I carefully and slowly swallowed that lettuce and soon left. And now I'm waiting, because I didn't expect it to take this long.
At least here I don't have the distractions I'd have at home. Like chores and a dirty room and a cuddly puppy and one of Allenna's shows on TV. That's the problem with me and time management: I have time, but worrying about how to manage it leaves me tired and I end up wasting my time.
And I'm just rambling. I should probably go. I will say, before I do, that my goal is to blog Fridays and Tuesdays as often as I can manage. I never realized how much of a stress relief blogging is to me. (Well, the stress mostly came from guilt that I wasn't blogging, but....) So until Friday, I hope!

The Girl in the Corner

On Monday the 29th, we visited the holding tank. But before that we went to another children's home. The path to get there took us down a narrow alley and up a dark, winding flight of stairs to the fourth floor of a rundown building. We stepped through the doorway and were greeted by what felt like a crowd in the small quarters. Before us were a bench and a small table under a window; to the right, a staircase leading to the roof, with clothes hanging in the sun; to the left, past a washing machine, was the darkened kitchen, with cupboards bare of all but onions. On the wall directly to our left was a mural covered with handprints and names, and a phrase that was something like "Clean Hands and Pure Hearts - We Are All Children of God" with a Bible verse. Past that was a closed, broken door leading to a bedroom.

You could see patches of hazy sky through holes in the roof. I'm not sure how truly it was a roof, at least over the living room area. 

We said hello and then passed out bottles of fruit juice and packets of cookies and crackers. Bro. Mike had intended to come armed with bags of rice, but due to the holiday most of the stores were closed.

The matrons of the house, two older ladies with bent bodies and wide smiles revealing missing teeth, presided over a group of around 10 children, though "children" isn't strictly correct. Most of them looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. There were also a few with mental disabilities. The young people here were the ones no one wanted: rejected, unloved, abused.

One of the people in our group gave a gospel presentation. The one of the ladies who runs thehome stood up to tell their story. She and the other lady both had children of their own, all grown and some gone off to America. They both had been abandoned by their husbands and had to raise their children on their own. Now they raised more children here. They had to trust God for everything, living day to day and truly understanding the power of prayer. The wall with the mural had a story, too: that section of wall had collapsed, and another group from the states had built a new one.

Their story reminds me of George Mueller, the missionary who built a children's home and trusted God to provide for it. He never knew where their next meal would come from, but it always came.

The group sang a song before we left. Bro. Mike translated, but I don't remember all the words. The part I did catch was something like "you gave me a home and a name because I am a child of your heart". That visit is one example of how I went looking to bless and came away blessed instead.

However, there is one other part to that story. While the gospel was being given, Ms. Peggy noticed a girl sitting in the corner, her head hanging in shame. She didn't respond when Bro. Mike asked who wanted to be saved. She just sat there quietly.

Afterward Ms. Peggy approached to her and talked with her. I didn't hear the whole story, but the girl (maybe my age or a little younger) had just come from a different region of Peru and probably prostitution. She was ashamed of that old life and felt she didn't deserve God. Bro. Mike said he could tell she had trust issues from being hurt before.

I believe she ended up accepting Christ as her Savior. I pray God helps her get past her past and find hope and a new life in Him. Some people don't agree, but a sin like prostitution, voluntary or not, is no worse than lying, no better than murder, no greater than stealing. The person who lies to avoid punishment stands in as much shame as the prostitute, and God is the answer for both of them. This girl was helped to see that, and given hope to lift her above it.

After that children's home, we went to the holding tank. I've already told you a little about the girls there. What we learned after we'd met them and talked with them was that one of them had a 2-year-old child. I don't know which girl. It doesn't really matter. I mentioned that most of those girls had histories of human trafficking and abuse. The oldest there was 17. You could see how they were hurting; how they all longed to be loved and accepted and how some were too scared of being hurt again. We told them about a Friend who would never abandon, who would never reject, who would only love and forgive.

I mentioned the church drummer in a previous post. His story is along the same lines. I never heard all of it at one time, but he has a past involving drugs. He's a big, strong guy, and it's not hard to see how he might have been a tough, even dangerous person once. But spend any amount of time with him now, even if you can't speak the language, and you'll see how he's not that man any more. He's kind and friendly and happy and exactly the kind of person you'd want watching your back as you navigate the more dangerous parts of town.

One the bus that one day while he and the intern were talking, he asked her to help him learn to say something in English. He wanted to know how to give his testimony. All he asked to know where a few simple words, but they tell it all:

I once was a drug addict; now I am a child of God.

That's all there is. Nothing else matters; not the dark stories of the past, not the technicalities, not a religious process. That's hope, pure and simple: God taking the broken, the unloved, the rejected, the hurting, the bitter, and giving them hope through forgiveness. He paid for every sin, and they're all equal in His eyes; we're all equally broken. There's nothing we can do on our own, no works that can save us, no human we can look to for rescue. It's not that difficult. 

