Filled to overflowing

"... and the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day."

This simple children's story makes me cry every time. So does the scene in A Christmas Carol where Scrooge has a spiritual awakening. And when I read the book "Heidi" - I lose control when I get to the part where the grandfather sees himself in the story of the prodigal son, and comes back to the church he walked away from so many years previous.

These kinds of stories touch something deep in nearly everyone who reads or watches them. They are stories of redemption, yes, but more than that, they speak hope to our hearts that life can be so much more than existence. They tell us that we were made to experience life to the fullest, whether through happiness, sadness, love, anger, fear or confidence. Emotions, designed to be transient, are God-given, and God can use them to point us toward Him and remind us that He is passionate about us. More than that, they can enhance and heighten our awareness that He is right with us.

His desire for us is to be fully human, all that we were created to be, and moreover, to walk with Him, hearts overflowing with gratitude and love for Him, spilling over into each others' lives. Something that came to me recently is that we sometimes are in awe of the fact that Enoch walked with God. He probably didn't think it was all that strange, rather, it was natural. When he walked with God, he didn't arrive instantly at the destination, but he enjoyed each step as it came. One step at a time. He lived each moment enjoying God's presence. And God enjoyed his company too.

It's all He's ever wanted for us too.

It's OK to get carried away

Have a listen to this song that's been on my mind for over a week now.

"When I Get Carried Away"

I love the play on words in the song - but the message is far deeper than just that. It's something that touched me in a place that needed reaching after my brother's death.

The subject of Heaven doesn't get much press anymore. "Pie in the sky bye and bye" (so heavenly minded we're no earthly good) has been one of the criticisms that the world has had regarding the church. But our hope and our expectation is that we will spend eternity with Jesus. It's a fact that brings us more and more comfort the older we get. Faced with our own mortality, perhaps by a diagnosis, perhaps by the illness or death of someone close to us, we can draw great comfort from the fact of "absent from the body, present with the Lord." Paul said, "If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all people."

That doesn't prevent us from enjoying life now. There is no hard and fast rule that we have to go through life as though it's all "our cross to bear" or "a vale of tears." Jesus said that the ones who believed in Him HAVE eternal life, HAVE passed from death to life. That means eternal life - the abundant life Jesus spoke about - begins the moment we ask Him into our hearts as our only hope of deliverance from the penalty of our sin. The more we realize this, the more we will overflow with gratitude to Him for doing for us what we couldn't possibly do for ourselves. We can feast on that; it's the meat and potatoes of the Christian life.

And Heaven .... becomes GRAVY. (For those who like sweets, it's the icing on the cake...) and we will truly let the glory roll when the roll is called in Glory.

Keep it Simple

I love Google Images!  This was at :
http://photos.igougo.com/pictures-photos-p173536
-Dutch_Windmill.html

My dad had a poster stuck to the wall of our old living room when I was in my late teens.

I never forgot it.

It was part of our daily lives.

It was a photo of a Dutch windmill, with one simple caption.

"To be simple is to be great."

Dad's simple faith was an inspiration to me. He only had a grade 2 education, and supplemented it to grade 4 when he was in the army in the mid-40's.

The flowery language of the King James Version of the Bible was beyond his scope a lot of times, but I remember seeing him poring over the texts, wearing his black-rimmed glasses. He didn't understand a lot of it, but he read it anyway. He wanted to get to know this God who had saved him from himself.

And his simple generosity of spirit was an example for all of us to aspire to. He opened his home or his workshop to anyone who really needed his help, often repairing this or that little thing free of charge.

He was a great man. He was great because he was uncluttered by sophistication and pretension. He was what he was. That's all... nothing more, nothing less.

Remembering his simplicity makes me wonder why we have to complicate things so much. Argue about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. Fret about who did what to whom. Go around and around in circles, chasing our tails.

The old Gaither song comes back to me again: "Loving God, loving each other...."

That's keeping it simple.

Sitting Ducks

I was listening to a pastor recently talking about how the western church has become largely ritualistic and lifeless, and how we don't need to settle for that. The sentence I remember clearly was, "We're not called to be sitting ducks in a sinking ship!"

I got to thinking about why ducks would be on a ship anyway. After all, ducks can swim. It's their natural habitat. The only reason they'd be on a ship is to be transported - in cages so as to keep them safe - from one place to another.

It's the perfect picture of the western church. So many ducks are we, "safe" in ritual and legalism, bound by the expectations of people... yet we were created for so much more: direct contact with God with no go-between, no cage bars. We don't need to be protected from living life the way Jesus intended by having to follow rules imposed by those who live in fear of spontaneity, of intimacy with God.

The western church is dying. Told what to do, how to act, what to eat, where to go ... or rather what NOT to do, how NOT to act, what NOT to eat (spiritually for example), where NOT to go. So when a real crisis hits ... when the ship becomes waterlogged with the inadequacies of empty religion ... we're trapped.

The picture is graphic. Sitting ducks (in cages) on a sinking ship.

And guess what happens to the ducks when the ship sinks? They drown. The ultimate ignominy for a bird which, were there to be no cage, could fly - or swim - to safety. REAL safety. Not the imposed safety of the metal bars.

We can ask Jesus to open the cages - deliver us from dead religion - and teach us sitting ducks how to swim and to fly again. To set the captives free (that's us) and teach us how to live in intimate relationship with God again... to live again.

