Abiding in peace...

I lost my writing rhythm sometime last fall and haven't succeeded in getting fully back into my usual flow since.  Some of the reasons are positive ones, a busier schedule with church and family, the grandkids in particular.  I don't regret the time missed sitting at the computer to write when it means I'm investing more in people's lives.  Some of the reasons are not so positive.  The current atmosphere of division and strife on social media, including misunderstandings and hurt and disappointment among writing friends that I've made since I began blogging has been difficult to work though and process. I have felt the sting of intolerance while being told I need to be more tolerant. I have wrestled with the knowledge that when I stand firmly in the pro-life camp, the women who read my words who have experienced abortion feel hurt and judged.  I have been confused by the lack of logic of those who use verses from Leviticus to support their view on one current issue and then say that other verses in Leviticus against another hot button issue are inadmissible because they come from the Old Testament.  I have felt overwhelmed and stretched thin from it all.  And this, the safe place where I express what God is doing in me and speaking to me, where I write about the things I see, feel and think, hasn't felt like such a safe place anymore.  

And yet, this is the year that I am supposed to be abiding.  Abiding in the shadow and shelter of the One Who is my Refuge and Fortress.  I am supposed to be abiding in His love for me and being a conduit of His love for others.  I'm supposed to be abiding in peace, and yet I sense the tension in the atmosphere, the war going on for the very life of what I hold dear and true.  I'm supposed to be abiding in Him, yet in my flesh I feel like I suddenly have spiritual ADD and get so easily distracted by who is saying what and what is happening now and what is going to happen and current events capture my attention more than He does all too often.

But then He reminds me of two little words, "let the".  "And let the peace (soul harmony which comes) from Christ rule (act as umpire continually) in your hearts [deciding and settling with finality all questions that arise in your minds, in that peaceful state] to which as [members of Christ’s] one body you were also called [to live]. And be thankful (appreciative), [giving praise to God always]." Colossians 3:15 Amplified Bible, Classic Edition I am reminded that it's my choice what I let rule my thoughts, mind and heart.  It's my choice where I abide and the atmosphere that I abide in.  It's my choice not to step into the current cultural fray unless instructed to by God.  If He tells me to speak up, then it's His approval alone that I must seek and I must not fear the disapproval of people.  It's my choice to reject the desire to make sure my voice is heard and to submit to His voice alone. It's my choice to abide in His peace and to let His peace abide and to rule in me.  

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Thoughts on abiding in God's love...

There are just a few evidences of the recent winter snow and ice storm remaining.  Occasionally I still see a small pile of snow in the yards I pass by on my walk.  That is less surprising then the already evident signs that, in a few short weeks, spring is coming.  Buds are already appearing on the ends of naked tree branches. The hellebore in my front yard is already blooming.  All around me signs of life are exposed that were buried under the snow less than two weeks ago. Buried under the snow, the trees, the flowers, the plants roots were still doing their work, still drawing life and sustenance from the soil.

If I've seen it once, I've seen it hundreds of times.  The storms of life expose how deeply rooted we are in Christ. Specifically, hard times expose how deeply rooted, how confident we are in His love.  If we are abiding in God's love, if we are deeply rooted in His love, then we do not easily fall prey to satan's lies that come when we face hard times.  During those times of vulnerability, satan whispers, "God must not love you or He would not be allowing this to happen." Those thoughts will inevitably come, fueled by the one who wants to separate you from the very source of life that will help you to survive the storm.  satan's whole motivation is to steal, kill and destroy.  he doesn't want you to survive the winter seasons of your soul.  

In my own life, I've had to saturate my mind with the truth of how much God loves and delights in me.  Especially in times of trial and testing I continually have to renew my mind with the promises of His never-ending love, care and faithfulness.  I have also found that keeping a written journal of His blessings in my life has helped me to see that even in my worst of times, His love and care have been evident.  My point? I've found that abiding in God's love has a whole lot to do with where I let my mind and thoughts dwell. I don't have to listen to the thoughts of the enemy, or even to the tangled up web of my own emotions. I can, by an act of my will, choose to plant the truth in my mind and to dwell on that.  Abiding in truth and abiding in God's love are inseparable in my opinion. That is the good soil I want my roots to be planted in.

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Thoughts on this Thanksgiving Eve...

It's the morning before Thanksgiving.  The smell of tomorrow's feast is already filling my house as stock simmers on the stove to add to tomorrow's pan drippings for the turkey gravy.  Thanksgiving day will be spent at our second born daughter's house, but I'll do my part to help her with some of the cooking.

Today, as usual, I woke up early to sip some hot coffee and spend some time reading my Bible and praying. My favorite worship playlist is my background noise.  I've barely left the house since church on Sunday morning due to the remnants of this cold/flu that has sapped me of my normal energy levels.  Instead, I've wrapped myself in the peace and comfort of home and let myself heal, not just from the flu bug, but from the recent death of my mother-in-law, and from the persistent strife on social media.