Some think it's too good to be true, that there must be some exclusive clause, that they've done too much. That girl sitting quietly in the corner, her head bowed in shame, felt she had done too much to ask God for help. Ms. Peggy reached out to her, loved her, and handed her a lifeline. That, for me personally, was one of the biggest moments on the trip. It's what we went for, but it's also what we should be living for every day.

There and Back Again

It's taken me a few days to sit down and write this because I'm still struggling to process everything. Tonight at church most of us "Peru Trippers" had a little testimony time where we got to share about our experiences in Peru. I had such a hard time sorting through my thoughts. I kind of knew what I wanted to say, but I lost it as soon as I stood up. Thankfully, I didn't dissolve into tears. But there was so much more I couldn't find the words for. I still want to share all of that.

I'm planning on doing a series of detailed posts after this one, rather than cramming everything into one long, unorganized, rambling post. For right now, however, I'll do an overview of sorts. 

Practically everything I knew about Peru before this trip was what I saw in movies, read in books (though few fictional characters ever go to Peru), and heard from my family and others who have gone there on missions trips. I looked up Peru on Wikipedia after my trip, and I can tell you that short page doesn't even begin to describe Peru for real.

I didn't realize how little those stories would prepare me for the reality. I think we all tend to develop ideas and pictures of places we've never been based on what we're told or pictures we see. I know I do. Turns out all those images I'd subconsciously developed over the years were not even close to correct. I can't say I really had culture shock. I did wish I had dedicated myself to my Spanish studies.

We had a number of bus rides between the children's home and the city of Lima and its suburbs. During many of these, Bro. Mike, the missionary whose family founded the children's home, rode with us. He provided little educational lectures rather like a tour guide, acquainting us with Peru. I learned that Peru contains every kind of climate existing in the world, from snowy mountains (3 hours away from us they were having snow storms) to rainforests to deserts. The area with which I am now familiar is the "costal" area: rocky, arid, and among the foothills and edges of the mountains.

We arrived at the end of their winter and rainy season. "Rain" there is actually a fine mist. We rarely saw the sun and most days were cuddled up in sweatshirts. Once or twice I wished for gloves. One the warmer days, we Americanos locos went barefoot, and the nannies asked if our feet weren't freezing.

While we visited the ritzy areas of Lima on occasion, that area and class weren't our focus. We spent most of our time among the normal people, the "average" population (and I'm not sure how else to word that, but I don't mean it offensively). The houses are small and full of large families, the conditions are poor and often filthy, there are dogs every where (I mean everywhere).... But that's not what I'll remember. Almost instantly, I was impressed by the spirit of the people we met. They were happy, open, humble, friendly, kind, and even content. Yes, many talked of how they wanted their children to have better lives; but they weren't consumed with that. They work, they struggle to get by, they laugh, they love. 

Peruvians (or los Peruanos, as we learned) are proud. Not high and mighty proud. It's more like dignity. For example, they might be poor, but they dress as well as they are able.

While we were there, we got to witness their Independence Day celebrations (which we didn't even realize we'd be there for). The actual date was the 28th, which was a Sunday, but most of their celebrations took place on Saturday. Just down the street from the children's home was a parade which lasted a good four hours. It was mostly school groups, all dressed in costumes reflecting different parts and times of Peru's history and culture. You could see the patriotic pride there. 

From a tourist's standpoint, Peru might appear very religious. There are certainly plenty of churches, and I'd guess the majority of the population, at least where we were, had some sort of religious ceremony they went through. But it's not real. It is simply religion: a practice, a pattern, empty words and actions in an effort to earn one's way to Heaven. There's no relationship with God, no fellowship, not faith. That was one of the most heart-breaking things of all.

But despite that, the people were still so willing to accept our gifts of tracts and Bibles. They're hungry, and they don't deny that. Again, they're so open and so humble, willing to receive, quick to love, ready to help. The people we went to serve and to be a blessing to turned out to be an even greater blessing to us.
This is turning out to be just as confused and rambling as I feared. I'll try to work on that. Before I close, I suppose I should mention something about the plane ride.
I was strangely composed when we boarded our first plane. Referring again to things I learned from movies, I expected it to be bigger than it was. Turns out all those planes in the movies were the long-distance type, while ours, for two hours of travel, was considerably smaller. The first take off wasn't as terrifying as I anticipated. There was the initial felling of weightlessness and I clutched the seat in front of me (where, thankfully, Dad was seated) and probably went pale. Mom was laughing at me, so I guess I was a sight. But after we leveled out, I actually was able to enjoy myself. It almost felt like riding in a van or bus, until we hit turbulence (which we did while passing the Andes on our longer second flight). Turbulence still bugs me, but I'm cool with the rest.
And our 7 hour flight from Lima had personal TVs with a wide selection of movies. Though I was exhausted from a long day, I did watch one. Heather turned on Sound of Music, of all things.
So the thing I was most worried about turned out to be no big deal. Yay for me!
I'm going to go now before I make any more of a mess with this post. I'll be back soon.

