I was roaming around the house on the phone (cell phones are so cool!) with my daughter yesterday, and found myself in the sunroom. We were discussing our morning quiet times (having a Christian “adult” daughter is so cool!) when I noticed that one of the plants had decided to jump its pot. I don’t know where it thought it was going, but lengths of the vine had severed themselves from the momma plant and landed on the carpet.
“What craziness!” I thought. Closer inspection revealed that the vines had “dampened off”- the stems had rotted an inch or so above the soil. So I rescued the still-living (that is so cool!) escapees and pinched off the dead ends and set them in a glass of water to re-root. I exiled them to another part of the room, where they could be protected until they were ready to re-plant.
The name of the plant? Wandering Jew.
My quiet time study earlier that morning? The return of the exiles to Jerusalem.
Tell me God doesn’t have both impeccable timing and a keen sense of humor.
I’ve never considered myself to be much of an Old Testament scholar. But recent Sunday School lessons have had me digging into history to try to put it all together. Basically, I’m trying to gain some chronological understanding of the prophets, the exile, the return to Jerusalem and all the kings involved. Stuff that I’ve “historically” (smile) found boring has now piqued my interest. (Tell me God doesn’t work miracles! Next thing you know, he’ll have me fascinated with numbers. Hear that sound? My husband and children are laughing uncontrollably. One day I will tell you the story of The Fit of Rage and The Algebra Book, by Lisa Roszler.)
Did you know that not all the Jews returned when they were allowed? Nope. Some just stayed behind in Babylon. “Y’all go on ahead! Be safe! I’m happy for you!”
Maybe they’d been there so long that it felt like home. Their children were born there, their new homes were comfortable. Perhaps they had no need of the old ways, couldn’t identify with the homeland, had lost their religion? Forgotten what it was all about? Maybe they had become so assimilated that they were unrecognizable, even to themselves, as being a different, chosen people.
Then a profound thought hit me.
I am a modern-day exile. Where is my Babylon? America? This planet? Am I so enamored (see that root “amor”-love?) with this present life that I have failed to remember where I truly belong? Am I trying to make my heaven on earth? Have I forgotten what my life is to be about? Am I recognizable as being a citizen of Heaven, Zion, New Jerusalem? Do I long to return?
Those sprigs of vine will soon grow roots, but they can’t live forever in a glass of water. They need soil. They need home soil. Just like this Wandering Gentile. Praise God He gives us His Word, His Living Water to remain in until He takes us home!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Not to goad you, but...
It has been reported that before the Indonesian tsunami hit, the wildlife started heading for higher ground, even before the humans were aware it was coming. Scientists call it “instinct”.
What is instinct? It’s a prompting. In comes from a Latin root word that means “prick or goad”.
Goad. That word makes me smile, because a scripture I never understood comes to mind. I remember reading in Acts 26:14 when Saul was blinded on the road to Damascus. Jesus said to him, “It is hard for you to kick against the goads.” Do what?
Evidently, “kicking against the goads” is old Greek-speak for “useless resistance”. Ever seen a child throwing a (non-public) temper tantrum in the presence of a patient mother? She’ll let him wear himself out, because she’s not giving in.
Hmmm. So instinct has to do with a pricking or goading. Seems to me it comes from our patient Father. He prompts. He waits out the temper tantrum. Maybe we get wise and listen and follow His lead. Maybe we continue to kick against Him.
There’s another scripture with “goad” in it: “The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails- given by one Shepherd.” (Ecclesiastes 12:11) What colorful imagery! Lest your imagination lead you astray, those nails are not the Shepherd’s fingernails in your arm, pulling you along! My Bible references the term back to Ezra, who speaks of God’s grace in giving the remnant of Israel a “firm place”, literally a nail or peg, in His sanctuary.
I like the thought of having a peg in His sanctuary, a place to hang my coat and stay awhile. In my mind I see a row of personalized nursery school cubbies: there’s even a place for my shoes- but baggage is left curbside.
Do I hear God prompting me? He’s singing Newsboys- again:
“It’s just a Spirit thing, it’s just a Holy nudge,
It’s like a circuit judge in the brain.
It’s just a Spirit thing, it’s here to guard my heart,
It’s just a little hard to explain.
It pushes when I quit, it smells a counterfeit,
And it works a bit like a teleprompter.
When it’s teleprompting you, I pray you let it through…”
And the Spirit whispers, “Travel light, go in haste! Head for higher ground!”
What is instinct? It’s a prompting. In comes from a Latin root word that means “prick or goad”.
Goad. That word makes me smile, because a scripture I never understood comes to mind. I remember reading in Acts 26:14 when Saul was blinded on the road to Damascus. Jesus said to him, “It is hard for you to kick against the goads.” Do what?
