Naked Soul

I have been so amazed by the activity on this site. I just figured out how to allow comments and I also set up a site meter he other day. In just 48 hours or so, it is mind-boggling. The online predictor is estimating 12,000 pages per month will be viewed by you people OUT THERE!

Here in the USA, there are places that really surprise me. Little dots were lit up like a Christmas tree across the country and my heart was pounding at the thought of people actually reading my journal entries and articles. WOW! From Oregon to Arizona and from Texas to Minnesota and from New Hampshire down to Florida… the coverage and extent is truly surprising. With regular emails you don't get to SEE what's happening, so this was a real revelation to virgin eyes.

I put on the world map and saw that someone was reading it in FINLAND and in MOSCOW! I mean, I don’t even know anyone in Finland… And there was a red dot in China and England and about four hits from an “UNKNOWN COUNTRY”… What does that mean? All part of the wonders of electronic journaling.

I don’t know if I can wrap my mind around this thing. This soulscriber’s had some moments of sheer paranoia. Seriously, this is quite an exercise in testing the limits of one’s vulnerability and willingness for exposure. Yes, what I’m saying is, it makes me feel quite naked! Soul naked.

You know how odd this is? God often calls people to do things that they are not naturally comfortable or good at doing. I mean, MOSES had a speech impediment and God called him to speak to the most powerful world leader of the day, for Pete’s sake. Well, I am actually a fairly private person, but God has called me to expose my heart and soul.

Somewhere underneath it all, there is a wondrous sense of delight that God is in it. I know He can take even the smallest crumbs and multiply them as they are dispersed to the four winds in His Name.

But when I see those little twinkling lights, red, greens and whites, I'm tempted to feel violated. Who are these people? Yeah, it’s unfamiliar territory. Do I quit this? Nah, I can't stop now! This is a life-giving exchange. A forum for real feelings. A platform for searching souls.

It’s do or die, baby. Sink or swim! As Garth sings, “I’m going to sail this vessel till the river runs dry!”

Dear God, once again I commit this journey into your hand to be used for your glory. May our hearts be drawn and spiritual appetites salted for the quenching that you alone can give. Excite and challenge and expose real truth as you move across boundaries and time zones, toward the breaking down of walls in people’s lives…

Especially my own!

Amen.

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Baby Steps

Just as my little Ellie is taking her first steps in the world, I feel like I am learning a whole new posture in life. I am beginning to test my weight in a whole new direction.

But I’m scared, Lord. I’m so weak and I tire so quickly. I’m unable to stand without your guiding arms. My eyes grow fuzzy and my wrists ache. Many days I feel like I just can’t do it. Please take my hand as I reach out for balance and hold me up as these new muscles develop.

How does a baby learn to walk? Lots of encouragement and helping hands.

Encouragement by example. Big brother and mom and dad and everyone around you is doing it. I want to reach things too! I want to join the party.

Verbal and physical support from a host of family members.

Sheer grit and determination to exercise developing muscles. It’s hard work for that child. Every single step is wobbly and those tender little feet have never held their weight before. Strength only comes with practice.

Falling down is also part of the process. There is no human being who ever learned to stand or walk without taking some hard plops down on the butt and even fast forward on your face. It just doesn’t happen without a few bumps and bruises along the way.

Time. This all-consuming effort takes a great deal of time to master, and there’s no shortcut. All the combined energies of coordinating sight and understanding with balance as those tiny feet press flat on a hard floor for the first time can be exhausting and frustrating.

Many times a child will cry and just put his hands up to you to be carried. You could easily scoop them up to where they want to go, of course, but what loving parent doesn’t decline when he knows the need to walk?

It’s interesting to watch how the child’s hands are in a continual state of reaching for your support and touch. The loving father’s hands are also reaching out, but only go so far. It is only with my best interests at heart.


Then…
When I was a toddler, my parents called me butterball. I’d actually been born a premie at just five pounds, but by the time I was one I’d turned into a little chunk! That didn’t make learning to walk an easy task. I had rolls of fat on my legs and arms to burn off. Not only so, but I was kept in a playpen most of the time. They said I was so content that it was easy to leave me in there, imagine! Finally, someone realized this kid needs some space and they let me out.

There were other obstacles to overcome, too. My big brother and cousin would laugh and poke me when I was trying to stand up. It’s funny now. I did finally take off and get tough. Later on, they tell me that the big kids would run away when I put up my fist and stuck out my lower lip. I wasn’t ever a bully, but I had finally learned a way to stand up for myself. One way or another, I suppose you have to get tough in order to get to where you’re going.

And Now…
Seeing my precious granddaughter at this stage only makes me realize how many parallels there are to where I am in life right now. I’m starting over, learning new things, and I still have a long way to go. I feel unstable and unsure of myself. I need to get tough and work hard and be patient with myself. I need to remember that even if I do fall flat on my face, the loving arms of God are still within reach.


Oh God, there are times I know you are withholding from my pitiful pick-me-up cry. You sometimes wait as I struggle and fall.

I know you’re watching over me, and I know that this is good for me. I know all these things, but one thing I ask. Lord, please stay close enough so I always see your hands before me.

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Scars – Dull Blades and High Places (Pt I)

Oddly, three different people used that word in ONE DAY and I knew the Lord was leading me to examine this more deeply… scars.

1. MORNING – A lifetime remembrance
It all started in the morning as I was listening to a message about God’s healing power while I was exercising. Someone mentioned the scars that we carry with us for a lifetime. Then I caught two very well-known pastors discussing the importance of humility, as I showered and dressed.

“There’s no room for pride,” one said emphatically.

“It’s God who works in people’s hearts,” the other agreed. They were both so genuinely humble about their televised successes, it drew me in. These are just ordinary men, I noted.

The older of the two was talking about how easy it is to be lifted up on a Sunday when God moves powerfully through the crowds and people are getting saved. “It’s easy to think it’s you doing it,” he laughed. “But pride is the death of the ministry,” he stressed. “God will not share his glory with another.”