Lightning Bugs and Lightning (and mosquitoes)

Summer nights around our house have been pretty amazing lately. I only wish I was better with a camera (and then had a camera...). Every night the lightning bugs have put on beautiful shows. Do you know how cool it is to drive down a road surrounded by corn fields and see the lightning bugs flashing like crazy? Not only that, but I love star gazing on summer nights (provided I have bug repellent). It's just another perk of moving to the country.

The animals aren't quite so captivated by the lightning bugs. The dogs and cat ignore them for the most part and the chickens only wonder how good they are to eat. The ducks, however, didn't know what to make of them one of the first nights they showed up. I was out settling the chickens for the night. As I was walking back toward the house to turn on the hose, I met the ducks. They were telling me off, as usual, screaming about something or other and following me back to the coop. All of a sudden, a lightning bug floated in front of their faces and lit up. The lead duck was so startled he stopped short and pulled back. And fell silent.

Until I laughed at him.

Last night was even more amazing than our average summer night this year. We've had a bit of a heat wave (like practically every other state in the country). Earlier we'd had a brief but powerful storm, mostly wind and rain. It had cleared up pretty quickly and the day remained muggy. However, Heather came running in from corralling her ducks and said to come quick because there was a storm building and involved lightning. Mom and I followed her out.

All along the north sky there were thick clouds full of lightning; both flashes that filled the clouds and streaks that forked through and even shot out like snake tongues. Pretty soon I was sent back in to get Mom's camera, and Heather followed for hers. This was too good of a show to pass up, because what photographer (casual, amateur, or professional) wouldn't like to get a picture of lightning?

I took mosquito decoy duty while Mom and Heather snapped away. When they paused to wait for cars to pass or to check and see if they got any good shots, we'd raise a chorus of "ooo"s and "ahhh"s. While they clicked away, I stood back in wonder at the display. To add to the spectacle we had a bright moon in clear skies behind us and the lightning bugs were all over. I ran back in to get the tripod and grabbed Mom's phone because Dad had texted. I ended up catching a picture of a lightning streak and, satisfied with my surprising success, retreated inside.

Of course, I took stock of my bug bites. I've been having worse-than-average reactions to mosquitoes lately, and they like to cluster on one spot whenever they attack. I had a good twenty bites on my legs and ankles, but only one on my arm. Naturally.

Years ago, our family took a hiking trip. I can't even remember where we went. We were near dunes, but were in a forest. It was either late spring or early autumn, and we kids were complaining of cold and begging to cut the hike short. Dad stopped and looked at us seriously. He told us to stop whining and enjoy ourselves, because it was a beautiful day and the view was amazing, and that's what we would remember if we'd pay attention. We'd forget about the cold and the wind in no time, and recall instead the breathtaking views of the dunes from a wooded hilltop, or the zig-zagging trail winding around tree roots, or just the joy of spending time with family doing what we loved.

It's his words that helped me remember that trip, and the sights associated with it. I don't know how it's stuck with me, but it came to mind when I was thinking about last night's spectacle. I'll remember that a lot longer than the bug bites. I remember the double rainbow I saw a few years ago better than I remember the terror of driving through tornado weather on a road trip. I remember the fun of a sledding trip and forget about the cold and the damp. I remember the fun of sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows and singing songs and not the fatigue of a long week at camp.

But you have to choose to move beyond the discomfort, the unpleasant parts, and focus on the good and the thrill and the wonderful displays of God's handiwork. It requires a conscience effort, and perhaps a little time afterward for reflection (and some sort of ointment to soothe the bug bites).

Yes, I am kind of preaching to myself in light of our Peru trip. I'm trying to get it into my head that there will be so much to enjoy and learn and take away from this opportunity that I can't let myself be held back by my own silly psychological issues.
And I have to get going now to make some more progress on preparing for that trip. I'm mostly packed, and I only "need" to buy one or two more things. This time on Monday I'll be either in a plane or in an airport. I still can't process that....

In the Wake of VBS

So that plan didn't exactly work. To be fair, it's been a long week; and, for me, the week can't even begin to be wrapped up until today is over and done and I'm curled up in bed with my breathing and heart rate back to normal.

VBS was phenomenal! Even though myself and my amazing assistant teacher were tucked up in a hot corner room where half the time the food workers forgot about us and the other half of the time they were avoiding us for the sake of their well-being, I enjoyed my job. (Plus, I got to play dress-up as a cowgirl all week. No complaints there!) I've had plenty of practice teaching memory verses thanks to Mom and Dad, and despite the fact that the kids were far more interested in their food than in me, I think we accomplished something. And I had enough wonderful, angelic, attentive kids to almost outweigh the not-to-good ones. Almost.

I'm not sure if the fact that every night but one we had to call in the reserves for crowd control is a testament to my poor ability to handle children, or testament to poor judgement with placing kids on teams. I was ashamed.

