Thankful for a November Miracle

God works things out in the most interesting ways.

For instance, He saw to it that Christmas would be correlated with the winter solstice, the day when light first, almost imperceptibly, begins to increase against the darkness.  I mention this often, because it continually amazes me.

God likewise connected the spring equinox with Easter, that glorious celebration of Jesus' victory over darkness.  Not only is light increasing, but the spring equinox marks the day when there is more light than darkness in each day.

We can also ponder how Thanksgiving, and other harvest celebrations, happen when light is decreasing the most, when there are more hours of dark in a day than hours of light, and the darkness expands until the winter solstice--the birth of the Messiah--signals the awaited change in light.  But in the weeks before the winter solstice, when lack of sunshine symbolically represents our earthly brokenness most clearly, we find ourselves exhorted to give thanks and look forward to when the tide of darkness will begin to turn back.

Of course, these things only apply in the northern hemisphere. Yet, approximately 87% of the world's population lives in the northern hemisphere.  Nearly 90%.  This is surely worth pondering.

Speaking of the days leading up to the winter solstice, my mother was born at the beginning of November. She turned ninety this year.  Ninety years ago, a tiny baby girl was born at the end of a harsh Minnesota autumn, into a world of bare-branched black trees and bitter blowing winds.  She was the final hurrah, the ninth of nine in a large, depression-era family, a fragile speck of almost invisible beauty and hope in need of all the warm, worn blankets they could scrounge up for her.

Now she is ninety and can't remember very many things when she tries to recall them, although she remembers quite a lot when she is able to relax and allow the memories to drift into her mind.  She is fragile and tiny once again, but very industrious, even though it hurts her back when she gets down on her hands and knees to wipe the floors.

I was there for her birthday, back in the home where I grew up, the one place that has remained the same all these years while I have moved from state to state, selling, donating and discarding so many of the random artifacts that signified my life.  When we left New York, I worked as hard as I could to winnow properly, but ran out of time, the net result being that the stuff from the main floor and upstairs were mostly adequately curated, but the boxes from the back of the basement were loaded up and moved as they were, so we ended up with an odd assortment of the things I wanted and valued most, strange objects from a past I could hardly remember, and some legitimate rubbish.  When we left Illinois, we had to pay for the move ourselves, so I parted with breathtaking portions of our belongings, including many things I sorely miss when I see them in photos.  I can easily slip into grief if I think about it, although of course we have more than enough to meet all our needs, and a number of new things besides.  

All this to say that there is a sort of comfort in going back to my parents' home and living amongst the familiar: children's books that Dad read to me when I was a little child, and the Oneida Twin Star silverware, the same pattern that First Baptist kept in their church kitchen.  Gold plastic cups my brother brought home from a plastic factory where he worked during college, a painting of penguins I made in 5th grade that has hung ever since on the laundry room wall.  The closet in the bedroom where I slept as a teenager contains a row of dresses my mom sewed for me.  We used to go to Minnesota Fabrics to pick out a pattern and fabric together, and she made the dresses I wore to church.  There they still are, cotton print memories with full skirts.  The green shag carpet my parents installed in my early childhood bedroom is still on the floor, more than 50 years later, and it has been vacuumed more than 5,148 times (I used a formula to arrive at that number).  I still remember the joyful disbelief I felt when they were willing to install green shag carpet for me, because I had always dreamed of having a floor that looked like grass.

I was nervous about flying to Minnesota by myself, although I wanted to go, and I thought the Lord also wanted me to go.  I had a 6 a.m. flight, so we got up in the middle of the night and left our house at 4:00, planning to arrive at the airport by around 4:30 because Shawn always says you don't need to be at the airport two full hours early, regardless of official advice.  Usually when we fly, Shawn handles both of our tickets on his phone.  When I have flown alone, Shawn has always printed out my boarding pass so I can hold a paper copy.  For some reason, this time I told him not to bother printing me a boarding pass, so on the way to the airport, I practiced navigating to my boarding pass on my phone until I felt confident.

We arrived at the airport after having to take a detour to a different exit off I-40, and we navigated through a maze of construction cones in front of the terminal.  Shawn heaved my 45 pound suitcase out of the trunk; I gathered myself and my wits together.  We said our good-byes, Shawn driving away into the dark pre-morning, and I heading inside to check my bag.  I approached the kiosk to print out my luggage tag and, needing my ticket, reached into the pocket on the side of my purse where I keep my phone.  It was empty.  "What?" I whispered, "Please, God."  The pocket was definitely empty.  I unzipped my purse to check inside, rummaging through a number of times, soon realizing that no, I did not have my phone.  My first instinct was to call Shawn and tell him, but of course I could not do that.  

I quickly scanned my surroundings and saw a very normal and kind looking man in line a few feet away from me. "Pardon me, I'm sorry to bother you, but I seem to have left my phone in my husband's car, and he is driving away right now.  Do you think I could borrow your phone?" I desperately blurted out.

"Oh, no problem," he said, handing me his phone.  I fumbled around and dialed Shawn as quickly as I could.  There was no answer.  I left a message, telling him, "I don't know when you will get this, but you have my phone." Then I helplessly told the man, "He didn't pick up," irrationally fearing that he would be cross and not allow me to try a second call to my phone.

"Call your phone?" he suggested.

"Yes," I said, "Yes, thank you.  I'm sure he'll see it.  It will light up."  I called my phone, but the call went directly to voicemail.  I was stunned.

"It will be okay," the man said, "You can go get in line, and they will print you a paper ticket.  And you can have your husband overnight your phone to you with FedEx.  You'll get it by tomorrow.  It will be okay.  Don't worry.  We used to fly without our phones all the time, and we were fine."

I thanked him and moved to get into the line.  He asked if I was traveling internationally, and I told him no.  He pointed at the sign above us and said, "This is the international line." Then he pointed across the way, "You need to go over there."  My heart sank as I saw how much longer the domestic flight line was, but I went over and stood in it.  The man called after me, "I hope it works out for you!"

Signs all around me repeated the phrase: "Pre-tagged bag drop."  All the other people in the line had tags on their bags.  The last time I flew with a checked bag, I had approached the counter without a tag on my bag, and the man behind the counter had yelled at me to go back and tag my bag.  I stood in line and thought, "Am I going to get yelled at again?" and, "How will I coordinate with my brother-in-law to pick me up at the airport, without my phone?" and, "I wonder when Shawn will realize that he has my phone?"  I observed the three different people servicing the counter, noticing that the one on the far right seemed significantly more sympathetic than the other two.  I prayed, "God, please let me get the nice one."  I felt completely powerless and dependent.  I prayed, "Thank you God that I am right here close to home, and if I can't reach Shawn, I can borrow another phone to call and ask David or Ashton to come and get me.  I am not stranded in a strange place.  Thank you.  I thought you wanted me to go to Minnesota for my mom's birthday, but if you don't, that's okay.  I won't panic.  It will be okay.  I do not know what is going to happen, or if I am going to see my parents, but you do, Lord.  All I can do is wait and see how you will work this out.  I will wait and see what you do."