“Oh yes,” the other pastor added, “the Lord showed me years ago, never forget who you are, without me.”

A few seed thoughts were planted so deeply I didn’t even process them until they were triggered, unexpectedly, during a phone call a few hours later.

2. AFTERNOON – In the eyes of love
One of my co-teachers from the corrections ministry called to discuss scheduling. In the course of the conversation, as usually happens, we side tracked a couple times, but I was truly surprised when she mentioned her son’s girlfriend.

Louis has a sweet girlfriend who was in a car accident many years ago, and ever since, she has had a scar on her face. It was Louis’s description that moved me and shook me back to the morning’s thoughts.

“You know how some people have a scar and it makes them seem ugly?” he asked his mom. “Well, her scar just enhances her beauty somehow. It makes her features look even more striking and beautiful,” he marveled.

Wow, to be loved like that! Isn’t it marvelous how, in the eyes of the one who truly loves, the markings of failure or the wounds from the past can be so totally accepted, even adored? I know the Lord loves us like that! In His eyes we are completely and freely loved, just as we are, scars and all.

3. EVENING – In my own skin
That evening, I was able to witness the working of God in the Bible study with the girls in lock-up. On this occasion, it started with a girl breaking down in tears just as we hugged, and continued to prove the presence of God as we opened his word. It never ceases to amaze me when the Lord himself shows up and touches lives. What a privilege it is to wrap skin around his message and touch lives--especially, in Chrysallis House, a place for healing wounds and dealing with so many scars.

I left there and attended another study with friends in Holliston. We’re at the section of the book that discusses how God takes our sorrows and conforms us into the image of His Son. I suppose I shouldn’t’ have been surprised when one of the guys blurted out, “There’s always scars in relationships.”

Well, I almost fell off my chair that time. That’s the third time today someone’s mentioned scars! That was just the icing on the cake and I knew I had to serve this while it was hot out of the oven.

Okay God, what are you trying to say? What’s the meaning of scars? If you offer complete healing and your word says that you remove our sins as far as the east is from the west, then WHY, pray tell, do scars stay with us forever?


DULL BLADES AND HIGH PLACES
I glanced down at my hand where a curved white line reminds me of the time I was cutting a smoked pig leg with a dull knife. The blade hit a bone and came back the second time to hit my own finger, to the bone. My stomach flipped over as I realized I had whacked my own hand. My head felt suddenly lighter as blood drained from my face and started rushing out the gaping lip of flesh. Even today when I think of it, my stomach goes queezy.

Then I looked down at the biggest scar on my body. Oh yeah, it still shows plainly, even after all these years. On my left leg there remains a shiny four-inch reminder of my youthful exuberance. Oh, the folly that moved me to jump off a bridge at the age of twelve! Well, I wasn’t trying to kill myself, but I did get hurt pretty badly.

I was with my big brother Steve and we did it just to be funny. The road to our school passed right under the Mass Pike and so, out of curiosity one day, we climbed up the side of the bridge and watched the traffic speeding by. Then Steve had an idea, and though his natural God-given brilliance surpasses most people on the planet, this was not a good one.

“Let’s pretend we’re going to commit suicide!” he said with a laugh.

“WHHHHYYYY would we want to do that?”

“It’ll be funny. People driving by will think we’re jumping all the way down to the street level, but we’ll just land on the slope.” He always loved the comic angle.

“I don’t know, Steve,” I hesitated.

“Look, it’s just a grassy hill from here to the street,” he reasoned. “I’ll go first!”

Why is that big brothers come up with hair-brained plans like this? But more, why is that kid sisters follow them? Steve climbed up on the rails at the highway level on the overpass and waited while people in the cars caught sight of him. He swung his arms around and made a show of it before leaping down.

Then it was my turn and I still can’t believe I did this. I stood up there, swung my arms, and leaped down onto the soft grass. Trouble is, when I stood up I realized something wasn’t right.

“Look!” Steve’s face changed expressions. “What did you do?” he asked. I looked down at my left leg and realized that my jeans were torn all the way up past the knee. “You just ruined a perfectly good pair of jeans,” he huffed.

But as he was saying that, I realized it wasn’t just a tear to the cloth. I carefully lifted the denim flaps to the sides and we saw a long gash on my leg as well. It was sort of flapped open also, with white flesh exposed. Then the bright red started running freely from my knee down.

“You must have landed on glass or a nail!” Steve hollered.

I was shocked. “I didn’t even feel it!” I said in amazement. But young and stupid as we were, we did think pretty fast just then. I took off my socks and tied them tightly around the wound.

“We have to run home now!” Steve urged. “Quick!” and we started running the half mile hill to the house.

I ended up with 14 stitches and an angled scar to remind me that sometimes we are stopped by the unseen obstacles. Danger lurks beneath the surface. And yes, you shouldn’t always listen to big brothers. Sooner or later, we have to think for ourselves.

Yes, I have physical and emotional scars as well. And as a visual writer, a spiritual seeker, I am compelled to search out the meaning. I see scars and I want to remember the lessons. But it isn’t just as obvious as say, 'don’t use dull blades' and 'don’t leap off high places.' I feel God wants to say something far more significant…

(continued)

SCARS - From Purple to Gleaming White (PT II)

I am human but I am unique.
First of all, part of being human is that we all carry in our bodies the unique markings of a lifetime. Our hurts linger and our wounds have lasting effects on our lives. They change us and shape who we are forever. They don’t completely go away, because even our booboos and sorrows are a part of what makes us, us. Jesus also was a man acquainted with sorrow. When he became a man, he took upon himself all the sorrows of humanity. He understands them fully and is able to fully bear our burdens if we let him.

I am forgiven but I have gained wisdom and strength.
God forgives, the wounds are cleansed, and the flesh grows back--but there will always be a mark. A shiny line where once the red blood flowed through. Now it is cleansed and sanctified, but it will never disappear because it is meant to be remembered, in the right light. Each life is sacred. Even the mistakes and foolishness of youth should be faintly remembered. God wants us never to forget who we are, without him. We are still desperately in need of his healing.

