It’s not goodness I need

I finally wrote God a letter.

I do that when I get so stuck on an issue that I can’t pray uncluttered.

Father,
What’s really going on with [insert troubling issue here]?

It started because of one thing. It seemed so wrong I could do nothing less than walk away from it.

So I was going to wait it out. But the longer it takes, the more I see that one thing is just a symptom of a much larger thing: is the gospel about works or grace?

If salvation is by works, then it’s manifested through fear of ever changing anything for fear of offending you, of getting it wrong, of breaking a rule.

If salvation is by grace, then it’s safe to take risks for you and trust your Spirit to get it right in me, even if it means failing first and starting over.

• Works = trust in my allegiance to the rules
• Grace = trust in Jesus

I’m not changed by following a book.
I am transformed by following Jesus.

• Works = become an expert in the details to feel safe and in control
• Grace = totally depend on Jesus even if it feels out of my control

Am I thinking clearly, God?

[etc.]

I didn’t mail the letter.

But I’m pretty sure God received it anyway.
Because he keeps answering me back.

He’s letting me know that being good is nice, but good is not best.
Good is not grace.
More important than me being good is God being glorified.

Obedience isn’t the goal.
Loving him is the goal.
Obedience is just one of the ways I love him. 

It’s not goodness I need, it’s God.  

Can I get stuck on that, Father?
That’s good news.
That’s your gospel.

I love you,
Lisa

* * *

Do you ever resort to writing a letter to God, too?

Hope is believing. Resurrection is proof.

And very early on the first day of the week,
when the sun had risen,
they went to the tomb.
Mark 16:2

Hope is believing that things will get better.
    Resurrection is proof.

I had prayed for no rain on Easter morning. We had places to go that needed dry. No Easter egg hunt for these girls. As teenagers, their hunts are different.

This hunt would be different.

We loaded them in cars by 9:15 a.m. They trusted us to take them somewhere good.

We ended up at the cemetery.

It was fitting, right? All semester we’ve been studying women in the Bible following Jesus. Learning how Jesus touched lives. Then. And now.

On Easter morning, where did the women follow Jesus?
To the tomb.

So as women following Jesus, we ended up there too.
Go to the tomb.

As we sat on blankets, surrounded by tombstones, we looked around. At apparent deadness. But we knew better. Life lay just beyond our vision.

• We broke bread. One girl at a time cracked opened her story of death to life, sharing a memory from her day of rebirth—her own resurrection. Then tore off a piece of His symbolic body, taking into her physical body the reminder of Bread that never dies.
• We drank fruit of the vine. And prayed. We remembered the Blood that poured out three days earlier, and coursed through veins again on Resurrection Sunday.
• We sang praise. For the glory of the risen King. At least one man sat in his car in the cemetery and listened—to young girls singing about finding hope in Christ alone, their light, strength, song.

Then bursting forth in glorious Day
Up from the grave he rose again!
And as He stands in victory
Sin's curse has lost its grip on me,
For I am His and He is mine -
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

My God is mighty to save
...He rose and conquered the grave
Jesus conquered the grave

We gathered the girls back into cars and returned to the church building.

Another Sunday class over.
But another lesson continuing in following Jesus wherever He goes.

Hunt for Jesus. He wants to be found.
To breathe life into the dead.
It’s our message to tell: “I have seen the Lord.”

Because hope is believing that things will get better.
    And resurrection is proof.

Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples,
“I have seen the Lord”—
and that he had said these things to her.
John 20:18

* * *

Have you seen Resurrection lately, too?

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?”
John 11:25-26

Spiritual vertigo

I knew something was very wrong when he stumbled crazily back to bed.

Jeff had gotten up to take his shower, like he does every work day. But instead of next hearing him shave and brush his teeth, I heard the bathroom door open back up. And watched him sway.

“I feel so dizzy!” he said. Abnormally so. And it wasn’t going away. He felt nauseous. Sweaty.

With no sense of balance, the whole room was spinning uncontrollably in his head, even though there was no movement at all in reality.

I’ve felt like that lately, too, in my soul. Like a big part of my world is spinning uncontrollably around me, even though on the outside, there appears to be no motion at all. My vision is limited and my nerves are super-sensitive. I feel off-balance and wobbly.

But like Jeff, I have to remember that my spiritual dizziness is not reality either. When I get still (Psalm 46:10) and look straight ahead, the whirling motion stops.