Prayer

PRAYER
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PRAYER is a bloody battleground

PRAYER Satan trembles at the sound

PRAYER is where victories are won

PRAYER talking with God's precious Son

PRAYER a place where God exposes sin

PRAYER His Spirit dwelling sweet within

PRAYER where we lay our burdens down

PRAYER where God's blessings will abound

PRAYER praising God's own Holy name

PRAYER thanking Him who took our shame

PRAYER seeking guidance from above

PRAYER weeping for the ones we love

PRAYER asking for His cleansing power

PRAYER gives us grace for every hour

PRAYER lifts our spirits from despair

PRAYER sends us soaring in the air

- - - - - written by Skip
- - - - - born December 30, 1950 ----> died June 7, 2010

Fruit, not Gifts

Recently we've been very blessed by the ministry of Rev. Marie Miller (here's her website) who is a Canadian evangelist. She has what she calls "the gift of slap" - if you need to be told ... she's gonna tell ya. It's so refreshing to meet godly Christian men and women who are tired of ritual and rules. These folk just love God and want to serve Him, not because He says to, but because He first loved us SO MUCH that we can't help but want to give Him everything we are, every moment of our lives. She teaches (in part) on how to pass on what's real to the next generation.

We were privileged enough to be part of the worship team at a couple of her meetings just in the last few days. The enemy did everything he could to throw a monkey wrench into the situation. Some of the team traveled with younger children and satan loves to get at us through our kids, especially if we're honoring the Lord. This one 9-year-old boy had a bad toothache the whole time we were there; it started on the road so there was no way to turn back. He survived on anti-inflammatory medications like Advil throughout the trip until the final service late at night.

The gum developed an abscess. It swelled up so much that his whole lower cheek was puffed out. He was in tremendous pain. We all gathered around him and prayed - this would have been around 9:15 p.m. His parents decided to take him to a local hospital afterward. Both of them had to be at work early the next day - one of them was starting a new job. We offered to drive the dad home so that he could go to his work at 6 a.m. but he was not sure if his wife could drive in her condition: exhausted, in emotional distress, distracted. So we were on our way - but we kept in touch by text.
Pastor Marie - tired as she was - decided to go with the distraught parents to the hospital. That's fruit. That's not just talking about God making a difference to people, that's actually living it out in real life. I have no doubt that if his mom had needed to stay with him in the hospital while his dad went on to his job, Marie would have offered to drive her and her son back home - a 4-hour drive in the middle of the night - and return to the crusade the next day. But God had other plans.

There was a doctor attending the service and he stayed until the very end when people were starting to load up equipment and instruments into their vehicles. (What are the odds of that, I thought.) He gave some practical advice to the parents so as to help relieve the pain during the wait they would no doubt have in triage.

Only instead of a 4-hour wait as anticipated, they got in within an hour. A doctor drained the abscess (INSTANT relief of the pain), gave a prescription for antibiotics to clear up the remaining infection, and they were on their way by 10:30: in time to make the trip and still get some sleep before having to get up early to go to work. In Canada, with wait times being what they are, and the triage system taking the more serious cases first with sometimes only one doctor on duty, that's a bona fide miracle right there!!

I hear a lot of people say that this person and that person is gifted, or has a lot of talent. But without one's life filled with the fruit of the Spirit, that deep, abiding evidence of time spent in God's arms, the gifts and talents mean nothing. They are so much window-dressing. But what matters is Him - not stuff FOR Him, but Him and Him alone.

He is so worth it.
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Update on Tsuri

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Last night I checked on Tsuri the rat, who had a stroke recently (see two posts ago). She was doing pretty well actually... wobbling around on her feet, unsteady, falling down easily, but at least on her feet. And - miracle - I saw her slowly lean way over on her good side and lift her back right foot up to scratch (just like a rat scratches, so fast you can barely see the foot, it's moving so fast) behind her ear!

I told my daughter Krysta about it; she was surprised and very pleased. She's been looking after the little thing and it's such an encouragement to see progress, because these things rarely reverse themselves in rats.

This morning Krysta left a note for us, because not long ago she went to bed to try to get some sleep. She asked someone - anyone - to feed Tsuri sometime between 8 and 11. I plan to don the feeding outfit (an old T-shirt covered by a towel - the little critter can be quite messy), mix up the food and feed her. I've done it once before.

Is God interested in the health of a little rat? Does He bother Himself with that sort of thing?

I believe it with all my heart. He loves us. Krysta is His child - confused, shying away from Him, yes, but His child. My daughter loves Tsuri. Why should her well-being not matter to the One who made them both? He is so desperately passionate about us developing an intimate, personal relationship with Him that He will use ANYTHING to get through to us. If that means healing a rat, yes. If it means using someone in the family to lessen the burden for her so that she can sleep peacefully knowing that Tsuri will be cared for, that's what He'll do. I consider it a privilege to minister peace to her in that way.

He's in the business of building up our faith. The faith we have is a gift from Him (see Ephesians 2:8,9) and His gifts and calling are irrevocable. He takes the responsibility for growing it. All we need to do is stay close in relationship with Him, conscious of His presence in every situation, listening for His voice in all things. Even through a little creature less than a foot long from nose to tail.
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Ain't love (baby) grand?

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Have a look at this great video of a couple married 62 years, who spotted a piano in the lobby of the Mayo Clinic. The gentleman is going on 90 years old in this video.

Click here to view it

It sure lifted my spirits to see a couple enjoying each other as much as this after all those years.

What an encouragement that love doesn't need to get stale as it matures.
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Utter Dependence

Yes, I admit it.

My love affair with rats began when I was in grade six. It was the last day of school and "Al" was about to be sent to the vet to be euthanized. He was a white rat whose home had been in one of the school classrooms.

"Oh don't do that!" I cried, and offered to take him, cage and all, home with me. Thus I discovered the intelligence, quirkiness, and absolute cuteness of the humble rat. Albino Al would do little tricks I taught him... and as long as he lived in the house, the wild mice avoided our house like the plague. (Oh, that was a bad rat pun.) My mother liked that the mice stayed away, even if she didn't like the smell of his cage.

So when my oldest daughter decided over a year ago that she wanted to get a couple of female rats (they are social creatures so if you get two, make sure they're both female - males will fight and one of each will start a rat farm) I agreed and we set up the habitat for them.

