SSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS

No, it's not a typo.

The title that I chose today is the sound my little dog's nails and feet make on the floor when he races around the house doing what little dogs do when they are excited (or just before bed): "the zoomies."

We had a snow last night. As always happens in the morning when the dog wakes up, he wants to go out. So I put his harness and leash on, and carried him out the back door onto the deck, and put him on the deck for him to choose a place to do his business. But as soon as he had emptied his little bladder, he put his nose into the white stuff on the deck, and jerked away. COLD! And then his nose melted it. He cocked his head. "Wuff," he whispered. He put his nose on the white stuff again. Cold! He pulled his head back and peered at this strange substance.

 

Bullet, September 2020

 

All of a sudden, the lightbulb came on over his head. He started doing the zoomies right there on the deck! SSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS went the little feet as he turned tight corners and slid around ... over and over again! Mouth open, tongue lolling, snapping at the flakes he was raising, he was the picture of pure doggy joy as he lived each and every nanosecond in the moment. 

It made me laugh out loud! Literally! Even when he left snow crystals on my Crocs (and melting into my bare feet inside of them) I couldn't help surfing on the waves of joyful puppyness that emanated from him. 

No fear. Pure joy that comes from confidence - which comes from knowing he is loved. I am slowly learning that I am loved unconditionally, and that gives me confidence ... and joy. My heart skipped and skidded around with Bullet on that deck. Though I hate the cold, somehow it didn't matter to me, and I laughed -- no, giggled -- like a child at play.

It feels good.  SSSSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS-KSS.....

Roll Call

John.         Here.
Andrew.     Here.
Marcy.       Here.
Brenda.     Here.
Linda.       Present.
Bruce.       Here.

This was a scene repeated so many times in my childhood in various school years that the names run together ... but the answer was always the same.  Either "here" or "present".  

There's a hint in that little scene.  A reminder that in order to learn in life, we must be in the moment - we must be here.  

Too many times I've gone round and round in the past.  There's been no escape; it's like I was trapped there.  I do believe that the past is useful to visit when it's done with the purpose of healing - or of reminding ourselves of the blessings we have known so as to encourage ourselves to keep believing, keep hoping.  But living there, wallowing in our pasts, leaves us sad, bitter, estranged from or entangled within our roots.  Either way, we cannot be present in the now.  Our energy is all tied up in what has already happened, what might have happened if we (or others) had only done things differently.  Emotionally and physically, we tire easily. So it was with me.  I held deep resentments against those who had injured me, nursed each new wound and compounded it upon the old.  I berated myself for not living up to my own expectations.  It sapped my strength.  

There've also been times when I feared the future: feared it so much that I would sleep poorly (if at all), fret and stew about things that might happen (most of which never did), and try to influence or manipulate the circumstances or the people involved in my own future so much that I would end up creating the very thing I feared.  It robbed me of many moments I could have enjoyed.  It stole away the present... so that I wasn't here for it.  I was in tomorrow.  Next week. Next month. 

In the last 3 years I have been learning to exist in the here.  In the present.  In the now. The struggle is never-ending: it is difficult to accept what has been, what is.  To not try to change what will be.  When I do live in the now, though, the weight of the backpack of yesterday and the chains of tomorrow drops from me like Pilgrim's pack when he gets to the cross.  I am freed to spend my energy in things that matter, right now.  Enjoying the moment, now.  Helping the person who is in front of me, now.  Hearing the still, small whisper of the divine, now.  Breathing the rarefied air in the presence of God, now.  Worshiping Him, now.  Not ten years ago.  Not next Sunday.  NOW.

If I carry anything with me into the new year, I wish for it to be this.  That when I am called upon, that whenever and wherever God will speak to me and give me that inner nudge - I will be "present."

Bah humbug - really?

What's the first thing you think of when I say the name, "Scrooge"? 

I'll bet it isn't the 'after' picture.  It's probably the 'before' picture. Which is weird because it's the story of how someone changed from the before to the after. You'd think the after picture would be the one that stuck.  Hm. I think that the "after" picture was the one Dickens originally wanted to leave with people.