Then I was at the head of the line, and it was the nice lady on the far right, motioning me to come over.  And just then I looked over to the far left, and right outside the queue stood Shawn in his blue-green Under Armour shirt, so tall, with his right hand high in the air waving my phone at me.  "I got your message," he called.

I ran over and retrieved my phone from Shawn, and then the nice lady at the counter--she was so kind--helped me tag my bag and get it all squared away.

So it was a miracle, but you have to hear the other side to realize how exquisite a miracle it was.

Shawn, as I said, had driven away into the pre-morning dark.  He was uncharacteristically edgy because of the construction and the detour, and he was trying to concentrate on how best to get back on I-40 west.  He knew he would need to take a right exit, but there was another car on his right, blocking him from getting into the right lane.  He tried to speed up and get ahead of the car, but it matched his speed and sped up, too.  So he tried to slow down and pull in behind the car, but when he slowed down, it also slowed down.  No matter what he did, it matched his speed and blocked him. He was feeling a building sense of annoyance at this "jerk," when he saw my phone lying on the passenger seat.  He thought, "She needs that."  And he realized that he must formulate a plan.  As he was trying to decide what to do, the car on his right swerved left, and he had to swerve left to avoid it, and this maneuver catapulted him onto the left exit that goes straight into the airport parking garage.  So, he continued on into the garage, found a convenient spot to park, and sprinted to the terminal with my phone, hoping he would find me.  Which he did.

After I dropped off my bag, Shawn walked with me to the security line.  We squeezed hands, talked about how thankful we were (although we didn't have a chance to exchange the details of our stories until later), and exchanged hugs (perhaps also a kiss).

The reason Shawn did not hear either of our phones ring is because we always set our phones to "do not disturb" overnight, and it was 4:40 a.m.

But it was okay.  Fear was gone.  God had reaffirmed the trip, His presence, His power, and His compassionate mercy.  In fact, when Shawn left the parking garage, he'd been there for such a short time, he didn't even have to pay anything!

God is always good, but I am especially grateful when He is good in tender and attentive ways that are easy for me to recognize and appreciate.  Miracles make my heart sing.

Linda the bird

I have hesitated to write this, because in a sense it is not my story to tell.  And yet, it absolutely is.  And yet, it is some other people's story as well, and I need to guard their privacy.  This story is spectacular, and shows the amazing power and goodness of God, who is worthy of all praise.  Therefore, I am going to tell it, but I am withholding certain information and perhaps changing other details, just to be responsible, to be circumspect.

There is a young couple I know and love deeply.  They live far from me.  They are smart, funny, interesting people.  They met in a pet store, which is a detail as quirky and romantic and charming as the two of them.  They moved in together with a dog and a bird, a little family of sorts, unofficial but sincere.  Of course, I would rather they were married, but God is in control.   God knows the things He has planned.  God knows what He is doing.

They do not identify with God.  This is a great sadness to my heart, because I believe that God is the greatest good anyone can ever attain, the Treasure beyond all treasures, the Source of all life, beauty and wisdom.  Since I love them dearly, I long for them to know my Lord and be enfolded into the wonders of His glorious kingdom.  I long for them to walk in His righteousness and love, blessed and covered with the grace that comes through Christ.  I long for them to be saved, indwelt by the precious Holy Spirit, and set apart for eternity in heaven.  They are not open to this.  

Not yet.

The young woman--I'll call her Rachel--had a bird named Linda whom she had owned for many years.  Rachel and Linda were very close.  Linda loved to sit on Rachel's shoulder and follow her around the home.  Rachel loved to awaken in the morning to the sweet sounds of Linda singing.  The young man--I'll call him Nathan--was gaining Linda's confidence, and she was beginning to perch on him, too.  In their happy household, Linda was able to frolic free from her cage most of the time.  

One Sunday in spring, during the height of COVID, Nathan and Rachel ordered a food delivery.  When the delivery guy arrived and they opened the door to grab the sack of food, Linda surprised everyone by swooping out.  Rachel ran after her and followed as far as she could, down blocks and around corners, calling out desperately.  Despite her best efforts, she lost track of her sweet bird, and had to return home empty handed.  She publicized notices that Linda had flown away, on social media and through lost pets organizations, but there was very little she could do.

I saw the notice on social media, and knowing how much Rachel loved that little bird, I contacted her to ask if I could pray.  I prayed as hard as I knew how, longing for Jesus to intervene and display His love and care, but day after day, no word came.  Nathan, feeling terrible for Rachel, purchased her a new bird, a beautiful sky blue bird.  Beauty notwithstanding, it wasn't Linda.

The following Wednesday, I was praying with some friends.  At the end of the the prayer meeting, sheepishly, I mentioned that this bird had gone missing and asked if they would pray with me.  I figured it was far too long--over three days--for the bird to have survived in the wild, but it was on my heart, and I brought it up.

As soon as the prayer meeting was over, I noticed that a message had come in on my phone.  It was Rachel, letting me know that Linda had been found.  I read it once, twice, and then over and over.  "Can this be?" I asked Shawn, holding out my phone. "Rachel says Linda has been found."

Linda had flown 35 miles over the course of three days.  On Wednesday afternoon, she arrived in a neighborhood where a man was out working in his yard.  He had parked his truck in his driveway, and Linda flew into one of the open workboxes on the back of it.  Any ordinary man might have been annoyed to see a bird fly into his workbox, and simply shooed her out.  But this man actually worked with the local animal rescue chapter, and he recognized that Linda was an exotic species.  He approached her, quieted her, and contained her.  Then he looked up missing birds, because he knew how to look for people who were asking for help finding lost pets.  Since Rachel had posted to a lost pets website, from there it was quick work to get in touch and make the connection.  He called Rachel and sent her a photo of Linda in his home.  He even drove the 35 miles back to Rachel and Nathan's town the next day, and delivered the bird to them personally.  Linda was fine, except that she had lost her tail-feathers.

Only God.  Seriously.  Only God could orchestrate this.  Gratitude welled up in my heart like a spring that must overflow.  The Lord is good, and full of lovingkindness.  The Lord has compassion on all He has made.  (Psalm 145)

The last time we saw Nathan and Rachel, they told us that ever since her Big Adventure, Linda has been all the more attached to Rachel, and wants to be with her, practically right on her, always.  Nathan said to me, "Linda thought she wanted to fly away into the wide, wild world and have crazy adventures, but she learned.  She found out it's a dangerous place for little birds out there, and the best place to be is in your nice, safe home with the people who love you.  Everything she ever really wanted is right here."  He also told me, at another point and as an aside, "Yeah, I still haven't figured out how that bird came back."  In my heart of hearts, though, I have to believe he knows.