There were deadly dog-piles and the handing out of "men" and children whose vocabularies were temporarily reduced to "no" and "why", but we survived with our sanity only slightly damaged and some fun memories. And I reminded myself that it doesn't matter if it feels stupid; sometimes I need to play along and laugh at myself, because the kids will love it.

Yellow Team won the overall points for the week. And that's historic at our church. Yellow has had a losing streak for longer than my family has been attending, I think. Some years they may have won third instead of fourth; once I think they got second. But I've never seen them whip everyone else like they did this year. Even though my own Green Team fell in third, I was happy. Even better was the amount we raised in the penny offering for some beloved missionaries of ours. I think we're finally getting the hang of the penny offering.

One of the youth workers, who's more like the "All Youth Activities Director, Supervisor, and Supreme Overseer" at church, is not only brilliant, but I think a little crafty. Our verse for last night was Colossians 3:23: "And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men." I explained to my kids what "heartily" meant: quickly, happily, and with excitement, the way your parents want you to do your chores. I also reminded them that the verse is saying it doesn't matter if man praises you; man's opinion doesn't matter. All that matters is doing right because it has to be done.

When the Supreme Overseer pointed to a vacuum parked in the middle of the sanctuary and said, "That's yours", that verse rang in my head, and then this sneaking suspicion developed: I bet she picked that specific verse for tonight as a reminder to the workers who get stuck cleaning in the aftermath. Halfway down one row of pews and three banged knuckles later (have you any idea how difficult it is to vacuum between church pews?) I was convinced. Smooth.

I like getting recognized for my work. Who doesn't? And I try to make sure I recognize others for their hard work and when they are honestly putting in an effort. Which is why I incorrectly used the box of candy given to me for prizes in class. The candy was intended for kids who could say all four of their verses. When the head Cowboy for the week came in and suggested a quiet seat prize, I jumped on it. I can do bribes, too. In my last class, I extended it, and all eight of the kids left with candy in their hands (except one who, for reasons I still can't quite figure out, gave his piece to another boy because "I know you worked really hard on your verses"). I had four problem kids in that class, and the last night they all worked harder than I could have hoped, and most said at least one verse. Victory!

Anyway. People did tell me "thank you, Miss Amber" (what is with this "Miss" stuff? Boggles my brain, I tell you) and I sang back over the whine of the vacuum "You're welcome!" But I kept telling myself that, though the praise felt good, I would have put in the same effort if everyone else had all gone off to bed or (because few people my age make a habit of going to bed by 10) out for ice cream. Right? Of course right.

In short (because I have to get going for the longest day thus far in my career), I learned a lot this week. And I'm convinced I'll need every lesson down the road, from child care to knowing the right balance of discipline and bribery to doing what needs to be done simply because it needs to be done and there's a vacuum standing in front of me, even though some silly person will probably come along in 10 minutes leaving behind a trail of dust and garbage. But it's okay.

If I'm still alive and sane, I shall see you...probably next week. Tomorrow is going to be a long one, too.

Happy Medium

Okay, guys. What do you call a psychic midget on the run? You ready? A short medium at large.

It's a real knee-slapper, I know. And no, it is not an original. I got it from a co-worker. I don't think I've ever actually made my own joke. I prefer to enjoy a cleverly crafted piece of humor. Or point out the daily humor I come across in real life. Like when... Actually, no. I won't share that story.

But I digress! And that joke at the beginning is actually related to today's post. And this post is also inspired by...my shower. *cringe*

Typically, my shower is when my brain activity reaches its high for the day. My concious brain activity, that is. I like hot showers. Well, in colder weather. Come summer, I still like the water to be warm, while everyone else is bathing in Lake Superior temperatures. Though they say* hot showers aren't really good for you. (Don't quote me. It might just be me saying that, though I seem to recall reading an article about it which someone shared on facebook or something.)

Gah! Stay on target! So I like hot showers. But my body does have a maximum temperature tolerance. And usually, I start the water off too hot, and then knock it to the cold side, and back and forth we go, and the odds aren't good it'll settle happily in the middle. And I grumble about the shower having no happy medium setting. (Same goes with the volume in most cars. You get indistinct or you get too-loud-for-conversation.)

I first picked up on the whole "happy medium" idea from A Wrinkle in Time. I actually saw the movie before I ever read the book. I think it's because I saw the movie that I was disinclined to read the book for quite a while afterward. (It stinks. Admit it. The twins are rude and demeaning, Charles Wallace is spoiled, Meg is angsty, and her dad has little redeeming qualities. And Calvin? Ugh.) Throughout the book, Meg's family is telling her she needs to find her happy medium. And then, of course, they do find the Happy Medium. (And at that time, the true meaning of "medium" in this context eluded me. I had some vague idea that the Happy Medium was some sort of manifestation of Meg's good side. Don't ask. I think that was about the time I was also introduced to Ted Dekker's Three.)