It's amazing how quickly one can become attached to them, how they chatter their teeth when they're content, how they wash their little faces and groom each other.

But the night before last, one of them had a fairly serious stroke and can no longer get around by herself. She can't eat seeds (can't coordinate her chewing), and can't climb the bars of the cage or even walk in a straight line. She mostly shoves herself around on one side. So my daughter took it upon herself, since all this little critter needed was to be taken care of, to take care of her. She spoon-feeds home-made soft food to her. It's a mixture of ground-up rodent pellets, banana, tapioca pudding, and raspberries or strawberries. Little Tsuri (pronounced Surrey) loves it. She shoves her face in it and licks until it's all gone. She takes water out of a medicine syringe because she can't reach her water bottle.

This is a picture of utter dependence. She doesn't understand why she can't make her body do what it's supposed to do. But she is grateful for her caretaker and she accepts without question the food and water, the washing, the physiotherapy, and the stroking that we give to her. Without this care, given to her with no expectation that she will be able to play or participate in the relationship, she would starve to death.

That's us. Whether we want to admit it or not, we are absolutely powerless to effect any change in our lives, and we are completely dependent on God. It is from His mercy that we are not left to our own devices - to die. He loves us that much. Nothing we can do will make Him love us any more ... or less. He is patient enough to let us make a mess of ourselves when we try to do the right things and fail miserably, and longsuffering enough to clean us up and help us do things we have no way of doing on our own. Like everything.

What a wonderful Saviour!!

Better Felt than Telt

Earlier today my hubby got cut off by someone in traffic. He was about 25 feet from an intersection when a guy to his right turned right and whipped in front of him. My honey had to slam on his brakes to avoid crashing into him. The guy, who was driving a van, went merrily on his way.

There was a fish symbol, as well as a bumper sticker on the back of his van.

It read, "My boss is a Jewish carpenter." Oh great - he was a Christian.

Now I know that sometimes there are reasons we don't understand behind someone's rude behavior on the streets no matter if that person is a Christian or not. Probably the guy had long forgotten that he even had the bumper sticker, for one thing. At least he didn't have that "Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven" sticker I've seen - that one annoys me a lot. Like a spiritualized cop-out for behaving badly.

Jesus said that the world would know we were His by our love for one another. Hm. Reasons aside, when was the last time you heard, "You know those Christians at that church? Wow, they really care about each other, so supportive, so loving. It's amazing! If that's what Christianity is, I want to know more."

That's what's supposed to happen, but often I hear the opposite. "Bunch of hypocrites, fighting all the time over nothing, holding grudges, playing politics. If that's all there is to this Jesus thing, count me out."

The problem of lovelessness seems endemic to the Western church - I'm talking in general terms here. Somehow, either from the society we live in, the false teaching that's seeped into the church, or from the lack of persecution that we experience, we've developed a spirit of "entitlement" that is dangerous to our relationship with the Lord. And right along with it is what some have called the "Jezebel spirit" - the idea that we can do something to make God love us more, that if we don't do certain things a certain way, He won't have time for us, or we've missed the mark somehow. Religion, in other words. Legalism. Judgment. Condemnation. All in the name of "sanctification."

The Biblical model is one of individuals in intimate relationship with the Lord, living in gratitude for His grace, listening to His voice and walking in fellowship with Him, enjoying each other's company and caring for each other just because He is so precious and we love to worship Him alone OR together.

Grunting, groaning and straining won't do it. Human effort can't produce the kind of love that puts the other person first. What's required is fresh fire from God Himself, pressing in to Him no matter what the cost. The Holy Spirit getting more and more of us. Relationship, moment-by-moment.

I recommend a read - or a re-read - of the book The God Chasers by Tommy Tenney. He paints a picture of what can happen when Jesus is King of every moment. And he gives hope that it is very possible. I challenge you to read his book.
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Jesus Wept - He was No Wimp

I have a print of this painting in my dining room. It's called "The Compassionate Christ" by Fern Beckham. Fern had an amazing gift for painting the expression in a person's eyes.

Whenever I hear people talking about how men aren't supposed to cry, I shake my head. I happen to believe that a man is never more a man than when he is brave enough to let his feelings show, especially his tender feelings. The idea that men aren't supposed to cry has crippled so many men emotionally. Men are human just like women are. God created us in His image, and few things are more a reflection of God than honest emotion expressed in ways that do not hurt other people.

When I hear some people put a man down for expressing compassion, sadness or grief, who tell him (say, at the burial of his wife, brother, sister, father, or mother) "Straighten up. Be a man!" ... I think of Jesus. He was no wimp. In fact, He was such a complete man that He wasn't afraid to show how He felt. So yes, He cried.

He grieved when John the Baptist died. He cried in frustration and compassion at the tomb of Lazarus.

He wept in agony over the unbelief and stubbornness demonstrated by the people of Jerusalem, the jewel of His beloved Israel. Before His arrest and crucifixion, He was in such agony of spirit in the Garden of Gethsemane that He sweat great drops of blood, a real medical condition called hemochromatosis, in which the blood vessels around the sweat glands burst from severe emotional stress, and the blood comes out of the pores, mixed with sweat. (A side-effect of this condition is that any pressure on the skin is extremely painful. Think about that!!)

And today by His Spirit, Jesus knocks, pounds, bangs on the heart's door of every believer who cares more about being right, or being rich, than being in His presence. He is supremely passionate about this one thing: fellowship, intimacy with us.

No, He's not afraid of expressing how He feels.

Why are we?
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Inside Out

Several years ago, Merlin Carothers, author of Prison to Praise, asked the Lord in prayer why it was that so many times when His children prayed for healing, that the miracle didn't happen. He really wanted to know the answer.

This is what the Lord told him: "My children are not healed because they ask to be healed of the wrong thing. They pray to be healed of the things in life that are hurting them. Instead, they need to pray to be healed of the things IN THEM that are hurting others."