Evidently, “kicking against the goads” is old Greek-speak for “useless resistance”. Ever seen a child throwing a (non-public) temper tantrum in the presence of a patient mother? She’ll let him wear himself out, because she’s not giving in.
Hmmm. So instinct has to do with a pricking or goading. Seems to me it comes from our patient Father. He prompts. He waits out the temper tantrum. Maybe we get wise and listen and follow His lead. Maybe we continue to kick against Him.
There’s another scripture with “goad” in it: “The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails- given by one Shepherd.” (Ecclesiastes 12:11) What colorful imagery! Lest your imagination lead you astray, those nails are not the Shepherd’s fingernails in your arm, pulling you along! My Bible references the term back to Ezra, who speaks of God’s grace in giving the remnant of Israel a “firm place”, literally a nail or peg, in His sanctuary.
I like the thought of having a peg in His sanctuary, a place to hang my coat and stay awhile. In my mind I see a row of personalized nursery school cubbies: there’s even a place for my shoes- but baggage is left curbside.
Do I hear God prompting me? He’s singing Newsboys- again:
“It’s just a Spirit thing, it’s just a Holy nudge,
It’s like a circuit judge in the brain.
It’s just a Spirit thing, it’s here to guard my heart,
It’s just a little hard to explain.
It pushes when I quit, it smells a counterfeit,
And it works a bit like a teleprompter.
When it’s teleprompting you, I pray you let it through…”
And the Spirit whispers, “Travel light, go in haste! Head for higher ground!”
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Happy
This will not be a long post. It will also be my only post this week.
I am packing to go out of town (to Charleston and Georgetown, SC) for our 13th anniversary. We are celebrating a marriage that almost didn't make it past the shaky 8th anniversary. I spent the 8th (July 03) packing up my kids' stuff to take to them when they'd had to move in with their biological dad after our lives fell apart in June of 03.
Now, with God's grace, we not only celebrate our anniversary, but will also soon celebrate a year of being back in the same house together! I will have to post more about that later.
For now, I am posting pictures of my garden.
During those four years of separation, I clung to Isaiah 51:3.
"The LORD will surely comfort Zion and will look with compassion on all her ruins: he will make her deserts like Eden, her wastelands
like the garden of the LORD. 
Joy and gladness will be found in her, thanksgiving and the sound of singing." My wasteland has become a garden. You can often find me there, because it brings me great joy. Sometimes I am hidden among the plants as I weed or tend, but all you have to do to locate me is listen for the sound of singing.
May God put a song in your heart today!
Friday, July 18, 2008
Get the Point
Remember how your mama told you not to point your finger at anyone because you’ll have three pointing back at you? Go ahead, try it. Point your finger. See your other three fingers pointing right back to you? Hmmm. Guess that old saying had some truth.
Today, I pointed someone to a scripture. And guess what? God pointed it right back at me! But, hey, this was a good thing!
I sent a new friend to Psalm 63:7: “Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.” (NIV) I just love that scripture. It was the one I put in my pocket last year at our Christmas production when the character I played had to sing. I’m a nervous one when it comes to being on stage in the first place and singing compounded that nervousness by about six hundred times. But I knew I had that affirmation right there in my pocket and, ladies and gentlemen, the show went on! It was in my pocket again on Mother’s Day, when I sang Anita Renfroe’s “Mom Song” before our congregation.
Scripture is powerful, my friends!
Well, today I was doing my quiet time. I usually do it before getting on the computer and checking on my bloggy friends, but today, I did it after pointing the new friend to Psalm 63. That was still on my heart, so I decided to read it for myself again. And then I looked across the table to the books I was reading yesterday. There sat The Message, which is a modern Bible translation.
Here’s how The Message translates Psalm 63:7:
“Because you’ve always stood up for me, I’m free to run and play. I hold onto you for dear life, and you hold me steady as a post.”
Steady. Not exactly my physical state right now. My husband calls me his “Weeble Wife”. According to the old commercial, “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.” Why? Because they have heavy, rounded bottoms. Yep. OK, while I do acknowledge the similarities and admit that this baby do got back, that would not be the reason why this particular Weeble Woman does not fall down.
I am holding onto my Jesus for dear life and He holds me steady as a post.
And that part about being “free to run”? Did I just not sing those very words in a Newsboys song?
What a fantastic thing to find! An old favorite scripture has fresh meaning! Are not God’s mercies new every morning? Hallelujah!
OK, now I just gotta go inquire of old King James and the Living Bible and…
Today, I pointed someone to a scripture. And guess what? God pointed it right back at me! But, hey, this was a good thing!