My all-time favorite film rendition of his famous short story, "A Christmas Carol"  is the one which stars Patrick Stewart, produced in 1999. Mr. Stewart did a far better job of projecting the inner anguish of the man - and the inevitable gratitude and joy - than anyone I've ever seen portray the character.  

Image found through Google at :
http://southernchristmascarol.blogspot.com/2009/01/
fred-nephew-good-ol-boy.html

Although I love the "after" picture that Dickens paints of his famous character, I still hesitate to call anyone "Scrooge."  It conjures up - for most people - a mean-spiritedness that overshadows and poisons interactions with others in a way that frustrates even the best efforts to include the person.  Yet the story of Scrooge delves into the reasons for his sour disposition.  Life had not been kind to him so he was not kind in return.

I must admit that a lot of the time I tend to avoid all the interactions and festivities that go on at this time of year, and I'm sure that some people think that I'm a "Scrooge".  In some ways I guess I am.  I'm not sure if it has to do with my own introverted nature (probably a lot of it right there) or just that I've seen so much that goes on in the name of "Christmas spirit" which - to me - just isn't.  

Loneliness dogs my steps at this time of year, something like a hungry wolf who isn't just satisfied with the rodents he finds along the trail but is after bigger game: me.  Sometimes I wonder why I even go to the trouble of decorating and going to social functions.  If I go, I feel out of place, excluded.  I probably am not, but that's my perception. Even in a crowd, I can relate a lot to the child Scrooge, being left behind when his school mates were off to spend Christmas break with their families - feeling like he didn't have anywhere he felt accepted.  Many times I've felt like that.  Sometimes I've even wanted to check out.  Especially when I have been reminded of just how alone I am, how people just tolerate me and don't "get" me at all.  

It is a short step from that perception of non-acceptance, that feeling of utter misery, to putting a hard crust over my heart and not letting anyone in ... so as to avoid being more hurt.  Probably I have already done that in some ways. 

Some days are better than others.  I'm up, I'm optimistic, I'm ready to face the world.  Life is good.

Some days, however, it takes all I have just to get out of bed and face the great gaping black hole of not fitting in anywhere.  I feel that I don't fit in at work - there I'm "too religious." Or just "too weird."  I don't fit in at church because there, I'm not "religious enough." Or just "too weird."  On such days, I cling by my fingernails to the slogan, 'one day at a time' because if I think about the abyss of endless days looming in front of me, I could easily fall into it and lose myself in despair.  

At such times, the festivities and the usual chit-chat only serve to highlight for me how "apart" I feel.  And I can fully understand why the highest rates of suicides are at Christmas-time. The crowded streets, the even more crowded stores, and all the talk about family get-togethers and parties and so forth, all serve to heighten my misery.  There's nothing wrong with parties, family get-togethers, and all the festivities this season has to offer.  It's just that when a person doesn't feel accepted or appreciated, maybe not even loved, the last thing he or she wants to attend is another social function that highlights how excluded he or she feels.  It doesn't mean that the person is anti-social or that he or she hates Christmas.  I happen to like Christmas - just not all the frenetic activity surrounding it (or any other family-oriented holiday going), the pushing people around in stores (jostling elbows and people saying "excuse me" all the time - which, after the 100th time I've heard it, sounds more like "move your fat rear" than "I need to get past you.")  That, combined with the social expectations, the family obligations, and so forth, tend to make me want to do my Christmas shopping online and vastly limit my social and family obligations.  Most folks call that a clear-cut case of 'bah humbug.'  .... I kind of don't. 

I prefer, instead, to rid myself of what drives me crazy about all the crowds and so forth, to dissociate myself from the idea - however accepted it may be - of reciprocity (you give me something so now, I'm obligated to give you something) and of one-upmanship (Aunt Sue had us to her place last year and she had a sumptuous feast; we have to outdo her this year at our place), and instead take a trip in my mind to a dripping cave in a hillside in Middle-Eastern springtime to visit a little baby.  His mom has wrapped him tightly in strips of cloth like a mummy is wrapped, and placed him into a hollowed out rock (nothing wooden in that place except perhaps the pitchfork to toss hay into the rock manger).  That humble scene brings home to me the wonder of the distance God traveled in order to become one of us - all for love.  Not that we loved Him, or that we even COULD - but that He loved us first.