Interestingly, it is a medical fact that scar tissue is always stronger than the original flesh. Did our Creator intend a lesson here? Yes, our bodies and every wondrous thing about them reflect his character just as much as the skies provide the panoramic scroll to display his handiwork, as the Psalmist recorded. He could easily have made it so that there were no scars, or so that scar cells grow back weaker than the former tissues. But no, we are stronger when we come through a battle.

I am forever loved but I need to be continually conformed.
And just as my friend’s son could see only enhanced beauty on the face of his girlfriend, God sees only the purified and redeemed when he looks at his children. He sees us through the blood line of Jesus whose own blood ran freely from the cross on our behalf.

Even though I have complete forgiveness and cleansing from my past, I need to be continually conformed more and more into his likeness. That work isn’t finished until we see him as he is. When I finally lay aside this body of flesh and enter into his presence I shall become like him. In the twinkling of an eye I shall take on immortality at last!

Until that time, I need to be continually applying truth to my wounds, bathing in his healing forgiveness and growing in wisdom. Scars fade in time, but may they enhance my true beauty. As they lighten from deep red and purple to gleaming white, may I be purified more and more. May my scars and all my battles in life increase my beauty in the eyes of the One who loves me as I emerge more radiant, more beautiful, and more aware of his grace.

God forgets forgiven sin but he never forgets who we are.
God forgets sin but he remembers every sacred life and he notices every detail. Our names are listed in the book of life, right? A celestial record includes the identities of all generations in all the nations that ever lived and believed. Heaven alone could keep such a book and God alone could commission such a task to angels. They are watching us too remember. All our days are numbered and even the hair on our heads is counted by He who hung the stars upon nothing! It seems overwhelming that such a log could exist, or that such details would even concern the God of the universe.

Not only so, all our deeds are recorded in heavenly records forever. Our works follow us all the way through Judgment Day when the final court proceedings will declare it to be holy or profane. Why should we ever think that our lives are meaningless? Think about it! Members of the heavenly kingdom are taking notes! Unlike Vegas, what happens here doesn’t stay here.

Even in glory the scars will remain. Our heavenly bodies will still somehow carry enough of the markings of this life that we will be recognizable to one another. Nowhere in Scripture is there evidence to support the notion that we lose our identity and become boring angelic blobs. God is very much into personality, uniqueness, and individual character. Milennia of historic writings bear this out fully. We will be who we are forever! We will know each other even though we will be clothed in new skin and wrapped in eternal bodies. Oh, the blind will see and the deaf will hear, the lame will walk and there will be no more sickness, BUT we will look like ourselves, I believe, complete with our shining, healed, and sanctified scars. They will only enhance the beauty of our new redeemed bodies, reminding us of God's grace forever.

Jesus himself, in his resurrected body, appeared to the disciples in that locked room after the resurrection, held out his hands to Thomas and said, “Put your finger in the hole and thrust your hand into my side and see that it is I.” Yes, even His resurrected body still shows the scars. There will be an eternal remembrance of the extent of his forever love. Some things should never be forgotten.

Fruit Farming

I had an unexpected surprise when I stopped into a nearby fruit farm to check out the fresh produce. Oh boy, they ain’t cheap, I said to myself, weighing just two tomatoes at a pound each. Five bucks for two tomatoes? Shouldn’t the local farm cost less than the grocery store? But oh my goodness, they are home-grown and naturally ripened, and each tomato is big enough for one slice to fill a sandwich. The health benefits alone make it worth the price, I reasoned. Better to go without meat and eat fresh veggies.

When I went to the counter to check out, I was standing in front of a poster chart with the apple calendar. Nine types of apples neatly spelled out with a weekly graph showing when they are expected to ripen and be ready for picking. The season starts in early September with the Twin Bee Galas, then come all the Macintoshes, the Honey Crisps, and the Goldens. By Late September we get the Macouns, great for desserts, then finally, the wonderfully tart Granny Smith’s by late October. I remembered that the best apples require a cold snap before they acquire their real tart flavor and snap. Now there’s a great spiritual application there, I mused. You have to wait longest for the best ones. There’s something noticeably stronger about the quality of human character that has learned to weather storms and the chills of suffering, too.

“Oh, we have to update that chart,” the man told me. “We’ve made some changes.”

"Why, what could possibly change?" He had me going now.

"We've taken out the Red free apples and we put in Braeburns and Cortlands instead," he smiled.

"Oh, I love Cortlands! When will they be ready?" I asked excitedly, already planning to mark my calendar.

"Unfortunately, not for three years," he answered.

Soon, I was into a full-blown discussion with Kevin, who used to be a chef and now works here planting trees and growing herbs.

“A chef? So you went from cooking the recipes to growing the produce. That’s a real change of pace, I bet. What do you like best about it?”

“Oh it was. I came over to help the owner plant about 2000 new trees and then I got hooked. I’ve been here ever since. My favorite part of it is in the early morning picking corn or apples. It feels more like time off from work. This is the kind of thing I wished I could do when I was working before.”

It was a nice time to chat between customers. We talked about the flowers they raise, as I was admiring the climbing pink hibiscus that were blooming at the entrance and he showed me the herb garden he planted. Mint and thyme and rosemary--all so different, so unique. So fragrant and pleasing. Observing the beauty all around us and his obvious contentment, I just had to ask about the greatest challenges of farming.

“The deer,” he said quickly. “We have at least 7000 trees on 190 acres and the deer do a lot of damage. They eat a lot, nibbling down whole rows. They’re not like the raccoons,” he pointed out. “Coons will eat a whole ear of corn. But the deer will take one bite out of a whole row! Not only that, they rub up against the trees with their antlers. They damage the corn and the apples.” He sounded a little dejected at the thought of it.

“What can you do?” I asked sympathetically.

“The owner shoots them,” He said flatly. “He lies in wait for them.”

Ooh, I felt sorry for the beautiful deer, but then imagined how hard it must be to see wild animals literally eating up his hard work and profits. “There’s no laws about shooting deer on your own property I guess, right?”

