(Yes, I’m catching up on some much-belated blogging today, lol!)
My little one said a couple of funny kid-isms lately that I just have to jot down for posterity.
1) He was pointing out all the animals in the nativity set: “donkey, sheep, caramel.”
2) We went to the store to browse video game sales, and the boys were looking at the various titles. The little one spotted a copy of Harry Potter & the Order of the Phoenix and exclaimed: “Look!! It’s Harry Potter and the Goblet Stone!” :p
I attended church with my family down in Houston on Dec. 28, and during the service, an outline started unfolding in my mind’s eye along with some verses and pictures from my memory. It had nothing really to do with the sermon topic, but I jotted down some notes and looked up a few verses that had come to mind.
The gist of my sermon, for lack of a better term, is that despite the athletic prowess and sheer guts of some human beings, we are utterly incapable of crossing the gap that separates our sin … minor though it may seem in comparison to others … from a holy God.
Out of curiosity, I looked up a few stats & records. Pikes Peak is more than 14K ft above sea level. The Grand Canyon is 10-18 miles wide. The world’s long jump record is about the width of a two-lane highway. The standing long jump record is approximately 12ft (approx one lane of the highway).
I began thinking of that scene in Grease 2 where Michael attempts to jump the gully, which reminded me of Evel Knievel, so I did a little research on him. Before each of his stunts, he used to pray: “God, take care of me. Here I come…” not knowing whether he’d survive.
Passages of scripture came to mind like Romans 6:21-23, which says plain & simply that our sin deserves death. Philippians 3:4-9 where Paul recites his very impressive resume and yet calls the accolades akin to a pooper scooper when compared to Christ. Then there’s Ecclesiastes 7:20-22, which reminds us that no one is perfect … no one.
You see? It doesn’t matter if we’re being asked to long-jump a four-lane highway or the Grand Canyon! We … can’t … do … it. Period. My supposedly “little” sins keep me on one side of the canyon just as helplessly as another person’s “gigantic” sins.
Then I thought of Indiana Jones and the bridge of faith that he had to cross while searching for the holy grail. Despite our most cunning, clever, sugar-coated efforts, we simply can’t jump far enough to overcome our sin and reach God, but God provides a bridge to cross the chasm that separates us through Christ.
This word is on my heart to share … I feel like the outline & illustrations came to my mind for a reason. I’m just not sure what the venue is supposed to be. Is it here, on this blog that only a handful of people read? Is it in front of the congregation? Is it with my small group? I don’t know yet.
Sunday’s message resounded in my spirit like drums against my ribs. The passage was I Kings 17 & 18, but one verse that really struck me was a comment Elijah made in 18:41. He remarked to King Ahab that there was the sound of heavy rain … yet there was not a cloud in the sky. Elijah was experiencing the raining down of the Holy Spirit within him, stirring his faith and strengthening his resolve. So much so, that he went back up on the mountain to pray and wait for the rain that he trusted would come.
Several things went through my mind during this message. One was a reminder of the word that God impressed on me during the holidays – a sermon, you might say – that I jotted notes for but had tucked away in my journal, unsure of what to do with it. More on that in another post.
Another realization from the message was that I am powerless to change/repair my marriage – or anything else, for that matter – by my own willpower. Elijah was not responsible for Ahab’s reaction to his message; in fact, Elijah’s very life was in danger by even showing his face to the king who was already angry with him. His task was to follow God and speak His message. Likewise, in my own relationships, I have a responsibility to walk with God and obey Him, but I cannot make my spouse, my friends, my family or anyone else walk alongside me. They have to choose for themselves. However, Elijah’s faith brought forth fire and rain from heaven, which prompted people to turn from Baal and believe in the one true God. He even engaged his servant in the watching-and-waiting process.
I, too, need to focus on the Spirit raining inside of me before I can worry about the rain falling around me.
What a beautiful play I saw tonight. Cyrano loved Roxanne so much that he adored her vicariously as the voice from another man’s lips. He prized her happiness over his own. He helped another suitor woo Roxanne and denied the desires of his heart, sufficing only to express his love in ink. Anonymous professions of the ghostwriter’s smitten heart graced reams of parchment, smeared with spots of teardrops. He loved deeply, even if he was not loved directly in return.
This week’s sermon was part of a series on Growing Faith, entitled Providential Circumstances. I heard a fresh perspective on the story of Lazarus, and it hit home to some struggles in my own life.
Lazarus was already in dire straits when messengers relayed the news to Jesus. I can imagine that while Mary and Martha were waiting anxiously, they hovered over their brother’s bedside, consoling him and whispering repeatedly: “Hang in there; Jesus is on his way.” Perhaps they softly hummed or sang psalms of praise and healing while he lay there, each day slipping away more.
Not only did Jesus wait where he was for two days after receiving the plea to go see his dying friend, we also have to factor in the travel time. By the time he arrived at Mary & Martha’s home, Lazarus had been in the grave several days. His sisters had already seen him take his last breath, prepared his body for burial, dealt with an influx of visitors to their home and were in the throes of mourning when Jesus finally arrived.
One thing that strikes me about this story is how Jesus knew intuitively that Lazarus had died. Messengers had reported that Lazarus was gravely ill, but Jesus knew when he died. His delay was purposeful.