When I focus on that  -  I remember that there is definitely something worthwhile to celebrate.

Whose applause?

I firmly believe in giving credit where it is due.  If I appreciate what someone has said or done, I try to make sure that he or she knows that I appreciate it.  The words "thank you" mean so much when they come from the heart.  Which is why I say it whenever I can.  

Individually.  Privately.  

Public praise - applause for example - is a different matter.  As a rule, I cringe at giving it and cringe even more at receiving it. Especially in church.

Don't get me wrong.  When I go to a performance (say, a play or a concert) and it's well done, I show my appreciation heartily with applause.  

But that's just it.  It's a performance.  That's what applause is for; one performs for the pleasure and approval of other people.  (Of course it helps if the performer enjoys it too.)  

When it comes to what I do for God, however, it's NOT a "performance."  It's NOT a "job."  (How I shudder inside when I hear after I've been on the worship team on a Sunday, "you did a good job up there."  If it was a job ... I would have quit long ago.)  I consider what I do for Him a ministry TO Him.

It's NOT an "act."  

If I really wanted accolades or applause from people, I'd go into show business - emphasis on "show."  

I've noticed a dangerous trend in the western church: that of applauding people, and in particular children and youth, for participating in a service.  The message it might give them is that holding an office in the church is all about people-pleasing.  

It's not.  

My first reaction when a congregation is encouraged to clap for someone who has prayed, spoken, or sung ... is disappointment, because in my opinion, the applause of people diminishes "the eternal reward" he or she might receive by making "the immediate reward" the focus of his or her attention.  

I know that God has gifted me with the ability to sing; I sing to Him and for Him.  He is my "Audience of One." That's all that matters for me.  My desire for other people - if I think about them at all when I sing - is that they focus on Him, on how great and wonderful HE is.  When the limelight is on me, it is off Him - and that I don't want.  

True, I like to be appreciated.  Some of the more meaningful moments for me in ministry have been those where an individual has come to me after a service and said how the words to something I sang gave them strength and hope, or allowed them to feel God's presence.  Those have been precious times.  

But to take credit for something He gave me in the first place - this I can't bring myself to do.  Of course, I've learned to smile and say "Thank you," when someone compliments me.  But inside, I try to let that go in one ear and out the other (that way I don't get a swelled head) - and at least pass on the adulation to God - privately - as soon as possible.

Just like anyone else, I like to be thanked and praised.  But for me, it all boils down to whose applause I value most: theirs, or His.

Talk to the hand

Once in a while I feel a "preach" comin' on - that is, I become empassioned about a particular doctrinal or theological topic.  This time - as it usually is - it's about the tendency we all have to feel like we have control over our own destinies.  Even (and I would argue especially) Christians.   The truth is, we don't. 

I grew up in the Baptist church.  There, the pastor would use mnemonics when he spoke.  All the sermon points started with the same letter.  Or the first letters spelled something. Or it was a mathematical equation.   So, just in case you want or need a formula to remember, here's one. 

Two, in fact. 
(1) Jesus plus "X" (where "X" is greater than zero) equals religion equals death. 

(2) Jesus plus zero equals relationship equals life.

I'm an abuse survivor.  I recognize abuse when it happens to me or to anyone; it's one of those things where I have a hair-trigger sensor built-in.  And I recognize that "religious abuse" happens a lot in Christian circles especially in this business of "not doing enough."  Christians are so bound up in feeling worthless and ashamed of never measuring up that we don't realize that it's not about doing.  It's about being.

I haven't learned as much as I want to learn about how to really live life, especially how to live life the way Jesus described : you know, loving, full of joy and self-sacrifice, people being touched and healed wherever I go, yada yada yada.  All I know is that the harder I've tried to live the way I'm "supposed to" (see last summer's series on Shoulds and Oughtas) even if my intentions are the absolute best, I've eventually fallen flat on my face and driven people away from the message of Jesus and not attracted them in the least.  And believe me I have tried to live the Christian life - for years. Decades, as a matter of fact. What an exercise in masochism!! Lots of altar calls, countless sessions of private devotions and Bible studies. Praying until I ran out of words.  Singing until I was hoarse.  And again and again I have failed.