“No, and he’s an avid hunter.”

Something about the way he said, “He lies in wait for them,” suddenly triggered a thought.

First of all, the owner of the land is zealous to protect his harvest. He loves the land and the trees. He’s sacrificed everything to see them produce. The deer in this case are the predators, his enemies.

Lying in wait demands dedication. It requires a driving passion, and no one has it like the landowner himself. It reminded me of the Lord’s protection as he said that he who watches over us never slumbers or sleeps.

And we also have an enemy who wants to do us harm. He doesn’t care how many lives are lost along the way. His appetite is not easily quenched. He wants to devour the whole crop. He’ll nip at us from a thousand angles. He’ll nibble on all the Lord’s people and destroy as much fruit as possible. And that’s not enough. He’ll tear into us with his horns and try to make sure we will never bear fruit again. He is the great destroyer.

I came away knowing there would be more lessons in this reflection. But more importantly, it was an authentic opportunity to challenge him to see God’s thumbprints in his design. We talked for quite awhile and at one point, Kevin was just looking at me. What are you thinking? This woman’s really a nut case? I laughed. “No,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.” It was as though his mind was just opening to whole new realms of possibility about the Lord of the harvest himself.

We shook hands and I thanked him for all the information. Good talking to you, Kevin, I said.
“You too. Come again!” he replied.

As I left, thoughts about the cost and time invested in farming were rolling around in my head like apples in a bushel basket. I reflected on the dedication and hard work that goes into that land, cultivating and protecting it year-round so that people like me could go in and pick out a prize tomato or choice fruit. Once again, there is the obvious lesson of waiting through winters and frosts for the real good stuff to come.

And then there was another exciting thought that capped the afternoon for me. It seemed the Lord was in the process of producing a harvest of another kind. The kind he does best. We plant a seed, or maybe splash a little living water, and God gives the increase. Jesus shows up in the most unexpected circumstances and surprises me with the joy of fruitfulness.

1 Peter 5:8
Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

Ps 121
I lift up my eyes to the hills--where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD,the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip--he who watches over you will not slumber... nor sleep. The LORD watches over you--the LORD is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD will keep you from all harm--he will watch over your life; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.

1 Cor 3:6-9
I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow... you are God's field.

Heartbeat of the Father

At a meeting Monday night, I was moved by the story of my dear friend, Elizabeth, hugging and praying for the father of the 14-yr old boy who took his own life in Hopkinton a few weeks ago. As they stood in a tight group with the boy’s cousin and other relatives, she found her head against the father's chest, and realized she could hear his heart. She was listening to the beating of this father’s broken heart for his child.

That image stuck with me. I keep thinking about it, the pain, the awful intense, heart-breaking pain of the father weeping for his son. Is there any consolation? The one you loved so well is gone forever. It is too late. You will never see his sweet face again. Why couldn’t you do more? Why didn’t he understand how much you loved him? You would have cut off your right arm, you would have laid your life down, but he didn’t give you a chance.

She was listening to the father's heart. Then the Spirit quietly challenged me and I thought of the heart of my own heavenly Father, breaking over so many lost and hurting souls. He weeps for the children who don't understand or accept his love. The Spirit within me was stirred. She heard that father's broken heart beating. Do I hear it? Do I know that heartbeat?

I remembered how Jesus hung on the cross to the bitter end, drinking the dregs of the penalty for my sin. How, when the Roman spear pierced his side, the blood and water came out. Literally, the sac around his chest cavity and heart had burst and Jesus died of a broken heart. Such incredible love! He knew no limit and stopped at nothing to show it. Jesus, like a lamb led to slaughter, displayed the ultimate measure of pain and sacrifice for us.

The Creator God took the form of a man and then let his own heart break for humanity. It’s true, his human heart exploded out of love for you and me.

OH GOD, help us to tune our ears to hear, really listen to your heartbeat. Teach me, Lord, to hear you in every day’s circumstances.Yes Lord, to hear your heartbeat we have to be close. We have to be still. We have to be quiet.

Draw me closer, Lord. Help me understand the things that break your heart. Let me feel the compassion that moves you. Keep me in sync with the impulses of your love. Allow me to hear the quickening of your pulse and move me with your own passion for people.


Make me a woman after your own heart, Lord. Let my heart break for the things that broke yours. Set my heart on fire.

HORSE SENSE

Last Sunday after church, I stayed to talk to everyone both upstairs and down in fellowship hall, and outside in the parking lot. I love that time. Finally, everyone was dispersing into their cars and it was time to go. What should I do, I wondered. I don't really want to be alone, but it's me and you, Lord. Where should I go?

My mind and heart were full from the message on Abraham’s journey up the mountains of redemption. I rolled along reflecting on how my human reasoning can resist finding that ram in the thicket. Just as when Abraham was led up Mt. Moriah with his son Isaac, God still seeks obedience first, then comes blessing. And on that same mountain, Solomon later built the temple, and the Lord Jesus also laid down his life. Timeless lessons. Unchanging truth. Though the way is hard, God knows exactly what he’s doing. Throughout generations, He looks for those who will hear and obey, trust and follow.

Yes, life is a journey, and all our challenges are opportunities to see Him at work. I drove with the CD playing, singing and worshipping, just going with God. Sundays are wonderful days to commune with the Creator.

I passed fields of apple trees, already laden with harvest. I came upon one enormous sunflower on the side of the road. With its face bowed gently in the sun, it was as if it was bowing in reverence to its maker. Sunlight danced through treetops and my music played loudly. Corn fields and rolling hills, floral gardens and reservoirs. What a wonderful drive, soaking in the panaramic views of God's lush handiwork. I couldn't help but raise my hands and thank him for life. Sometimes I praise him through tears of sorrow, but I will trust my God to choose what’s best for me.

The day was so beautiful. I pulled in at the aqueduct and took a few great pictures of the waterfall. Then I stopped to get a tuna sandwich and headed to the Warren Center for a picnic by the lake. But when I got there, the parking area was cordoned off for a private event. Oh, I was a little disappointed, but drove on down the beautiful country road. Jesus, take the wheel! I sang at the top of my lungs.