As described in the little chapter synopsis I linked up there, Meg is encouraged to find a happy medium because she tends to swing from one extreme to the other. Maybe that's why I relate to her so well. And then I got glasses and developed the habit of shoving them up my nose absentmindedly, and our similarities grew, and I was happy.

Clearly, I need a little mediocrity in my blogging, because this is all over the place.

Oh! Mediocrity. That was part of my next point.

In a past post, I mentioned a sermon Pastor preached out of Philippians 4:5-7, the key being in verse 5:

 

Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand.

Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.

And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

Pastor talked about how we needed to be sure we are grounded, especially emotionally, in our lives, not dropping in despair one minute and leaping with abandon the next; not so easily tossed about. Today, the word "mediocrity" has the idea of boring or second-rate, but in fact it's what we need to strive for in our lives. We can be calm and secure because God is always at our side and the troubles we face will pass, even though they seem insurmountable now. Where the world is stumbling back and forth, reeling from disaster and the reveling in their little victories, we are unshaken, because we have our eyes on what will truly last, and what will matter, and the rest doesn't upset us.

Not to say we're supposed to be unfeeling, unresponsive robots. We're still human. The point is that, no matter what happens, we know Who is in control, and we can rest in that knowledge. Other people will mark how we stay strong in the storms of life when they're clinging to their man-made lifelines.**

Yes. I got all of that from issues with water temperature during my shower.

 

 

*One day I'm going to write a book about this "they". Or maybe just a short story. And perhaps I'll title it "You Know What They Say".

** Why am I always referencing ships and the ocean? I don't even really like the ocean.

The Glory of the Cross

Note: I started writing this post a couple weeks ago. My days had been mixed up and I was thinking it was the Wednesday between Palm Sunday and Easter, when in reality it was the Wesneday before Palm Sunday. So I set it aside and promised to post it at the appropriate time. And then I forgot and blogged about chickens instead.
I came back to it today, wanting to finish my "Easter post". Due to the time difference from when I originally wrote it until now, I thought some of it might have to be adjusted. I only changed a couple tenses, so I'm sorry if it reads a little out of whack. And then I added more today. Not that this is really important to most of you.  :)  I just wanted to apologize if my thoughts seem all over the place...or moreso than usual.

From last week

For me, it's always been easier to relate to historical events, to really grasp them and appreciate them, when I can think, "So many years ago today this or that happened." (Perhaps that's why half of history class is all about the dates of events?) History can begin to feel like any other story if we're just told, "This happened."

I always love watching Preacher craft a timeline. It helps to put things into perspective, even if it isn't to scale (because it never is). And you know what happened this week, 2,000+ years ago.

Christ's last week on earth. For the time being.

He'd had His last supper. He'd prayed in the garden. He'd been taken prisoner, tried and declared guilty, beaten and mocked. And then He headed for a death on a cross, to be executed. Not for Himself, the perfect God Incarnate, but for the very creation that scorned and hated and spit on Him; we who reject and deny and curse His name.

Crucifixion was one of the worst and most disgraceful forms of execution. And Christ submitted Himself to it for us.

In my last post (or the one before that) I mentioned a recent Sunday morning sermon. The text was Mark 9:1-9, Matt 17:1-9, and Luke 9:27. (Yes, the account of the Mount of Transfiguration.) The subject: the glory of Christ's cross.

Glory (dictionary.com):

2. Something that is a source of honor, fame, or admiration; a distinguished ornament or an object of pride.

4. Resplendent beauty or magnificence.

No one before the cross saw it as in any way glorious. They didn't get it (Matt. 16:21, Mark 8:31). Those who followed Christ believed His glory would be in conquering Rome and ruling as King. Only a few days before, they were singing in the streets, looking for God to save them. But today we call the day of His death "good". It certainly wasn't good for Him. The mockery, the abjection, and ultimately the giving of His life after hours hanging in agony on a tree. But it represents hope and grace and love poured out for us.

On the Mount of Transfiguration, Christ prays and then talks with Moses and Elijah. They don't discuss His victory and reign. They discuss His approaching death.

They discuss "his decease which he should accomplish at Jerusalem." (Luke 9:31)

Accomplish.

The word connotes, at least nowadays, the achievement of something good, praiseworthy, and proud. People boast about winning a race, completing college, or getting their driver's license. Who considers brutal execution while being publicly humiliated to be their greatest achievement? Not only that, but it is human nature to try to maintain life for as long as possible.

Accomplish:

1. To bring to its goal or conclusion; to carry out; perform; finish.

When Christ declared "It is finished" and surrendered Himself to death, Satan saw it as his greatest accomplishment. He'd killed God! He'd prevented God from saving the world. The human race had rejected Him, tortured Him, and killed Him.

The angels didn't understand it. Why was the Creator doing this for people who didn't even care? Why didn't He call them to lift Him from that cross and wipe out His wicked creation?