Dear Lord Jesus, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. (Psalm 90:1)  

Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you. (Augustine)  

You make known to me the path of life;

You will fill me with joy in Your presence,

with eternal pleasures at your right hand.

Psalm 16:11

Thankful after all

Today I awoke at home, deeply thankful to be here, in the comfort and quiet of my own bed, in my own bedroom, in my own house.

The sky was very, very white outside my window, behind the intricate bare, black branches of my maple tree.  As I looked out my window at the white and black view, I saw puffy snowflakes slowly drifting down among the branches like particles of grace, white flecks of motion, gentle and lovely against the stark backdrop, yet adding no color.  Sometimes a gust of air would carry them upwards, and somehow, even though the sun was completely hidden behind a thick layer of white cloud, they shone softly with its reflection.

As I write about the beauty I saw, I realize that I am more thankful than I thought I was, because, you see, I was struggling with hurt, a headache and a heartache, and I didn't think I was thankful.  But by the grace of God, I am thankful, and to Him belongs all the praise.

I didn't think I was thankful, because I was experiencing a fear, and it was a fear that sprang out of things I have learned, and things that haunt me from past experiences.  Memories are powerful things, and they center around the Momentous Occasions of our lives.  We remember the Momentous Occasions, and we remember how people treated us.  We are much more apt to forget how we treated others, but we remember our own emotions; ah, how we remember those.

I awoke with a heavy heart and a lump in my throat.  A lump in my throat.  That's such a cliche, and yet, so accurate.  I was thinking about Momentous Occasions of the past, marred by bad behavior, selfishness, obliviousness and misunderstandings, but mostly selfishness.  I had a fear of Momentous Occasions yet to come, and the premonition that they will be similarly marred, cloaked in hurt and darkness and division.  The thing is, where Momentous Occasions are concerned, you don't get a second chance.  They are once and done, and the memory is sealed.  Weddings, funerals, births.  Somebody ought to tell you:  It matters.  Do it right.  Be on your best behavior.  Be gracious.  Please be gracious.  You will never be sorry for having been gracious.

Momentous Occasions are like photographs, and you want to look your best in the memories, because the memories will be made, one way or another, and they will last.  Why isn't this common knowledge, widely shared wisdom, something everybody knows and lives by?  Why does it take so long to learn, and why does the learning of it have to come through failures?  Why, even once we start to learn it, do we focus on "them" and not on ourselves?  They shouldn't wreck the memories, we declare, while neglecting to seek the grace we could extend to mitigate the damage.

We can only control ourselves, and even that is a dubious endeavor.  We need the power of the Holy Spirit at work in us, helping us, empowering us.  Oh, God, help us.  Help us to give grace, even when if feels like it is being sucked out into a black hole.  Help us trust You to use our meager sacrifices for Your perfect purposes.  Help us trust that what we give to You, You will never waste, but instead multiply into blessings that magnify Your glory and bless us with goodness.

Here is a story of a mystery of God:

Our ladies' Bible study is studying 1 Corinthians.  We are studying 1 Corinthians primarily because I wanted to study 2 Corinthians, but felt obliged to study 1 Corinthians first.  I had never studied any Corinthians in context, although I knew a good many verses from these epistles, out of context.  I never knew how it all fit together.

As we began our journey through 1 Corinthians, I was struck by two things:  (1) This is a tremendously difficult book (no wonder pastors rarely exposit through it), and (2) It is all about humility.

Yes, humility.  Right now.  Humility is what I am studying.

All the evils of the world will cease when humility reigns.  Humility.  Humble.  Humanity.  Human.  Do you think God allowed this word etymology to evolve together for no good reason?

In the Corinthian church, they suffered under a plague of pride and competition.  They took the good gifts of God, His word, His teachers, even the gifts of the Spirit to equip each believer, and they perverted it all into contests.  Honestly, they were actually elbowing one another out of the way in order to get first dibs on a hearty serving of the communion elements.  Can you imagine?  They boasted of how free they were in Christ, and displayed their freedom by boldly committing sins, then bragged that their freedom to sin made them all the more praiseworthy (1 Corinthians 5:1-2).  The Apostle Paul told them they were getting things backwards.

They were a sick bunch, and their sickness was rooted in pride.  The cure was to become humble, to empty themselves and let the Spirit of God flow in and fill them with grace.  Do all for the glory of God (1 Corinthians 10:31).  Look to the interests of others, give up your rights for the good of others, and seek the things that build up the body of believers.  Be humble.

Humility is putting the interests others ahead of our own interests.  Humility is love, and love is humble.  Love is kind.  It is not proud, rude or self-seeking.  It is not easily angered and keeps no record of wrongs.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  (1 Corinthians 13)

Humility is something we must do ourselves.  It is the opposite of humility to insist that the other person be humble.  One cannot say, "You must keep no record of the wrongs I've done to you!"  Rather, one must depend on the Lord to help with the casting away of the records of the wrongs that one has suffered, oneself.  It is very hard.

Yet, how Providential that this is exactly what the Lord is teaching me, right now, as I stand on the edge of the cliff of a Momentous Occasion where, once again, hurts seem certain to spring up into eternally engraved memories.

And then, again by the Providence of God, I recently had the opportunity to listen to some excellent audio books of the Chronicles of Narnia.  As these old, familiar stories unfolded, I noticed, from my ever-aging perspective, how constantly Lewis wrote about humility and pride, and the goodness of the one and the tragedy of the other.  He is a master of showing, not telling, and in my older age, he moves me to tears more often than not.

Humility is love, and love is grace, and grace is forgiveness.  It's all one big, inextricable weaving of virtue into a blanket of godliness that covers and heals.

This is what the Lord calls us to.  This is what the Lord calls me to.  He has lavished grace on me, and I must pour grace out on others, following the example of Jesus Himself, who washed His disciples' feet and then poured out His life on the bloody cross of Calvary.  This is what it is to have the mind of Christ (1 Corinthians 2:16).

I think again of those silent, bright, moving snowflakes among the dark, naked maple branches.  In a scene that would have been stark and depressing, they brought lightness.  It is the season of hope.

These three remain: faith, hope and love (1 Corinthians 13:13).  By faith, we believe in the sovereignty and the goodness of God.  This faith begets hope, hope that He will make it all beautiful in His time, as He promises.  Hope finds its fruition in love, both the growing love that we have now because of the presence of the Holy Spirit with us, and the fullness of love in which we will dwell in eternity.  Love is the healing of the nations, love is the safe place where we neither commit nor endure hurts, ever again.

Let all that you do be done in love.

1 Corinthians 16:14

If you follow this principle,
with the help of the Holy Spirit
who works miracles of grace,
you may even be able to go back
and retouch old memories,
bringing beauty from
the ashes of the past.
For this I am truly, deeply, transcendently
thankful.