Then, I saw the horse farm in Holliston. Oh yeah, what a perfect place to stop and watch the horses. I pulled off the road and parked facing a couple of long fenced running areas. I was listening to the praise CD and munching my tuna fish, when one dark quarter horse quickly captivated my attention.

Dallas, a fourteen-year-old, stands proudly at fifteen hands. His rich brown coat and flowing mane and tail were beautiful to watch as he darted back and forth in the corral. Clouds of dust were stirred up in his trail. I shut off the car and music and followed his every move. Clods of dirt were pealing out behind him as he raced by in full strength. The sound of his pounding hooves added to my delight as he thundered by. I stopped chewing. Wow, such strength! Such a force of nature wrapped up in the fury of a full grown horse. It is sheer elegance wrapped up in mighty muscle. It is the speed and grace and awesome beauty of the beast that takes my breath away.

Since I was a girl, I have always admired the beauty of a horse. Their eyes are so full of expression, whether warmth and quiet understanding, or sudden fear. They seem to understand with human compassion and hold such gentle wisdom.

The handsome head is adorned so perfectly with flowing mane, and with great legs leaping, muscles rippling, and long tail flying, I stand in awe. Responsive ears turn and twitch to detect everything around them. They hear and sense things far beyond our human capacity. They sniff the wind and feel the weather changing.

And yet, I’ve heard from trainers and friends that the mind of a horse is like a toddler. A great capacity for learning is there but so is a stubborn will. They will test you and quickly learn who’s boss. They will resist to get their own way. They will push you, buck you, and maybe stomp on your toes or surprise you with a rear kick if you don’t watch your step. Every horseman knows you have to respect the animal but you also have to be firm with him. It takes great patience and a lot of time.

So Dallas had my full attention. I could see his trainer far off to the right end of the corral. She was standing with her hands on her hips. She was apparently waiting for him. What was he thinking? Was he teasing her? He would run to her side then shake his head and turn and dart full speed straight into the corner, the farthest limit on the opposite side and come to a screeching stop just inches from the fence! What peculiar behavior, I thought. Is this outright rebellion?

Twice I watched her walk the full distance of the corral over to where he stood, now with his back toward her and his head up high. She came up behind him and I wondered if he was going to kick back. She was talking to him quietly. She didn’t take his reigns, she didn’t scold. She just turned and started walking back toward the barn. There was something so entertaining about it all. His antics seemed comical, but it seemed the trainer had good reason for frustration. The sun was hot. How long had this been going on? He turned his head all the way around and watched her go. He shook his head and beat his hooves on the ground. No, he was staying right where he was.

She waited. He stood his ground. He wasn’t ready to go in. No, his head was facing the next paddock where other horses ran. Maybe he wanted to be with them?

Time passed. The trainer began her long walk back to him. This time, she reached in her pocket and showed him a carrot. You could almost imagine what passed through his mind now. Oh, that does look good. Can I have it now? She tucked it back in her pocket and turned again. She started walking slowly back. His ears went up. He was watching with his head, but his body remained tucked up into that corner, as far left as he could possibly be.

She was walking slowly to the right end again. Finally, he turned around. Her hand was in that pocket. His appetite must have been triggered. He started moving, one step at a time. Then, a little faster, he quickly trotted up to her side and nuzzled the hand in the pocket. He knew she had a treat for him. They walked about ten feet more before she finally pulled it out, rewarding him for following.

Soon they were out of sight and she took his reigns and led him back into the barn. I resumed my lunch and thought about the stubborn ways I also act at times. What antics am I up to and with what patience does the Lord seek me out? Don’t I stomp and rant and rave? Don’t I rush into corners just like that brute beast? The Lord has sure rewards and there is safety and pleasure in his presence, but I resist him. I get something in my head that I just have to have. I want to be like other horses in the next paddock. I want to go where they’re going. The Lord waits and talks quietly, but do I listen?

Well, my curiosity got the best of me. I got out of the car and wandered into the barn to talk with that trainer. Her name is Kara and she’s a bank account manager by day. On weekends she comes out here to unwind and spend time with Dallas.

“Such antics,” I offered my sympathies. “You sure have a lot of patience,” I said.

“Oh, yes,” she laughed. “He’s full of it!” She had him tethered in the grooming stall now and she was clipping and cleaning his hooves.

With huge brown eyes, Dallas watched me, as though he knew I was talking about him. I was rubbing his head and scratching his long nose. “Are you a trouble-maker?” I asked him.

“Oh, you should have seen him yesterday,” Kara offered. “He was cast against that fence out there.”

I remembered learning about sheep getting cast down so they can’t get up. Their wool gets so heavy they literally roll over on their backs and need the shepherd to right them. “Do horses get cast?” I asked incredulously.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “They roll over on their backs to scratch against a wall or fence and their legs get wrapped around the posts. Then they can’t pull away and get back up.”

I imagined how hard it would be to pull up a horse. “What on earth do you do?”

“It takes a couple of us,” she said. “We have to get their legs untangled and help them roll over away from the corner, without getting kicked or hurt if we can help it.”

I always thought of horses as being so nimble and strong, so sure-footed and capable, but even they get stuck at times. This was the first I heard that horses can be as dumb as sheep and my thoughts galloped back to the shepherd’s love.

Oh Lord, I’m so glad you’re in my life! I may feel hemmed in by my circumstances at times. I may run and watch others galloping freely together through life’s broad pastures. I may be frustrated with fences or cast down against the walls. But you only ask for my trust. You wait for simple obedience, and then you are eager to bless. You’re there for me, committed to me, and you know my every need.

I had a great time talking at the stables that day. I met Maria, the barn manager, and heard about the stable owner. “It’s a passion,” she said, putting her finger on my favorite word. Kara even invited me back to take lessons, but I felt that I already had some good ones—the kind that come for free.