I sent a new friend to Psalm 63:7: “Because you are my help, I sing in the shadow of your wings.” (NIV) I just love that scripture. It was the one I put in my pocket last year at our Christmas production when the character I played had to sing. I’m a nervous one when it comes to being on stage in the first place and singing compounded that nervousness by about six hundred times. But I knew I had that affirmation right there in my pocket and, ladies and gentlemen, the show went on! It was in my pocket again on Mother’s Day, when I sang Anita Renfroe’s “Mom Song” before our congregation.
Scripture is powerful, my friends!
Well, today I was doing my quiet time. I usually do it before getting on the computer and checking on my bloggy friends, but today, I did it after pointing the new friend to Psalm 63. That was still on my heart, so I decided to read it for myself again. And then I looked across the table to the books I was reading yesterday. There sat The Message, which is a modern Bible translation.
Here’s how The Message translates Psalm 63:7:
“Because you’ve always stood up for me, I’m free to run and play. I hold onto you for dear life, and you hold me steady as a post.”
Steady. Not exactly my physical state right now. My husband calls me his “Weeble Wife”. According to the old commercial, “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down.” Why? Because they have heavy, rounded bottoms. Yep. OK, while I do acknowledge the similarities and admit that this baby do got back, that would not be the reason why this particular Weeble Woman does not fall down.
I am holding onto my Jesus for dear life and He holds me steady as a post.
And that part about being “free to run”? Did I just not sing those very words in a Newsboys song?
What a fantastic thing to find! An old favorite scripture has fresh meaning! Are not God’s mercies new every morning? Hallelujah!
OK, now I just gotta go inquire of old King James and the Living Bible and…
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Ode to Beautiful Feet
Cute shoes are climbing up my list of life’s good things.
It’s because I find myself looking at my own feet a lot lately. I have to watch where they are going so that I don’t a) fall in my “disequilibrium”, or b) step in an ant hill, after last month’s allergic reaction episode. (Read the June 9 post entitled “Kiss My Grits!”)
Now, generally I do not pay much attention to feet. I have not considered them to be worthy of noting. I mean, c’mon- how many famous pieces of artwork have been devoted to them? Can you even think of any? In fact, many artists say feet are the most difficult body part to accurately render. Feet are utilitarian. Mundane. They are (forgive me) pedestrian.
I was watching TV the other day and a commercial came on for this egg-shaped callous remover thingy. The women were shown scrubbing it all over their scaly feet. Then they demonstrated the effectiveness of the device by (GAG!) emptying the reservoir onto a cloth…in full view of the audience! Boy, talk about an appetite suppressant! I ran into the bathroom (well, “ran” is probably an exaggeration considering the fact that I can’t even walk fast right now) and soaked my feet in the tub as a preventative measure.
Nobody wants scaly feet. We want beautiful feet.
God has something to say about that.
“How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news,” He says in Isaiah 52:7. And in Psalm 121:1, He talks about lifting our eyes to look to the hills, to search for help. That help, the psalmist says, comes from God, who made the mountain. Put it together and you’ve got a vision of one coming from God with good news. That one is Christ. And then, because we are to be His hands and feet, it becomes our legacy. We are to have the beautiful feet that bring the Good News, to help others.
He enables us to go on the heights. (Habakkuk 3:19) That’s where we are empowered.
He leads us through the valley of the shadow of death. (Psalm 23:4) That’s where the lost are.
He will not let our foot slip.(Psalm 121:3) That’s His protection.
Jesus had the most beautiful feet in the whole world and I can inherit them!
Gotta go, y’all. My feet (and my spirit) need a little soak in preparation of some mountain climbing and valley searching. I’ve got the added benefit of Old Navy’s black and white scrollwork satin flats on clearance for $15. But as for that TV scrubby thing...
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
In His Hands
Hey, y’all! I am still here, though not able to sit and type too much at this point!
I had a lumbar puncture/spinal tap a week ago, in hopes of uncovering clues as to what disease/condition I am “experiencing”. Then I had a “blood patch” to take care of a complication of the lumbar puncture. Now I am having residual effects from the blood patch, as well as the symptoms of the disease/condition we’re trying to diagnose! So, I am on my back a lot.
But God is good. I’ve seen Him at work. I’ve cried and He’s comforted. I’ve asked and He’s provided. I’ve heard Him singing to me when I’ve been unable to rise or turn over in the bed, when I’ve been physically unable to read or watch TV or do anything but lie on my back for hours upon hours. Mostly, He sings Newsboys songs and old hymns! Hey, God has eclectic tastes!
I cried like a baby about having to go for the blood patch. I did not want any more needles injecting or removing anything from my body, spine in particular! I knew God could just heal me, so why wouldn’t He? WHY??? I already knew the answer, but that did not make it easier to accept: He had a bigger purpose. He was going to use the experience for something good. Yet, I cried and cried. I even cried on the phone to several good ministry friends, who prayed for me on the spot. (Lisa does not generally cry on the phone, y’all!)