Real healing happens from the inside out, just like real Christianity happens from the inside of us, when the Spirit comes to take up residence, and as He takes precedence more and more, and becomes more and more precious to us individually, He will start, continue, and complete the work He intended for us. We aren't perfect and we don't have to clean ourselves up first, before we are adopted into His family. Once there, the same work of unmerited favour, grace, is required on a daily basis to accomplish in our lives what is absolutely impossible otherwise: living the Christian life the way He intended.

God's grace through the finished work of Jesus on the cross is life's blood to us as Christians. As soon as we start imposing on ourselves the rules, expectations and regulations that our society - and even the church - has placed on us in order to gain acceptance before God, we have fallen from grace. That's the whole theme of the book of Galatians. Falling from grace doesn't mean we've chosen to walk away from the church. It means we've allowed the church to take the place of God in our lives. The cart is before the horse.

This is what living "Inside Out" means. We pray, read the Word, live out our Christian lives, talk to people about the Master, because He has done so much for us that out of sheer gratitude we can't help but be excited about it. Any other reason is imposed upon us externally: it goes from the outside in, and that is religion.

Jesus hates religion.

I want to live from the Inside Out.
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Caring is about Them

It's been 5 days since Skip passed away.

I was talking to Mom yesterday afternoon when she got distracted. "There's the school bus going by," she murmured. "I guess life goes on whether you want it to or not." I agreed and made a little joke just to lighten her mood, and before long she was chuckling over some other thing.

I spoke to her this morning too, to see how she passed the night. At one point she talked about how she handled things when Dad passed away in 1993, how she was hurting so much but she couldn't let us see how much because we were missing him too. She didn't allow herself to cry in front of us, but rather when she was alone and it wouldn't upset us.

It dawned on me this morning after we spoke, that while it hurts to lose someone we love, others are suffering just as much, perhaps more. And when I talk to them, my grief doesn't matter to them as much as their own does. It's a rather obvious thing of course. And I did tell Mom that she was allowed to grieve, had just as much right to grieve as we did. I used to be bothered by her crying (the cardinal rule in our house was, "Whatever you do, DON'T make Mom cry...") but there came a time when I realized what the tears were, for her. They were like a pressure relief valve that allowed her to bear up under the weight of something that otherwise would be too much for her to handle.

So when she cries in front of me, and almost immediately apologizes, I tell her that it's allowed, that she has every right. We're human. We were created with emotions and they serve a purpose, fleeting though they are. They were intended as a vehicle to bring us before God who is a friend who sticks closer...than a brother.

I sure wish Skip was here in the flesh right now so I could talk to him, but I don't think he does. I think he's enjoying himself way too much to want to return to this existence.

I remember saying to my honey this morning that as I meditated on our eternal nature, the words of Yoda (as he pinched his forearm with his bony fingers) came to me once more: "Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter." My hubby reminded me that Skip loved the original Star Wars trilogy, believed it to be highly spiritual, with lessons to teach us about how to live, how to believe. That's one area on which we saw eye to eye.

I can't do a whole lot of things. I can't change circumstances, my personality, or other people. I can't make people stop doing this or that, or start doing something else. I don't even have control over whether or not I take the next breath. Why would I fret, then, about the future? Why would I let the past rob the present of whatever enjoyment there is in the moment?

No, there's not a whole lot I can do. But with the enabling of God's Spirit, I can let people be who they are, and love them just that way. I can care about them, let them feel safe enough to be themselves by being myself and not being afraid of strong emotions: theirs OR mine. I can (though it is hard for me because I want to fix things - which ALWAYS backfires) let them learn from their own mistakes and bear the consequences of their own decisions. I can relate to them as equals, not as their superior, not as their inferior, but on the same playing field called humanity.

In August, Mom will be turning 80. I should call Sandy this week, perhaps next week, and get started on planning her surprise party. It'll be good for her to focus again (as usual) on someone else. I could learn a thing or two from her.
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Precious Memories, how they linger

The centre left photo (below) is how I remember my brother. This was about 1986, long before he ever got sick, his children around him like young olive trees, tender and joyous. To the right, he's surrounded by his music on the top photo, acting the fool for his kids in the centre one, (is that the flamenco he's trying to do??) and hugging his best girl below that.

A long-time friend sent me a Scripture reference by email yesterday. When I was sharing the reference (I'd not looked it up yet) with my honey this morning, he looked it up and read it to me.

"For you shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace. The mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands." (Is. 55:12)

I sobbed like a child. The memory that Scripture brought to me was as clear and fresh as if it happened yesterday. There was no warning - I was caught completely off guard.

Years ago, in the New Christian Singers when we all sang together, I used to sing an arrangement of Wonderful Peace where there was an instrumental. Skip picked the verse (didn't strum) on his acoustic guitar, and Sandy read Isaiah 55:6-13 before we all did the last chorus as a group. It's recorded ... somewhere. I should dig out that old LP and get it digitalized if it still has no scratches. The songs we sang, so simple, still so true. So many lives were touched. So many more can still be.

Jesus is so very near, as near as breath itself.
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Bridges, not Walls

Yes, I know cell phone photos aren't the best, but it was the only thing I had.

Here's Skip's youngest daughter Emily and her new hubby Rick, the couple who moved up their wedding so that Daddy could give away his baby girl. It brought such happiness to him in the few hours before he shed his body and joined the Saviour in person.

My prayers are with them - each of the children had his or her own special bond with Skip. He leaves behind a much larger hole than the space he occupied physically.

The relationship between him and me was not good the last 10 years especially, but it was strained even 20 years ago. I had tried to reconcile with him many times, but he was just too hurt by one thing or another. The reasons were mostly misunderstandings and foolish things, and they really don't matter now. Since he has passed on to be with the Lord, he has come to understand all things, including my heart, and I sense his quirky, three-cornered smile of approval and love more in the last few days than ever before.