While Mary, Martha, friends and family lingered over Lazarus’ deathbed, how they must have wondered what was taking Jesus so long! I wonder, too, if Lazarus was cognizant as he died that his friend – the Great Physician – was not going to arrive in time to save him. Granted, Jesus could have healed Lazarus as he had the Centurion’s daughter: simply with a word from afar. Instead, he waited.
I see myself in so many characters of this story. I am Lazarus, rasping through tears to an empty room: “Jesus! I’m dyin’ here! I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Please come!” I am the sisters, observing a loved one in pain as well as suffering myself, yet knowing that I am powerless to help: “Jesus! I know that you can heal them with merely a word or a touch … what is taking you so long? Please hurry!” I am the mourners, trying to empathize with the grieving family, yet clueless to God’s hand at work around me. I am the disciples, waiting behind with Jesus as he takes his sweet time to travel, thinking to myself but too embarrassed to inquire aloud: “Um, we probably ought to get going … I mean, it takes a few days to get there by foot. I wonder why he’s just sitting there – not doing anything?”
When God doesn’t respond immediately; when he doesn’t intervene in a sweeping, miraculous way – it doesn’t mean that he is ignoring me. If I have the right spiritual mindset to realize his hand at work, I will realize that the wait is purposeful. If I muster the courage to keep the faith in the midst of silence, I will realize that God can receive glory through the pain. After all, he can raise the dead! What more can we ask?
A little bit of Christmas magic dissipated like smoke from the chimney last night. My two oldest now know for certain that Mrs. Claus is … me.
My heart actually felt anxious as the confession unfolded, and I had to fight back an unexpected urge to cry.
They both took the news in stride, and they are taking seriously their charge to keep the magic alive for their little brother … at least for a few more years.
The middle one made a very astute remark when he noted: “That’s why you said that Santa doesn’t always buy us expensive stuff we ask for.” (This is the same child who once pointed out that Santa doesn’t need money, b/c his elves can make whatever he wants.)
When asked why he thought parents would pretend to be Santa for their kids, the older one paused for a second and then said, “Because they love them.” [insert choking up again here]
Now that I’ve had some time to swallow the bittersweet pill, I feel a great sense of relief that they know. We had never planned to lie to them; we always said that when they started asking questions, we’d tell them the truth. It was time they knew. What’s most important, though, is that I know they know the real meaning of Christmas, too.
My China cabinet broke today. It isn’t a typical china cabinet that holds fancy dishes; it is a glass-topped display table in which I kept some cherished, irreplaceable souvenirs from my stay in China a dozen years ago.
(Come to think of it, my fancy dishes are in boxes and haven’t been used in years … I often wonder why I didn’t register for melamine and Tupperware instead of Mikasa, but I digress.)
I know it’s just a piece of furniture, but it was special to me as one of the few “pretty” things in my house … one of the few things that is fragile, not made of plastic, not a hand-me-down from relatives, not boxed up. I was upset that the cabinet broke – though thankful that the munchkin who broke it didn’t get hurt – but as I cleaned up the shattered glass and put the treasures safely away elsewhere, it felt symbolic of a changing era.
I have always reflected back on my time in China as a crossroads in my life … not a high point, spiritually or emotionally speaking, because it was quite wearisome at times … but certainly as a coming-of-age time. It was a time when I learned to listen to God and try to figure out how my miniscule life fits into his grandiose plan.
This morning’s sermon at church, ironically enough, was on Personal Ministry. The pastor made a few comments that struck me, so I jotted them down:
Boy, I have certainly experienced those statements, for the better and the worse. When I came home from China (and several moments throughout the intervening years), I felt like I was walking away from God’s call on my life. Yet, I did what I knew to do at the time, and God worked things out, according to His purpose … not mine. The broken table brought back a flood of memories and made me feel like that part of my life was “broken” again. I don’t know how to explain it, but I trust God to show me the next steps.
Four is no longer a baby. Four isn’t even a toddler. Four is a big kid. My baby turns four today. He makes conversation, thinks creative ideas and concludes his own opinions. He offers me his cheek to kiss in front of his friends. He pedals a bike with training wheels and climbs on the big playground equipment that is so high, I get vertigo thinking about it. He has his own chair at the movie theatre, his own ticket to the amusement park and his own seat on an airplane. No, he isn’t a baby anymore.
He says prayers so sweet the angels surely must pause to listen. He prides himself on coloring in the lines, reads “Go Dog, Go!” and “Are You My Mother?” and tries to work the maze on the kids’ meal placemat. He sometimes bursts out with a random song of praise to God, his joyful voice mumbling through words he doesn’t know but continuing to sing gibberish until he gets to a line that he remembers.
Tonight we will celebrate with an exquisite dinner of his choosing (McDonald’s). We will sing and talk about what a big boy he is. We will splurge with ice cream for dessert. He will show everyone his four fingers and play shy when they ask his age.
Then, when the lights are out and the blankets are tucked around him, I will stroke his soft skin, stare at my baby’s sweet, sleeping face and be thankful.
Podcast recorded April 18, 2008:
“Grant Seeking for Beginners – A Step-by-Step Guide”
bottom of the ninth
you’re at bat:
swing, batter, batter
faith, sweat & tears 