It’s happened again. Here I am. I’m supposed to be studying for a Sunday School lesson. No, I’m not the one teaching, but I like to stay caught up on the reading and know what’s going on. I like to be a student who is informed.
But I get distracted. Easily. I adore Quickverse on my mac. Strong’s Concordance is at my fingertips. As well as Thayer’s Greek dictionary. I can check words and their meanings. I can dig deeper.
And so often the Spirit Himself shows up. Today I’m in Acts 24:49. Checking the words “promise” and “send.” And then I checked “Father.” A pretty ordinary word, father. Pater it is in Greek. Could be anybody’s dad.
But this time it’s not just anybody’s dad. It’s Father. My Father.
Here’s what Thayer had to say: of Christians, as those who through Christ have been exalted to a specially close and intimate relationship with God, and who no longer dread him as a stern judge of sinners, but revere him as their reconciled and loving Father.
*sigh*
But the part that really caught my eye and led me on this “chase” in the first place was this: the Father of Jesus Christ, as one whom God has united to himself in the closest bond of love and intimacy, made acquainted with his purposes, appointed to explain and carry out among men the plan of salvation, and made to share also in his own divine nature.
“Made to share in his own divine nature?” Really? Of course it’s talking about Jesus sharing in the “divine nature” of God the Father. But we are “heirs with Christ?” Right?
So then I had to check “divine nature.” Obviously “divine nature” was used in a definition and not as a Greek word. But I knew I remembered that phrase from somewhere in the Scripture.
The chase is on.
Up popped II Peter 1:3-4. Check this out.
“His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of him who called us to his own glory and excellence, by which he has granted to us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire.”
Whoa. Seriously?? A partaker of the “divine nature?” Me?!
Then my brain remembered that I am made in the image of God. And that Jesus really is my brother. And that one day I will rule and reign with Him. And that this is not Home. Home, my real Home, comes later. This is just earth.
So often I forget that I’m part of a much larger Story. I forget that I may “become (a) partaker of the divine nature.”
Especially on those days when school goes extra long with the kids. Or I put a zipper in a dress and it’s wrong. Twice. Or when the sweet potatoes I toiled over in the garden rot for no apparent reason. Or when I look around at a dirty house and wish I had time to clean. Or when there’s too much to do and not enough time to do it in. Or when I’m grumpy, the kids are grumpy and Papa is not here to straighten us all out.
Or even when I can’t figure out what God’s up to. The story isn’t turning out like I thought it would. I was sure God was doing something else. But here I am. To me it looks like God skipped a chapter. But He didn’t. Because really, it’s not my story at all. I’m only part of Hi(s)tory. And somehow in the middle of all this, He thinks it’s ok for me to have His “divine nature.”
How can God do that??
Just because He is. Or rather “I AM.”
It’s not your story. It’s Hi(s)tory. And He’s offering His “divine nature”, if you’re interested.
Do you ever get distracted while reading Scripture?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
about girls
It's been so long since I've posted pictures that I forgot how irritating it is that blogger uploads the pictures in exactly the opposite order in which you select them. Nuts. I could complain loudly, but I really don't think anyone would listen.
Our girl's tea time has been seriously falling by the wayside. Daughter 1 wrote me a very sweet note asking if we could have tea again soon. One night while Papa Hobbit was at EMT class, and two smallish Hobbit boys were too tired to stay awake, we girls had tea.
the spread :o)
As you can see, the girls were already in their PJs, so the affair wasn't a particularly elegant one as far as clothing goes, but I'd baked some special bread, and we lit as many candles as we could find so we could turn the lights off and it all came off wonderfully. They love the attention and the chance to just talk girl talk. I usually have a little bit to share (I've been using the study guide for "The princess and the kiss") and then they ask questions and we pray together. One of the great events of the summer was the baptism of daughter 1 and daughter 2. They were so very excited! Papa Hobbit enjoyed the privilege explaining the whys and wherefores of baptism as their papa and also as their pastor. We've been watching them grow in their maturity as followers of Jesus and are excited to answer questions as they explore the Scriptures for themselves.
And so ends this little post. . . about girls. Hopefully back sooner rather than later.
And so ends this little post. . . about girls. Hopefully back sooner rather than later. Monday, November 9, 2009
about longings
Sometimes someone else just says it better. That's all there is to it. I could have tried to say the very same thing, but wouldn't have communicated it very well.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
about brownies
It was a great weekend. We spent Saturday night at camp with friends from church. Saturday night supper was a healthful diet of fire roasted hot dogs on white buns with plenty of ketchup and mustard, potato chips, green pepper slices (I tried. Really, I did.), and the famous smores’. Oh, and pink lemonade to drink. Very healthful.