I've so much missed the connection with the kids; it was such an encouragement these past few days to see and talk with them, to be able to hug them, laugh and cry with them, be a part of their lives again. Walls have been demolished. Bridges have been built. Doors have been opened. Fresh air flows in... we are blessed.
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Beauty for Ashes

What a wondrous thing it is to watch God transform something mundane and even ugly into something beautiful.

Ugly old caterpillar, earth-bound, feels the drive to wrap himself in a blanket one day. Changes he can't begin to fathom happen to him as he stays tightly nestled in there. Changes at the molecular level... as what he was literally liquefies and becomes something else that bears as much resemblance to his old self as a kite does to a running shoe. A kite can fly - and so can a butterfly.

A butterfly was hanging around the house of my brother ever since his death on Monday. Every time his son (21) would come out, it seemed, the beautiful little creature was there, perching in the lilac bush or flitting around trying to get some sweet out of the honeysuckle blooms.

A total of some 600 people or more filed into the funeral home yesterday, expressing their love and respect for a man who touched their lives by his intense love for God, his passion for music, and his burning desire to marry the two.

Today's service was such a sweet tribute to a man who touched so many lives by his being and his ministry. It was very hard to watch the video montage done by son-in-law Matt, not because it was sad, but because it was so full of joy and peace, and because everyone watching the video today knew from hindsight, that Skip would not survive after that ceremony for more than two hours. The obvious pride and joy on his face as he said, "Her mom and I do," giving away his baby to her new groom, was evident even through the oxygen mask he was wearing.

So many connections made during this past few days, hopefully permanent ones.

At the committal ceremony, which was at a cemetery not far from my mom's house, Pastor said he didn't often sing graveside, but he felt led to sing "Because He Lives" and wanted everyone there to join him. As our whole family joined in the familiar old song, a butterfly that looked very much like the one from Skip's house,came down seemingly from nowhere, swooped within a few millimeters of the casket, and headed for my mom, who was standing right beside me. It came within about 2 inches of her head and went on its way behind us, disappearing into the afternoon sky.

We stopped in at Mom's for an hour or so before we came back home. Honorary brother Dale dropped by with her car, which she had left at his house (her brother drove her back home from the church because Dale had to leave a bit early). We chatted for a little while until he had to leave, and beyond. Ginger snaps and tea. It brought back some gentle memories of tender times with family and friends around that table.

Someone said once that although God promises to give us beauty for ashes, we have to give Him the ashes. It's a straight trade. We can't hold onto the ashes and expect to get His beauty. We have to let go and give them to Him. I think a little part of that letting go happened over the last 72 hours.

For those who have prayed, who have called, emailed, sent flowers and/or donations, or come to show their support and love for Skip and for his family, we thank you for the love that we know is behind these actions. Sometimes the hardest thing to handle at times when grief is very fresh, is the kindness of those who really care. Yet it is so needed, so appreciated. We've been humbled greatly, and overwhelmed with gratitude for the outpouring of love we have experienced this week. Everything from a phone message to a hug, from an email from far away to a handshake and a smile. It all means something very special.

Best of all, relationships are mending. Bridges are being built. Walls are being torn down.
It's hard because it's in the midst of loss. But it's' good, because we are gaining so much more.
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Will the real God please stand up?

My honey and I were talking just this week about how our childhood, our life experiences, and yes, even church, can warp our perception of God, how we relate to Him, what we expect of Him (or don't), when we approach Him and whether we really believe that He loves us.

Over the last 18 months my understanding of who God really is, has undergone a transformation. I used to think that God was sort of aloof from me, vaguely interested in my life but not having the time or the desire to intervene in my life, except when I was really, really up against it. I guess it was the idea of "whoever needs me the most at the time is my favorite" that I heard come from my mother when people asked her which one of her kids she favored.

Church kind of put barriers between me and God. If I didn't toe the line, if I didn't witness, if I didn't read the Bible enough, or pray enough, or say the right "spiritual words", or didn't "speak in faith" - and if I didn't do the don'ts - don't smoke, don't swear, don't go to movies, don't wear jeans to church, don't ... don't ... don't ... then I would be accepted and my prayers would be heard.

Well that didn't work. All it did was ostracize me and make me feel ashamed for not living up to the standards that were placed upon me. Most of them weren't even what God required of me.

I cried out in desperation, "Will the real God please stand up?" I wanted to know Him, not about Him. I wanted to sense His presence, not some warm fuzzy feeling of being brushed by an angel's wing, or anything less than the REAL presence of God. I wanted to be rid of all the superficial, pitiful, and hypocritical nonsense that I heard all the time, and get to His heart. I didn't want to wait until the sweet bye and bye.

I had to deconstruct a lot of my perceptions about Him and ask Him humbly to reveal Himself to me personally. Not just what I read in Scripture, which is needed of course. But on a one-to-one basis. Personal. Intimate. Passionate.

And you know, He did. I had to learn to let go of a LOT of stuff. I had to go through a process of ferreting out all those false beliefs I had about Him, extricating myself from them, and countering them with the truth as He revealed it: through His Word, through prayer, through meditation, through worship.

Slowly I began to see a God who loved me UNCONDITIONALLY. Wow. Not IF I did the right things, not IF I didn't do the wrong things. NO MATTER WHAT. He extended an open invitation for me to let Him into those places I had been afraid to open to Him, and transform me on the inside, where it counts the most. Not because He's a control freak or a killjoy, but because He has my best interests at heart and He actually wants me to enjoy my life. Now.

Not starting in the afterlife, but RIGHT NOW.

There were some very hard decisions, the most important of which was this dyad :
1.) Can I trust Him? (i.e., is He trustworthy?)
2.) DO I trust Him? (i.e., will I give Him my whole being, my will, and my daily life, over to His management?)