As I was leaving, I strolled back past all the stalls, reading the names of the show horses and admiring all their ribbons. I was coming away with a new appreciation for the trainer’s expertise and the patient love that goes into these glorious animals. Those ribbons should really hang on the trainers' jackets, I mused. They are so passionate about their horses--even though they do get tossed and kicked from time to time! And despite all their strength and ability, grace and beauty, the horses are truly helpless without them.

Just as the majestic horse needs a loving master, so do I.

How I thank you Lord, for loving me! Thank you for your unending patience and protective care! Thank you Lord that when I am cast down, you always know exactly what to do. ( I hope I don’t hurt you with my kicking in the process.) Thank you that when I challenge the limits, you handle me with kid gloves. Thank you that when I turn my back to you and not my face, you are so long-suffering.

And thank you most of all for the rewards of knowing you as my master. I am safe and happiest when I’m walking close to you.

I hopped back in my car and turned the CD back on. Where are we going now, Lord?

Life is a process ... like making ice cream

When our kids were little and we were living in a jungle tribe in New Guinea, we used to get together with our neighbors at the airstrip and make ice cream for special occasions, like Independence Day or New Year’s Eve. The reason we didn’t do it often is that it wasn’t an easy process, living in the middle of the Sepik rainforest. For one simple reason, it required so much ice. Everyone saved up as many bread pans of solid blocks as they could for days ahead of time. And that wasn’t easy. Though fresh water literally rained down in tank loads each night, the freezer space was a semi-precious commodity. In my little kero fridge for example, the freezer section was only about 7” deep and depending on how many times it was opened, its freezing capacity was extremely limited in that equatorial climate.

Once we had the ice saved up, we’d get together with a batch of New Zealand or Aussie milk powder and flavorings and a couple bags of salt. We’d have to start with breaking up the ice with hammers to fill the outer bucket of our old fashioned hand-crank ice cream maker. In the center of that wooden bucket we’d place a smaller tin bearing the ice cream recipe. If we were extra lucky we might even have some chocolate chips in there. And into the middle of that inner tub would go a churning blade, connected to a central turning gear mechanism. Then we’d pour the salt over the ice chunks, wrap the whole thing in old towels, and start cranking by hand.

The guys would take turns of about fifteen minutes each, and it would take about 45 minutes to finish the batch. All the while, you had to keep adding ice, liberally sprinkling in the salt, and keep the batch churning steadily. It got pretty messy in the process, too. The run off melt water from the outer bucket had to be captured in a tub. The guys who did the cranking were also running with sweat in that heat. “Sweating like a stuck pig, to be sure,” but laughing through it all. And the ice chopping itself, usually done on old rice bags, always created a huge mess of puddles of melting ice chips all over the floor. The kids would run around barefoot in the midst of it, while we women washed dishes and made coffee. The banter and anticipation would mount.

Of course, your final batch will only be as good as what you put into it. But no matter how good the ingredients in the tin may be--fine sugar or not so fine, creamy vanilla or if we were lucky, fresh chocolate chips--if the batch didn’t keep moving, if the outer salt didn’t melt the ice, you wouldn’t freeze any ice cream. The way I understand it, it’s the crucial melting process of the outer wooden tub that draws the heat out of the center mix, allowing it to freeze. That’s what freezing is, removing the heat from something, right? You need melting to create freezing. It takes motion to create immobility. Life is funny, isn’t it?

If you never made home-made ice cream as a kid, you’re probably thinking all this sounds like a terrible waste of time and the entertainment of fools. It sure doesn’t sound like it’s worth the effort, does it? But in those days, and living under that hot tropical sun, there was nothing like it. When we finally heard the cheerful words ringing from the kitchen, “It’s done! Come and get it!”, you never saw a bunch of kids run so fast and squeal so much and then we’d scoop out such generous portions, their eyes would be bugging out. “You have to eat it fast, don’t dawdle around, or it’ll melt before you can say Jack diddly squat!” But that was one set of instructions you never had to say twice.

What great memories. Beats the heck out of a box of frozen ice cream from the grocery store—even if you do splurge and get the good stuff. There was something about all that teamwork and effort that made it taste sweeter than anything else in this world.

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I’m sure you can also see the parallels between this process and the way the Lord works in us. There is a huge emphasis on the planning, readiness, and a prerequisite of storing up the treasured ingredients. In the same way, faith comes by hearing the Word, storing it up in our hearts in preparation for what He can do in our lives.

But dating much further back, there has also been a huge preparation by the Lord himself, going back to the creation of the world, the precious cross of Calvary, and all the details of our own existence. Besides our genetic make-up and the infinite ways we were woven together in the womb, we have a whole lineage of ancestry, combined with the unique setting we were born into--a nation, a town and household, and an exact point in history that each one of us became uniquely set upon this earth. The Lord our God has a plan, and he has set all the ingredients in place for what he wants to create. And there’s no doubt that as this whole world turns, even the winds and oceans in constant motion, the Lord God of the Universe is creating something unique. He is producing great treasure, he is purifying and sanctifying a kingdom of people unto Himself.

So, the work begins--with hammers! Think about that a minute. Ice cream. How can something so soft and sweet start with something so hard? It always starts with hammering because you have to have crushed ice. God often begins the process of creation in our lives with a breaking down of our walls, smashing our human efforts, and crushing our ideologies. It may be bad habits and behaviors that have to be broken. Habits of speech, thought, or lifestyle have to be broken before he can begin to transform us, recreating his life in us. Ice isn’t usable if it remains in the original mold. It has to be turned out on the floor and threshed out on the rice bags into usable and smaller pieces. It is meant to be melted and poured out. This is powerful, isn’t it? We aren’t meant to keep and save our lives, but to be turned out of our molds, released from all the things that bind us, poured out for others, and spent for God.

What about the liberal use of the salt to draw out the things that need to come out of our lives? The salt is the Word of God, without which we can’t melt off the worldliness and the carnality of our flesh. Without the knowledge and the hearing of God’s living Word, our hearts remain frozen and hardened. We only begin to melt when we truly see God for who he is and choose to respond to his touch.

