Wells

Reading through Isaiah’s been a little dry recently. You know, one of those times when what you’re reading in Scripture isn’t matching up with the needs of your everyday-feet-on-the-ground-real-life. (We’re in the throes of massive decisions about schooling for the kids. But perhaps that’ll be a topic for later. In the meantime, you can pray. Thanks.)

And then I reached chapter 12. And it was what I needed. Here it is, in the Message.

And you will say in that day,

“I thank you, God.

You were angry

but your anger wasn’t forever.

You withdrew your anger

and moved in and comforted me.

“Yes, indeed—God is my salvation.

I trust, I won’t be afraid.

God—yes God!—is my strength and song,

best of all, my salvation!”

Joyfully you’ll pull up buckets of water

from the wells of salvation.

And as you do it, you’ll say,

“Give thanks to God.

Call out his name.

Ask him anything!

Shout to the nations, tell them what he’s done,

spread the news of his great reputation!

“Sing praise-songs to God. He’s done it all!

Let the whole earth know what he’s done!

Raise the roof! Sing your hearts out, O Zion!

The Greatest lives among you: The Holy of Israel.”

There are times when it’s easy to say “I trust, I won’t be afraid.” But most often I find that it’s a choice to plant my feet firmly (or even stomp a foot intentionally) and with a boldness I don’t feel, say (or just yell), “I trust, I won’t be afraid.” I choose to lean hard into the messiness of the indecision or the uncertainty or even the quietness of God. I can wait. If he’s not in a hurry, why should I be? 

Today “God--yes God!-- is my strength and song, best of all, my salvation!” Not sure what salvation will look like on this day, but I accept it as truth. He is. That is all. 

Now. About those buckets of water. 

Wells are usually pretty deep. Pulling up buckets of water requires a whole lot of effort. Muscles burning. Sweat dripping. Rope straining. How long does it take? Is the joy in the pulling or is the joy in the water? Or is it a delight in the salvation? 

But as you’re pulling, the rope rubbing blisters into your hands, “you’ll say, ‘Give thanks to God. Call out his name. Ask him anything! Shout to the nations, tell them what he’s done, spread the news of his great reputation!’” That’s even before the bucket reaches the top of the well. It’s before you’ve had a drink. It’s while the muscles are still straining and the sweat is still dripping. 

Today my decisions are still looming. The questions haunt my mind when I go to bed and they’re the first thoughts to enter my head in the morning. They just won’t. go. away. But I think I need to visit the well today. 

First, I’ll peer deeply into it. I might drop a pebble to hear a far away splash. Then I’ll lower the bucket. And I’ll keep letting out more and more and more rope. Cause, friends, this well of salvation is r.e.a.l.l.y. deep. Really. We’ve been offered so much. 

Today it will be hard work to bring that bucket back to the top. Today I will lean hard into the decisions looming. Today I my muscles will burn and the sweat will drip. 

And today, with unanswered questions, I’m shouting, 

“Give thanks to God. Call out his name. Ask him anything! Shout to the nations, tell them what he’s done, spread the news of his great reputation!”

Wanna join me? We’ll be intentional. It won’t be easy. But it will be worth it. 

Also, I’m not settling for just a drink today. How bout a water fight? Are you in? 

Breakup

The Bering Sea is literally a stone’s throw from the apartment we’re renting. When we moved in the end of March the sea was frozen solid. Yes, salt water will freeze. At 28.4˚ F. 

But now that it’s mid-May the ice is breaking up in massive chunks. Late evenings find kids in tennis shoes and sweatshirts jumping from ice floe to ice floe, riding the flat bergs as they move up and down. Last night the Nome Police stopped to talk to our teens and warn them of the dangers of crushing ice and ask them to stay off the ocean. 

A few days ago the water was mostly flat, but as some ice is washed ashore (some pieces the size of a small car) and other pieces float out to sea, the tides are more visible and the waves are beginning to once again crash on the shore. In fact, I can hear the waves as I sit in my living room. 

This morning I stood mesmerized at the window watching a huge piece of ice, perfectly flat as the waves tumbled it about. First once side would rise into the air, then it would smack down as the wave washed over it. Up and down, ice chunk riding waves like a riderless surf board. 

I’ve felt like that chunk of ice for the last several weeks. Floating along, minding my own business, but getting hammered by waves. Feeling the icy cold water wash over my head when I wasn’t prepared. I’m not sure if I’ll float out to sea or if I’ll be washed ashore. Some kid might even stand on me. A sudden change in wind could alter my direction. 

But I’m not that sheet of foot-thick sea ice tossed around in an ocean of salt water. I’m me. I’m going to sit on the rocks or walk on the beach. I will listen to the waves, but they won’t pummel me. I will watch them, but they won’t drive me out to sea. 

Daniel and the four youngest jump ice floes several evenings ago. 

Instead I choose the room of grace. I’ll turn my back to the sea and its storminess. To its uncertainty. To its exhausting crashes. Today I desperately need the room of grace. I need its quiet. Its deep care for my soul. Its acceptance of my questions. 

The view from my deck just moments ago. Waves crashing. Ice moving. 

The room of grace just invites me to just be. Not do. Not perform. Not decide. Just be. It’s my safe place. And He is there. 

Does your soul feel pummeled? Are there more questions than answers about your future? Your kids? Your job? Or lack of a job? Run to the room of grace. Let your soul sigh. Grace is offered. Embrace it. 

looking around

One year ago my sister and I met and secretively made our way westward to Ohio. Along the way we called Mom from Kris’s phone. Via speakerphone we began taking turns talking to her. At first she couldn’t figure out why she was hearing both of our voices and was a little confused. Why were we together when we live 3 hours apart? Finally we told her we were on our way to her house to celebrate Mother’s Day and her 65th birthday which, last year, fell on the same day. She was delighted!