Those are the questions that I face in every circumstance. As He proves Himself faithful in every situation, I learn to trust more, and hesitate less.

As R.W. Emerson said once, "All that I have seen leads me to trust my Creator for all that I have not seen."

I'm learning.

Home

Tomorrow we leave to go to my brother's funeral, which will take place on Thursday June 10. The love and the gentleness with which so many people have surrounded our family has truly been overwhelming. We are so very grateful.

Skip has truly gone on to his “Ain Country” ... How I love that old Scottish psalm. I can’t believe I found the lyrics online, and am including them below – with all the Scottish Gaelic expressions like “gowden” for golden, “hame” for home, “gang” for go, “ken” for know, “bairn” for baby, “oor” for hour (or our), "mair" for more, “sae” for so, “een” for eyes, "hert" for heart, "owre" for over, "noo" for now, and so forth.

I’ll be the first to tell anyone that I absolutely HATE death, with all my heart. It’s repugnant to me, spiteful, awful, horrible. That’s as it should be; Jesus hates death too. Matter of fact, He broke up every funeral that the Bible records He went to. Even His own. But God seems to give a special grace to those who are grieving a loss in Him. It’s a mystery – at a time when one would think the world is crashing down, there is hope of a better, glorious life for the one who has gone on, and hope of reunion when it’s our turn...

But I say with the hymn-writer and with all those saints who’ve gone before, “I long to see my Saviour first of all.”

Enjoy the lyrics below – every time I hear them, I think of an old Scottish shepherd sitting up on a hill watching his sheep and thinking out loud, letting his thoughts rise up to his Father God.

My Ain Country

I am far frae my hame, an’ I’m weary aftenwhiles,
For the langed for hame bringin’, an’ my Father’s welcome smiles;
An’ I’ll ne’er be fu’ contented, until mine een do see
The gowden gates o’ Heav’n an’ my ain countrie.

Refrain:
The earth is fleck’d wi’ flowers, mony tinted, fresh an’ gay
The birdies warble blithely, for my Faither made them sae:
But these sights an’ these soun’s will as naething be to me,
When I hear the angels singin’ in my ain countrie.


I’ve His gude word o’ promise that some gladsome day, the King
To His ain royal palace his banished hame will bring;
An’ wi’ een an’ wi’ hert rinnin’ owre, we shall see
The King in His beauty, in oor ain countrie.

Refrain


Sae little noo I ken, o’ yon blessèd, bonnie place
I only ken it’s Hame, whaur we shall see His face,
It wad surely be eneuch for ever mair to be
In the glory o’ His presence, in oor ain countrie.

Refrain


He is faithfu’ that hath promised, an He’ll surely come again,
He’ll keep His tryst wi’ me, at what oor I dinnna ken;
But He bids me still to wait, an’ ready aye to be,
To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie.

Refrain
.

The Box-Breaker

This is something I wrote a few years back. I ran across it when I checked my email archives a few moments ago.


The Box-Breaker

She knew who she was. Mary, the prostitute.

Perhaps the one thing in her life that she held dear was that alabaster box. White, creamy, smooth. The box itself was worth as much, if not more than, its contents. Spikenard was a spicy sweet fragrance, a reminder of better days and nobler ways.

But the box had stayed with her for years. She treasured it.
It might have been the one reminder she had of something that was pure and decent, lovely and fragrant, about her life.
Everything else was putrid, like the droppings from camels and donkeys on the road.

She knew what she was.

But He'd touched her with His eyes. He'd reached her heart.
She knew she could never be the same again.
She knew she had to deeply repent - and that He must know it. She didn't care who else knew.

Braving disapproval from the inner circle, from the religious elite, she came, pushing past the confused servants who tried to keep her out.

One glimpse of Him gave her the courage she needed.

She does not remember how she crossed the floor to reach Him. But suddenly she found herself beside Him. The breathless realization of who He was, of who she was, gripped her heart.

She knew Who He was.

She could do nothing but sink to her knees, crumpling in tears. The box - her treasure - was forgotten.

Nothing mattered except Him.

She could see His bare feet, still dirty with the dust and dung of the road to the Pharisee's house - still clinging to His feet it showed Simon's lack of respect, his unwillingness to honour the Master.

Her heart broke.

One of her tears fell on one of His feet. In its wake it left a trail of cleanliness. "If only I could take this dishonour for Him!" she thought, and the tears flowed more and more freely.
She began to kiss His feet, the tears running down her nose, dripping off her lips, her chin. . . onto the dirt of the roadway. The droppings of her life.
This was the way, she thought. She had no basin. Tears were in abundance.
The dust and foul-smelling refuse loosened from His feet with the salty moisture.
She could taste it mingling with her kisses.

She didn't care.

She could not ask for a towel. She had no authority in this house.
But she did have something to wipe His feet with.
Her crowning glory. She reached toward the cloth turban on her head where all women kept their hair, tightly wrapped in respectability.

And she unwrapped it, letting her hair fall down past her shoulders.

She leaned close, wiping off the stench of the roadway with her beautiful tresses, taking His dishonour as her own, carefully digging between His toes, gently scrubbing up to His ankles, dying more and more to her feminine pride as she continued her repentance.

Finally when His feet were clear of the filthy residue, and her hair was full of it instead, she remembered the box beside her.

She smashed it. Pieces got all over the floor, creaminess oozed on her hands, His feet, the tips of her strands of hair.

Her face was dirty, streaked with tears, and still more spilled out as she poured the precious spikenard onto Him, rubbing the ointment into His feet, between the toes where once there had been the opposite.

The fragrance filled the room.

She was doing what she had originally come to do, lavishing her only - now her only remaining - treasure on Him. Her pride, her decorum was gone. This was the only thing left to relinquish to Him.

Only ... He was well worth it.

Her throat felt swollen, sobs heaving her body in spasms as she continued. Everything was gone. She could smell death - her death.