Perhaps I'm a bit Pollyanna-ish, a bit over optimistic.  I think relational hurts and misunderstandings are something that can and should be talked and walked through. Abandoning relationship is not an option to me. (I'm not talking here about remaining in abusive relationships.)  As a child who's dad, in essence, walked away from me at age nine, abandonment and rejection, either physically or emotionally is about as cruel as you can get.  So, I tend to be extreme in the other direction.  I persist in trying to mend relationship, at times, with others who have no desire to continue in relationship with me.

After the election, on social media, I tried to understand others and be understood by others that voted differently than me and saw the election aftermath differently than I did.  In my attempts to "talk" through things, I made mistakes that hurt others.   While I apologized, I'm not sure it was seen as sincere or as enough.  I'm not sure that my efforts to maintain relationship in spite of still not seeing eye to eye about certain things worked.  I'm still a bit in mourning over this, because, as I said, I'm just not a person who easily lets go of relationship. Those I don't see eye to eye with are still my sisters in Christ.  I still care about them.

As I said, I've kind of hunkered down here in my safe place to let myself heal up in body, soul and spirit.  I've decided to do what I've known was the right thing to do from the beginning.  I'm focusing on making sure that the in real life people in my own sphere of influence are doing ok in this post election chaos.  I've talked to the black and latino members of our congregation, to the immigrants, asking them how they are doing, asking them if they feel anxious or afraid.  Overall, there is not nearly as much panic and fear as the media would have you think. Most respond to me with confidence and trust in God's care and protection.  There's also a measure of trust in us, that we would never sit idly by and watch them be mistreated or abused.

Perhaps, part of my grieving is sensing that God just might be grieving, too, right now.  Surely, the fact that His church is publicly biting and devouring one another grieves Him.  Surely, the fact that we think that Donald Trump or Hilary Clinton or anyone or anything else on this earth could separate us from His loving care and protection grieves Him.  Surely the fact that we are all so hell bent on being proudly identified by our political affiliation, our gender, our race, or our position rather than to humbly accept the truth that no other label or identity will last beyond this world and on into eternity except this one, "Child of God", surely that grieves His great heart.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and the Christmas season is beginning.  For God's sake, for the sake of the one King and the one Kingdom that will last forever and ever,  I pray that you and I can get our acts together as God's children and refocus on the things that unite us instead of the things that divide us. I pray that you and I, each in our own in real life sphere of influence, will go about our Father's business, spreading the good news, making disciples, loving others.  Meanwhile, I pray for God to bless you with His peace, joy and love.  Have a truly happy and gratitude filled Thanksgiving.

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Freely enter God's circle of love...

Before all that we see was created, God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, eternally existed in the incomprehensible Godhead, the Three in One, the Trinity.  He Who was, Who is, Who is to come shared wholehearted love, perfect fellowship, unhindered unity in Himself.  He had no need that drove Him to create mankind.  His pure hearted motivation was to share the love that already existed between Father, Son and Spirit. Before the foundations of the earth were laid, He had a grand and glorious plan to form a family of adopted sons and daughters, of voluntary lovers, no matter what the cost would be to Himself.  How great that cost was!  Sons and daughters that He chose beforehand in love were bought with the precious blood of the Son.  The God Who is Love, can only love wholeheartedly, perfectly, fully, and so He wholeheartedly sacrificed Himself for us.  What love is this?  What other god of all of the gods man has ever created, thought up, manufactured, loves wholeheartedly, sacrificially?

This love, unearned, undeserved, surely deserves my wholehearted devotion in response.  I experience glimpses of it, then distractions capture my attention and affection and I'm off chasing things more than I'm chasing Him. Yet, He doesn't despise my weak love, but accepts my meager offerings, while knowing full well that nothing else and no-one else that I pursue will satisfy my longing to be fully known, fully understood and wholly loved like He will.  God, help me to love You wholeheartedly like you love me, to love You with all of my heart and soul and mind and strength.

I have been drawn in to share the familial eternally existent love of the Godhead.  I am in the inner circle of all possible inner circles.  How ludicrous that I should seek to be filled up with the approval of man or the trappings of this world.  What more could I possibly need than this?  I belong.  Eternally adopted as His own precious daughter. This should be enough for me.  This is enough for me.  He is enough for me.  I am His and He is mine.  Forever His.  Forever part of His circle of love.

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His-story in our scars...

When my oldest daughter didn't want the old dresser anymore I thought, what do I have to lose? It's free and I need something in the spare room to house some extra blankets.  It was pretty beat up, not only with dings and scratches, but with dye from some wet, red tissue paper that had bled onto the surface and some ink from a permanent marker used by some unnamed guilty grandchild.

When I got the dresser home, I went over it with my electric sander, taking off the old finish and the layer of the surface with the dye and ink.  Because the piece is an antique, I chose not to sand so deep that all of the dings and nicks would be removed.  I wanted the history of the dresser to shine through it's makeover.

This morning during my morning quiet time I was reminded that after Jesus rose from the dead, His scars still showed even in His resurrected body.  Doubting Thomas had his doubts quelled when the Lord had him touch His scars.  I'm not sure if this is a proof text for what I am about to say, but perhaps we too will have some of our scars throughout eternity.  Perhaps, the God who cleanses us from every stain of sin, allows us to retain some of the scars of the sins we've committed and the sins committed against us, some of the scars from our life's adversities,  as an eternal reminder of the history we've walked through with Him and the grace that has sustained us through it all.