Mom was diagnosed with cancer four years ago and last April discovered that it had metastasized. Because of the cancer in her chest cavity there was fluid buildup on her lungs and breathing was difficult at times. Since these birthday-Mother’s Days only come every few years, we wanted to make sure we didn’t miss our opportunity to celebrate with Mom. And in another year, well, we just didn’t know if Mom would be here. 

Turns out we were right. 2012 was our last year to celebrate with Mom. Nineteen days before Mother’s Day and 20 days before her 66th birthday, Jesus came and ushered Mom into the Next Kingdom. 

So Mother’s Day this year feels just a little strange. Mom isn’t here to love on or send flowers to or even call. Although I did have a dream last night that I could still text her. It was pretty cool. She even texted back. From Heaven. Then I woke up. 

I’m already planning ahead for Mother’s Day this year. I have several good cries already scheduled. Cause I know it will happen. There’s just an empty place when I think about Mom. 

In reality, I feel a little cheated. To my way of thinking, sixty-five was way too young to die. She should still be here. For Dad. For her kids. For her grandchildren. For the women who loved her listening ear and who needed her wisdom. 

But then I remember the evening I was praying for her several months ago. My spirit was crying out to Jesus on her behalf. I began, “Jesus, if you don’t come and heal Mom. . .” Immediately David’s words came: Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. 

And then this thought from the heart of God: He wants my Mama. 

Please don’t hear that lightly. Hear it with intensity. He WANTS my Mama. God deeply desires her. He wants her in His kingdom. 

It was on that night that I knew I needn’t ask for her healing in this lifetime. I knew that God Himself wanted her. Intensely. And so I began asking God, with tears, that His timing would be perfect for her homegoing. 

And He answered so beautifully. She ran to meet Him in her sleep, just like she’d asked Dad to pray for. For her, the Next Kingdom is reality. 

So this Mother’s Day, in between my scheduled cries, I’ll be looking around and forward. Cause I’m a mother too. And Mom wouldn’t want me to cry too much. She’d want me to celebrate motherhood. My own motherhood. The motherhood of the women I love. My daughters. 

Thursday afternoon my girls treated me (and themselves!) to pedicures!! We’ve done things like this with my mom and sister and in other configurations with friends, but never before just us four. It was fun and beautifying and together. I’m choosing to look around. 

When we got home we all went for a walk together and then decided to have an impromptu tea. Fresh sprigs of spearmint tea and bags of rose tea. Papaya. Lemon cake in tiny slices. Cucumber sandwiches. Apple and pear slices. 

We talked. We laughed. We sipped tea. We just enjoyed together. 

As we sat and sipped I suddenly began to really see the dishes in front of me. A white embossed teapot from sister many Christmases ago. Tea cups and saucers, once my grandmothers, given to me by my own mother. A pink plate with a daisy and “Life is good” from my friend Heidi. A simple white plate from Danelle. Delicate Belleek china cream and sugar bowl covered with tiny springs of green clover, carried home from Ireland for me with love from Esther, one of my other sisters. Another white teapot, a gift to Elsa from Nana. 

Dishes that remind me of women I love. Some here, others already in the Next Kingdom. My heart was warm. My eyes were wet. It was a little looking back and a lot looking around and forward. 

Yes, on Mother’s Day I’ll probably look back a little. I won’t be able to keep from it. But mostly I want to look around and forward. 

I want to mostly just look around. I’ll see the man I sometimes call Hobbit: strong, caring, adventurous, loving me so well. I’ll see three ladies: the one who loves to be busy constantly and whose sketches amaze, the one who cares for all things hurting and marches to her own drumbeat, the one who is my shadow some days and other days has to be called away from her books. I’ll see two boys: the one we call the Energizer Bunny who hunts and the one we call Farmer who helps load pigs. This is what is around. And it’s full of goodness and love. 

It’s ok if you look back a little this Mother’s Day, but don’t forget to also look around. Do a lot of looking around. And linger a little. Soak a little. It’s good. 

Hi. Today my name is Alexander.

When I was a kid I fell in love with the children’s book “Alexander and the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day”, written by Judith Viorst. In the story poor Alexander experiences the worst of things. All in one terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Everything from waking up in the morning with gum in his hair to being scrunched in the middle of the back seat on the way to school. From not having his picture chosen to be hung on the classroom wall to lima beans for supper. From having his marble go down the drain at bath time to biting his tongue. You get the picture. A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I think the reason I love the book so much is that deep down in my kid heart, I identify with Alexander. I have the same kind of day every now and again. Even as an adult.

Today my name is Alexander. I had to deal with disappointment. Rather deep disappointment.

No one died. The house didn’t burn down. We didn’t lose all our savings. I didn’t iron a hole in my favorite shirt. The car didn’t break down. No one threw up. But something I was very much looking forward to got cancelled.

I really should say postponed rather than cancelled. Because that’s what really got me thinking in the first place.

I discovered that I tend to think that if God says “No” once then that was the only chance at the thing. It won’t ever come back around. Perhaps it’s the perfectionism in me that thinks that way. I get one shot at things and after that it’s all over. Only one chance. Better get it right the very first time, cause honey, that’s all there is. No three-strikes-and-you’re-out. No, no, no. One strike and you’re out. One chance is all you get. The door may open once, but if it closes, it’s closed up tight, never to re-open.