Christ's disciples, His earthly family, those who followed Him and looked to Him as their Messiah, didn't get it. Why did it end this way? How could it? Where was their kingdom, their glory, with Him on the throne? When they saw Him raised on that cross, I believe their hearts were sinking. The weight of their sorrow, their hopelessness, made it difficult to breathe. They felt lost when the body of their Savior was laid in a tomb. What now?

The Devil certainly didn't get it. I wonder if he thought it was too easy? If it even crossed his mind.

Three days later, he had to be saying that.

Christ didn't just die. That's only the beginning of the story. No rock in front of a borrowed tomb could hold Him; no soldiers could stop Him; death couldn't keep Him. He claimed the keys of Death itself. His life was the ransom, His perfect blood the great price none of us could ever achieve.

That's the glory of the cross. That's the great accomplishment of God, even though people still can't understand. That's love, the likes of which no temporal thing in this finite world could ever hope to mimic. The Devil tries, but all his copies are like the crayon scribblings of an infant compared to the Mona Lisa. Not only crude and short of any kind of imitation, but also worthless.

A couple thousand years ago, as they watched their king, their Messiah, their friend, the Son of God, struggle under the weight of the ugly wooden cross, torn and bleeding and scorned on all sides, they didn't understand. Their hope seemed to die with Jesus, and then it was buried in a cold, sunless tomb. They didn't see the whole picture.

We have the whole picture. We see the pain and the hatred and the blood, we see the tomb and darkness. But we also see the victory! That's the glory of the cross! That's what we claim, what we hope in. “It is finished” is our victory cry.

 

Today

I’m subbing the teaching part of our Wednesday night class tomorrow. Dad gave me the verse a couple weeks ago so I could prepare. (He tends to fly by the seat of his pants when he teaches, which works for him, but I like notes.) I’ve slowly been adding thoughts and comparison verses to it since then. I don’t know how I’ll get to hit on all the points during class, but I wanted to share the gist of it here.

The verse is John 15:13, a supporting verse for Romans 5:1, which the kids memorized while working on the Romans Road a while ago.

Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. – Romans 5:1 

Greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends. – John 15:13

Whenever Dad starts to work with the kids on memorizing a verse, he has them point out words they don’t know. Then he breaks down the verse so they understand the meaning of what they’re memorizing, not just the words.

I’m sure the kids will understand what all of those words mean, but I went through the dictionary and got definitions anyway. (Do you have any idea how hard it is to determine which form of “that” is being used? There are a good dozen or more forms listed in the dictionary.) While I was working on that, a few words/phrases stuck out to me; namely, “lay down”.

What’s cool is that Pastor’s sermon Easter Sunday tied in with this really well and gave me some extra material. I love it when that happens.

To lay down one’s life is a sacrifice, usually for the sake of a loved one.

 

Peter said unto him, Lord, why cannot I follow thee now? I will lay down my life for thy sake. - John 13:37

Hereby perceive we the love of God, because he laid down his life for us: and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. - I John 3:16

Christ wasn’t forced onto that cross. He wasn’t beaten into such a state that he couldn’t resist. He didn’t “surrender his life” or “give up his life” as if there had been a struggle and He was finally relinquishing control. He laid it down. No fight; no resistance.

Therefore doth my Father love me, because I lay down my life, that I might take it again. No man taketh it from me, but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it again. This commandment have I received of my Father. - John 10:17&18

Usually the king’s life is more important than anyone else’s. People give their lives for the king, promise to protect the king with their lives, pay any ransom for the king. But this King gave His own life for our ransom, and we didn’t even care about Him. The glory of the cross is that the King of creation laid down His life for the sake of people who didn't even acknowledge Who He was, who were so lost in their sinful darkness that they couldn't understand this Light that burst in. He reached down and paved a path out of the darkness, the stones His love and the mortar His blood; a road that starts at the foot of His cross. Our cross.

Peace, be still.

There's a word in the Bible that's been on my mind all week. It's significance was pointed out to me a while ago by my dad. The word is "Selah".

It appears most often in the Psalms, though I spotted it in Habakkuk on Sunday. (That's when I started thinking about it.) Somehow or other, Dad and I got to talking about it, and Dad said that it meant "rest". That's how I've been defining it in my head for a while. However, I looked it up on dictionary.com in preparation for this post, and this is what I found:

 

• an expression occurring requently in the Psalms, thought to be a liturgical or musical direction, probably a direction by the leader to raise the voice or perhaps an indication of a pause.
• a Hebrew word of unknown meaning occuring in the Old Testament psalms, and thought to be a musical direction.
• 1530, Hebrew word occurring frequently at the end of verse in Psalter. Supposed to be a liturgical direction, perhaps meaning "pause," or perhaps a musical direction to raise the voice (cf. Heb. base s-l-l "to raise, life").
•  a word frequently found in the Book of Psalms, and also in Hab. 3:9, 13, about seventy-four times in all in Scripture. Its meaning is doubtful. Some interpret it as meaning "silence" or "pause;" others, "end," "a louder strain," "piano," etc. The LXX. render the word by daplasma i.e., "a division"

 

Not exactly clear or definitive, though it's a decent starting point. So I went to google.