It's impossible.  And let me let you in on a secret:  It's SUPPOSED to be impossible.  If it wasn't, we could boast that we did it on our own.  If it wasn't impossible to live an abundant life - we wouldn't need grace.  And we SO need grace. 

The power of grace is so amazing.  Grace is God's undeserved favour, yes - but it is also His undeserved strength to live day by day.  Neither kind of grace is earned by anything we do; it is freely offered by God without hesitation and must be received just as freely without reservation.  The more we realize (really truly realize, not just give mental assent) that we can't do it on our own, the more whole-heartedly grateful we are for the grace and strength to live fully day by day.  Out of that gratitude flow good works - except they aren't done because we're guilted or coerced into it - they're done as a natural outflow of our realization of how wonderful, gracious, and merciful He is.

I'm reminded of something Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount about Judgement Day (Matthew 7).  He said to the people, "Many will say to Me in that day, 'Lord, Lord, didn't we prophesy in Your name, cast out demons in Your name and perform many miracles in Your name?' and then I will say to them, 'I never knew you.  Depart from Me, you who work lawlessness.' "

Wow.  They're listing all the impressive things they've done for Him and it's like He's saying, "Talk to the hand." (Translation of "Talk to the hand" for those who've never heard the expression: "I don't even want to hear it.")  

Why?

Because what we DO for God doesn't matter to Him one hill of beans.  He can do anything - He does miracles whether someone prays over someone else or not, whether the sick person believes or not. Or even if anybody in the family or friends even believes in Him at all.  Yes.  Yes He does.  HE is the initiator.

What matters to Him - and here I won't say "what matters to Him most" because to Him it is ALL that matters - is this:  whether He knows us.

Well of course He knows us, you say.  Uh-huh.  That's true.  So what was Jesus talking about by "I never knew you"?  Okay, here's a little light shed on that.  Think INTIMACY.  

He wants to know us intimately.

Whoa.  Back up the truck.

Well, if I must be blunt, I must. It's all about the heart: the heart is the seat of the will and the emotions. He is seeking spiritual intimacy with us - an ever-increasing mutual relationship of being known and knowing.  

Spiritual intimacy parallels physical intimacy.  In essence, it is that we open our entire being to Him and LET Him know us - LET Him penetrate into those areas of our spirits that are the most vulnerable, the most tender, the most secret, the most wounded.  We LET Him fully know us.  

We are ourselves with Him. We get close.  On purpose. We don't put on airs or try to impress Him (He sees through that in a nanosecond!)  We don't need to add anything to what He has already done for us - we just enjoy it - let Him take us, ravish our spirits, speak tenderness and passion to our hearts.  We embrace that.  We long for it.  And when it happens, we can't help but be affected - to return that love and passion.  We don't have to work it up or grunt and strain to produce it.  It just comes as a natural byproduct of being known more and more intimately by Him.  That is the miracle of it.  There is where the transformation happens.

Instead of talking to the hand later, after a lifetime of missing the whole point, I'd rather talk with Him face to face now.

There are no words

Sometimes, I'm at a loss for words.

At times it's because I'm so overwhelmed by emotion that the power of speech is short-circuited.  Those are the times of heights of joy or of grief, of wonder or of shock.  Words are impossible.

There are occasions when I disappear and am swallowed up in something far greater than I could ever dream of being or witnessing.  Words are superfluous.  In the face of the grandeur of creation, in the atmosphere of pure worship of the Creator - I've been known to be struck dumb.  No words could make it any better than what it already is.

And other times, it's like I've said all I can say to a person (either someone who is hurting or someone who's hurting me) and there's nothing more to say.  I know that there is probably something I SHOULD say but for the life of me I cannot think of a thing.

Sometimes I struggle with feelings of unearned guilt at being silent in that last situation.  It's not that I am uncomfortable with the absence of noise, it's just that I have a hard time not jumping in and either defending myself or trying to give advice.  Yet I know that people have the right to be who they are, to do what they choose to do, and to bear the consequences of their own decisions.  So the best choice for me is to stay silent.  There are no words that could make it better.  A hug, yes.  And in some cases, walking away is the best response.  But words?  sometimes they just get in the way.