But today made me reconsider. Feeling the disappointment was rather Alexander-ish and I thought maybe it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. But then I realized that the thing I was anticipating was not cancelled, but rather postponed. It just wasn’t the right time. Another time will indeed come for me.

Maybe there are second and third and fourth and fifth and sixth chances after all. Maybe there is another, better time for a thing. Maybe God is waiting for the right time. Maybe He hasn’t cancelled my dreams, only postponed them.

Take Jacob for example. Circa Genesis 25-48. He could have been named Alexander. He and Esau tried to crush each other before they were born. They fought pretty much their whole lives. Jacob cheated to get what he’d been told was his. He wrestled with an angel and lived to tell about it. His favorite wife died. His favorite son Joseph was “killed by wild animals.” There was a famine in the land. Son Simeon was put into prison and the other sons expected to take Benjamin with them back to Egypt when they went to get more grain. Life was just plain rough. It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad life. Skip the day. It was just a bad deal.

But Jacob couldn’t see the end of the story. He couldn’t know that Joseph was still alive and had been storing up grain to keep the whole Abrahamic family alive. He had no idea that Joseph’s two sons would be two tribes of Israel. God hadn’t cancelled His goodness (or what Jacob thought was goodness). Jacob just couldn’t see it. . .

And this really isn’t a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day after all. There’s tomorrow. And the day after.

Am I willing to bear the disappointment for now, knowing that God is still good?

Am I willing to wait for God? Trusting in Who He is? Waiting for His glory to be revealed?

Are you? How are you plucking up your courage and faith and hope in the meantime?

God's doing good things in the darkness

Several nights ago I remembered my poinsettia.

It was a gift to me a year ago after Daniel’s dad’s wedding. The day after Thanksgiving to be exact.

It was one of two at the front of the church for Daddy and Daryl’s very beautiful Christmas wedding. Please take it home with you, they’d said.
It was a huge, gorgeous poinsettia. It even survived the trip from Ohio to Pennsylvania in the back of our Suburban. In the cold. Nestled among suitcases.

And I enjoyed it all through Christmas.

Fast forward six months.

It spent the entire summer on my front porch. It was watered. Not very regularly, I must admit. For part of the summer I was even red-neck enough to let it sit on the porch below the air conditioner sticking out of my dining room window and let the condensation drip into the pot. Lazy woman’s watering can.

You get the picture. I kind of wanted it to live, but I really didn’t give it too much attention. It even survived the mini-tornado whose high winds removed everything from the front porch.

When it started getting cold I decided to bring it inside. It was still big and leafy and green. Not looking very Christmasy at all. But I’d heard somewhere that it needs to be in a dark place.

Ah ha! The basement dungeon we’ve got would be just the place. I took it down and watered it well.

And promptly forgot about it.

I’d meant to check on it every week and water it. You know, check in on it and see how it was faring. Didn’t happen. For me it’s “out of sight, out of mind.”

Until that night I mentioned several days ago. Oh no! I’d forgotten all about that poinsettia! By now I was kind of hoping that somehow I’d be able to coax it into blooming. For Christmas.

Today I remembered to check on that poor, forgotten plant, deep in the hidden recesses of my basement.

And there he stood. Tall. Green. Not wilting a bit. With a few whitish leaves on the top and a few just starting to turn red.

I was shocked, to say the very least.

Something was going on. There. In the dark.

In the dark and damp of my basement, the poinsettia retained moisture in its soil that light and warm air would have stolen from it. And somehow, the darkness is causing changes in its leaves. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll have a blooming poinsettia for Christmas.

What is God doing in your darkness?

It’s far too easy for me to curse the darkness. I want bright sunny days. Beautiful breezes. Warmth. Light. Fresh air.

But in my dark and damp God is keeping my soil from drying out too quickly. I water it regularly with tears. And He knows that deep inside the heart of the plant, darkness is necessary to produce the most beautiful blooms.

Is my basement a lovely place? Nope. The part of the basement where I put the poinsettia is pitch black and has a gravel floor. It’s a little damp. I don’t love to go there. It’s not a good place for many things.

But it’s a good place for my poinsettia.

But not for long. Only for a period of time.

Then, up he comes. Back to the sunlight. Back to the warmth of my home. Back to the pedestal where he can sit and be admired. Hopefully sporting beautiful blooms.

Remember, your darkness won’t be forever. God’s only keeping you there so your roots can drink deeply. And so the darkness can cause you to bloom.

I’m wanting to rest in my dark place and let God do His stuff. Care to join me?

Preparing a place. . .

We’re getting a room ready for Daniel’s grandma. She spent several weeks with us last winter and we’re preparing for her coming again this winter. She doesn’t like to be alone in her little house and since no family members are close to her, she comes to us.

Last year she climbed the stairs to our sparest of spare rooms. This year her hips are bothering her. She wonders what the cancer is doing in her body. It’s a slow-growing type, but still enough to cause worries.

The progress on the room continues. The room used to be an office for Daniel and I. My desk was moved to the school room. Daniel will use his laptop wherever he likes. (But that’s normal.) He’s also in the process of building several tall bookshelves to accommodate our tremendous library.

We tore off old wallpaper. We patched walls. We sanded. We painted. There is trim that needs to be painted. Trim that needs to be hung. A door to be stained. Carpet to be cleaned. A bed and dresser to be moved into the room. Curtains to be located. (I’ve shopped, but haven’t found the right ones yet.)