Then today our congregation gathered at camp for our morning worship service followed by a fantastic BBQ chicken dinner with yummy side dishes. Everyone brought desserts to share. Eldest daughter made brownies. Mmm. Again, very healthful. Butter and sugar are good for you, right? And vanilla? Eggs? Flour? Cocoa?
So today upon returning home I surveyed the remaining six brownies left in the pan. Yes, I’m with you. I’m surprised there were ANY left. But there were. Someone was thinking healthful thoughts and passed by the brownies. Those must have been the people who decided instead on apple pie or the lovely cherry cheesecake or the rice crispy squares surrounding the brownies.
What to do with the brownies? I had to find a home for them. Ah! There were some chocolate chip bars left from the other day! I’ll just add them to that container. I pop open the Tupperware and here is what I find:
Hmmm. Wonder who took the last one. Wonder who took the last one and didn’t bother to add the Tupperware to the stack of things-to-wash.
Seems that food just doesn’t hang around this house very long these days.
And here’s hoping that my great friend Jo, over at Jo’s Kitchen Table, has some really great hints on healthful eating. I’m counting on you girlfriend!!
Parting shots:
Then today our congregation gathered at camp for our morning worship service followed by a fantastic BBQ chicken dinner with yummy side dishes. Everyone brought desserts to share. Eldest daughter made brownies. Mmm. Again, very healthful. Butter and sugar are good for you, right? And vanilla? Eggs? Flour? Cocoa?
So today upon returning home I surveyed the remaining six brownies left in the pan. Yes, I’m with you. I’m surprised there were ANY left. But there were. Someone was thinking healthful thoughts and passed by the brownies. Those must have been the people who decided instead on apple pie or the lovely cherry cheesecake or the rice crispy squares surrounding the brownies.
What to do with the brownies? I had to find a home for them. Ah! There were some chocolate chip bars left from the other day! I’ll just add them to that container. I pop open the Tupperware and here is what I find:
Hmmm. Wonder who took the last one. Wonder who took the last one and didn’t bother to add the Tupperware to the stack of things-to-wash.
Seems that food just doesn’t hang around this house very long these days.
And here’s hoping that my great friend Jo, over at Jo’s Kitchen Table, has some really great hints on healthful eating. I’m counting on you girlfriend!!
Parting shots:
The boys LOVE to hang out with the cows. One day last week I looked out my kitchen window and saw eldest son lying there just looking at the cows. He said the pavement was warm (it was a chilly day).
p.s. post about girls coming soon!
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
about a walk in the dark
Sunday.
The child was sick. So I let him take his normal nap. But then he was up for a while and wanted to take another nap. So I let him take nap number 2. Hmmm. Bad choice.
So at 10pm this is the face I see:
Well, ok. Not this face exactly. This was his birthday face with ketchup on it.
Happy as a clam he was. Full of energy. Wrestling with Papa on our bed. Not tired in the least. This is the kid who is exhausted at 8:30 every night.
So Papa Hobb(it) gave said child the option of going to bed or going on a 1 mile walk with Papa and Mama Hobb(it)--- our sometimes nightly ritual after the small Hobb(it)s are in bed.
He chose the walk.
It was a dark walk. But there were stars to see. And a possum ambling along the soybean field going in the opposite direction we were going. And the sillouette of the trees making a dark shape against the sky that looked just like an alligator with it’s mouth wide open, showing rows of sharp teeth. At least it looked exactly that way to the 4 year old Hobb(it).
He was pretty sure he wanted to turn around. His legs were suddenly tired. But he made it the whole way to the end of the driveway (a whole 1/2 mile). Papa Hobb(it) had offered to carry him home, but he walked it all on his own two very tired 4 year old legs.
Will you believe me if I told you he went straight to bed with no complaints at 10:25?
I can’t wait to hear the stories he tells the other Hobb(it)s in the morning about his late night adventure with Papa and Mama. On a walk. In the dark. All about the possum. And the alligator in the trees. With rows of sharp teeth.
We made a memory. He’ll talk about it for a very long time.
I just hope there’s not a repeat performance tomorrow night.
The child was sick. So I let him take his normal nap. But then he was up for a while and wanted to take another nap. So I let him take nap number 2. Hmmm. Bad choice.
So at 10pm this is the face I see:
Well, ok. Not this face exactly. This was his birthday face with ketchup on it.
Happy as a clam he was. Full of energy. Wrestling with Papa on our bed. Not tired in the least. This is the kid who is exhausted at 8:30 every night.
So Papa Hobb(it) gave said child the option of going to bed or going on a 1 mile walk with Papa and Mama Hobb(it)--- our sometimes nightly ritual after the small Hobb(it)s are in bed.