Why is this happening to me?

Do you see that picture?

That is a picture of my phone and my keys, the two most crucial things to have on one's person in today's world.  Except, those are not my keys.  Nope.  Not my keys.

That is the spare key.

You know what this means, right?  Right.  Yes.  I lost my keys.

I don't know when I lost them, either.  Yesterday, I used Shawn's car all day.

This morning, I had a Bible study to teach.  It was our last lesson in Nehemiah.  I was all ready to go.

But then I could not find my keys.

The frustration expanded until I gave in.  Why? I lamented.  Why are my keys neatly stowed in my purse--or in the brass key basket on the shelf--most all of the time, but then when I have to get to a Bible study before 9:30 a.m. and be the teacher, when I have an obligation to go where I am supposed to be an example and an inspiration, why then do those pesky keys go missing?

Why is this happening to me?  I heard the words coming out of my mouth: selfish, prideful words.  I know better than to use these words, to ask such petty, self-centered questions.  Shawn helped me search pockets, remote corners of counters, desks, drawers, any random spot we could think of.

Worry welled up, because my key to the church was also on the missing key chain.  What if I arrived and there was nobody to let us in?  Time kept ticking, and finally I figured I had to take my chances with the spare key.  It was late enough that if nobody with a key to the church was at church, then there wouldn't need to be any Bible study at all.

I lamented (some might call it yelling), but I did not break down and cry.  Perhaps it would have been better if I had cried.  I don't know.  I drove to church with the spare key.

Cars stood in the parking lot.  The door was unlocked.  Coffee was prepared and laid out.  Friendly faces and kind words greeted me.  It turned out okay.  The Holy Spirit soothed me and warmed the room.  We finished Nehemiah.

Yet, I still haven't found my keys.  They could be anywhere between here and Anoka, Minnesota, because I had them in Anoka on Monday morning, and that's the last time I remember seeing them.

Those pesky words keep coming to me, in spite of the guilt I feel when I ask the question:  Why is this happening to me?  I strive to be organized and to put things in the right place so they will be there when I need them.  I try so hard, and I fail constantly anyway.

We fail all the time, but God is gracious.

This is a tricky truth.  I'm just starting to figure it out, so I probably ought not be writing about it yet.  There is a tension, you see.

We cannot become comfortable with our constant failing; we must not grow to accept it and loll about in it.  The Bible is clear on this.  The Apostle Paul writes, "What shall we say then?  Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound?  By no means!" (Romans 6:1-2a)  By no means, Paul says.  An emphatic no!  When sin increases, grace does increase all the more (Romans 5:20), but this is no excuse for us to be complacent in sin.  It certainly is not our job to sin in order to compel God to pour out extra grace.  That is not the way it works.  We must flee sin, abhor sin, view sin as the enemy of our souls and of our Lord.  When we fail, we must grieve over the failure.

Yet, in our grief, we must not despair.  We must not give in to a despairing grief.  We must not give up and throw in the towel.  We must not decide that righteousness is too hard, that it is unattainable, that it isn't worth the struggle.  We must not deduce that God doesn't care, won't help us, and only lives to laugh at our doom.  Can't you see?  It is Satan who lives to laugh at our doom, Satan who whispers in our ears that righteousness isn't worth it and life isn't precious.

Satan is our enemy, and the pathway to God is a narrow ledge with steep cliffs falling off on both sides.  Satan cavorts gleefully, knocking us one direction and then the other, not caring a whit whether he causes us to fall off the left side or the right, as long as we fall.

When we fail, we need to look up.  Up.  To Jesus, who holds out His hand to us, His compassionate, righteous, powerful right hand.  He loves us so much.  Jesus is right there, right here, our Immanuel, countering Satan as we struggle along oblivious, not seeing, not knowing what battles He handles for us moment by moment.

I was reading in the book of Judges the other day, and I saw something precious that I had never seen before:

Gideon son of Joash was threshing wheat at the bottom of a winepress to hide the grain from the Midianites.  The angel of the Lord appeared to him and said, "Mighty hero, the Lord is with you!"

"Sir," Gideon replied, "if the Lord is with us, why has all this happened to us?  And where are the miracles our ancestors told us about? Didn't they say, 'The Lord has brought us up out of Egypt'?  But now the Lord has abandoned us and handed us over to the Midianites."

Judges 6:11b-13 (NLT)

In the past, I always thought it was funny that an angel approached this cowardly man, who was hiding in a winepress to thresh his wheat, and addressed him as, "Mighty Hero."  But the other day, I noticed something different.

I noticed what Gideon said:  "If the Lord is with us, then why has all this happened to us?"

"If the Lord is with us, then why has all this happened to us?"

Isn't that exactly the question we all struggle with?  Why is this happening to me?

God's response to Gideon is amazing.  God told Gideon to go with the strength he had and rescue Israel.  "I am sending you!" God said.  Gideon protested that he was not strong enough nor important enough to accomplish such a feat, and we would tend to agree with him, but God replied, "I will be with you, and you will destroy the Midianites."

In the account that follows, God patiently takes this timid, fearful man through encounter after encounter, building his courage and his confidence.  In the end, Gideon proves to be a Mighty Hero, just as the angel had named him in the beginning.

When I am weak, then I am strong.  God is working on me.  When I lament, "Why is this happening to me," it is a failure of faith, an indulgence in self-pity.  Yet, when I come shame-faced to Jesus, He does not rub my nose in my dirt.  He pours grace on me and helps me get up to do the next thing, in His power, not my own, and in victory, because He is with me.

Your goodness, O Lord, is astounding.  You are patient and kind.  Please help me grow worthier of your grace by permeating my being with Your Spirit.  Teach me Your ways and transform me into Your likeness.  Use me to be a conduit of Your love for the world.  Help me broadcast to others the grace You have invested in me.



addendum:  I found my keys on the floor of the van, which we had driven to and from Minnesota.  I found them when I started throwing away the accumulated trash that had collected under the seats.  There is a spiritual lesson in this, too...

Good-bye - Hello

January 1 can be a trying day.

You'd like to get on with the new start and the new routine, but everything is closed.  Also, today was -15 degrees F.  I think it eventually warmed up to -7.  I stayed inside.  No exercise for this body today.

The sun has already set, darkness falling black outside the windows.  Granted we haven't eaten supper yet, haven't even worked up an appetite for supper.  Still, the daylight is over and the day mostly gone.

I washed a few sheets and towels.  Shawn washed the dog.

It's been a slow start to 2018, all things considered.

Last night was a blue moon, or maybe not quite.  Maybe tonight is the full moon.  But last night, December 31, the moon was round and particularly bright, after a lovely full moon on December 1.  Shawn and I ventured out into the dry, bitter cold to look at it before we went to bed.  When it gets that cold, the outside air sucks your breath away but almost doesn't feel cold to your skin, because it seems to burn.  A cold burn.  We quickly turned our faces to the moon, appreciated its brilliance, and hurried back inside.  Then we went to bed, on New Year's Eve, at about 10:30 p.m.