The shepherd’s staff is stuck into the flower bed below her window. It’s waiting for the bird feeder to be hung. I need to clean the window. The light fixture needs to be dusted.

Did I mention we’re preparing?

And then several days ago I began to wonder. Jesus said he was going to prepare a place for me.

We’ve sure had a great deal of fun getting Mammaw’s room ready for her. We’ve dreamed up things we’re sure she’ll enjoy. A bird feeder so she can watch birds. Books on the shelves. Ones we think she might love to read. A comfy recliner where she can sit. A bed with flannel sheets and a nice thick comforter. Homey. Cozy. Welcoming. Inviting. Restful. Peaceful. Warm.

And Jesus is getting a place ready for me.

Kinda made me wonder what it’s taking for him to actually do that. I mean, consider that he spoke into existence our present earth, sun, moon and stars. Six days and we get oceans, skies, planets, pineapples, rabbits, earthworms, goldfish, green beans, eagles, hornets, alligators, anteaters, fleas, bamboo, palm trees.

And since he left his friends on earth and returned to his father some odd 2,000 years ago he’s been working on a “place” for me? Hmmm. Must be some kinda place.

I wonder if he ever feels the same giddy excitement I feel in getting a simple room ready for Mammaw. I’m pretty sure he does.

But Mammaw’s room isn’t ready just yet. We still need more time. There is more work yet to be done. But when the time is right, she’ll come. Daniel will go pick her up and bring her here himself.

Must mean Jesus is still working too. The “place” isn’t quite ready yet. The thing is, he wants me to be working while I wait for him.

Mammaw has things she wants to get done before she comes to our house. Paperwork to attend to. A doctor to see. She’s not just sitting around waiting for us to come for her.

I keep seeing things around me (and in me) I know he wants me to be working on.

How bout’ you? Do you think much about the “place” he’s preparing? Are you working until he comes for you?

{He knows!}

“For the Lord knows and is fully acquainted with the way of the righteous. . .” Psalm 1:6 Amplified Bible

How grateful I am!! The Lord knows my way!!

And then I hear a little voice in my head asking, “How can you be so bold and conceited to think that you are righteous? You? Righteous? Look at who you are? Look at your past? Ok. Never mind the past??!! What about yesterday? What about how you responded to that child? You clearly messed up! You? Righteous? Funny joke.”

But I quickly recognize the accusing voice of my enemy. My God brings conviction. The enemy brings shame and condemnation. And those questions were clearly the latter.

Because now that I am “in Christ” there is “no condemnation!!” Romans 8:1

And I am righteous because Jesus gives me His “robe of righteousness.” Isaiah 61:10

I am righteous. And the Lord knows my way.

Now that’s a settling, comforting, empowering thought for my Saturday!

{about walking}

On my walk last night: freshly planted field on one side, freshly mown hayfield on the other and in the distance, golden edged clouds suspended in a pink sky as the orb of a sun slid below the horizon. It would have been idyllic if it wasn’t so cold with what felt like 40 mph wind trying to blow me over.

Ahhh. I love a beautiful sunset. Yes, yes. I know. Technically, it’s not a sunset. It’s an earthrise. But earthrise just doesn’t sound as good.

Imagine Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof singing, “Earthrise, earthset, earthrise, earthset, swiftly flow the days.” See. It just doesn’t sound the same.

I love to think back to all the places I’ve walked.

Walks with Dad after school in Sidney, Ohio. (If you need to know, it’s because I was often in trouble after a homeschool day with Mom. Mom and Dad have always claimed Dr. Dobson’s book “The Strong-willed Child” was written about me.)

Early morning prayer walks with Dad on dusty Sandy Lake roads in Ontario.

Walks with friends all over Red Lake, Ontario. Walks to Jim’s Bakery. Walks to the dock to just sit and enjoy the water.

Walks in Oak Brook, Illinois. Again, many times with friends.

A walk in Taipei, Taiwan with my cousin Eli when he was only three. To the supermarket for groceries. Other walks in Taiwan with Uncle Nate and Auntie Chris to see the sights.

Walks to schools and orphanages, to and from the Metro, in and around the city of Moscow, Russia. A walk through Red Square. And also, the “stairs of death”: too many steps to count going down into a Metro station somewhere in the city.

Walking with my husband as newlyweds to the Hobe Sound beach in Hobe Sound, Florida during our first year of marriage. Hot, humid evenings. With sand fleas.

A walk in downtown Seoul, Korea when we overnighted there en route to the Philippines the first time. Enjoying the sights and sounds and smells of a huge Asian city.

In the Philippines after a helicopter ride into a village high in the mountains, I walked out. For 10 hours. Downhill. My knees shudder when they remember.

Then there were the walks at the Northwoods. U.P., Michigan. Walks to the Gatehouse and back. Walks around Wolf Lake. Walks with friends.

Walks in Mt. Carmel, Pennsylvania with one, two, three little girls on our way to the park for slides and swings.

Walks in Smalltown, Michigan down trails specially mown in the grass through the back field and through the woods.

A walk in the Philippines with my husband early one morning. Birds singing. Horns honking. Trikes passing. People hard at work and the sun is barely up. Roosters crowing. Children waving.

Walks in Smalltown, Pennsylvania. Down the hill. Over the railroad tracks to the Juniata River.

And now, walks on the farm. Walks down my driveway in between fields. Two mile walks and I’ve only walked to the mailbox and back twice.

I’ve walked and prayed. I’ve walked and cried. I’ve had to stop sometimes because I was crying so hard I couldn’t see. I’ve walked and been so full of joy and hope I felt like bursting. I’ve walked and dreamed. I’ve walked and wondered what’s next. I’ve walked and not ever wanted to leave.