Desperate for evidence from Him, I called out, “God, I know that You should be enough for me. I know You really are enough, but, please forgive me, I can’t feel that right now. I am scared and I’ll be alone in a strange place with people I don’t know and I’ll have to trust them and I am terrified! Is it too much to ask for an angel to be there with me? Will you send me an angel? Please? And please guide the doctor’s hands as he injects the blood into my spine. Please just help me feel Your touch in his hands.”
I finally gave in and accepted the peace that my friends asked to be given me and rested until time came to go.
I was lying on the bed in the pain clinic when the door opened and the nurse walked in. It was Kira, from our church! God immediately opened my eyes to see that this was the angel I’d asked for, someone I could trust who would be with me every step of the procedure. An image came to mind of our Christmas play in which the praise/dance team representing angels surrounded me and escorted me. Kira used to be on that team, but had been unable to take part at Christmas due to her pregnancy. God was now allowing her to play the angel’s part! I broke down sobbing again. How good is our Lord? How perfect in plan? How merciful and loving?!
That’s just one story from this adventure. There are others. In fact, I know God is calling me to write to the doctor that performed the blood patch, to thank him for helping me- and to share with him about the God who used his hands.
Stay tuned! God is living and active!
I had a lumbar puncture/spinal tap a week ago, in hopes of uncovering clues as to what disease/condition I am “experiencing”. Then I had a “blood patch” to take care of a complication of the lumbar puncture. Now I am having residual effects from the blood patch, as well as the symptoms of the disease/condition we’re trying to diagnose! So, I am on my back a lot.
But God is good. I’ve seen Him at work. I’ve cried and He’s comforted. I’ve asked and He’s provided. I’ve heard Him singing to me when I’ve been unable to rise or turn over in the bed, when I’ve been physically unable to read or watch TV or do anything but lie on my back for hours upon hours. Mostly, He sings Newsboys songs and old hymns! Hey, God has eclectic tastes!
I cried like a baby about having to go for the blood patch. I did not want any more needles injecting or removing anything from my body, spine in particular! I knew God could just heal me, so why wouldn’t He? WHY??? I already knew the answer, but that did not make it easier to accept: He had a bigger purpose. He was going to use the experience for something good. Yet, I cried and cried. I even cried on the phone to several good ministry friends, who prayed for me on the spot. (Lisa does not generally cry on the phone, y’all!)
Desperate for evidence from Him, I called out, “God, I know that You should be enough for me. I know You really are enough, but, please forgive me, I can’t feel that right now. I am scared and I’ll be alone in a strange place with people I don’t know and I’ll have to trust them and I am terrified! Is it too much to ask for an angel to be there with me? Will you send me an angel? Please? And please guide the doctor’s hands as he injects the blood into my spine. Please just help me feel Your touch in his hands.”
I finally gave in and accepted the peace that my friends asked to be given me and rested until time came to go.
I was lying on the bed in the pain clinic when the door opened and the nurse walked in. It was Kira, from our church! God immediately opened my eyes to see that this was the angel I’d asked for, someone I could trust who would be with me every step of the procedure. An image came to mind of our Christmas play in which the praise/dance team representing angels surrounded me and escorted me. Kira used to be on that team, but had been unable to take part at Christmas due to her pregnancy. God was now allowing her to play the angel’s part! I broke down sobbing again. How good is our Lord? How perfect in plan? How merciful and loving?!
That’s just one story from this adventure. There are others. In fact, I know God is calling me to write to the doctor that performed the blood patch, to thank him for helping me- and to share with him about the God who used his hands.
Stay tuned! God is living and active!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Of Bedpans and Ice Cream Trucks
Ah, yes, new doctors.
I mean really new. Like “ink still wet on the diploma” new.
Yes, my new neurologist is a young one. Board certified in 2005.
But I didn’t ask him what flavor of ice cream he would be, as I intimated in my last post. He seemed much too serious for that.
As I thought we would, we rehashed my medical history of the past twenty years. (Twenty years ago he was probably running after the ice cream truck!) Same ol’ tests. “Follow my finger with your eyes.” “Walk for me.” “Can you feel this?”
Guess what we get to do next? That’s right! More tests! Lumbar puncture, anyone?
So pray for me on July 8. That’s when they draw spinal fluid and I get to lie flat for 24 hours. Hey, do I need a bedpan? Oh, the lovely thoughts!
Submit, Lisa, submit.