Focus on Jesus, I preach to myself. Not on the outer edges.
By staying centered on him (Matthew 6:33), I bypass the blur.

It’s not a self-help strategy. It’s gospel truth (Colossians 1:22-23). By looking to the Lord, I can stand firm. I find balance.

Jeff was later diagnosed with damage to the inner ear caused by a virus. He’s since made an almost full recovery, praise God.

I’m recovering, too. Spiritual vertigo can be corrected by a change of perspective. Trading my vision for God’s. He sees the big picture.

And when I lean into him, he’s got me. He can keep me from stumbling (Jude 1:24-25).

* * *

I’m still learning the lesson of “one thing at a time” for Lent.

When you feel life is spinning out of control, do you have a favorite scripture or truth you turn to?

 

RELATED:

• Just be quiet
• Is it enough that God knows?
• Lessons from the still

Learn it for later

For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death.
     Romans 8:2

Maybe you don’t need the lesson now, but you will later.
God is more efficient than we are.

And I think I am fairly efficient. That’s part of my problem.

I like plotting out a day and checking off one item at a time. It gives me a sense of control. Not necessarily a bad thing. We should be good stewards of our time, as with any other resource God gives us.

But can the desire for control be a sign we’re living out of the flesh instead of out of the spirit?

I started memorizing Romans 8 on November 6, 2011. The plan seemed reasonable enough. Two verses a day, 19 weeks. I could expect to finish on March 17, 2012.

If all goes as planned.

The funny thing is: all is going as planned...with the memorization, that is. I am currently right where I thought I would be on Romans 8:34-35.

But it is life that is not going as planned. I had no idea that God was rooting me in Romans 8 last November so that when I reached February, I would be entrenched in it, benefiting by its gracious truths and strong promises.

God knew then what I would need now.

So he laid it out for me. One verse at a time. One truth at a time.

So now as I focus during Lent on doing one thing at a time, I’m having to trust even more that God’s plans for me are greater than what I can plan for myself.

Because, frankly, NOT multitasking isn’t feeling too efficient to me. Instead, I’m having to trust:

• That if I set my mind on him (not my schedule),
       I’ll have life and peace (Romans 8:6)
• That if I am a daughter of God (not a slave to my culture),
       I’ll escape falling into fear (Romans 8:14-15)
• That if I’ll focus on his glory to come (not on the adversities of now),
      these sufferings will pale in comparison (Romans 8:18)

His Spirit is helping me in my weakness (Romans 8:26). 
He is interceding for me according to God’s will (Romans 8:27).
He is working all things out for my good so I can be transformed into his image (Romans 8:28-29).

I don’t have to do those things. Actually, I can’t do those things.

But I can believe the Lord has and that he will continue to.

If he gave up his own Son for me, then why shouldn’t I believe he’ll give me everything else I need (Romans 8:32)?  Including all the time to complete duties of the day that he wants me to complete. One at a time.

So when I wake up in the night and can’t get back to sleep, instead of reaching for a podcast or a book, I seek one thing—to rest in his presence. I meditate on his beauty from Romans 8. Just God and me. We’re working it out, one verse at a time.

And I can be confident that what I don’t need now, He knows I’ll need later. He’s not a God of waste.

He fills me up with all the gifts I’ll need at just the right time.
Yes, he’s just that good.

Nothing can separate me from that love (Romans 8:38-39).
Not now. Not ever.

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors
through him who loved us. 
     Romans 8:37

* * *

What verses have you memorized that help you?

RELATED:

• Using the lessons
• The idol of efficiency
• Don’t strive for balance?

No multitasking—Lent 2012

Out of a rut

I don’t mind ruts. Not if they’re happy ruts. Efficient ruts. 

But even in those, it’s not a bad thing to get kicked out of them occasionally. For better or worse, I’m outside of a big one.

And because of that, I can’t rely on auto-pilot for that routine.
I have to think harder. I have to be intentional.

Just in time for Lent. Although I’m not Catholic, I find value in observing the 40 weekdays leading up to Easter Sunday.

For fasting. For repentance. For reflection.

One thing at a time

This year I want to fast from multitasking. (Thanks a lot, Michelle.)
To repent of my divided, scattered heart.
And to reflect on Jesus.

So instead of many things at once, I will pursue one thing at a time. I’m unsure how to do it. I know I’ll need grace. But I pray I will honor Him.     