He chose the walk.
It was a dark walk. But there were stars to see. And a possum ambling along the soybean field going in the opposite direction we were going. And the sillouette of the trees making a dark shape against the sky that looked just like an alligator with it’s mouth wide open, showing rows of sharp teeth. At least it looked exactly that way to the 4 year old Hobb(it).
He was pretty sure he wanted to turn around. His legs were suddenly tired. But he made it the whole way to the end of the driveway (a whole 1/2 mile). Papa Hobb(it) had offered to carry him home, but he walked it all on his own two very tired 4 year old legs.
Will you believe me if I told you he went straight to bed with no complaints at 10:25?
I can’t wait to hear the stories he tells the other Hobb(it)s in the morning about his late night adventure with Papa and Mama. On a walk. In the dark. All about the possum. And the alligator in the trees. With rows of sharp teeth.
We made a memory. He’ll talk about it for a very long time.
I just hope there’s not a repeat performance tomorrow night.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
about icing
Old Mother Hubbard went to her cupboard to fetch confectioners sugar to finish the icing she was making for Sunday’s cake. But when she got there she discovered she had only half the amount of sugar she needed. And since she’d already begun to make the icing she decided to substitute with ordinary granulated sugar.
Old Mother Hubbard made the amazing discovery that granulated sugar cannot, I repeat, cannot take the place of confectioners sugar in butter cream icing. Granulated white sugar makes for a very grainy, heavy icing. So Old Mother Hubbard added 8 oz. of cream cheese in hopes of saving said icing. Now Old Mother Hubbard’s icing looks smooth and lovely. But alas, it is only an illusion. When once the icing is in your mouth it breaks out in all its heavy grainy-ness.
Old Mother Hubbard will use the icing anyway and is pretty sure that all the little Hobb(it)s and Old Father Hubbard will be very impressed. In spite of its heavy grainy-ness.
Oh wait. Now I’m mixing nursery rhymes and Tolkien. Hubbard. Hobb(it).
I can imagine Bilbo Baggins reading nursery rhymes to Frodo. It seems like a Hobb(it) kind of thing to do.
Good night from our part of the Shire.
Have a blessed Sunday!!
Old Mother Hubbard made the amazing discovery that granulated sugar cannot, I repeat, cannot take the place of confectioners sugar in butter cream icing. Granulated white sugar makes for a very grainy, heavy icing. So Old Mother Hubbard added 8 oz. of cream cheese in hopes of saving said icing. Now Old Mother Hubbard’s icing looks smooth and lovely. But alas, it is only an illusion. When once the icing is in your mouth it breaks out in all its heavy grainy-ness.
Old Mother Hubbard will use the icing anyway and is pretty sure that all the little Hobb(it)s and Old Father Hubbard will be very impressed. In spite of its heavy grainy-ness.
Oh wait. Now I’m mixing nursery rhymes and Tolkien. Hubbard. Hobb(it).
I can imagine Bilbo Baggins reading nursery rhymes to Frodo. It seems like a Hobb(it) kind of thing to do.
Good night from our part of the Shire.
Have a blessed Sunday!!
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Zip-off pants and angry tears on the floor
This morning Son 1 sat on the floor dissolving in angry tears. He’d zipped on one leg of his zip-off camo pants, but was struggling to zip on the second leg. He kept saying over and over, “I can’t get it!!!” He never bothered to ask for help. And I was standing right beside him.
Nearly every day I’m amazed at the things I say to my children. Not because they’re brilliant breakthroughs in Godly parenting, but because I could easily imagine God saying something very similar to me.
So, back to story about Son 1: I say to Son 1, “Please stop crying and just ask me for help. I’m standing right here!”
Hmm. Nothing like being hit over the head by your own words.
Ok. Back just now from rescuing Son 2 who was trapped in the back of the coat closet. He was practicing in the dark with his new dollar store flashlight and sat down in an extra booster seat I keep there for guests with small children. He buckled himself into the seat and couldn’t get out. He on the other hand when needing help was yelling rather cheerfully, “Mama, can you come help me???” *sigh* Oh, the differences between children. But that’s a topic for a whole nother’ blog post.
As I was saying, there is nothing quite like being klonked with your own wisdom.
The last several weeks have been difficult. There are things I’ve been struggling with emotionally, financially, parentally, spiritually. I want to sit on the floor and cry angry tears as I wrestle with the “zipper.” But I can’t fix it. It just won’t go. There isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it. No wait. I do sit on the floor and cry angry tears. I confess.
All the while I think the Father is standing there. Waiting. Waiting for me to stop crying. Waiting for me to simply ask for help.