I heard a preacher on the radio Sunday. He was talking about feeling the “chains of our flesh”. That’s quite a visceral punch. And accurate, I must say. It’s no wonder that I’ve been having dreams about being able to fly, diving upwards into the sky, like jumping off a diving board but it being a springboard instead! Be gone, chains of gravity! Be dismissed, laws of physics!
For now, I guess I’ll have to stay earthbound. At least bodily.
My spirit? It stays up most of the time. It’s free!
(cue Newsboys' “I Am Free”)
I am free to run! Hmmm. Physically, not so much. Got that cane, remember? Couldn’t chase the ice cream truck if I wanted to. But I am running the race set before me.
I am free to dance! Oh, most certainly, cane or no cane. It ain’t pretty, but God doesn’t care! And my husband is here to hold me. I couldn’t say that last year at this time!
I am free to live for You! Christian and American. There’s nothing freer than that.
I am free! Hear me praise God! Sing it with me, friend!
I think I’ll go decorate my cane with red, white and blue ribbons! :)
I mean really new. Like “ink still wet on the diploma” new.
Yes, my new neurologist is a young one. Board certified in 2005.
But I didn’t ask him what flavor of ice cream he would be, as I intimated in my last post. He seemed much too serious for that.
As I thought we would, we rehashed my medical history of the past twenty years. (Twenty years ago he was probably running after the ice cream truck!) Same ol’ tests. “Follow my finger with your eyes.” “Walk for me.” “Can you feel this?”
Guess what we get to do next? That’s right! More tests! Lumbar puncture, anyone?
So pray for me on July 8. That’s when they draw spinal fluid and I get to lie flat for 24 hours. Hey, do I need a bedpan? Oh, the lovely thoughts!
Submit, Lisa, submit.
I heard a preacher on the radio Sunday. He was talking about feeling the “chains of our flesh”. That’s quite a visceral punch. And accurate, I must say. It’s no wonder that I’ve been having dreams about being able to fly, diving upwards into the sky, like jumping off a diving board but it being a springboard instead! Be gone, chains of gravity! Be dismissed, laws of physics!
For now, I guess I’ll have to stay earthbound. At least bodily.
My spirit? It stays up most of the time. It’s free!
(cue Newsboys' “I Am Free”)
I am free to run! Hmmm. Physically, not so much. Got that cane, remember? Couldn’t chase the ice cream truck if I wanted to. But I am running the race set before me.
I am free to dance! Oh, most certainly, cane or no cane. It ain’t pretty, but God doesn’t care! And my husband is here to hold me. I couldn’t say that last year at this time!
I am free to live for You! Christian and American. There’s nothing freer than that.
I am free! Hear me praise God! Sing it with me, friend!
I think I’ll go decorate my cane with red, white and blue ribbons! :)
Monday, June 30, 2008
Lady in Waiting
I’m not in much of a writing mood today. I want rest. I want answers. I want a diagnosis. I want to run screaming until this “thing” leaves my body. Except that I can’t run. Have you ever seen anyone run with a cane? Didn’t think so! :)
I have an appointment tomorrow with a new neurologist.
This is like some weird “dating game”. “Bachelor, er, Neurologist #3, if you were an ice cream flavor…” Hey, I don’t want some kind of nutty one, you know!
So tomorrow, I’ll just have to rehash twenty-some-odd years of on-again-off-again neurological symptoms and explain my life-on-hold-since-February whale of a time. He’ll prick the bottoms of my feet and make me touch my finger to my nose. He’ll look over old blood work and MRIs. And maybe, just maybe, Lord-willing-and-the-creek-don’t-rise, he’ll have something different to say. He’ll see something that he wants to investigate. Maybe he’ll have just come back from a conference and has just learned about something new. Hey, that happened to me just last week! I just gotta wait until tomorrow. (cue song from Annie…)
I have this fascinating job. It’s called Lady in Waiting.
According to Wikipedia, Ladies in Waiting were ladies “of a royal court appointed to serve or attend a Queen, Princess, or high ranking noblewoman. A Lady in Waiting was not quite a servant. Ladies in Waiting were considered 'noble companions' who, by their status and nobility, could better advise a woman of high station.” OK, so I need to write a new job description.
Lady in Waiting: A servant of the royal court, anointed for the King's service and appointed by the King to encourage other women.
It goes with the dream I had Saturday night: a man resembling a cross between Ed Begley, Jr. and my Uncle Larry was leading our Sunday School class and told me I was being commissioned to teach other women about who they are in Christ. OK. So then I got to Sunday School for real the next day and the lesson was about finding one’s life purpose. I opened my Bible to find a paper I’d stuck there months ago. It was about who we are in Christ. The teacher (not our usual teacher) wrote several words on the board. Among them: Consecrated. That’s what my name means. I looked at the teacher and suddenly recognized him as the man in my dream.
God’s pretty cool, huh?