And I find that in all the various seasons of life Jesus has been walking with me. He’s always there. Constant. Steady. Loving. Understanding the things I can’t put into words. My unseen walking partner.

What have been your most memorable walks? With whom and where?

Sequins sparkled. Rich fabrics fairly glowed. Palms outstretched showed henna patterns. Bare feet moved swiftly. Eyes darted from side to side. Necks followed eyes. And I knew the tiny, beautiful, dark-skinned girls were telling a story with their dance.

Last Saturday our family took a field trip day and attended Global Fest at HACC (Harrisburg Area Community College) for several hours of ethnic foods, handcrafts and native dances. (Oh dear. That just sounded like we ate for several hours. We didn’t. We watched people. A lot. And we did sample the Indian butter chicken, Chinese dumplings and sushi.)


It wasn’t only the Indian girls doing ethnic dances. There were Filipino children as well with long pieces of bamboo, some tapping the wood in time with the music and others jumping quickly to keep their feet from getting pinched between the sticks. Hispanic men and women played traditional instruments. There was much foot stomping and twirling and clapping when the Irish clog dancers were on stage. I think I even tapped my feet once or twice. Ok. I confess. I really didn’t hold still the whole time. They were amazing.

Nother’ confession: I love cultures. I don’t mind being in the midst of places I don’t fit. I love watching. I enjoy trying new foods. I love meeting people from other continents. I enjoy conversations about why they believe what they believe. I love learning about their traditions and why they do what they do.

Maybe it’s just a little, teeny taste of Heaven.

Maybe there will be Indian Christians there with traditional costumes and dances, retelling the story of Jesus. Maybe we will eat Indian butter chicken and Chinese dumplings and sushi. And apple pie.

And rejoice and celebrate together with people of every tongue and tribe and nation. . .

{reflections on Earth Day}

“The Earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness of it, the world and they who dwell in it.”
Psalm 24:1

Earth Day is a big deal. Shouldn’t we all go plant a tree or something? Or perhaps recycle those cans in the garage?

Those aren’t bad things. Not at all. I’m just here to remind us Who the earth really belongs to. It’s not ours. Not really. It’s God’s.

He’s the Maker. And when you create something, it’s usually yours.

He did bless the first people and tell them to “fill the earth, and subdue it [using all its vast resources in the service of God and man]; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and over every living creature that moves upon the earth. And God said, See, I have given you every plant yielding seed that is on the face of all the land and every tree. ..” Genesis 1:28-29

The Amplified Bible throws in that explanation-- “using all its vast resources in the service of God and man.” We are supposed to live here.

Yes, I know. God didn’t give Adam a plastic fork and spoon to use and Eve didn’t use disposable diapers for Cain and Abel.

But God knew even before He created earth that we’d get to this place. Computers. Plastic everything. Aluminum cans that certainly aren’t biodegradable. Disposable diaper. Soles of shoes sitting in a landfill somewhere. The used up school bus sitting in the bottom of that lake.

God knew. And He lets us keep right on going. Because He knows there is an end. The ultimate “global warming” is coming.

And, get this, He actually has plans already laid for a New Earth. Imagine that. Now that will be something. I can’t wait.

Until then, I will try to take care of what He’s given me. I will reuse whenever possible. I will recycle as much as possible. And I will reduce if at all possible.

Because this earth where I live, it’s not really mine. It’s His.

Happy the-earth-belongs-to-the-Lord Day!!!

It ain't happnen

Yes, I know. The teacher in me is screaming, “You shouldn't say that!!!” But I just did. So there.

And it really isn’t happening. We’re not going to Mexico. In fact, last week was the week we “should” have been there. But knowing and understanding very well that our thoughts and plans and timing aren’t always God’s, we let it rest.

The needs at the orphanage changed from what we’d anticipated earlier on in the planning stages. And then the team we were working with slowly disintegrated. Not in a bad way. God just directed people to do different things.

And so we wait. But we’re not waiting and sitting on our hands. Passport forms for the entire family are filled out, pictures taken, waiting on my desk for a day to take them in (so someone can look at our kids and verify that indeed they are our children).

Getting passports for the kids is like preparing for rain. There are no trips planned. There clearly isn’t money to galavant off across the planet. No one has invited us to join them in what God is doing on the other side of the world. But it’s ok!

God knows where we live! And He is working right here. There are absolutely BEAUTIFUL things He is doing in our family. We are growing in grace and love and understanding. We are learning things about how He wants us to live.

In the last 5 years there have been several attempts to involve our family in overseas missions. Some we have pursued. Others have been invitations that have come to us. And every time, God closes the door. Every time.

I’ve asked “why” more times than I can count. I’ve looked for answers for why I even have the desire to go in the first place. What on earth is God up to?

God knows. We’re in a good place. We’re part of an incredible church! We have amazing friends! We’re dreaming about the places God wants to take us as a congregation of believers.

Thanks for being part of our circle of friends. Friends who ask what God is doing, who care about where we are, who are excited with us about our journey with Jesus.

And for now, overseas ain’t happnen.

drops of faith

It’s Sunday morning. A cold, snow blanketed, church-has-been-cancelled Sunday morning. And I’m distracted by God’s Word. Again.

The last week has been a struggle.

Chronic pain is miserable, but when the chronic suddenly gets worse, the miserable gets worse too. I’ve had shoulder pain for nearly 9 years. Reaching into the back seat of our mini-van to help two toddlers during a pregnancy caused the initial strain. Then I developed calcific tendonitis. I’ve had a cortisone shot in that shoulder and weeks of physical therapy. The pain diminished for a time, but then returned. Not a permanent solution. Now it’s moved to a frozen shoulder.