Last night I finally started asking for help. And believe it or not I’m not asking for money (although some greenbacks could help out a little). I’m not asking God to change my children. I’m not asking God to change my husband. I’m not asking God to change my circumstances.
I’m asking God to change me. The “zipper” in this case is me. I guess you could say I need a serious faith and attitude adjustment. *sigh* (again)
Ironic isn’t it that my dear pastor-husband is preaching a summer series on “faith.” Ironic too that our senior pastor (dear, kind, wonderful man that he is) prayed last week that we’d have a bad week. He says that when we have bad weeks, Daniel’s messages are richer.
Nuts. Why didn’t anybody tell me. Or at least warn me. It should be in that little packet of things they give the new pastor’s wife. You know. A little brochure that says “What to expect in your marriage and family when your husband preaches on certain difficult topics.” Oh wait. There was no little packet.
Back to last night. Somewhere in my reading, may have been a blog, may have been facebook, doesn’t matter, someone said something about “coming to God.”
Duh. I should know these things. I am after all a missionary kid, and now a pastor’s wife. I’ve memorized Scripture. I’ve studied it. Good grief, I’ve taught it. “Come to God.”
After that amazing revelation, I hit my knees and cried some more. Asking God to change me. Nothing more.
Today I’m remembering, and being reminded that “coming to God” is something I must do nearly hourly in this difficult season. It’s not rocket science. It’s just showing up and saying, “God, here I am. I came. Oh yes. There You are. Now I can see you again. You got everything under control? Ok. Thanks. See You in another hour.”
Well, something like that. I think you get the picture.
My faith is being tested. But it’s ok. It’s good in fact. Sure doesn’t feel good. But it’s good. Yup. It’s about that time.
Uh, God? I’m coming again. You there?
Nearly every day I’m amazed at the things I say to my children. Not because they’re brilliant breakthroughs in Godly parenting, but because I could easily imagine God saying something very similar to me.
So, back to story about Son 1: I say to Son 1, “Please stop crying and just ask me for help. I’m standing right here!”
Hmm. Nothing like being hit over the head by your own words.
Ok. Back just now from rescuing Son 2 who was trapped in the back of the coat closet. He was practicing in the dark with his new dollar store flashlight and sat down in an extra booster seat I keep there for guests with small children. He buckled himself into the seat and couldn’t get out. He on the other hand when needing help was yelling rather cheerfully, “Mama, can you come help me???” *sigh* Oh, the differences between children. But that’s a topic for a whole nother’ blog post.
As I was saying, there is nothing quite like being klonked with your own wisdom.
The last several weeks have been difficult. There are things I’ve been struggling with emotionally, financially, parentally, spiritually. I want to sit on the floor and cry angry tears as I wrestle with the “zipper.” But I can’t fix it. It just won’t go. There isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it. No wait. I do sit on the floor and cry angry tears. I confess.
All the while I think the Father is standing there. Waiting. Waiting for me to stop crying. Waiting for me to simply ask for help.
Last night I finally started asking for help. And believe it or not I’m not asking for money (although some greenbacks could help out a little). I’m not asking God to change my children. I’m not asking God to change my husband. I’m not asking God to change my circumstances.
I’m asking God to change me. The “zipper” in this case is me. I guess you could say I need a serious faith and attitude adjustment. *sigh* (again)
Ironic isn’t it that my dear pastor-husband is preaching a summer series on “faith.” Ironic too that our senior pastor (dear, kind, wonderful man that he is) prayed last week that we’d have a bad week. He says that when we have bad weeks, Daniel’s messages are richer.
Nuts. Why didn’t anybody tell me. Or at least warn me. It should be in that little packet of things they give the new pastor’s wife. You know. A little brochure that says “What to expect in your marriage and family when your husband preaches on certain difficult topics.” Oh wait. There was no little packet.
Back to last night. Somewhere in my reading, may have been a blog, may have been facebook, doesn’t matter, someone said something about “coming to God.”
Duh. I should know these things. I am after all a missionary kid, and now a pastor’s wife. I’ve memorized Scripture. I’ve studied it. Good grief, I’ve taught it. “Come to God.”
After that amazing revelation, I hit my knees and cried some more. Asking God to change me. Nothing more.
Today I’m remembering, and being reminded that “coming to God” is something I must do nearly hourly in this difficult season. It’s not rocket science. It’s just showing up and saying, “God, here I am. I came. Oh yes. There You are. Now I can see you again. You got everything under control? Ok. Thanks. See You in another hour.”
Well, something like that. I think you get the picture.
My faith is being tested. But it’s ok. It’s good in fact. Sure doesn’t feel good. But it’s good. Yup. It’s about that time.
Uh, God? I’m coming again. You there?
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