How did the Lord present his glory to Moses when he stood in the cleft of the rock? God said, "I will cause my goodness to pass in front of you and I will proclaim my name in your presence"(Exodus 33:19). Then he allowed Moses to see him pass, but no man could see God's face and live, he said. So Moses only saw the happy trail as he passed by, and this is what he heard: The Lord is full of tenderness, compassion and truth. He said he is gracious and abounding in love! He proclaimed that he is forgiving of wickedness, rebellion and sin, but he will punish the guilty. Yes, when we come in contact with the true salt of God, we melt, with all our self-will and obstinacy. How foolish is human pride before the omnipotent God. We need Him. We need his favor desperately. We need to acknowledge our guiltiness and enter into that loving forgiveness in his sweet presence. We have to melt, no, we ought to melt or the day will come that we will melt before Him who hung the stars upon nothing.

The outer wooden bucket is like our human bodies, ruddy, beat up, the part that everyone sees. But the tin is more precious, and like the inner part of our being, it is the place where we hide our true selves: our heart. It’s on the inside that the quality of what you pour into the bin is exactly what you’ll get out of it. If you spend time investing in your spiritual life, your time in the Word, in prayer, learning to hear God’s voice, then you’ll reap what you sow. You will know the peace of God.

God Himself peers into your heart to check on the consistency of your life. Just as the silversmith watches over the silver vat to see the reflection of His face as the dross is skimmed off, He alone is able and caring enough to inspect the contents and measure what is in your heart. "The Word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. Nothing in all creation is hidden from God's sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account" (Hebrews 4:12-13). But, "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us and purify us from all unrighteousness. If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word has no place in our lives" (I John 1:9-10). There are no short cuts in spiritual life productions and God gives the final test.

This leads to the time involved. Every good thing takes time. If we had decided to open up the batch after five or ten minutes, we’d be eating slush, plain and simple. You have to put the time in, and you have to be patient. In the same way, you can’t rush the process of what God wants to do in your life.

Churning isn’t easy. The cutting blade is sharp and uncomfortable as that inner batch is stirred. When my life is being churned in trials or set to spinning in emotional turmoil, I need to be reminded that God has a plan. I need to be encouraged to wait on the Lord, and trust him. I need to know that God’s ways are not my ways of seeing things and that He often works in opposite and higher principles. "For my thoughts are not your thoughts... declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:9). Life science is full of examples of these ironic opposites, isn't it. Just like melting is required for freezing, and motion is necessary to create immobility of the cells, the wondrous God specializes in transforming these temporary negatives into final positives. He knows what he’s doing! Our master designer is all about process.

All this points to the final production. The DAY will appear when we all hear the Father’s cheerful voice, “Come! It’s time my children! Come and enjoy what I have prepared for you. Everything is ready! Let’s party!” We will lay aside all the filthy rags and rest from our toil. In the twinkling of an eye, we will be seated for a celebration in glory like a bunch of squealing kids. Everyone will be there! All the sweat and labor and sorrow of this earth will be forgotten. At that time, we will know that all of this mess was worth it, and we will enjoy a sure reward.

Let’s celebrate the joy of life. Let’s savor the abundant life God’s given us. Let’s be ready for the life to come.

Ice cream, anyone?

God's Four-letter Word

For several weeks now, I’ve been wrestling with God’s foul language. Okay, it’s not exactly foul. It’s just that he keeps using a four-letter word that my soul can’t stand. I feel the hair on the back of my neck bristle and it makes me want to stomp my feet and throw a two-year-old tantrum. Not again! Certainly not now, Lord!

The word is W-A-I-T and God uses it a lot. Of course He has every right to say it. Of course He says it in perfect love. But every time I hear it I feel like He is dragging his feet. I KNOW He could do things quicker if He really wanted to. He created the whole world in a matter of days, right? But we keep coming back to this extremely elementary lesson on timing.

A dear pastor asks for healing from years of debilitating pain… the Lord says, wait.

A divorced man works diligently to save his marriage, care for his children, and fight through the long and humiliating years in court wondering if he will ever feel ready to move on with his life… the Lord says, wait.

A young woman with a heart for missions stays home tending to elderly parents… the Lord says, wait.

A young man in prison is serving out a long sentence for a crime he didn’t commit. Like Joseph, he prays for justice and freedom and wishes he could see an end to the tunnel he’s in. Wait.

A faithful wife loves and prays for her husband to be saved. For twenty years she perseveres but all she hears is just one word while very little happens. Wait.

A young mother watches her little boy fighting a brain tumor. Every night they kneel by the bed and pray for his healing. They wonder if he will make it to his next birthday. They pray and wait.

Months roll into years and lingering questions gather in the corners of our thoughts like dust bunnies under the bed. How long, Lord? How much further is it? When, Lord, when?

Why don’t I get it? Why doesn’t it get any easier? The Lord is smiling at me now. He knows me so well. I’m impetuous. Short-sighted. Locked in the moment. Frank used to call me a walking nerve-ending, if that’s any clue. I admit it, I’m exceedingly emotional. And He who created me knows exactly what’s going on in my heart at any given moment. Instead of resisting, I should find great solace in that knowledge.

Oh Lord, I plead, when will you give me the three-letter word I long to hear? Y-E-S has such a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Father, I really wish we could move on to some new vocabulary around here. …? Are you listening, Lord? I blabber on and on and then there’s a long pause. I realize that I am waiting. Suddenly, the Lord breaks into my thoughts and surprises me with a question.

How about T-R-U-S-T? That’s one of my favorite words and it has five letters.

Not exactly what I was thinking, Lord.

Do you trust me?

….Lord, you know I, well, I think I do.

Will you trust me?

…I want to.

The Lord is silent. He lets me think about it. He waits. Hmmmm. I keep him waiting a lot don’t I?

Finally, I break the silence.

Lord, I do trust you! My heart has known for many years that you alone are trustworthy and all your ways are perfect. I KNOW that you love me with all your heart and I also LOVE you with all of mine! So why do I struggle when you tell me to WAIT? I’m going to embrace that word, I shout with sudden freedom. I'll even take it to the next level. I will TRUST your word and I will FOLLOW you, Lord!

