On my Knees in the Shadow

In the shadow of the cross, I kneel in thanks. There is nothing in life that should ever cloud this view of grace. These light and momentary afflictions should even be a cause of thanks, for they are storing up for us an eternal weight of glory.

Though our knees may be worn and achy from constant prayerful kneeling, is this not the position that God desires? Are not the cares of the world the very things He uses to show us our great need for Him and allows Him to show us His great love for us?

Forgive me Lord for whining and complaining. Forgive me for not counting it all joy when I encounter various trials, knowing that the testing of my faith produces endurance. Endurance produces Hope and God You are my only Hope!

I remain on my knees in the shadow of your gracious cross, eternally thankful. I love you, Lord!

Throw Down the Worry Crutch and Clutch God's Hand

Have you ever had a crisis when you could honestly say that God's peace was radically evident in the midst, and that you could hear God say, "Well done"?

A few weeks back I heard that voice and floated on God's surpassing peace as my car chugged and came to a stop in the middle of the freeway. No panic ensued, just a matter of fact, step by step, decision to call Russ and then call God and wait. Worry would have only made the situation tense. I wanted so badly to be home, so I could take off my "teaching" costume and put on jammies, but God decided to let my faith be strengthened and to show me His peace on the median of the 215 freeway.

$16.50 an hour on paper can't sustain a family of 6. It can't pay for the inflated gas prices and tuition and insuranse payments and school items. Our bank account goes in the red every pay check and yet God tells me not to worry and live for Him now. So running out of gas with only a dollar of change in my pocket and a negative bank account could have freaked me out, yet I realized that I was right where God wanted me and He was in control.

Don't worry about tomorrow or worry about something even an hour from now: It is a sin. Don't use the crutch: "I'm a worrier by nature". No you are a sinner by nature who chooses to hang onto the crutch instead of God's hand.

Don't be discontent, but count on God to provide the needs as they arise, not the wants. You don't have a right to your wants, you don't even have a right to your needs being met, yet God so loved the world He sent Jesus to meet my greatest need and He promises "all these things will be added to you" when we seek His kingdom and righteousness.

What person adds a day to his life by worrying? No one! Medically speaking worry causes health problems and a shorter life span. But it also causes a lack of peace with God because it breaks the fellowship with Him due to the fact it is sin. Nothing good comes from worry.


I was given a choice on that Tuesday: trust in the Lord or worry. I got a pat on that moment, and peace that passed all understanding. I will worry again but today, I choose to "Throw down the crutch and clutch God's hand."

weary

Weariness comes with the territory of being poured out, day in and day out for God's kingdom. I have heard time and again that perhaps, when one is weary, that person is doing too much. But I contend that doing too much in one's own strength may cause weariness, but never can one do too much in God's strength for Him. Never.
Paul spoke of being a poured out drink offering. Poured out represents a glass, upside down with little or no liquid left in it. How can I ever pour out until I have emptied myself to the same extent that Paul, or even Christ did? I have yet to be that self empty.
Today was busy. Today felt as if it would never end. Today was done in my strength.
Tomorrow, perhaps will be restful as my life is poured out for Him in His power for those He puts in my path.
God, let me rest now in You, weary, but at peace knowing how I need to do tomorrow better for the Kingdom.

Mary's Upper Room Prayer

I am sitting in the upper room, numb with pain, alone in shock

The day of hell that You endured, has left you buried behind a Rock.
Today is Saturday: the Sabbath Rest,
And yet I find no peace in this.
Oh Jesus you're dead, buried and gone,
And in this upper room I mourn.

I loved You as a mother could,
Every ounce of strength and guidance would
I give to you my first born Son,
If only I could be the one.
But Savior Jesus, I know
That You came to die, to set me free
And as Your mother I accept this death
And sit here waiting for the promise kept.

In this upper room, I wait,
The ache in my heart, the silent grave.
The fear of what is yet to come,
The knowledge You were the Promised One.
What does it mean Messiah Christ,
That You would willingly give Your life?
So in this upper chamber I wait
And cry to God my soul to take.

I recall the day that you were born,
In a cold dark cave that blessed morn.
And now again you are in a cave of stone,
Only this time all alone.
There are no shepherds, no earthly father,
I can't come near You, yet I am Your mother.
Behind the rock you are wrapped in clothe,
As you were the day of Your birth;
Yet this time we cry out in anguish, in pain
And the tears that flow are not of joy,
But of deep agony for my little boy.

I ponder these things as I morn, and search
For the truth in why You came to earth.
The words of the angel come to my mind,
You are the Son of the Most High,
Your name is Jesus, the Lord Saves,
So perhaps this death is not in vain.
It must be part of a greater plan,
Something I can't see or understand,
As Your body lays cold, in a borrowed grave,
I'll wait to see my Jesus raised.