The kids left on Thursday and Friday, December 28 and 29.  David and Ashton left early Thursday morning.  Matthew and Laura had planned to take Shannon to the Indy airport on their way home Friday, but snowy conditions moved them to try to leave ahead of the storm.  Shannon had a late flight, which was further delayed by the weather.  Shawn and I were happy to glean a few extra hours with her, so we offered to take her to Indy later.

We almost crashed the car on our way home from Indy.  Highway 465, the beltway around Indianapolis, is five lanes wide (I think, at least that...), and it was completely unplowed after 5-6 inches of snow had fallen.  You couldn't make out any lanes, and the surface of the road was extremely slick.  As we sloughed northward, amidst a mixture of cautious and reckless drivers, all of a sudden, for no obvious reason, a car ahead of us and to our right lost control and careened in an arc across a number of lanes, towards the left side of the road.  We and the car directly to our right (which was also a bit ahead of us) began to brake and try to avoid a collision.  On our left, in the "fast" lane, another car was approaching, faster than the rest of us.  As the out-of-control-car crossed in front of us and slid into the left lane, the car chugging up the left lane was completely unable to stop or slow down, and it T-boned the careening car with an ominous crunch of metal.  The impact carried both vehicles into a sort of circling dance; right in front of us, they spun around together.  I prayed, and Shawn tried to figure out which way to steer to avoid them without hitting the other cars around us, while pumping his brakes.  They glided off onto the inner shoulder and we left them in our wake.  I wonder if any other vehicles piled into them.

It's easy to feel thankful when you have a near miss like that.  For awhile, the relief and adrenaline took the edge off missing the kids.

Saturday was a dull day.  Of course we were tired.  And Christmas let-down set in with a fury.  I don't know what we did all that day.  We did not cook or wash dishes, which is a nice silver-lining after the excitement of houseguests.

Sunday was church, which is always nice.  Church, lunch with Jonathan, football in the afternoon, a Vikings win.  A lazy day.  I ate popcorn, applesauce and granola, and drank a number of mugs of tea.

Which brings us to today.

I apologize for this lame blog post.  It's been so long since I've written, I scarcely know what to do with myself here.

My words for the year are Power and Glory (God's), and I also want to grow in humility.  Perhaps "want" is too strong a word there.  I perceive the importance of growing in humility and hope to get better at it, although I have a certain dread of the pain that such an endeavor may involve.  Still (an idea I've explored before), I think humility is the surest, and perhaps only, path to ultimate joy.  I will write more about Power and Glory and humility another day.

2017 was a busy year, full of graduations and trips.  We experienced gains and losses, triumphs and sorrows.  It was a good year for the garden and a bad year for the ornamental pear trees.  Some excruciatingly horrible things happened, but there was no lack of small and medium sized miracles to keep us conscious of the truth that a sovereign God in heaven watches over us with love.

Very personal memories of God

God has graciously drawn me since I was very young.

I do not know why.

Why does He draw someone?  And why does someone else struggle so, to hear and to believe?

One of my first memories is of being a small baby, and being carried to my crib.  I did not want to be put into my crib, this I know.  I remember the feeling of dread, how I clung to the adult but was peeled off and placed in the barred crib despite my most passionate protests.  I remember remembering the horror of the ongoing routine of screaming and crying for someone to come back and get me, but nobody coming.  I remember the soft crunch of a plastic mattress liner under the sheet over the crib mattress, and the taste of the varnish on the wood of the crib.  I vividly remember the hot scratchiness of the screams that tore my throat, and the strain of clutching the crib rail, pulling myself up, striving, straining, flexing every muscle in panicked fury until I was in veritable pain.  And I remember a calm voice that spoke to me, although perhaps not in words, because I don't think I was verbal.  Maybe it was just an idea that washed over me from Someone outside of me.  "You don't have to fight," this Presence told me.  "It's okay.  You can just lie down.  It doesn't have to be like this."  I remember lying down, gently, almost as if an angel slipped me into a new position with comforting hands.  I clearly remember a comforting warmth that spread over me as I let go of my angst, my striving.  My tempest melted away in a blanket of warmth, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up to happy parents.

You may not believe it, but I remember this.  Somehow, I've always known it was God there that day, telling me, "You can just lie down.  It doesn't have to be like this."

I remember a day when, as a school-aged child, I sat cross-legged on the floor in the living room in front of the oak bookshelves that surrounded the descending staircase.  Green carpet, oak shelves, the World Book Encyclopedia volumes bound in black and white leather, the set of beloved Childcraft books.  I sat in that spot often, considering what to read next.  But that particular day, I felt the presence of God, and I wondered why I was so blessed.  Why did I have a nice, solid house and nice, clean clothes and good food to eat, when the world was full of suffering, starving people? Why did I get to go to church and learn about Jesus, when people all around the world had never heard of Him?  Why did I have a mom and dad who taught me about God?  Why did I have a bookshelf right in front of me with numerous Bibles in various translations at my fingertips?  Why indeed?  I thought of the maps inside the pages of the volumes of the encyclopedia, and I imagined all the distant places and people groups they represented, and I thought about the largeness of the world, even the Universe.  In those moments, the Spirit of God was doing something in me, opening my mind to a vastness beyond myself.  Not that I understood it, but I was aware of it.  I pondered the Universe, and how I was so small within it, and yet so inexplicably blessed.

I remember being a bit older, a young teenager, walking home from school with friends.  I was sharing about something that had happened, something I didn't like.  I don't remember the particulars, but it had to do with authority and punishment, and I was upset.  The others listened sympathetically.  They were kind to me.  Supportive.  "That isn't fair at all," they said.  "You don't have to accept that."  They admonished me to fight, to resist, to rebel.  It felt good.  I felt validated.  And then, suddenly, I realized the hollowness of it.  Although I do not remember the exact subject, the words, the details of the situation, I remember a sudden awareness that it was wrong.  I remember, accompanying the awareness, the curving slope of the green autumn grass down to the road (if you know Anoka, it was Green Street).  This part of the memory is as clear as the day it happened.  That Presence--the one that had been there since I was a baby--was suddenly in me again, and although the words of my friends had been soothing and affirming, I knew that I could not listen to them, that they were not right.  I had a fleeting thought about how it was a shame that I couldn't go on being validated, there on the green, grassy lawn.  The regret was followed by a chilling sensation as I understood how strong the temptation was to believe a lie.  I don't remember what happened afterwards, in my physical life, with the people.  I don't remember how the conversation may have closed.  All I know is that God was there, and He pointed me away from the alluring validation of my sin, from words and ideas that seemed so appealing, but were not true.  They simply were not true.

Those are three specific, memorable times when God communicated with me as a child.  To this day, I do not know why He did.