I like that, the Lord grins with approval. Yes, this is a good vocabulary list. Wait. Trust. Follow. This is a list that lets me do what I do best. I think if you really live by them, you will never get lost. You will never be sorry. Stay close to me, kiddo. We make a good team.

I’m trying, Father. But I still think you can do things faster sometimes. I remember Martha asking you about this when you arrived in Bethany four days after Lazarus died. Why did you stay where you were for two extra days when the one you loved was sick?

And Jairus was beside himself when you didn’t get to his house in time. You kept stopping for everyone else along the way. It seems you don’t know how to hurry. People are dying, Lord. People are hurting. It’s so hard to figure out why you delay.

I know it’s hard, my child. But you don’t have to figure it out. Whenever life seems confusing, just go back to the word list. Get in step with me, take my yoke and let me carry the burdens.

Lord, you make everything sound so simple. I almost feel the heaviness of all my questions lifting off my shoulders.

I want you to know another four-letter word.

Oh oh.

It has a sweeter, softer sound. I think you’ll like it.

Okay. I’m ready.

R-E-S-T.

Really? Is that it?

Really. Don’t you see? When you accept my words and trust me in the delay periods, when you have a heart to follow and walk with me no matter how strange if seems at first, you will find rest for your soul.

I do like the sound of that. I really want that. Ahhhh, it actually makes me breathe a little deeper. It makes me think about green pastures and still waters.

Me too.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Matt 11:28-30
NIV

A PAIR OF SEA GULLS

Stay or move? Sell or rent? Teach or write? Date or wait? When and where and what do I do next Father? Tell me your will so that I can obey it. Be my husband and call the shots for my heart is confused. Order my steps, I beg you!--

WOW! … As soon as I wrote that last line, the wind suddenly picked up big time. I watched an umbrella that was ripped out of the sand and whipped past several families. Just then, I heard 2 sea gulls crying overhead. It immediately reminded me of a spectacular aerial show of little birds the Lord presented a few weeks ago.

I knew the Lord was in that wind. Watch them! He said.

The two gulls together had a great time swooping and twirling in the wind, up above the beach, the trees… they separated and came together several times. What kind of elaborate game is this?

I stood up and traced their journey. It was beautiful, exhilarating. The winds grew even harder and my hair was whipping around my face. Suddenly, the pair separated. One darted left and one tore off to the right and vanished out of sight.

I literally turned around in circles, looking over the trees, the water, all around me. But no, there was only one gull left. She flapped and fluttered around, circled the beach, the trees, then came down to rest alone on the white sand.

She stood motionless, facing the water and the wind. Her mate was no where to be found. She looked tired. Bewildered. Yes, a misfit on this beach of families. I know how you feel little bird. I waited.

It seemed a very long time that she stayed there. Stunned? Lonely? Unsure of her strength? Would another gull appear? None did. Eventually, she spread her wings and ran straight toward the water. She gracefully took flight again, rising quickly into the headwinds.

She tried a few different directions and I wondered if she didn’t know where to go. Can’t be easy. She circled up and back over the lots alone. Again, I felt like I knew how she felt, first going west, then east, then north. No one to play with, huh? Not as much fun as before, I agreed. I too, feel engulfed in loneliness.

Yes, sometimes we are blown apart.
Sometimes we need to be alone.
To strengthen our wings for fiercer winds.
To learn to wait on the sun-bleached sands.

It may not be what I want to hear.
It’s not near as much fun as I thought.
Maybe when these winds die down
There will be another pair of wings.

I pondered the performance awhile. I knew the Lord had sent it right then, right there before my eyes. Hadn’t I just begged him to respond to my confusion? They were here only about five minutes. So fleeting is life!
I am so sad right now. I need to go home.
Is this you, Lord? Is this you speaking to answer my prayer?

I glance the skies again, so hopeful.
A black and orange oriole just appeared, stark against the sand.
Oh, happy loner, how do you do it?
I follow him with my eye, with such deep longing.
I sigh. Lord, I don’t want to be alone!

Just behind him, further out, my eye caught movement… yes!
A white pair of gulls traced the tree line out and disappeared around a distant corner.
Like a glimpse of the future perhaps? Yes, Lord! The future’s in your hands.
Maybe around some bend in the road, I will understand more clearly.
I cannot see what you have planned.

No geese today in comfortable pairs.
Just gulls and one striking black oriole.
Thank you for vision at the beach, dear Lord.
Where wind and water and scenes are ever changing.
But you remain the same!

And just as I was thanking the Lord,
A shadow of wings fell right across these pages—yes!
She landed before me, scooped something up in her beak to eat,
and looked straight at my face!

A child came running to chase her away and she took off calmly.
Sad, but I traced her glide and to my delight
she was met with a mate and swooped away into the clouds—
All in a matter of seconds.

Now they are gone and I am stunned.
Lord, when I don’t expect it, you are able to appear in the twinkling of an eye—
all your ways are wondrous.
NOW I am encouraged! Excited! My spirits are lifted.

You, who know my every thought and dream,
care more than I can comprehend.
You can send a gull to wink at me,
you can speak in the winds and the waves.

Help me to trust you more deeply…
And wait.

Amen.
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Does the Lord look at me the way I watched that sole gull on the sand? Did he truly orchestrate that nature show to synchronize with the innermost cries of my heart? Yes, I believe it.

What of the striking black oriole, but an interlude of independent mourning in the grand performance? This is an essential and dark season that I must forge alone. It is the black Sabbath of my soul.

He perfectly illustrated the beauty of togetherness, a season of healing, and encouragement to wait for the unexpected.

What seems like never-ending loneliness will pass.
The scenes will change, new characters appear,
Winds and seasons and times all in His hands.
I will look forward with hope.

I will mount up on wings of eagles and fly again.

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Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one, and calls them each by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength, not one of them is missing…

Do you not know? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom.
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.

Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;
But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
They will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not faint.
Isaiah 40:26-31