Loving God, Loving Each Other

There's an old Gaither song that goes, "Loving God, loving each other, making music with my friends...loving God, loving each other, and the story never ends."

If I had to choose a social activity I enjoy the most, it's jamming.  I come from a musical family.  We sang with each other all the time.  Everyone in my family could play the guitar and sing.  Mom could even play the piano - took lessons at one point enough so that she could play hymns if need be.  I took lessons too - but only for a short time.  (Long story, not gonna go there today.)

I started playing the guitar when I was 10, more to have something to share with my brothers than anything else. Dad had an old Barrington guitar with the strings about 1/4 inch from the fret board (OWCH!) and he said that if I was serious about learning, I could learn on that.  Deep breath.  "Okay."  And I was stubborn enough to want to "show him" - and I did.  But whenever I could I used to play my brother's guitar when he was out.  Then I'd put it back before he got back.  Usually that worked. 

I won't go into a big long history but the times I spent jamming with family and friends, whether for church or just family gatherings, were some of the best memories I had growing up.  It was the one time nobody was angry with anyone else.  That carried through to my times of ministry after I got married and moved away.

Once in music ministry the "jamming" times got reduced to "worship team practice."  I do love to worship God and I enjoy being in ministry... but I'll be honest here.  Often times I could easily go home before the service because my soul is so nourished by the music practice alone.  What starts out as a technical practice turns into worship all by itself - and I do feel gypped when it doesn't happen. Music is an effective vehicle to reach the heart, and the heart must be involved for true worship to happen.  I especially love it when the Spirit moves us and everything flows as if we'd done this all our lives.  That happens in services too - which is mostly why I stick around, I guess.  You never know when God is going to show up.  It's really cool when He does!

But sometimes things can get into a routine, you know?  So when someone suggested to hubby and me recently that we go over to his house for a jamming session with some of our mutual friends - we hesitated (well, because we're introverts) but then said, "Sure!"  

We had such a blast! We brought the heavy keyboard to the basement from where it sat in the living room; the sound system was set up down there for the instruments, etc. It was great to get together and play and sing together, we must have been at it for over 2 hours.  Wow.  It sure didn't seem like that long.

And something else happened during that time too.  Something that often isn't on my radar. 

Fellowship.

Oh I am NOT talking about what PASSES for fellowship (you know, small talk over a pot cluck - er - pot luck).  This was a communing of spirits united in worship of God.  At the end of the evening we had grins all over our faces, happily winding up cords and putting the keyboard back where it belonged, talking amongst ourselves.  One person told us that she had been involved in music for a long time but that this was the first time she had ever just "jammed" with a bunch of other musicians / singers.  "It's so much FUN!" she giggled.  

Knowing chuckles came from around the room.  We weren't laughing AT her; we were remembering when that same realization dawned upon each of us.  After the evening's activities, we all felt strengthened, uplifted - yet each of us was surprised by it, amazed by it, and determined to get together again.   

No wonder.  

We'd dipped into the pool of inner strength called "the joy of the Lord."  And it's only found in His presence.  He said, "Wherever two or three of you are gathered in My name, there am I in the midst."  The same thing happens when we just sit and share with each other the great things God is doing in our lives, without judging, without trying to fix the other person, just being grateful for what God is doing.

Whether we can sing or play an instrument or not, enjoying God's presence is what we were hard-wired to do. It's what He planned all along. 

And He loves it when a plan comes together.

Under the Armor

I like to read stories from the Old Testament.  It's full of colorful yet very profound examples of how God worked in the lives of the people who dared push past their preconceived notions and seek Him.

This morning I was reading in the book of Second Kings, and I came across a well-known story, one I learned in Sunday School.  It was of Naaman the leper, the one who had a little servant girl who told his wife (her mistress) about a prophet in Israel who could cure him of his leprosy. Yes, the photo to the right (above) is a fellow who has leprosy, a debilitating disease, and in those days, there was no cure. 