She heard His voice. He was talking to His host, and she barely recognized that He was talking about her.

She knew her place. The lowest place.
She knew His place. The highest place.
She was not looking for thanks.

Her heart was broken for her sin, and for His dishonour. She wanted to honour Him and even though she was not worthy, nobody else would do it. It didn't seem right.

So she humbly kept it up.

He turned toward her after He finished rebuking His respectable host.
He spoke into her spirit. "Your sins are forgiven," He said.

Mercy.

It was the one thing she had only begun to dare to hope for, the one thing her desperation drove her to His feet for. . . and He knew.

He knew who, what she was.

And He changed who she was by the words He spoke. "... forgiven," the word echoed in her innermost part, where no one had been allowed to go, and lit a blazing fire in a once-dead hearth.

Immediately she knew too.
She was transformed.

She knew...
He saw her as clean and fragrant as His own feet now were.
And days, months, years, centuries later, He remembers her.

And He smiles.

- - November 10/01

You and I were made to worship

A while back I was watching and listening to Hillsong’s “Glory” on Youtube.
Listen to it here
... and these were some of the thoughts I wrote down while I listened ...

Such a blessing it is to see people worshiping God freely!! The song itself is a vehicle to bring the heart back to what’s most important.

Often, people in the course of a week can accumulate layers of caked-on filth, like people long ago used to accumulate on their feet when they walked in sandals on dirt roads. Praise and worship – especially worship – is like the water that washes that contamination off. More often than not, it takes a good soaking to loosen the dirt of cares and burdens that comes from our contact with the world, and let it be washed away. In practical terms, two or three songs often isn’t going to touch that place in us that really needs to be touched and cleansed so that we’re receptive to what God wants to do to move us inside the outer court of our flesh, into the spirit realm where He can meet with us.

I'm now listening to "related links" - as one song finishes I click on another in the same theme.

We underestimate the amazing power of corporate worship. We underestimate it because that’s what the enemy of our souls wants. He used to lead worship in God’s throne room, before his fall to Earth. He knows how powerful it is. That’s why satan targets worship and worship leaders before anything or anyone else. He knows that in real worship (there with unveiled face beholding a reflection of the glory of the Lord) we are touched in our spirits and there, transformed from glory to glory. That’s the last thing he wants. So he uses our human need for structure, perhaps our concern with how we are being received by people, and our tradition – especially our tradition (focus on time constraints, order of service, doing the “right things”) – to fool us into thinking that worship is what we do to get ready for the sermon, or to fill in time until everyone else is there. Even if we understand the power of worship, he uses our discouragement that nobody else is “getting it” to make us not pursue the face of God ourselves or be interested in pushing past the barrier of the layers of self-protection that people bring to church.

As I’ve been typing, and therefore distracted somewhat (aren’t we all distracted somewhat when we come into the sanctuary on Sunday morning, distracted from the happenings of the week in our various backgrounds?), I have been listening to song after song, and now it’s some six songs I’ve heard. At first I was opening my eyes to the beauty of people worshiping. Then my mind was challenged by the message I knew I had to communicate regarding the importance of worship. Only now am I opening my spirit to the presence of the Almighty One. And I’m musically oriented. Music is who I am, what I do, how I identify myself.

How much we miss, how greatly we rob ourselves of experiencing God’s vast and amazing love and grace ... by not tarrying in His presence!! It’s all well and good to preach and teach, to exhort people in righteousness, but the power to do all that comes from the Spirit of God. Without connection with the Spirit – through intimacy with God (and one powerful vehicle for that intimacy is through worship), there is absolutely no power to accomplish the things we are told we “should” do...and we end up frustrated and desolate inside. That’s no way to live. I know because that’s where I lived for decades. No more.

The services at our church used to start at 11 am. Sunday school at 9:45. Then church at 11. Then we moved Sunday school to Wednesday night, and moved church from 11 to 10:30, a half-hour earlier. Why? Because we wanted to be able to devote more time to worship and still have people out of the building by 1 p.m. One o’clock. Not twelve. Same reason for moving the evening service from 7 to 6:30. I remember – I was there. After a while, people forgot the reason, and thought it might be a good opportunity to have more time for themselves Sunday afternoon and Sunday night after the services.

Have we in the Western church become so paralyzed by the clock, by tradition, by our own little schedules, that we are afraid to go beyond our comfort zones?? Have we forgotten what it’s like to be so enthralled with God that we feel that the line-up at Swiss Chalet can go fly a kite?? Have we stopped expecting God to show up in power and anointing in our meetings?? If we have, then why would we go? As Moses said, "If You don't go with us, Lord, we don't want to move forward at all."

These are some of the thoughts I’ve had during the last few weeks, thoughts which have been slowly gelling.

Be blessed with the awareness of His presence, today and always.

Prayer for help (Psalm 40)

I was reading this past Saturday a.m. in the Word... I sometimes like to read it in French because the richness of the original language can sometimes make it better into French than into English. Anyway I was reading in “La Bible du Semeur” – The Sower’s Bible, published in 1999 as a thought-for-thought translation (much like the New Living Translation is).

This is Psalm 40 translated from the French “Sower’s Bible”:

I have put all my hope in the Eternal One.
He leaned down toward me, He lent His ear to my supplication.

   
He made me rise up again from the dry well of destruction,
      and from the bottom of the muck.
      He made me stand up again, my feet on a rock,
      and He made my steps firm.

   
    He put in my mouth a new carol (song of joy),
      a hymn of praises to sing God. (a special expression meaning that when he opens his mouth, God comes out.)
      When they see what He has done, many will want to revere the Eternal One
      and put their trust in Him.

   
    Very happy is the man who confides in the Eternal One
      and does not turn himself toward arrogant people
      lost in the Lie (footnote re alternate translation : who does not turn himself toward false gods).