I’ve gotta go. It’s time for the Lady to take her nap. I’ll let you know what the new neurologist says. Until then, sweet dreams! May God speak to you in yours!
I have an appointment tomorrow with a new neurologist.
This is like some weird “dating game”. “Bachelor, er, Neurologist #3, if you were an ice cream flavor…” Hey, I don’t want some kind of nutty one, you know!
So tomorrow, I’ll just have to rehash twenty-some-odd years of on-again-off-again neurological symptoms and explain my life-on-hold-since-February whale of a time. He’ll prick the bottoms of my feet and make me touch my finger to my nose. He’ll look over old blood work and MRIs. And maybe, just maybe, Lord-willing-and-the-creek-don’t-rise, he’ll have something different to say. He’ll see something that he wants to investigate. Maybe he’ll have just come back from a conference and has just learned about something new. Hey, that happened to me just last week! I just gotta wait until tomorrow. (cue song from Annie…)
I have this fascinating job. It’s called Lady in Waiting.
According to Wikipedia, Ladies in Waiting were ladies “of a royal court appointed to serve or attend a Queen, Princess, or high ranking noblewoman. A Lady in Waiting was not quite a servant. Ladies in Waiting were considered 'noble companions' who, by their status and nobility, could better advise a woman of high station.” OK, so I need to write a new job description.
Lady in Waiting: A servant of the royal court, anointed for the King's service and appointed by the King to encourage other women.
It goes with the dream I had Saturday night: a man resembling a cross between Ed Begley, Jr. and my Uncle Larry was leading our Sunday School class and told me I was being commissioned to teach other women about who they are in Christ. OK. So then I got to Sunday School for real the next day and the lesson was about finding one’s life purpose. I opened my Bible to find a paper I’d stuck there months ago. It was about who we are in Christ. The teacher (not our usual teacher) wrote several words on the board. Among them: Consecrated. That’s what my name means. I looked at the teacher and suddenly recognized him as the man in my dream.
God’s pretty cool, huh?
I’ve gotta go. It’s time for the Lady to take her nap. I’ll let you know what the new neurologist says. Until then, sweet dreams! May God speak to you in yours!
Friday, June 27, 2008
He Loves Me, He Loves Me Always
Just a little daisy bouquet for anyone stopping by today. This is the beauty I see when I look out my kitchen window: daisies and window boxes and herbs!
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Magnanimous
It’s a word I saw today on our desktop fliptop devotional. It’s not an everyday kind of word, so I looked it up.
Magnanimous: generous in forgiving an insult or injury; free from petty resentfulness or vindictiveness; proceeding from or revealing generosity or nobility of mind or character.
Another source described it as “a heart big enough to hold no grudges”.
That got me to thinking. A heart like that must have a lot of room. It must get cleaned out on a regular basis.
Grudges are a lot like clutter. You just get used to having them around. You don’t even realize they take up so much room. Maybe they seem comforting somehow. And what if someone suggests you get rid of clutter? “Why, I’ve had that forever!” or “I might need that someday!” “Aunt Martha gave that to me!” Hmmm.
The Bible speaks of a root of bitterness. That’s a grudge. Hebrews 12:15 specifically tells us to get rid of it: “See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.” It’s toxic. It strangles the heart.
Didn't we just discuss forgiveness yesterday? God must want us to explore!
How does one begin to unclutter the heart, to uproot bitterness? One must get past the paralysis of “I don’t know where to start!” Sister, let me help you.
Picture Jesus. Yes, close your eyes and imagine Him. He’s marvelous and strong. He’s glowing with love. He even appears real, not just a flat image. See Him in color and brightness. He takes up the whole view! How peaceful! You might even be aware of fragrance and sweetness. Rest here a few minutes and soak Him in.
Now, you’re going to want to rebel against this next part. Think of a person who really gets under your skin. When you close your eyes, do you see them in black and white, boxed in a stagnant little snapshot, maybe down in just a corner of your vision?
Bring them to Jesus. Imagine moving that little photo into the image you saw of Jesus. Make it color. Make it living. I know, you are wanting to rebel even now, to stop the exercise. Don't. It can't hurt.
Move that person into the center of your vision, and let Jesus give them a big hug. See them relax. See that angry, bitter, mean, cold, unholy, vile, senseless, insensitive person give in to Jesus' warmth. See them break into an actual smile, or cry. Feel your own heart soften. Allow it! Stay here a little while, too. Cry if you need to. And the next time you think of that person, remember that you gave them to Jesus. See it again.
When the writer of Hebrews said that no one should miss God’s grace, He was talking about YOU, too! Forgiveness multiplies grace. Don’t miss it! And don’t strangle it with a bitter root! See to it that no one misses that grace- including the object of your grudge.