I relaxed and let the story pull me in.  I wondered what God was going to teach me that I didn't already know.  He's funny like that.

Naaman was a high-ranking military official, like a general in our culture.  He was second only to the king, and when he heard of a possible cure for this disease, he asked permission from his boss (the king) to go to Israel.  And he told him why.  The king (being a bureaucrat) heard what he wanted to hear and sent a letter not to the prophet, but to the king of Israel to have him either take the credit for the healing (or the blame in case Naaman wasn't cured.)  He sent plenty of money, obviously bribe money to try to entice the king of Israel to do as he was asked.  ("What's in it for me?" is a very old question.)  

When Naaman got there, the king of Israel read the Aramean king's letter and was very upset.  He thought it was a trick to get him to displease the sender, and worried that there would be an attack.  After all, before him stood the general of the foreign king's army AND his significant entourage, enough to attend to all the animals that carried the bribes he brought with him.

The prophet Elisha heard what had happened and he sent a message to the king of Israel.  "Send him to me.  Then you will know there is a prophet in Israel."  When Naaman got to the prophet's house, his servant came out with a message for him.  "Wash seven times in the Jordan River and your leprosy will be cured."  Naaman was furious!  The Jordan was a muddy river, prone to flooding, and there were rivers far more clean even in nearby Samaria.  He was about to leave in a rage, when his servants talked some sense into him.  "If this prophet had asked you to perform some great and difficult feat, you would have done that, wouldn't you?  How much simpler it is to just 'wash and be clean'!" 

How much simpler indeed.  It was the simplicity of it that offended the great man.  He had come looking to buy his way, to impress his way into the good graces of whatever god this nation served.  He expected to at least speak to the prophet in person, perhaps to have the prophet wave his hand over him and - puff of smoke and abracadabra - his leprosy would be gone.  But he hadn't counted on this.  This was too simple.  Yet his servants were so earnest - and what they said did have some merit ...

Naaman relented.  And this is the picture that struck me this morning.

General Naaman had to take off his armor to go into the Jordan. This armor was head-to-foot and up until now, he had been able to hide the extent of his deforming disease from all but his family and close friends. 

But this, this was different; this was humiliating.  He had to strip down to his underwear, and expose the repulsiveness of his disease to anyone who might just happen along, as well as to his entire entourage. He had to submit his will to the will of another.   He had to let go of his preconceived notions of a god who expected some give-and-take. He had to become vulnerable in his area of deepest weakness.

When he got up for the seventh time out of the muddy waters of the Jordan (excuse the artist's rendition) his skin was like that of a child.  All his leprous spots were gone, just as his wife's servant-girl had predicted! 

Better than that outward healing, a transformation had taken place on Naaman's insides.  He had come to know a new God.  A "God of his understanding" - one who met him at his point of need and touched him where nobody could touch him before, who was no respecter of persons and who cared about him personally.

Naaman made a decision in his grateful heart, right there and then.  He had to say thank you - not just to the prophet but to God - and for the rest of his life.  

He went back to the prophet and tried to pay him.  No dice, came the response.  This is free.  Overwhelmed, Naaman then made a request (which was granted!) and the request itself and his reason behind it is how we know his heart had changed.  

He wanted DIRT. (Dirt??)  Enough dirt to load up two mules with it - so he could carry it back to Aram with him.  Why in the world - ??  

He wanted it because he wanted to use it as a reminder, possibly as a base to create an altar back in Aram to worship this God, and NO OTHER god, for the rest of his life.  As I was reading the story, I noticed that he even asked forgiveness from God (through the prophet) in advance for his duty to fulfill a ceremonial function in the line of his work:  having to accompany his boss to the temple of his former gods - having to bow his head when the king of Aram worshiped.  He wanted there to be no mistake - his heart belonged to his new God and to Him alone. 

This new God had gotten under his armor.... under his physical armor and under his intellectual armor.  This God had touched his heart, had proven His power, had ripped away his prejudices and his objections in a simple, miraculous act of generosity.  

He would never be the same.  

Being precedes doing

I need to talk to my brothers and sisters in the Western church.