   
    O Eternal One, my God,
      what wondrous works You have done for us, and how many great plans !
      Nothing even looks like You.
      I would love to publish, tell again and again Your wonders,
      but their number is too great.

   
    You have desired neither offering nor sacrifice.
      You’ve opened my ear,
      because You have not asked for burnt offerings or blood sacrifices to expiate sin.
   
 
   So I said : Look here, I am coming
      in the scroll of the book, it is written about me,

   
    I take pleasure to do Your will, my God,
      and Your law is engraved at the bottom of my heart.

   
    In the great assembly, I tell the good news of Your salvation.
      I will not keep it quiet,
      Eternal One, You know that.

   
    I do not hide in my heart like a secret the deliverance that You have granted me.
      I proclaim it very loudly how much You are faithful, and that You have saved me.
      No, I do not hide from others Your love, Your faithfulness
      in the great assembly.

    
    And You, O Eternal One, You will not hold back Your tenderness far from me :
      Your love, Your faithfulness will protect me without ceasing.

   
    With innumerable ills I am surrounded,
      my transgressions overtake me :
      I can’t stand the sight of them :
      they surpass, by their number, the hairs of my head ;
      I don’t have any more courage.

   
    Please, Eternal One, deliver me!
      Come quickly to my aid !

   
    May they be covered with shame, filled with confusion,
      those who seek after my life!
      May they beat a retreat, may they be dishonoured,
      those who rejoice within themselves at my misfortune !
   
  
  May they be paralyzed under the weight of shame,
      those who laugh at me.

   
    But may all those who are bound to You
      be overflowing with joy, and may they enjoy themselves in You.
      And may all those who love Your salvation
      keep saying constantly, “How great is the Eternal One !”

   
    Me, I am poor and miserable,
      but the Lord takes care of me.
      You who are my rescue and my liberator,
      O my God, hurry !

I love David's honesty. His reality touches my spirit and tells me that his relationship with God isn't stuffy but rather, it's real, truthful, with no masks or costumes. He feels deeply and he shares his feelings with God. They're friends. This kind of intimacy is vital to daily Christian living. It's foundational.

We can't give away what we don't have. That's why the personal relationship with God is so central. It's like the plumb line that a contractor drops before building anything. Unless the foundation is square and level, rooted and grounded in love for Him first and foremost, the whole building will be off, and eventually crack and crumble.

Any other motivation for our service for Him will not "wash" with people - or with God.

Blessed assurance

Some wise person suggested earlier today that I have my own blog. Hm. I love to write. So why not??

Today is a rather sad day but yet - there is peace and joy in it as well. My oldest brother, aged 59, passed away yesterday in hospital, five days after he had a fairly major heart attack.

Husband, father of five: Melody (29), Heidi (27), Marcy (25), Emily (23), and Cory (21). A walking miracle by all accounts, he had kidney failure over 15 years ago and the search for a donor revealed nobody that was a match ... Until his wife Sandy offered to be tested. Lo and behold, a match ! The doctors said it was because they’d had 5 children together. “Acquired compatibility.” If that isn’t marriage I don’t know what is!! The operation took place in Halifax in 1997. Husband and wife, on operating tables at the same time, each taking a huge risk in both offering and accepting the gift of life.

But the anti-rejection drugs Skip took, combined with the lowered kidney function (he only had one working kidney: Sandy’s!) and high blood pressure meant a recipe for diabetes, which he developed about 5 years ago or thereabouts.

Sometime in the last year, he injured his left hand and lost the use of two fingers. An excellent guitar player, - actually he could play anything with strings, acoustic or electric, including piano and violin – this was a very significant loss. It took away his reason for being, his enjoyment of everyday life. He consoled himself with his only other hobby: cooking. He often ended up eating his own “experiments” though, and his weight increased, not good for someone with diabetes and kidney trouble.

His pastor, however, tells that in that same time his relationship with the Lord deepened, and Jesus became ever more and more precious to him.

His heart attack this past Wednesday threw his wife and kids into a tailspin. His youngest daughter, Emily, was to be married this coming Saturday. She and her fiancé Rick went to the hospital a few hours before Skip died. They went with the minister to be married right there, so that Skip could give his daughter away – he knew that one way or the other, he was not going to be available for the ceremony on Saturday, so they moved up the wedding and had a private ceremony right there in the hospital room – something for Emily to hold on to and remember, for years to come. They took a video. They’ll probably show it at the funeral. On Saturday, they’ll have a reception at the church because the wedding already took place – they’ll definitely show the video then.

Skip had a deep peace settle on him the whole time he was in hospital. He had a chance to speak to Cory, who is away from the Lord, at one point during those few days. Skip knew he was going Home.

That’s where he is now. I can imagine him talking to Dad, who died in ‘93. I can see in my mind our niece Beth, 25 when she died in 2004, greeting him and showing him around. I can just picture him jammin’ with King David. But all of this ... after he’s through clinging to Jesus’ feet of course (which might take a few millennia). Completely healed, inside and out, in an instant. Whole and strong. Happier than he ever imagined. Knowing the answers to all the questions he’s ever had about anything – and finding out that he didn’t need to know. Just to know Him as deeply as Jesus has always known him – that’s more than enough.

I’ve caught myself a couple of times talking about Skip in the present tense and have corrected myself to change to the past. But in reality, only his body, his shell is dead. The real person, who he is, is eternal. So I can say with assurance that the very best of the Skip I know and love is still a man of deeply held convictions, of great passion, of amazing integrity and yet humility before God. He still has the same love, the same intense desire to be close to the Master – now fulfilled, perfected, and on the “hallelujah side”. He has joined that great cloud of witnesses who are cheering us all on, encouraging us to keep trusting, keep pressing in to Jesus, keep loving and forgiving each other, keep going “Beyond the Walls” with the good news, and keep looking for the Day.

His life for and service to the King began in a little country church when he was 18. It will never end.