It might look like this:

• turning my phone off during church, not just setting it to silent
• putting away the newspaper when you call instead of scanning it as we chat
• choosing to either read or watch a show, not both at the same time
• closing down e-mail when I’m trying to type up my thoughts
• picking one major to-do a day instead of four
• looking my family in the face when they talk instead of glancing at Facebook, too
• using clocks as a guideline instead of a taskmaster
• letting bedtime be rest time with no books or podcasts {groan}
• and, if I get real radical, finishing one book completely before I crack open another

When I pray, focusing attentively. 
When I read, meditating fully.
When I sing, praising completely.

One thing at a time.

One thing I...

So this one thing I do:
     Press on toward the goal (Philippians 3:13-14).

For this one thing I seek:
     To dwell in His presence (Psalm 27:4).

Because this one thing I know:
     I was blind, but now I see (John 9:25).

Jesus, please be my one thing.

* * *

Are you fasting from anything for Lent?

The difference is Grace

C. S. Lewis walked into a room where some of his friends had been having a discussion for several hours. He asked what they were talking about.

They said, “We have been discussing what makes Christianity different than all other religions.”

C. S. Lewis said, “That’s easy. It’s grace.” And he walked out of the room.

He was right.

A single word captures the difference between Christianity and all other religions.

Grace.
     ~ Joe Coffey, Bob Bevington, Red Like Blood

I’ve seen Grace.
I’ve felt Grace.
I’ve been touched by Grace.

Now, nothing else will do.
It’s Christ or nothing.
I’ll take Grace.

He’s everything.

As for you, O LORD, you will not restrain your mercy from me;
your steadfast love and your faithfulness will ever preserve me!
Psalm 40:11

* * *

RELATED:

• Can you do this, Church?
• Throw yourself on grace
• There’s always another layer
• For every grace denied

First loss—accidental. Second loss—choice.

I cried about it.
Once I realized what I had done.

Hours earlier, I highlighted all the e-mail in one folder. I hit “delete.” I exited out and ate lunch.

But when I opened it back up that afternoon, nothing was in my “To do” folder. Or my “Write back” folder. Or even my “Sent” folder.

Gone.
Everything was gone.
I had inadvertently even emptied the “Trash.” Permanently.

(* Lesson: If you have a folder labeled “All mail,”
believe it: it may truly mean ALL mail. Duh.)

So I cried.

And I tweeted. I received sympathetic replies. I received needed prayers. I received wonderful advice (“cry, but not too long”).

When I lose things on accident (even by my own hand), how proportional is my grief to its worth?

I had to ask myself. Exactly why was I taking this so hard?

Well, because now I’d have friends wondering why I wasn’t responding to their e-mails. I’d not know who to report to for book reviews. Addresses, embedded details to projects, prayer requests—all would now slip through the cracks.

Don’t those things matter? Aren’t they worth crying about?

Yes.
And no.

Were my tears more about my idols toppling over than about how others were going to be affected?

My idol of efficiency was broken. My idol of organization, even of responsibility, had cracked. My reputation of being a “together” person might be tarnished (don’t laugh). 

I had to face it:
I needed to repent. 

I read Psalm 4, this week’s text for the Run to Him study. David was crying out in distress, too. (I’m guessing it wasn’t over lost e-mail.) He knew God would listen. 

And then I read verse 7. Wham!

You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound.
Psalm 4:7

My joy shouldn’t come from being efficient. Or from being organized. Or even from being responsible (although those are good things, and I can rightly get and give joy from those things, just like abounding grain and wine).

But my fullest joy can only be found in one place. A place not dependent on the memory of my hard drive or even in my faulty soft one.

My joy comes from God.
He places it in my heart. Not in a scheduling system. Certainly not in a computer.

So I wanted to offer a sacrifice of praise. What could I lay on the altar as an act of submission—of celebration!—honoring God’s control, not mine?

I knew.
E-mail folders.

I opened up my other e-mail account—the really bloated one. I knew immediately which folder needed to go. It was a superfluous one—one that served only my ego. I highlighted all. Then I hit delete.

But this time I didn’t cry.
It felt good. I felt joy.
In choosing to lose, I gained.

* * *

Later that night, I discovered that Christi, the daughter of one of my best friends, Kathy, had barely made it into the bathtub with her husband before a tornado ripped off their roof near Birmingham, Alabama.

They lost their home, but their faith was intact. Christi’s reply: Job 1:21.