“Create in me a pure heart, O God.” (Psalm 51:10) Lord, help me to be magnanimous.
Magnanimous: generous in forgiving an insult or injury; free from petty resentfulness or vindictiveness; proceeding from or revealing generosity or nobility of mind or character.
Another source described it as “a heart big enough to hold no grudges”.
That got me to thinking. A heart like that must have a lot of room. It must get cleaned out on a regular basis.
Grudges are a lot like clutter. You just get used to having them around. You don’t even realize they take up so much room. Maybe they seem comforting somehow. And what if someone suggests you get rid of clutter? “Why, I’ve had that forever!” or “I might need that someday!” “Aunt Martha gave that to me!” Hmmm.
The Bible speaks of a root of bitterness. That’s a grudge. Hebrews 12:15 specifically tells us to get rid of it: “See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many.” It’s toxic. It strangles the heart.
Didn't we just discuss forgiveness yesterday? God must want us to explore!
How does one begin to unclutter the heart, to uproot bitterness? One must get past the paralysis of “I don’t know where to start!” Sister, let me help you.
Picture Jesus. Yes, close your eyes and imagine Him. He’s marvelous and strong. He’s glowing with love. He even appears real, not just a flat image. See Him in color and brightness. He takes up the whole view! How peaceful! You might even be aware of fragrance and sweetness. Rest here a few minutes and soak Him in.
Now, you’re going to want to rebel against this next part. Think of a person who really gets under your skin. When you close your eyes, do you see them in black and white, boxed in a stagnant little snapshot, maybe down in just a corner of your vision?
Bring them to Jesus. Imagine moving that little photo into the image you saw of Jesus. Make it color. Make it living. I know, you are wanting to rebel even now, to stop the exercise. Don't. It can't hurt.
Move that person into the center of your vision, and let Jesus give them a big hug. See them relax. See that angry, bitter, mean, cold, unholy, vile, senseless, insensitive person give in to Jesus' warmth. See them break into an actual smile, or cry. Feel your own heart soften. Allow it! Stay here a little while, too. Cry if you need to. And the next time you think of that person, remember that you gave them to Jesus. See it again.
When the writer of Hebrews said that no one should miss God’s grace, He was talking about YOU, too! Forgiveness multiplies grace. Don’t miss it! And don’t strangle it with a bitter root! See to it that no one misses that grace- including the object of your grudge.
“Create in me a pure heart, O God.” (Psalm 51:10) Lord, help me to be magnanimous.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Anointed
I just looked up the meaning of the word “anointed”.
The word was on a card I picked up at the She Speaks conference. We had all written our “doubts” on another card and had taken them to the foot of a cross that was set up at the front of the room. There, we symbolically laid them, giving them to God. In exchange for our doubts, we picked up a card with scripture and a special word. I thought everyone got the same one, but found out later that there were many different cards.
Mine said “anointed”.
Something that is anointed has been set apart or consecrated for God’s service. Amazingly, my name actually means “Consecrated to God”. How’s that for confirmation?
The scripture passage on my card was Luke 4:18-19. This is the scene in which Jesus, in His hometown, read from Isaiah and then announced that He was fulfilling the prophecy written there. At first, the people marveled. Then He said a word of truth that they didn’t want to hear, and the people promptly drove Him away.
People don’t always respond well to the truth, do they?
It’s a little scary to think about. God has given us His word to proclaim and yet we’re not always going to be received well. The “special emphasis” God has given me, for which He has set me apart, for which I am anointed, is especially rejected. It’s called forgiveness.
Forgiveness is a precious gift: everybody wants to receive it. Ask them to give it away, and they act as if they cannot afford to do so.
Why do we act that way? We hold on to hate. We point fingers. We keep our wounds open and bloody, as if doing so punishes the one who inflicted them. All it really does is keep us from healing.
What do you do when you cut your finger? You allow it to bleed just a little to cleanse it from the inside. Then you wash it under water. Next you apply ointment to keep it from getting infected. You bandage it to protect it from filth. And it heals.
When we accepted Christ, His blood cleansed us. We were baptized with water. We were anointed with the Holy Spirit. God covered us. So we should be healing.
Are we? That blood represented forgiveness and came at great cost for Jesus. He gave it freely. We accepted it. Now we need to pass it on. Freely. For our own healing and for the healing of others. They won’t believe it truly exists until they see it in us.
The wounded are waiting.
The word was on a card I picked up at the She Speaks conference. We had all written our “doubts” on another card and had taken them to the foot of a cross that was set up at the front of the room. There, we symbolically laid them, giving them to God. In exchange for our doubts, we picked up a card with scripture and a special word. I thought everyone got the same one, but found out later that there were many different cards.
Mine said “anointed”.