Why should I be blessed to be able to sense God's presence and respond to Him?  Why should I be blessed to love His Word, and through His Word, Him?  Oh, dear Lord, may others have this blessing.  Please open hearts, as I know you can, as only you can.

Things we hear

Such a spring.

It began, it seems, with the tumult of our roof being replaced.  Now they are resurfacing the roads in our neighborhood.

Noise.  Deep, pulsing, grinding noises go on and on, shaking the tiny, trembling bones in the depths of my ears until the nausea rises to gag me in my throat.

Did I tell you about how seasick I got in the Florida Keys this past February, when we went on a glass-bottomed boat tour of a coral reef?  Did I tell you about how I threw up seven times, filling not one, but two airsick bags in a helicopter over the Grand Canyon?

Those were elective experiences.  In a way, the roofing job was also elective, but it didn't seem so.  The roadwork is certainly not elective, and I wish to goodness there were somewhere I could escape.  Alas, I don't think I could even drive out of my driveway, had I anywhere to go.

Life is so funny that way.  I don't mean the kind of funny that makes you laugh.  I mean the kind of funny that makes you stop and look sideways at something.

Life is made up of all these different experiences.  Happy times: new babies, weddings, simple days when you pack a ripe peach and eat it under a tree somewhere while the sun shines and the squirrels scamper hither and yon.  Actually, weddings are not always happy.  They can be stressful, depending on whose they are, and how much responsibility you have for them, and whether you know anybody, and who you are seated with, and how it all goes, whether it is a nice day or a stormy day, and whether most of the other people are happy.

Sometimes it is the simple days that are the best.  Not Christmas, but the day after Christmas, when the house is a little bit untidy, and nobody new is coming over, and you can start to dig into your gifts, reading the book, wearing the sweater, munching on the nuts.  There are times when you share food and laughter at a table with people you love dearly, and times when a small child falls trustingly asleep in your arms.  I love to hold a sleeping baby.

There are times when you feel sad, when you have lost something or someone very important to you.  It can be permanent loss, as by death, or temporary loss, or a loss that you keep hoping might only be temporary, but only time will tell.

You may be sick, miserable, in pain.  It could be flu, migraine or recovery after a surgery.  Sometimes there is a haze of pain medication that doesn't seem to work until you notice that it has worn off.  These points in life seem to drag interminably, like the noise outside my home, the overwhelming, vibrating, crunching, beeping noises of heavy equipment, on and on and on.  Perhaps this is what puts me in mind of the subject.  There is a siren now; I wonder if an accident has precipitated.

In the crunch of a discomfort, it is hard to focus on the positive.  We must have patience for one another in this.  We must remember our own discomfort when we are tempted to judge someone else in his.

Did I ever tell you about the times God spoke to me?

He often "speaks" to me in the sense that He puts His words in my mind and I recognize them as true and as having come from outside of me.  "Often" may be a bit of a stretch, but this does happen now and then.  It is always a thrill, and a feeling of warmth and electricity comes over me as I rub my arms to wipe down the goosebumps as I realize what has happened.

However, twice He spoke to me audibly.  It was over twenty-two years ago.

The first time it happened, I was in the living room in our little cape cod house in North Syracuse.  I was sitting on the sofa, which ran along the south wall of the room, in front of a tall, narrow window dressed in natural linen curtains trimmed with a ball fringe.  It was the sofa we still use, except this was before we had it reupholstered; it was scratchy and rather lumpy, olive tweed.  I don't remember what I was doing, or what time of year it was, or really anything, except that the sun was streaming in the window, and I was warm.  I was alone.  The children were asleep.  It was very quiet, uncharacteristically quiet, because the children were asleep.  I sat there on the sofa, with the wall and the bright window behind me, and I'm sure I was thinking, but I have no memory of what I was thinking, because right in the middle of a thought, I heard a voice behind me, clear and present and absolutely as audible as a voice could possibly be, which was particularly strange, because there was no space behind me, only the wall and the window, which was not open.

In moments like these, the order of events gets all mixed up, and I can't say in what sequence I perceived the particular details.  It is difficult to write about it.  I jumped in fear, startled and frightened to hear a voice, when I knew that I was all alone.  As I was jumping, and the fear coursed through me, I perceived things about the voice.  It was a man's voice, which was terrifying--not only an unexpected person, but a man, a large man, was present in the room with me.  Yet, the deep, kind, perfect richness of the voice simultaneously calmed me with a peace that washed over me, dissipating my fear as it caressed my hearing.  Even before I made sense of the words, I knew it was Him.

"Trust me," He said.

There I was, startled and soothed by one earth-shaking phrase, my attention completely riveted.  I knew who He was.  "It's You!  It's okay.  I'm safe," flashed through my consciousness.  My immediate second thought was, "Say it again!  Please speak to me again!" but even as I begged, the palpability of His presence faded, although the echo of His voice lingered, and I strained to grasp as much of it as I could, holding completely still, barely breathing.  "Again," I begged, my mind reaching, listening so hard, but knowing that it would not be.

The second time it happened, I was in our white Ford Taurus, driving near the intersection of Bear and Buckley Roads, still in North Syracuse.  This time it was dark.  I do not remember whether I had children in the car with me or not.  It is likely that I did.  They must have been asleep.  I don't know why I was out driving.

He spoke to me from the backseat of the car.  Again it startled me.  A young mother does not expect to hear a strange adult male voice from the backseat of her car.  However, this time I was not afraid, and I recognized the voice more quickly, having heard it before.  I immediately tried to slow down my brain and listen as hard as I could, remembering how quickly the beauty of the voice had dissipated before.

"Trust me," He said.

"Couldn't you please keep talking?" I prayed.  "Your voice is so beautiful.  I want to hear more.  I love you."  I drove home in silent euphoria.

Those are the two times I heard the Lord's voice speak to me audibly.  "Trust me," is what He said.  As far as I can remember, it did not come in direct response to anything I was happening to think about at the time.  In both instances, it seemed to be more of an interruption in whatever I'd been thinking about, a totally unexpected breakthrough from eternity.

I don't often speak of this (I didn't even tell Shawn about it until after years had passed).  For one thing, I don't want people to think I'm crazy.  For another thing, I believe that God primarily reveals Himself to us through His word, the Bible, through the story of Christ, and through the creation that surrounds us.  I don't put much emphasis on seeking signs and wonders.  Sure He can do them, but we must never demand that He prove Himself through them.  If He chooses to do so, it is only by grace, an undeserved and unexpected gift.

Still, it happened.  This is as true a story as I can hope to tell you, and for whatever reason, I've recently been feeling the impression that I need to record it for posterity.

"Don't let your hearts be troubled.  Trust in God, and trust also in me."

~Jesus (John 14:1, NLT)

"My sheep listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me."

~Jesus (John 10:27, NLT)

The Lord is my strength and my shield;

my heart trusts in Him and I am helped.