And I had been crying over lost e-mail that very day? Really? I repented again. I’m still deleting folders.

Just go

You never know what things God might bring to a day.
But you can know he wants one of those things to be you.

When we arrived at Kim’s house for our Sunday night small group study, the adults were huddled in the corner. They were listening in to Gerry’s phone conversation with our friend Amber. Minutes before—while driving to the study—her car had been hit by a truck. Her car with her beautiful baby Lillie inside.

Although injuries appeared minimal, they were being transported to the hospital by ambulance.

Cell phones started buzzing.
Texts were typed and sent.
Prayers ascended to the Father.

But what else?

Thankfully, I’m married to a goer. When in doubt, Jeff doesn’t sit and think about it—he goes.

It’s a habit I want to learn better.

Just go.
It’s what family does.
It goes.

It doesn’t just send a text.
It doesn’t just leave a message on a FB wall.
It doesn’t just send an e-mail.

It goes. In person. In body and soul.

So we went. To the emergency room. And before long, most of our Sunday night small group were also huddled there in the waiting room, taking turns visiting with Amber in her room (or in the hall—it was an overcrowded ER).

And awaiting our turn to get to hold Lillie, who had already been given the all-clear by the ER doctors and released. When my turn came, Lillie connected thumb to mouth, closed her little eyes, and shut out all the chaos.

I watched this baby I love sleep deep in my arms.
I listened to her tiny baby breaths.
And I thanked God for this outcome, and not another.

I was glad I had come.
The going had bred joy.

It was a holy moment.

Because when we go, God meets us there.
He’s family. It’s what He does.
It’s what I want to do, too.

Just go.

* * *

UPDATE:
Would you please pray for another sweet family
who did lose their baby this week? Thank you.

Sometimes it’s hard to know—when to stay home or when to go?

When have you been glad you showed up?

(Oh, and Amber got to go home that night with Lillie and her husband Adam. Bruised and sore, but very grateful.)

2012: My year to...

I want this habit

Why do some persons “find” God in a way that others do not?

…The differences lie not with God but with us.

…I venture to suggest that the one vital quality which they had in common was spiritual receptivity. Something in them was open to heaven, something which urged them Godward.

Without attempting anything like a profound analysis, I shall say simply that they had spiritual awareness and that they went on to cultivate it until it became the biggest thing in their lives.

They differed from the average person in that when they felt the inward longing they did something about it.

They acquired the lifelong habit of spiritual response.
     ~A. W. TOZER, The Pursuit of God

Spiritual receptivity.
Openness to heaven.

I want this.

In very little things.
In very much things.
Faithfully.

Habitually….

* * *

What habit are you working on—either making or breaking?

Is your life a warm-up act?

Sometimes the warm-up bands are hot.

When we saw Shane and Shane this October, their opening act was a band called Freely. Its lead singer Sam was as good as any singer I’ve heard.

The opening act for Toby Mac in December was Jamie Grace. She was so good that Jenna asked for her CD for a Christmas gift instead of Toby Mac’s CD. (I’m glad she did; we’re all enjoying it.)

But is my life now just a warm-up act for heaven?

Are the things I do now just getting me in the habit for what I’ll be doing later? Prepping me for the real show yet to come?

I think not.

My eternal life has already begun.
My worship of God matters. Now. 

While I know heaven will be even grander, my worship of Jesus now isn’t merely to warm me up for later. It’s the real deal here, too.

The habits I establish now—praising, talking to God, being awestruck at his holiness—aren’t simply shadows of things to come. They are solid. 

I want worship of God engrained in me.
Not as a supporting act before the real concert begins. 
But as the headliner now.

* * *

He sees you when you’re sleeping

Are your kids sleeping with one eye open this week?
Watching for Santa watching them?

It’s no different for some adults.

Do you know this song?

All along on the road to the soul’s true abode,
There’s an Eye watching you;
Every step that you take this great eye is awake,
There’s an Eye watching you.

Watching you, watching you,
Ev’ry day mind the course you pursue;
Watching you, watching you,
There’s an all-seeing Eye watching you.

When I was growing up, Mrs. M would sit on the pew behind us at church. We sometimes wondered if she was the all-seeing eye. We felt her glare. It made us nervous.

I had to shake that.

I’ve grown up now to discover that while yes, God is watching me, it’s not to wag a finger at me if I giggle with my girlfriends during the sermon. Or get grouchy with Jeff. Or lie awake at night wondering about tomorrow.