I kind of like how this article explores the various possible definitions, as well as the writer's conclusion. Another suggested meaning is "this being so, give heed to what is now to be said", which is also along the same lines as I've been thinking.

Selah. It has the idea of stopping, of pausing, to reflect; most often, to reflect on God and what He is doing. For Christians, we can be at rest when we stop and consider that God is in control and knows what He is doing.
Lately, I've been feeling weighed down by life. It's so many little things compounded, overwhelming me, so I almost feel suffocated at times. Like a ship lost at see, whose sailor is straining against the darkness and the rain for a glimmer of light from the lighthouse, all while struggling just to keep the ship from capsizing.
In the middle of life's storms, it's against instinct to stop what we're doing and just reflect, or even not think at all. How can we possibly be still, even for a moment? It feels like if we slow down long enough to catch our breath, we'll be overrun.

After Sunday school, which was when I saw "selah" in Habakkuk, the choir sang what I thought of as a "comfort medley". I can't even remember the songs they sang, but each was about finding comfort and peace in God. It was like God was putting it all in my face, drawing up a little theme for the day. I had to smile. Talk about a heart lifter.
I actually started this post days ago, but got distracted when I went in search of some verses. I ended up doing a word study on "selah". I believe there are 72 or 73 instances of the word in the Bible. All but 2 or 3 are in the Psalms; the others are in Habakkuk.

Lord, how are they increased that trouble me! many are they that rise up against me. Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God. Selah. But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head. I cried unto the Lord with my voice, and he heard me out of his holy hill. Selah. I laid me down and slept; I awaked; for the Lord sustained me. I will not be afraid of ten thousands of people, that have set themselves against me round about. Airse, O Lord; save me, O my God: for thou hast smitten all mine enemies upon the cheek bone; thou hast broken the teeth of the ungodly. Salvation belongeth unto the Lord: thy blessing is upon thy people. Selah.
- Psalm 3

Stand in awe, and sin not: commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still. Selah.
- Psalm 4:4

Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.
-Psalm 32:7

Lord, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am. Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee; verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah. Surely every man walketh in a vain shew: surely they are disquieted in vain: he heapeth up riches, and knoweth not who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee. Deliver me from all my transgressions: make me not to reproach of the foolish.
- Psalm 39:4-8

Make a joyful noise unto God, all ye lands: sing forth the honour of his name: make his praise glorious. Say unto God, How terrible art thou in thy works! through the greatness of thy power shall thine enemies submit themselves unto thee. All the earth shall worship thee, and shall sing unto thee; they shall sing to thy name. Selah.
-Psalm 66:1-4

Whether it's during a prayer of repentance or a song of praise, "selah" is added like a call to reflect on the goodness and power of God. For His people, we can rejoice in His greatness and His love.
It'll be a longer word study to do the word "rest", which was another part of this little theme.

There's a song that was stuck in my head a while ago. Well, a certain portion of a song. "Hold on my child, joy comes in the morning. Weeping only lasts for the night. Hold on my child, joy comes in the morning. The darkest hour means dawn is just in sight."
Despite the troubles that surround us, we can find refuge in God and the knowledge that He is always in control, always at our side, and will always love us.
I don't know if I wrote about it before (I almost think I did), but a while ago Pastor did a study in Philippians 4. What he said about verses 5-7 often come to mind when I start to feel like that ship tossed about on a stormy sea:

Let your moderation be known unto all men. The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

The first part, about our "moderation", refers to how we deal with the ups and downs of life. We need to be steady and consistent, not tossed about by what life throws at us. A thermostat, which adjusts the temperature, and not a thermometer, which adjusts according to outside influences. We aren't overflowing with cheer and laughter one minute and drowning in our sorrows the next, as the mood takes us. We're confident and collected. Yes, we're still human, but we don't get carried away and overwhelmed by life. "The Lord is at hand" reminds us that God is always near. To "be careful for nothing" is to not get worked up and worrisome about life. You know, that sick-to-your-stomach kind of worry that can debilitate you.
To a lot of people, the concept of prayer can be confusing and even ridiculous. What's the point of praying to God and asking Him to deal with your problems, or telling Him about something bad that's going on, when He already knows? What I've come to learn about prayer is that it isn't like a Christmas list, where you write up your every whim and desire and pass it on to people with money enough to satisfy; neither is it like a visit to the shrink, where you spend an hour venting about all your problems and get nothing but affirmation and maybe some gentle instruction. Prayer is bringing your troubles and burdens to God and asking Him for strength to bear the load. Prayer is going to a shelter, a haven, from the troubles of this world, where there is quiet and rest, relief and encouragement. Sure, God, already knows what's on our heart, but He still wants to hear it from us. He is ready and waiting to lift us up and carry us for a while, to soothe our aches and refresh us with His love. It's communion. Prayer isn't a time to mutter a half-hearted "bless this food" or "help him get better" or to throw out a series of "why, God?'s". Like going to church, it's a time to recover and be refreshed. Selah. Stop and consider how good God is. Take comfort in His love, courage in His strength, hope in His wisdom. Forget the world and be still.