When my youngest daughter saw a photo of the old dresser that I posted on Instagram in its newly refinished state, she was suddenly interested in having the dresser. Before it's makeover she had shown no interest in the dresser when her sister had offered it to whoever would take it.  I told her that I was keeping it because I was now emotionally attached to it, scars and all.  Similarly,  Jesus who has saved me, cleansed me, delivered me, and healed my deepest inner wounds, is eternally emotionally attached to me, scars and all.  Each one tells a story, not just of how they came to be, but of how He faithfully, graciously, mercifully healed me and used every single part of my history, even the most painful parts, for good in my life and for His glory.  To me, a little evidence of the history that a piece of furniture has been through, makes it all the more lovely.  Maybe God thinks the same thing about me.  Perhaps His-story in my life is best seen in my scars.

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Church kid...

The preparations began on Saturday evening with a bath, followed by my blonde hair being combed out and put up into curls, accompanied by much whining on my part.  My stiff and itchy dress, homemade by Mama, was laundered and ironed.  My shoes were polished and ready.  The next day was Sunday, so with seven kids to get ready,  Saturday preparations were a must in order to get to Sunday School on time the next morning.

I never had a Sunday School teacher that I didn't love, and each one seemed to value the privilege of sharing the eternal story with little hearts and minds.  I loved it all, the songs we would sing, like This Little Light of Mine, Deep and Wide, Jesus Loves Me and all of the stories of the Bible shared with flannel graph illustrations.  

In the churches we attended, following Sunday School the children were not shuffled off to children's church, but sat with mom and dad on the hard wooden pews throughout the duration of the Sunday morning service.  There I learned to sing the hymns of the church along with the adults, finger scanning the words in the old red hymnal, while relishing the sounds of the spontaneous four part harmony that filled the sanctuary.  Our only accompaniment was a tinny sounding piano, but, to me, it sounded like heaven.

I remember the uncomfortable hardness of the pew, the wiggling, the swinging of my feet, daddy, (in those years before he left us), picking me up and having me sit on his lap and telling me to be still and quiet.  I remember how his wool suit was itchy against my tender skin.  I also remember the tugging of the Holy Spirit on my heart, in spite of the fact that I'm sure I wasn't paying attention or understanding all that the minister was saying.  I do remember that the message always contained the gospel.  The truths that we are all sinners in need of a Savior, that each person needs to personally receive and accept Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord, that there is eternal life for those who do and eternal damnation for those who don't was made clear, and followed up by a plea for those who needed to do so to come forward to the altar.  

I probably gave my heart to Jesus, as they worded it back then, just about every time there was an altar call. Part of it was because I didn't understand grace.  (In fact, it wasn't until I was sixteen and read a copy of Fritz Ridenour's How To Be A Christian Without Being Religious that I truly understood that salvation is totally by grace, not by my own efforts.)  Because of  my misunderstanding of God's grace,  I had a hypersensitive conscience and would ask Jesus to be my Savior and Lord over and over again.  Yet, I never thought He was angry at me, never thought He would reject me or not love me, somehow, in some miraculous way, I was totally and completely confident that He would always receive me into His loving and open arms in spite of myself.

If it were possible to take a modern day video camera into one of those long ago church services and to put it online it would probably go viral, but not in a good way.  It would probably be picked apart for how rudimentary it all was.  There was no worship band, no worship team, no powerpoint, no polish to any of it.  Yet, perhaps there are some things we've lost amidst all of the wonderful things we've gained in church life in the past few decades.

-Congregational participation.  There was no worship team to worship for us.  There was a tinny piano and a "song leader" who waved his arm to the beat.  The congregation was the worship team.  We learned the harmony by ear, blending our voices in worship to God spontaneously, untrained and untaught and uncoached.  It was actually quite beautiful.  I think we've lost something special in our over-dependence on others to lead us in worship.

-The simple gospel.  Communicating the reason why God sent His Son Jesus and the need for individuals to receive Him as Savior and Lord was the goal of the weekly sermon.  All of the scripture was used to lead back to this beautiful foundational truth.

-Relationships.  The churches I attended were relatively small.  I don't even know if there was such a thing as mega churches back then.  There certainly wasn't the option to stay home and watch church online or listen to podcasts.  So, church was about relationships.  It was about knowing Sister H was praying for our family when Daddy left us and our world fell apart.  It was about someone coming and picking us up and giving us a ride.  It was about invitations to Sunday dinner, potlucks, fellowship.  It was about church being a family and caring for one another.

I'm so very grateful, primarily, that God had his hand upon that wiggly little girl sitting on that old wooden pew in church, and that He has never, not once, let her go.  I'm also grateful that my Mama kept us in church when our world at home fell apart.  Imperfect as it was, the love of God through that little church, saved us.  I was a church kid, and Jesus and His church made all the difference for me.

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