Pain does something to me. And let me just say here that I’m always a little afraid that I’m being wimpy and whining about nothing. But during a massage earlier in the week, the massage therapist said, “Doesn’t that hurt???” “No. Keep going.” She remarked that I have a very high pain tolerance. And that’s coming from someone who causes pain on a regular basis. :o)

Back to the pain doing something. . . I’m finding that it’s causing me to have a deeper compassion. I’m loving my children more. I’m caring on a different level.

Another thing I always think about is: What will happen to my faith?

When I was in my late teens I had a severe trial of faith. And when I reflect on it nearly 20 years later (no, I’m not 40 yet, although my hair might cause anyone to question that statement), I wonder if I even passed that test. I was angry at God. It seemed He’d abandoned me. Through the passing of time God has brought healing to my heart and helped me to understand His presence. But it seems every time I walk to the brink of a new chasm of difficulty I wonder if I’ll pass the new test. Will I have the faith to trust that God will carry me over the chasm? Might He build a bridge for me? Will He part the rushing waters? Perhaps an eagle to ferry me across? And, if this is the “valley of the shadow of death” and I must pass through it, will He be there with me?

So often as I stand at the chasm of the latest difficulty, the demons of doubt and despair and mistrust and fear rush up behind me threatening to drive me over the edge. I doubt the greatness of His love and wonder if He’ll even care enough to show up and rescue me.

Standing at this chasm of pain God’s word to me has been “wait.” I don’t know yet what His healing will look like for me. I don’t know when it will come. But somehow at this chasm He’s given me faith to know that He is listening to my pleas for help. He sees the tears I cry. And He’s giving me endurance.

Today I’m made aware of the fact that faith doesn’t often show up in great ocean waves. It’s more like the drip of a leaky faucet. One drop at a time. A little here. A little there. Just when I need it to keep me moving forward.

Nope. My pain is not gone. I’m learning from it. I want to embrace it and be able to articulate the lessons to my children. My amazing husband has been so loving and helpful and caring during this season of pain. The children have been helping with everything from cleaning to meals to helping me comb my hair (something that is currently impossible). I think perhaps they’ll learn a new measure of compassion and care as well.

So, when I think I can’t handle another second of pain God lets loose another drop of faith. And grace.

And I’m humbled to recognize that I can’t even have faith on my own. Everything comes from Him.

Even my drops of faith.

So, do you want to know what distracted me? Check this out from the Message: Psalm 20.

"God answer you on the day you crash,
The name God-of-Jacob put you out of harm’s reach,
Send reinforcements from Holy Hill,
Dispatch from Zion fresh supplies,
Exclaim over your offerings,
Celebrate your sacrifices,
Give you what your heart desires,
Accomplish your plans.
When you win, we plan to raise the roof
and lead the parade with our banners.
May all your wishes come true!
That clinches it—help’s coming,
an answer’s on the way,
everything’s going to work out.
See those people polishing their chariots,
and those others grooming their horses?
But we’re making garlands for God our God.
The chariots will rust,
those horses pull up lame—
and we’ll be on our feet, standing tall.
Make the king a winner, God;
the day we call, give us your answer.

May God shower you today with extra large drops of faith. . .

How can God do that?

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?

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?

smelly fishermen and a Beautiful City

My journey through the New Testament has finally brought me to the book of Revelation. I must say it’s one of my favorite books of the Bible. And no, I don’t claim to understand a good portion of it, but I love it nonetheless. It must be that part of me that loves to pick up a great book I’ve read before and read only the last chapter. The chapter where the long lost son returns home to his father. The chapter where the prisoner held unjustly is set free. The chapter where the woman held in bondage escapes from her captors. The chapter where the couple in love are finally married. Don’t you just love happy endings? I do.

In fact, we just watched a kids movie. You know. The animated kind. But I was blown away all over again by the way they borrowed their lines from “the Story.” A kid leaves home to follow a dream. The dream is shattered. But there are broken people who need help, so, as his father always taught him-- “see a need, fill a need”, he goes to work helping the helpless. But evil is against him. Evil doesn’t care about the needs of people, only making more money. But guess what. Evil never wins. The good guys come out on top. Evil is thrown into a raging fire. Goodness is the champion. And everyone ends up dancing.

That’s why I love Revelation. Evil never wins. The righteous come out “on top!!” Evil is thrown into a raging lake of fire. The righteous will reign forever with Him as champions. And everyone ends up dancing!

Revelation helps put the “now” into perspective. In this life we have shattered hopes. We have transition and change. There is cancer. There is death. But we forget that we’re not at the end of the book yet! We really don’t know what chapter we’re living in right now. And the “happily ever after” won’t be in this life. That’s Heaven. That happens when we return to Eden. That happens when evil is destroyed forever. That happens when God’s glory is displayed to the nations. But it’s not yet.

All that to say this: In my reading, I came to . . .

"And the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the twelve names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb." (Revelation 21:14)

Wait a minute. Who has their names on the foundation stones of the city? You’re kidding. Twelve guys who followed Jesus. But weren’t they uneducated, smelly fishermen? At least some of them? And the others, a tax collector? No-name guys? Ordinary men? They sure weren’t wealthy. They hadn’t given lots of money to charity or started any faith-based programs for the needy. No doctorate degrees among them. Two of them Jesus called “sons of thunder.” Wonder what he meant by that exactly. These were men who argued about who would be the greatest. They didn’t always “get” his messages cloaked in parables. They were fearful. They thought when he died, he died for good.
But these are the guys who get their names on the foundation of the Heavenly city?