Much of what we are taught from the time we are very young has to do with actions.  We learn that if we do certain things, we will be rewarded or punished.  By the time we hit school age, this belief is entrenched, and the school system cements it with marks based on performance.

While there is much to be said for excellence, the danger is that we can often miss the deeper things.  Love.  Compassion.  Forgiveness.  Mercy.  Goodness.  Not "acting in a loving way" and so forth but actually receiving love, having love inside of us, and expressing that love in tangible ways.  The impetus of all action is the heart. The same goes with the other expressions of love I just mentioned.


Actions are deceptive.  Often they can appear good, but the heart within is filled with selfishness and self-promotion.  Consider the Pharisee, or the person who does good deeds only for the accolades of the crowd, or even just to feel good about him/herself.  

More often in this world, the action is destructive, but the motivation for the action is one of wanting to do what is right. Hitler believed that he was acting for the greater good.  In fact, he was considered by many to be "the defender of the faith."  

When the heart is right - and submitted to the Maker - the actions will flow from it as naturally as a person's body casts a shadow in the light.  The message we receive, unfortunately, is somehow the opposite.  The cart, as it were, has been placed before the horse.  

We hear misleading messages with the ring of truth, and we accept them as truth.  "Fake it til you make it."   "God helps those who help themselves."  The fallacy in this kind of thinking is that there is absolutely nothing that we can do in ourselves to effect any kind of change where it counts - on the inside.  And if there is nothing at all on the inside, and our motivation is external - in obligation, duty, rules - the works we do manage to do will mean nothing in Eternity.  The apostle Paul said we could even be burned at the stake for our faith, and it would not mean a thing ... if we don't have God's love as our motivation. 

It could indeed be argued that we are the result of our choices.  While our choices may have consequences that affect our inner life, the choices themselves must come from somewhere: a code, a belief system, an emotion.  The heart.  Any external motivation - any kind of "should" - will fail in the final analysis, when we stand before the Great One. This is why the wisest man ever to live advised, "Above all, guard your heart, for it is the well-spring of life." 

I believe that we in the church have given the heart a bad rep and have done ourselves a disservice as a result.  We're told not to trust the heart, from the time we are very small ... by the very people who have learned to deny their own.  Is that not akin to laying heavy burdens (such as a certain standard of behavior) on people's backs and not lifting one finger to help them (like tell them how to achieve that by depending on God instead of judging them for not being able to do it on their own)? 

One of my favorite Christian authors is John Eldredge.  In his book, "Waking the Dead - the glory of a heart fully alive" he talks about the role of the heart and the misinterpretation of the Old Testament scripture, "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked, who can [fully] know it?"  He postulates that it is the unregenerate heart - the heart without God - which meets that criterion.  Once we have asked God to take care of us and our will, His spirit comes into us and remakes us on the inside.  We enter a process where - in gratitude to Him - we learn to recognize His voice inside of us.  And when we do, we can learn to trust our "regenerated" heart because it will tell us what we need to know from Him.

I pray that we in this generation can reverse the wrong we have done to ourselves and to our children, that we can again learn to listen to the Spirit that He has placed within us, in order to act from the inside out, to DO from our BEING.  

Dear God, teach us how to really listen to You ... and truly live.

Just Daddy and me

I love to watch babies interact with their dads. There is an openness, an inner delight, that each gets from the encounter. It touches something deep in my spirit. I must admit that there have been times - not lately of course - when I've been in church and have listened more to the sermon being preached from the pew ahead of me where a father and his baby were interacting, than the sermon being preached by the minister. There is a unique love-language, a special bond, between dads and their infants. What a privilege it is to witness it! It's relationship. Relationship based on total love (provision, protection, nurture, attentiveness) on one side, and total trust (helplessness, dependency, expectancy) on the other.

That's a model for relationship with God. It's why Jesus said we had to become like little children. LITTLE children. Babes in arms. Totally honest and open before our Father. Exploring Him, looking only to Him, gazing into His eyes.

What a wonderful way to show us what He is like, what we are like when we are dependent on Him. No wonder He loves it when we trust Him. It's why He created us.

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.
.

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.