He’s watching me so he can help me. Protect me. Love me.

And save me.

Jesus came, with his two sweet baby eyes, to watch over us and save us and lead us to praise.

And because he’s watching, we can calmly close both our eyes each silent night and sleep in heavenly peace. 

I like this song much better:

Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth

* * *

How does it makes you feel knowing that God is watching you?

REVISED FROM THE ARCHIVES

Are you prepared?

He prepared for me.
Have I prepared for him?

“Are you ready for Christmas?”
It’s December small talk.

And technically, no, I’m not ready.
I still have gifts to wrap. More to buy. Cards to write.

Sometimes I prepare well.
I set a nice table. I light the candles. I choose mood music.
It makes a difference.

John prepared for Jesus (Matthew 3:2-3).
He set hearts on edge.
“Wake up! Get ready! He’s coming!”

Jesus prepared for the cross (John 17:11).
He made disciples. He loved thoroughly.
He met his mission.

God prepared for me (Ephesians 2:10).
I am his fabric, designed for beautiful creations.
Knowing the path I’ll walk, He’s laid out provisions for my journey.

Am I prepared to use them?

Not just for Christmas, although there is a mission there, too.
Am I prepared for a new year? Am I prepared for new works?

Some are shaping before my eyes. Some I can’t even imagine yet.

But He has imagined them.
He’s prepared them for me.

He’s lined up perfect gifts of grace for each footstep,
each ready for hand-delivery as I walk in range.

Will my heart be ready?

Am I preparing now for what’s to come later?
Am I studying? Am I praying?
Am I loving higher and wider and deeper?

He’s prepared a gift for me to use.
Will I be prepared to give it?
It could make a difference.

For we are his workmanship,
created in Christ Jesus for good works,
which God prepared beforehand,
that we should walk in them.
Ephesians 2:10

* * *

Are you ready for Christmas? For 2012?

Is it okay to be needy?

Sometimes we get so carried away in our giving that we overlook the difficulty in receiving.

So I overlooked the look in her eyes.

She had picked up her free bag of food. Now she waited on her friend.

I approached and asked if she needed anything else.

She said, “No, thank you.”

I pressed in to ask how she was doing.

And her dignity spilled out.

She said she’d be better if she didn’t have to be here. Not that she wasn’t grateful; she was.

“But,” I said, “they have so much to give away and they are glad to share with you. It’s okay to take some when you need it.”

But what I wish I said—after taking her eyes home with me and thinking about it—was,

“I know. It’s hard to take from others when we’d rather be independent.

But we all are needy. Just in different ways at different times. And thankfully God is always ready to give to us.”

It’s okay to be needy.

She needed canned vegetables. Bread. Toothpaste.
She also needs Love. Grace. Hope. 
Jesus.

I do, too.

I need to take less pride in my independence.

I need to be emptied of self.
So I can be filled with Him.

He came to fill me.
He comes to fill me still.

The Breath of God daily blows into me, expanding my soul with the fullness of His Spirit.

I need less independence—more dependence.
On His coming. His filling. His satisfying.

He sees it in my eyes.

May I see it, too—my neediness, the hungry lady’s neediness, your neediness.
For it’s in our neediness that we receive His riches.
Be needy.

And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:19

* * *

Is it also hard for you to receive from others?

To receive from God?

Look—Connect—Do. Repeat.

My oldest daughter Morgan loves horses.
My youngest daughter Jenna loves cows.
Me? I love my daughters.

So when Jenna wanted to find cows to photograph on our hour drive home from Thanksgiving dinner, I obliged.

LOOKING
As we drove, I looked for fields. I looked for fences. I looked for barns.
And of course I looked for cows, but sometimes you see the markers before you see the treasure.

I spotted a marker. An open, fenced-in area.

And then I spotted the prize. A pasture filled with cows.

We turned around, wound around the smaller road, and parked. Standing at the edge of the field, my happy daughter started snapping her camera.

CONNECTING
But we weren’t alone. A young dad with a two-year-old on his shoulders wandered across the road where we were.

And made a suggestion. An offer of connection.

He knew the cows’ owner. Kind of. He could walk us over, if we wanted him to, for closer encounters.

My maternal instincts began whispering, “We don’t know this man. Nor do we know the place he’s leading us to. Is this wise???”

But Jenna’s huge smile and a good gut feeling made the connection too inviting to refuse. “Let’s do it!”