Just let that sink in a little. Ponder where you are in your part of the story. Go read “Epic” by John Eldredge. It might help a little with your perspective.

Nope. My name won’t be on any foundation stone. But I’m part of God’s big story and I’ve been given new hope because God thinks smelly, uneducated fishermen are important enough to put their names on the foundation of His beautiful city. And I think when I get there I’d like to find one of those names and let my fingers trace the letters and be reminded that Peter or John or James could have been my name. Ordinary. But I too have been given a place in the Kingdom.

Go live your story.


With the end in mind.

Reproach = Wealth. Really??

By faith, Moses. . . considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking to the reward. Hebrews 11:26

Down through time there are those who have considered reproach for Christ’s sake to equal wealth. Moses is one of those. Then there are also those modern day heros of the faith as well. My mind travels to my brothers and sister in China, and Sudan, Iraq, Turkey, North Korea, Columbia. And I’m sure many other places as well. Places that don’t get as much “media” coverage in the Christian world. Or places we don’t know about.

There are brothers and sisters shut away in shipping containers. Foul prisons. They suffer unbelievable tortures. They go hungry. They are separated from their husbands, wives, little children. When my sister’s husband is in prison she wonders how she will pay the rent or how she will find food for her babies. When both parents are put into prison children are left to fend for themselves. They are virtual orphans. And homeless.

And this is considered wealth? Wealth? You’re kidding.

These followers of Jesus are not living for this present age. They are living for the age to come. They are keeping their eyes on the reward. They are looking for the Heavenly City. The New Jerusalem. They are willing to endure hardness as good soldiers of Jesus Christ.

They are far more concerned about the Glory of God than their own comfort. They have chosen to look away from things their eyes can see.

How will I consider my difficulties (minor though they may be) to be “wealth” today? How can I keep my eyes fixed on Jesus the author and perfecter of my faith?

My dear husband is the runner in our family. He actually enjoys races. He’s reflected many times on the parallels of running a race and our personal journeys to THE PLACE Jesus is preparing for us. He talks about how important it is to keep your eyes on the end goal.

I tend to get so bogged down with life itself that I forget that this isn’t all there is!! I’m doing good to just get one foot in front of the other. But there is more!! It’s what I can’t see, but just because I can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

So today, if life’s circumstances weigh heavily on your shoulders, remember those who considered “reproach” to be wealth. I probably won’t suffer reproach today for the name of Christ, but I will find it difficult to keep my eyes on the prize.

Lift your eyes with me today. Our Heavenly Bridegroom has gone to prepare a place for us. We are the ones who need to be ready and waiting, having our lamps lit with the oil of the Spirit.

Pondering Hebrews

The first several verses of Hebrews are breathtaking:

Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world. He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. Hebrews 1:1-3 (esv)

Wait. Did you get it? I mean, did you really digest that? God. Our God. He spoke through the prophets for hundreds of years, but then chose to actually speak through His only Son. The very Son Who will inherit everything. But wait. It’s the same Son Who actually created the whole world!! Jesus: Creator.

But there’s more! Jesus Himself is the radiance of the glory of God. What? The KJV says “Who being the brightness of His glory. . .” Brightness. Radiance. Guess what. That word is used only once in the New Testament. It means “reflected brightness (of Christ in that He perfectly reflects the majesty of God), a shining forth.”

And Jesus carries the exact imprint of Almighty God. That rather made me think of a father and son. The kind of father and son where the son looks just like the father. A little guy who looks just like his dad. Minus the mustache of course. Like Father, like Son.

Oh. And this too: He upholds the universe by the word of His power. What do you do with the “word of your power.” What exactly can you accomplish? I try to make my kids behave with the word of my power, but there are times I think my words are falling on deaf ears. I share counsel with a friend. Words intended to help bring healing and freedom. But my words don’t actually do that. But then, stop and think about how much is actually in our universe. No, not galaxy. Universe. Billions of galaxies. Ma-zillions of stars. And um, actually, the really smart guys don’t even know precisely how many. And yet, my Jesus is the One Who carries this same universe by the word of His power. Just one word. In Greek it’s rhema, for those of you who care.

Wow. What a way to start the day. A great reminder of Who is really in charge. Not the president or the VIPs in Washington. Not the UN. Not the people at your church who’d like to control your life. Not your past or the baggage you carry with you. Not your fear. Unless of course you allow them.

It’s just Jesus. I needed the reminder. I needed my future to be brought back into focus. He’s the One in control.

Come. . .

. . . now is the time to worship!

It’s been a week.

Five children were sick from Sunday evening through Wednesday morning. Some kind of nasty stomach virus I think. I’ll spare you the details. You should thank me.

A good friend from Michigan committed suicide on Wednesday. He was also my favorite chiropractor. A man with a wife and 2 small children. Everyone in town knew and loved him. 

This week I learned that a sweet friend lost a baby at 18 weeks. Nearly halfway through a pregnancy. I cried with her.

A dear first nations friend from Northern Ontario went to be with Jesus on his birthday. Our birthdays are only a day apart and we used to share smiles and birthday wishes. He stayed in our home on the Reserve many times. His ministry was wide.

Daniel and I looked at our own finances and personally, I thought we should qualify for a bailout the way things are looking.



And then, the Spirit swept in, reminding me of this song. . .