My heart leaps for joy

and I will give thanks to Him in song.

~Psalm 28:7 (NIV)

Does God work through our sins?

Last time, I wrote this:

The landscapes of our lives are forever altered by our sins, 

but God can still make meadows blossom across them, 

even in the aftermath of shameful failure.  

This is the miracle of grace.

It is what redemption is all about.

God takes what was broken, sick, deteriorating, even totally wrecked, and He restores it to something of beauty, health and value.

This is incredible.

I remember the day I was reading Romans 8:28 --  And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them (NLT) -- and I realized that "everything" even includes our sins, our failures, our trip-and-fall-and-land-smack-on-your-face-in-the-filth-of-degradation behavior.  God uses those things for our good, too. 

How?  How can God use sin to accomplish good purposes?

Well, He used the greatest sin of all time, the cruel crucifixion of the perfect Son of God, conducted under completely unfair circumstance -- this grievous sin, our Lord took and used to accomplish the greatest miracle of all time: the gracious provision of salvation for humankind.

If He could do that, why would I doubt His ability to use my sins to accomplish good purposes in my life?

How does God use my sins to accomplish good?

He uses my sins to humble me and break me.  God used the sin of Peter's denial of Christ on the eve of the crucifixion, used it to to break Peter's pride.  God brought Peter to the point where he could fully appreciate what it means to be forgiven, and from there Peter grew in ways he never was able to grow before, becoming strong, courageous, and truly effective for the Kingdom of God.  God does the same in me.  When sin trips me up, God redeems the situation by growing my humility, so eventually I can become more useful to Him.

Related to this, it becomes clear that God uses my sins to help me understand and appreciate His great forgiveness.  How could we appreciate forgiveness and grace if we never knew the tremendous relief and release that come when we are forgiven from our sin and made free?  If we never sinned, or if we failed to recognize that we have sinned, we could not perceive what a glorious miracle it is to be washed clean and filled with the Holy Spirit.  Furthermore, as we understand the depth of what we have been forgiven, it helps us turn around and forgive others, passing on the grace.

When we have experienced the weight of sin, it makes us compassionate toward others who are struggling under sin.  God uses our sins to make us compassionate towards others who are caught in sin.  This doesn't mean that we condone or excuse their sin (or our own).  No!  It means that we ourselves know the pain sin has brought into our lives, and therefore we feel deep sympathy and an urge to help others who are suffering from the effects of sin.  We develop hearts that know the beauty of forgiveness, the wonder of escaping sin's clutches.  As we experience God's grace, we long to share it with others.

God displays His glorious redemptive power when He brings me back to Himself after I have sinned.  There must be sin in order for the light of grace to shine in victory over it.  There is no rescue if there was never any danger.  There is no salvation if there was never any threat.  There is no grace if there was never any sin.  The triumph of righteous love over sin is God's pinnacle victory, and we all need His grace applied to our lives.  Nobody can get to heaven without His grace, His victorious triumph over the power of sin.  Our sins allow God's glorious grace to be showcased so we can understand what He has done for us, so we can worship Him in His glory.

When God redeems us from our sins, He shows His power to transform a life from something useless to something supremely useful for all eternity.

The danger, of course, when we understand this, is that we might think it is a good thing to sin, to provide God with raw material for the display of His glory.

Paul addresses this thought in Romans 6:

Romans 6:1-2 says, "Well then, should we keep on sinning so that God can show us more and more of His wonderful grace?  Of course not!  Since we have died to sin, how can we continue to live in it?" (NLT)

Romans 6:15 says, "Well then, since God's grace has set us free from the Law, does that mean we can go on sinning?  Of course not!" (NLT)

There is something particularly evil and insidious about an attitude that says, "Cool!  I can sin as much as I want, and it gives God more and more opportunities to show His grace, power and glory each time He forgives me . . ."  Such a sentiment arises in a supremely selfish heart and demonstrates no respect for the suffering of our Savior on the cross.  Such a sentiment does not love God as we are commanded to love Him, with all of our heart, soul, mind and strength.

We must guard against being casual about our sin.  Sin is a very big problem, and it is why Jesus had to die.  He died to save us from sin, so we could be free from the bondage of sin and the death wherein it culminates.  We must never go around sinning wantonly, simply presuming upon the grace of God to save us afterwards.

At the same time, when we do stumble into sin, even after we have been saved, we must not despair.  God always extends grace and hope to us.  He stands ready to forgive and cleanse and purify (1 John 1:9).  It can be tempting to think, "Now I've done it.  I messed up again.  This time, I'm sure I've wrecked everything forever and always."  That simply isn't true.  God is constantly working miracles of redemption and restoration.  Nothing can separate us from the love of God (see Romans 8:35-39).

It's a tightrope walk, and it all depends on Jesus.  We need to turn our eyes toward Jesus and trust Him to lead us, care for us, and work all things together for good in our lives, as He promises He will do.

For the wages of sin is death, 

but the free gift of God is eternal life 

through Jesus Christ our Lord. 

(Romans 6:23 NLT)

(I've been pondering this idea.  Last night in our Bible reading, Shawn read me Romans 6 before I went to sleep, and what do you know?  Out came this post.)

Three things I learned very slowly

Sometimes it is embarrassing to learn as slowly as I do.

You can know a lot of facts.  You can have a great deal of knowledge about the Bible.  You can even memorize numerous Bible verses, and still know very little.

There are certain principles in life -- perhaps you have experienced this -- where you know the principle, and you use the principle.  Maybe even daily, you apply this principle, assuming it will work, and it does.  But then one day while you are working through something, applying the principle as you always have, enlightenment suddenly dawns on you: This is why it works.  This is what it means.  This is what it really means!  All of a sudden, your knowledge has deepened and everything is new, everything is going to be easier because of what you just figured out about what you already knew.

This can happen in science.  It can happen in math.  It can happen when you are cooking, or when you are relating to another person.  It can also happen in your religious belief system.

So far, it has happened to me three times in my religious belief system.  Here are three things I knew, but didn't know, until one day enlightenment dawned on me and the facts in my head became alive in my heart.

1. My righteousness comes from Christ alone, and is guaranteed because of Him
2. God is good.
3. All I need is Christ.

Let's briefly consider these things one by one.

My righteousness comes from Christ alone and is guaranteed because of Him.

I never had any trouble with the idea that I was unrighteous apart from Christ, but I had a great deal of trouble grasping how it worked, that He somehow imputed His righteousness to me.  The way people talked about it, I got the idea that they were describing Jesus as some sort of camouflaging umbrella over my sin: I'm down here under the tent of Jesus, heedlessly sinning away, but all God can see when He looks at me is the pure covering of Christ, hiding my filth.  I recoiled from this image.  I recoil from all teaching that suggests that we are fine if we continue in sin, that Jesus loves us and forgives us and it doesn't matter.