DOING
The knock on the farmhouse door led to Mr. B coming out. We explained the cow mania. He was understanding.

And the next thing I knew, Jenna and I were riding on a John Deere Gator through a cow pasture in a town not our own with a 90-year-old man we’d just met through another stranger we’d never seen.

The looking and the connecting led to the doing.

And the smiling.
And the interacting.
And the memory-making.

All glorious.

AGAIN?
This Advent I begin a new search.
For markers. 
For Jesus’ coming in a fresh way.

I look in the Word. I look in songs. I look through people.

I can’t predict the connections He’ll make. But I know He’ll make them.
Connecting me to Him.

For the doing.

The smiling.
The interacting.
The memory-making.

May it be for His glory.

* * *

How are you looking for Him afresh this season?

Thankful for Christmas chaos?

Thanksgiving is almost here.
Which means it’s almost over.
Which means it’s almost...Christmas.

We anticipate the coming of Christmas.

We make lists.
We schedule activities.
We expect happiness.

I made myself a note for this day before Thanksgiving:
Prepare for Advent.

How?

• Fresh candles of purple and pink are set in our advent wreath.
• Crèches are placed to mirror Bethlehem two thousand years ago.
• Music of babies and salvation and hope play through the speakers.

But my soul.
How do I prepare my soul?
To receive Christ afresh? Not just on Christmas morning, but every day?

I begin with giving thanks.

Instead of dreading the chaos that comes with Christmas, may I instead be thankful for its opportunities?

I rejoice that, at least for a season, the world remembers that God sent His Son among us.

At least for this season, may I take advantage and more openly express that love?

So I make lists.
I schedule activities.
I expect happiness.

I prepare for the coming.

---

               • November 27 - First Sunday of Advent
               • December 4 - Second Sunday of Advent
               • December 11 - Third Sunday of Advent
               • December 18 - Fourth Sunday of Advent

---

How do you prepare for Christmas?

I wasn’t prepared

Sometimes you look away.

You see the man under the bridge or on the street corner.
But you don’t want to.

So you fiddle with the radio or watch the traffic light or check your phone.
All to avoid the human being.

But other times, you can’t help but stare.
You wonder.
How did this happen? Did he used to have a job? A family? A home?

I often see these men on my way to our public library. They hang out under the Governors Drive overpass.

One Wednesday afternoon a couple weeks ago I couldn’t help but stare. I was first up at the light. The gentleman had a sign.

And this time, I actually wanted to help.

I looked around my car. One opened pack of gum. I couldn’t give that. 

All I had to give was eye contact and a smile.
I gave it.

I had been unprepared for the good work God had prepared for me to do.
For this man.
On that Wednesday afternoon.
Under an overpass.

Why?
Laziness? Fear? Cynicism?

But as of yesterday, I traded in my empty bag of excuses for a new package tucked under my driver’s seat: a pair of new socks filled with peanut butter crackers and a juice box.

And a handwritten note that says,

“God has planned good things for you to do today.
Jesus will help you. He loves you!”
Ephesians 2:10

Will it make a difference to a man under a bridge?
I can’t predict.

But I can predict this:
It will make a difference to a woman in a car.

Some things you can’t prepare for.
But some things you can.

* * *

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.
Ephesians 2:10

How do you stay prepared for good works?
Please share your ideas; I need them.

Bigger than my prayer

God wants to do something bigger
than simply answer my prayers.
PAUL E. MILLER, A Praying Life

Do you ever ask for the same things over and over?

Better sleep and less pain are two of my repetitive prayers. But I wonder, if through my asking—regardless of the answer—is he changing me?

The act of praying draws God into my life
and begins to change me,
the pray-er, in subtle ways.

Is he shaping me through the “no” answer? Or at least the “not yet” one?

Is simply keeping up my end of the conversation doing more than I realize?

I often find that when God
doesn’t answer a prayer,
he wants to expose something in me.

I don’t know the answer yet.
Maybe enough time hasn’t passed.
Maybe I’m still in the middle of something.

Something bigger than the request itself.

Our prayers don’t exist in a world of their own.
We are in dialogue with a personal, divine Spirit
who wants to shape us as much as he wants to hear us.

For now, by faith I’ll keep asking him.
For later, by grace he’ll keep changing me.

Only a God as wise as ours can straighten us out as he untwists our gnarly questions.

I may not sleep again tonight, but as I lie awake, I can talk to him about it.