Come, now is the time to worship
Come, now is the time to give your heart
Come, just as you are to worship
Come, just as you are before your God
Come

One day ev'ry tongue will confess You are God
One day ev'ry knee will bow
Still the greatest treasure remains for those,
Who gladly choose you now

I find that God has brought this song to me often. Most times it’s when I feel least like worshipping. But now is the time.

Time to worship.
Time to give Him my heart.
Time to come just as I am.
Time to come before my King.

Whether I feel like it or not.

But ironically, as I come to worship, I find that the pain and difficulty and turmoil of those days fades into the background. I have “fixed my eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of my faith, Who for the joy set before Him, endured the cross, despising its shame, and is seated at the right hand of God's throne.” (My own paraphrase of Hebrews 12:2) Everything comes into perspective. I have right-sized God.

Do I still have questions? You bet I do. Will life still have crazy days? Yup. Will things still happen that are totally out of my control? Yes. 

But in answer to those three questions I choose to remember that 1) God knows the answer to all my questions. 2) There is peace in Heaven. 3) God is the All-powerful One Who is in control of EVERYTHING! (Don't worry. Be happy!)

The question is: will I choose to worship and keep right-sizing God?

That feels pretty big, and it will certainly have to be a daily choice for me, but yes, today I will worship. Today I will right-size God.

How bout’ you?

We're well.

Thanks friends for the wellness wishes and prayers! A few of us are still trying to shake the sniffles and coughs, but this too shall pass. 

We loved the "unseasonably" warm weather yesterday. We celebrated by cleaning out flower beds and trimming off the dead heads of perennials. We burned leaves. We burned dead heads. We burned loose branches lying around the yard. We burned pine cones. We burned dead ornamental grasses swaying in the breeze. Now that the dead is gone, the new green shoots can raise their heads. 

Such a reminder as I've explained to the children how God sends "fires" into our lives to burn away the deadness. Once the deadness is gone God can grow new things in our lives that the deadness had been choking out. The "fires" are painful indeed, but on the other side is the beauty of greenness, and the flowers and fruit we know will come later in the season. And so rather than cursing the "fires", can we rejoice in them, knowing that God will very carefully watch the burning and make sure the fire burns only where He intends it to burn? Only what is dead will burn. Only the certain places He chooses will feel the heat. And He never leaves the "fires" alone. He stands by. Very close. Because this is a controlled burn. And thankfully, HE is the One in control. Not me. 

Then I think of Job. "Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him." And then Hebrews 12, starting at verse 3 and moving on through the chapter. 

"It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons. Besides this, we have had earthly fathers who disciplined us and we respected them. Shall we not much more be subject to the Father of spirits and live? For they disciplined us for a short time as it seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, that we may share his holiness. For the moment all discipline seems painful rather than pleasant, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it." (7-11)

And so today I'm thinking about fire. Fire to consume the dross. Fire to burn up the deadness that keeps me cool toward the Father. Fire that clears out the old and makes room for the new. 

So if you're facing the fire, lift your eyes and see the Father. He's standing very close, watching the burn. He won't leave you alone. He'll make sure the fire doesn't leap to places it shouldn't. But He's allowing the fire so that new growth can appear. The pain is for the moment, but it will allow greenness, and new fruit. Look past the pain and the burning. The Father is watching. The Father is loving. The Father is YOUR Father. 

And spring is just around the corner. 

brought near

When someone asks what my favorite book of the Bible is it always puts me in a quandary. How can I choose? What should I say? I could say the Psalms. But then I’d leave out Galatians. And if I say Colosians then I’d have to exclude Jeremiah. It’s just plain hard I tell you. I could just say, all if it. The Bible as a whole. But then I’d not be very honest about how difficult I find I and II Chronicles. Or even on some days, Romans. *sigh*

Today I came to Ephesians 2:12-22

". . . remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. And he came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Christ Jesus himself being the cornerstone, in whom the whole structure, being joined together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord. In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit."

Wow. At one time “separated from Christ”, “having no hope and without God”. . .

But now!! But now!! But NOW in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ!! My prayer is that this hits you smack between the eyes like it did me this morning. We have been brought near. Our sin no longer causes us to be held at arms length! The blood of Christ has brought us near! For He himself is our peace. And through Him we have access (through the Spirit of God) to our Father.

We don’t have to stand outside the door anymore. We aren’t kept on the front porch. We are invited to come inside. To come “near”. We’ve been given “access” to the Father Himself through the Spirit. No more hanging around the fringes, but walking right in and coming near. No more sitting in a corner alone and forsaken. Coming near.

What happens when a child comes “near”? Generally it doesn’t mean just standing close by, does it? Nope. It means the arms of the parent or grandparent or uncle or auntie are wide open. Arms outstretched. Reaching. Welcoming the child to run and jump into them. It’s an arm around the shoulder. It’s a hug. A warm embrace. It’s snuggling up close on the couch for a story. It’s squishing in closer on the bench at lunchtime. It’s coming for comfort for a scraped knee. It’s linking arms during a shopping trip.

It’s coming “near”. Are you feeling the closeness? I know sometimes I feel far more distant than close. But then there’s that word: feel. And I must return to what is true.

But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.

This is what is true. I have been brought near. Is there sin in my life that is separating me from Christ? Or have I been so busy that I’ve neglected the “nearness”? Am I so weighed down with old baggage that I’m not enjoying the “nearness”?

So for today I realize that it’s been the engagement of my mind with other things. And I’m so thankful for *one* of my favorite authors penning those words to the believers at Ephesus. Because I sure needed the reminder today.

I have been brought near.