I have always believed that my righteousness is from Christ alone.  I just didn't understand what that meant, because I knew it couldn't possibly be a justification for marinating in sin.  Yet, I am conscious of my incomplete victory over sin every day.  How can I be righteous when I am so obviously wicked?

The winter I turned 27 years old, I had three very small children.  We were sick all the time.  I was isolated, far from family, seriously sleep-deprived, and I believe, looking back, that I was in an undiagnosed clinical depression.  I was also reading through the Bible (the grace of God is almost funny, in a sort of not-very-funny way).  That was my first time through, and I went straight through, cover to cover, Genesis to Revelation, absorbing only a little.  When I hit the Psalms, I did not enjoy them.  Contrary to what you might expect, they almost aggravated my depression.  I have a clear memory of one day reading a section of Psalms and feeling that they were taunting me, because over and over they proclaimed outrageous promises of blessings for "the righteous."  I knew myself to be a crabby wife, an impatient mother, a crier, a yeller, a complainer, selfish, negative, angry and (on top of everything else) lazy and undisciplined.

I set my Bible down in my lap and told Jesus, "That's all well and good . . . that You promise all these great things to the righteous.  But I'm not righteous."

Almost before I had finished giving shape to the plaintive thought in my mind, the voice of God filled my head.  I can't describe it any other way, except that it was the voice of God, although it was not audible.  He told me, "You are righteous, because I died to make you righteous."  I was completely taken aback.  It hit me, fresh, for the first time.  Jesus' sacrifice on the cross cleansed me in such a way that I qualify for God's promises to the righteous.  I am counted as one of the righteous.  Even though I stumble in sin every day of my life, God's precious promises apply to me.  The relief that flooded my soul was indescribable. 

For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God. He was put to death in the body but made alive in the Spirit.
~1 Peter 3:18 (NIV)

For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
~2 Corinthians 5:21 (ESV)

God is good.

I knew that God was good.  I did.  I knew it, and I believed it.  I even wrote about it.  However, I had a fear of the idea, a need to distance myself, to explain that "good" isn't always what we think of as "good."  I agonized over how God works good in our lives through trials and suffering, how He refines us with fire.  His purposes and results are always good, but His processes can be painful, and we have to trust Him.  This is all true; it isn't wrong.  It just wasn't completely helpful.

Not so very long ago, I had a breakthrough.  I'd like to say it happened in my late forties, before I turned 50, but I'm not absolutely certain that it did.  I'm not sure how it happened, either, or what circumstances brought it about.

One day it just fell into my mind, clearly, simply:  God is good because He loved us enough to send Jesus to die on the cross.

Jesus died on the cross for our sins and saved us from this fallen world.  Here we see God's goodness made manifest.  God is good because His purpose is to bring His people home to dwell in eternal glory with Him, and He sacrificed His only begotten Son to accomplish it.

If you ever doubt that God is good, all you have to do is look to the cross.  All His great goodness is displayed right there. 

. . . but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  
~Romans 5:8 (ESV)

And they sang a new song, saying:

“You are worthy to take the scroll
    and to open its seals,
because you were slain,
    and with your blood you purchased for God
    persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.

You have made them to be a kingdom and priests to serve our God,
    and they will reign on the earth.

~Revelation 5:9-10 (NIV) 

[note:  I am probably not saying anything here that you haven't heard before.  I had heard this over and over, and truly believed it, before the Holy Spirit permeated my heart with it.  Although I had believed it, it took me forever to feel it, to know it.  So I doubt if my awkward words here will accomplish in you what the Lord accomplished in me, but I hope that when it does happen in you--if it hasn't already--you will recognize and rejoice in it.]

All I need is Christ.

I also knew this.  I have known this for a long time. 

But there is something that I did not realize.  I did not realize that this is the source of our joy.

Here I've been limping along, trying to figure out how to cultivate Spirit-fruit in my life, filled with feelings of insufficiency and worry.  "Where is the joy?" I would ask myself.  "How can I be an ambassador for Christ when the wellspring of my joy is dry?  Who would believe that God brings hope to the hopeless by the testimony of my life?"

Then He showed me.  It might have been as recently as last week.  I think it happened when I was thinking about heaven, and my heart finally felt the truth that Christ Himself is the great prize.  Nothing else matters.  To be at home with Jesus is everything.

All I need is Christ.  Christ is my hope and my salvation, the living water that refreshes my soul, the lamp that lights my path, the bread that nourishes me and the song in my heart.  Christ is the sacrifice that has made peace for me with God and purchased--secured--my eternal future in glory.  Christ is my beauty, my wisdom and my home.  If I have Christ, I have everything I need for life and joy and eternity.

His divine power has given us everything we need for a godly life through our knowledge of him who called us by his own glory and goodness.  Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature, having escaped the corruption in the world caused by evil desires. ~2 Peter 1:3-4 (NIV)

Even better: nobody and nothing can take Christ away from me.  I am His and He is mine.  

For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

~Romans 8:38-39 (NIV)

I don't need a nice house, or pretty clothes or a reliable car.  I don't need a husband, children, a dog or money in the bank.  I don't need my lupus medicine or friends or vacations or food or even water.  I am thankful when I have these things, but I don't need them.  All I need is Christ, and He will take me home to glory, and there in His presence I will never even imagine needing anything, ever again.  I will have Him, and He is more than enough.  I depend on nothing else.

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.

~Philippians 1:21 (NIV) 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall lack nothing.

~Psalm 23:1 (NIV)

I've struggled with a fear: What if someone I love doesn't come to Christ?  What if someone I love doesn't make it to heaven for eternity?  What if I can't get someone saved?  How can I live joyfully if someone I love is not safe from the wrath of God?

First off, I won't be getting anybody saved.  God does the saving.  Jesus taught that people are unable to come to Him unless the Father draws them (John 6:44).  I can be an ambassador, but I am not the Savior.  Jesus is the Savior, and He is mighty to save.

It's my job to live out the radiance of Christ, to showcase His redemptive power through the Christlikeness of my life.  I need to walk in love and grace, humility and kindness, forgiveness and gentleness and peace.  Living in the power of the Holy Spirit produces opportunities to share truth.  I can't do any of it if I am fearful and unhappy.  The cure for fearfulness and unhappiness is to understand, deep within my inmost being, that all I need is Christ.  And I have Christ.  Nobody can take Him away from me, and He will never leave me nor forsake me.  All I need is Christ, and He freely gives Himself to me and fills me with His Spirit.  This is joy.  This is security.  

This is the key.  All I need is Christ. 

May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

~Romans 15:13 (NIV)

“Come, all you who are thirsty,
    come to the waters;
and you who have no money,
    come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
    without money and without cost."

~Isaiah 55:1

The Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let the one who hears say, “Come!” Let the one who is thirsty come; and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.

~Revelation 22:17