Something that is anointed has been set apart or consecrated for God’s service. Amazingly, my name actually means “Consecrated to God”. How’s that for confirmation?
The scripture passage on my card was Luke 4:18-19. This is the scene in which Jesus, in His hometown, read from Isaiah and then announced that He was fulfilling the prophecy written there. At first, the people marveled. Then He said a word of truth that they didn’t want to hear, and the people promptly drove Him away.
People don’t always respond well to the truth, do they?
It’s a little scary to think about. God has given us His word to proclaim and yet we’re not always going to be received well. The “special emphasis” God has given me, for which He has set me apart, for which I am anointed, is especially rejected. It’s called forgiveness.
Forgiveness is a precious gift: everybody wants to receive it. Ask them to give it away, and they act as if they cannot afford to do so.
Why do we act that way? We hold on to hate. We point fingers. We keep our wounds open and bloody, as if doing so punishes the one who inflicted them. All it really does is keep us from healing.
What do you do when you cut your finger? You allow it to bleed just a little to cleanse it from the inside. Then you wash it under water. Next you apply ointment to keep it from getting infected. You bandage it to protect it from filth. And it heals.
When we accepted Christ, His blood cleansed us. We were baptized with water. We were anointed with the Holy Spirit. God covered us. So we should be healing.
Are we? That blood represented forgiveness and came at great cost for Jesus. He gave it freely. We accepted it. Now we need to pass it on. Freely. For our own healing and for the healing of others. They won’t believe it truly exists until they see it in us.
The wounded are waiting.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Doing Good!
Every now and then, someone will ask me, “Lisa, how are you doing?” My reply is “I’m doing good!”
Yes, I know that the grammatically correct response is “I’m doing well”- if you are talking about health. But that’s not what I’m talking about, though it may appear so. I say it that way because I want to secretly remind myself that I am supposed to “do good”, to not do harm. I am supposed to be God’s ambassador.
Good deeds, however, are not the complete picture.
Have you ever heard of King Josiah?
He was the boy who became King of Judah at the age of eight, after his father was assassinated. He did enormous good. Josiah wiped out all signs of idol worship. When the Book of the Law was found in the temple, he ordered that it be followed. He reinstituted Passover. He did marvelous things for God. He was sincere. He was ruthless in obedience to the Law. He found rules and he followed them.
Except that he forgot to talk to God about it. He was so busy doing that he neglected the One for whom he was doing. He ended up missing the point. Like the Pharisees of Jesus’ time. Busy, busy, busy and scrupulously clean on the outside, but hollow.
Like you. Like me.
Isn’t that what we tend to do? We busy ourselves with Christian work, doing good for our King. We’re sincere! We write our hearts out for Jesus. We spend time reading each other’s blogs. But did we pray first? Did we have our quiet time first? Did God really get put first this morning? Not just the talking about Him, but the sitting with Him.
Faith without deeds is dead, yes. But I think deeds can be empty, too.
I don’t know about you, but I have a tendency to be a “human doing” instead of a “human being”. And right now, I’m getting pretty convicted. I’m going to post this and go sit, go be at my King’s feet for awhile and make sure I’ve consulted Him. His battle plan is the one I need to be following.
Yes, I know that the grammatically correct response is “I’m doing well”- if you are talking about health. But that’s not what I’m talking about, though it may appear so. I say it that way because I want to secretly remind myself that I am supposed to “do good”, to not do harm. I am supposed to be God’s ambassador.
Good deeds, however, are not the complete picture.
Have you ever heard of King Josiah?
He was the boy who became King of Judah at the age of eight, after his father was assassinated. He did enormous good. Josiah wiped out all signs of idol worship. When the Book of the Law was found in the temple, he ordered that it be followed. He reinstituted Passover. He did marvelous things for God. He was sincere. He was ruthless in obedience to the Law. He found rules and he followed them.
Except that he forgot to talk to God about it. He was so busy doing that he neglected the One for whom he was doing. He ended up missing the point. Like the Pharisees of Jesus’ time. Busy, busy, busy and scrupulously clean on the outside, but hollow.
Like you. Like me.
Isn’t that what we tend to do? We busy ourselves with Christian work, doing good for our King. We’re sincere! We write our hearts out for Jesus. We spend time reading each other’s blogs. But did we pray first? Did we have our quiet time first? Did God really get put first this morning? Not just the talking about Him, but the sitting with Him.
Faith without deeds is dead, yes. But I think deeds can be empty, too.
I don’t know about you, but I have a tendency to be a “human doing” instead of a “human being”. And right now, I’m getting pretty convicted. I’m going to post this and go sit, go be at my King’s feet for awhile and make sure I’ve consulted Him. His battle plan is the one I need to be following.
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