And as we talk, I’ll rest, knowing he is at work in me.

* * *

Have you seen God change you through your prayers?

A dollar a word

If a picture is worth a thousand words,
how much is a word worth?

According to my local newspaper, a dollar.
For obituaries anyway.

My friend Stan’s dad died Friday night. Mr. Stephens had been hurting for awhile. This summer was especially hard on him. So after 85 years of living, his body said enough.

Stan came over Saturday for wordsmithing help with his dad’s obituary. We counted words. A dollar a word.

How do you price a man’s life?

You don’t.
You say what you want to say, need to say.
The value of words isn’t cheap.   

Mr. Stephens’ life was full of chapters. He fought in the Pacific during World War II. He raised two sons. He loved four grandkids and lost one. He became a great-grandfather. He remained faithful to the same woman for over 60 years. And is faithful to the Lord still.

Do you get the picture?

But in the autumn of his life, his words were leaving him.

His granddaughter Christi picked them up at his funeral yesterday. Words that painted the special bond between a grandfather and a granddaughter. Words that came from years of stories. Words that drew tears from each of us.

Words that were priceless.

In the autumn time, the death and dying times, don’t forget to take a picture of words. It’ll be worth more than a thousand dollars. 

The colors outside my window Monday morning had to be captured.
Pictures are important.
Even in death and dying times—God still paints with shades of blaze.
Listen to what He wants to say, needs to say.
He’s already paid for every word.

* * *

I don’t like messes

For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out.
Romans 7:18

She was a messy one. Wild stringy hair. Dirty, ill-fitting coat.

One of the needy ones.

On Thursday she said she needed condiments for her coffee. She said she’d had trouble breathing at night, and this would help her.

I said I’d look, but she insisted on showing me where. Together we went to the back of the warehouse.

I don’t like messes.

I was the mom who had designated place mats for use with play-doh. I preferred glitter to stay outside (if you send me a glittery Christmas card, I read it gratefully, but have to throw it away immediately afterwards). I had one bin for Barbie clothes; a separate bin for doll clothes.

But the problem is...

I am a mess.

Just ask my family.

I can be moody when I feel left out about a bicycle gift. I can get angry when math problem # 7 doesn’t work out. I can indulge in Hershey’s chocolate and a Dr. Pepper (maybe not even diet!) when I’m throwing a private pity party.

I don’t like messes.

So when the messy woman and I found the packets of creamer and sugar she needed, she wanted to show me her appreciation.

With a hug.
A big, messy, straight-off-the-streets hug. Ummm…

Which one of us is the messy woman?

What could I do? I hugged her back, thanks to the grace of God in the moment. I told her I’m glad I could help.

Two messy women.
Both in need of help.

Both receiving it.
To breathe better.
She—with sugar for her coffee.
Me—with grace for my prejudice.

I thank God for loving the needy ones.
For loving messes.
Every one of us.

Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?
Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!
Romans 7:24-25

* * *

RELATED:

• Rest in the mess
• Dirty manger?
• I’m Mary. I’m Martha.

When your home key quits working

Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling!
Psalm 43:3

My home key on the laptop quit working a few days ago.

When I want to get to the top of a webpage, I press home and expect to arrive there. But every time I tried, nothing happened. No movement.

I was stuck where I was.

Ever happen to you? You wander out a little too far—either physically or spiritually—then you realize you need to get back home. But your old ways of arriving there no longer work.

An old Jewish tale says that a young man wanted to learn how to shoe horses. He took detailed notes from his master teacher. Yet when he later tried it alone, he could accomplish nothing.

He had failed to record the first step, the most important step—light the fire.

When you fail to find your way home, remember the first step—light the fire.

Don’t get hung up in details.
Fix your eyes on Jesus (Hebrews 12:2).

Jesus will not only be the light to show you the way (John 8:12), you’ll soon discover that he is the Way itself (John 14:5-6).

The way home.

I learned to fix my computer home key by backing off the details. It seems I had inadvertently pushed it into caret browsing mode earlier by hitting the F7 key. That sent the cursor through text very detailed, one character at a time, instead of by tabs or pages, or home and end.

By pushing F7 again, I got back to the big picture. Pushing the home key now works again.

When you get turned around, look for the light.
Focus on the big picture.
The Way. Jesus. 

He’ll get you back home every time.

You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
Psalm 16:11

* * *

What helps you return home when you get turned around?