 

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.
- Romans 8:18

And he arose, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.
- Mark 4:39

God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. Selah. There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early. (...) Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah.
- Psalm 46:1-5, 10&11

"Whereas I was blind, now I see."

As I mentioned in yesterday's post, there was more than one thing I got out of church last Sunday. However, I didn't want to detract from the main point of yesterday's post, so here's the sequel, if you will.

Part Two isn't directly related to any of the messages I heard on Sunday. Not techinically. It comes from a moment during morning service where my brain got a bit distracted.

I'm counting on the fact that I'm not the only one who has done this before, and hope at least one of you out there knows what I'm talking about: that moment when you're following along in your Bible, and while the preacher moves on to his next point you keep reading, because whatever passage you were in contains something that caught your attention. Anyone else ever done that? By a show of hands?

Pastor was in John 9:1-3, where Jesus and His disciples come upon a man who's been blind from birth. The disciples want to know who sinned, the man or his parents, to make him blind. Jesus replies: "Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him."

Pastor has been taking us through Mark, and the most recent lesson was in 7:31-37, with the healing of the deaf man. The message was about physical - and, by extension, spiritual - "deformities and disabilities", and how none of those are mistakes or accidents or faults, but the will of God. No one who is blind, or lacking an arm, or unable to speak is any less of a human being than the world's definition a whole and healthy person, and neither are they any less capable of being used by God. (Check out Exodus 4:11, Isaiah 34:4-6, and Psalm 139:13-16 if you want to get an idea of where some of this study took us.)

However, when we came to John 9, I got a bit distracted. Pastor had paused in his reading to expound an a certain point, but my eyes continued down the page. I don't know if I've ever read John 9, at least not in its entirety. I'd definitely suggest reading it, because I'm only going to summarize, and that doesn't begin to do it justice.

What really intrigued me was the whole style of the narrative. The entire chapter is one story, in which a blind man is healed. When the man's neighbors and acquaintances see him walking around, they all marvel and question, some doubting it's even that man, but rather a look-alike. Of course, the Pharisees are summoned, and they have a hissy fit. Their basis for this is that Jesus healed on the Sabbath day. They question the man thoroughly, wondering how had the audacity to heal on the Sabbath day, and how such a sinner could perform such a deed. They question what sort of man Jesus seemed to the former blind man, and that man replies that he was a prophet. 

Then the pharisees all but call him a liar and demand to see his parents, thinking the whole thing is an act. They interrogate the parents, who acknowledge that the man is their son and had been born blind, but that's all they'll say out of fear. 

This is the part I like:

24 Then again called they the man that was blind, and said unto him, Give God the praise: we know that this man (Jesus) is a sinner.

25 He answered and said, Whether he be a sinner or no, I know not: one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.

26 Then said they to him again, What did he to thee? how opened he thine eyes?

27 He answered them, I have told you already, and ye did not hear: wherefore would ye hear it again? will ye also be his disciples?

Verse 27 is my favorite. I imagine the former blind man replying with a little mockery, maybe even a smirk. Either that or he's so caught up in the miracle worked in him that he doesn't understand the Pharisees' thick-headedness.

A few years ago I came across a verse somewhere in the gospels where the Pharisees are chewing Jesus out about something or other. (Big surprise.) In the midst of their lecture, Jesus kneels down and starts drawing or writing in the dirt. I don't remember much else from that story. I'm not even sure where to look for it, and I don't know a good key word to use for my Strong's Concordance. (Read: my dad's Strong's Concordance which I borrowed a couple years ago and still have in my room.) If anyone has a clue to which verse I'm making reference, I'd love to know.

It's passages like this which make me love the Bible that much more: it's the greatest story ever told, full of the truth and love and wisdom of God, with the message of grace and salvation for all mankind, and right in the middle of parables and sermons and commandments, God throws in a little narrative where the characters are shown as normal human beings. How cool is that?
If you're reading this hoping for some deep revelation, this is all I can offer: some people refuse to see the truth, even when it's staring them in the face and there's isn't any other explination, reasonable or otherwise. They're so stuck in their ideas, their tradtions, that anyone or anything which doesn't adhere to those guidelines isn't worthy of consideration. That's no way to live. Our own mental blindness might keep us from witnessing a miracle. What good is physical sight, physical soundness, if your heart is cold and hard?

(As a side note before I close: I have to wonder if perhaps John Newton took inspiration from verse 25 when he wrote "Amazing Grace"?)