There is hope in my heart, as I recalled
The angel's words to this once young girl,
That Your kingdom will never come to an end;
And so my son Your life may return again.
I don't know how, I must only believe,
As I once did long ago when I conceived;
And again I offer this prayer to God:
I am the Lord's servant, may it be as You have said.

It is Saturday evening after Your death,
The upper room is quiet though none have slept.
The tension is felt, of the great unknown,
The life we have led seems completely undone,
And yet we all wait,
Today in a fog,
Not certain what to do or say,
Not even sure there's a God.
But I know You are there with a bigger plan
And I'll wait in this room to hear Your command.
I am Your servant Lord and I will believe,
Even when the heart is aching, when there is deep grief.
This in between place of blind faith in Your Sovereignty
Is all I have to rest on in this dark upper room.

I say a silent prayer to the One who keeps
The earth on its axis and the waters of the deep,
I surrender my all to the One God in heaven
And ask Him to grant peace to the eleven
Disciples who followed my Son Jesus Christ,
Who believed in His mission, who followed His life,
That in His death, they may hang onto a hope
That comes only from God, the Son and Holy Ghost.

Lessons from the North Wind

"I don't quite understand you North Wind. You tell me what then." "Well I will tell you . If you see me with my face all black, don't be frightened. If you see me flapping wings like a bat's, as big as the whole sky, don't be frightened---you must believe that I am doing my work. Nay, Diamond, if I change into a serpent or a tiger, you must not let go your hold of me, for my hand will never change in yours if you keep a good hold. If you keep a hold, you will know who I am all the time, even when you look at me and can't see me the least like the North Wind. I may look something very awful. Do you understand?"

"Quite well," said little Diamond. (At the Back of the North Wind-George Macdonald)

I am learning to be like Diamond, though not ready to say, "Quite well" with as much belief behind it. God is under no obligation to explain things to me. Yet He does whisper, don't be frightened. He is under no pressure to move in my timing and He tells me, "I make all things beautiful in My time." He doesn't have to look like the God I picture Him to be, or the sweet little Jesus portrayed by some Master Painter. He is the Great I Am. How does one picture this?

So when the rug again gets tugged and I land on my back side looking up and weeping because I don't get it, I must realize that all I have to do is keep holding onto His hand. If I hold onto Him, I will know who He is at all times. Many times, I don't hold on, or at least I loosen my grip and don't feel the indents of His nail scarred hands and then I begin to question and fear. But it is I who have let my hold lessen when the darkness of the situation is upon me. The time I need to cling to the light, I panic and squirm to get to what I think is a reasonably safe place to be, yet He is all Goodness and Truth and will never let me go.

The beautiful thing about the Hand of God is His scars that touch my life remind me of the Love He has for me. If the circumstances of my life appear dark, I can feel His hand and remember that dark Friday when the scars were fresh wounds. The darkness of that day gave way to eternal beauty and the glory of the Lord reigned in heaven and on earth. The tears that I have cried today are not forgotten by my God. His hand reaches down and wipes my cheek while His voice whispers, "Peace, be still, do not be afraid." I may not recognize His shape at times, but I hear His voice and know Him and He knows me. I feel His hand and know the marks that represent my salvation, will faithfully guide and protect me. I know that the tears that have fallen and the prays that have been cried are worship to God's ears and that He loves me and hears my desperation.

The North Wind blows and I know not where it comes from or where it goes, but I believe....

Read Any Good Law Lately?

"Fallacies do not cease to be fallacies because they become fashions." - ILN, 4/19/30 G.K. Chesterton


Read the fine print. Never sign anything without reading the number 4 font legalese at the bottom of every legal document. This is what got so many home owners in trouble; they failed to read the fine print before signing a note their paychecks couldn't keep up with down the road.

But it is not just the mistake made by those on "Main Street" as Obama so cheerfully calls them, but those ruling on "E Capitol St NE & 1st St NE", on behalf of the American citizen. who should be reading the fine print before they sign anything into law. Any business plan worth it's salt is never rushed into, but thoroughly researched, analyzed, professional advise sought and legally examined prior to any signature. It is said the foolish man begins to build without counting the cost, yet the very men and women who attempt to run our government have fallen prey to the same blind mistake thousands of displaced homeowners have faced. The Congress has panicked, they have not done their due diligence, they have signed their John Hancocks to legally binding contracts that affect the lives of Main Street, Wall Street and every dirt road in America. Don't do as they do, nor do as they say, for those who have signed legislation into law without adequately reading, let alone researching the full letter of the law which their signatures whole heartily declare support for, do so in ignorance, not in the good faith of their constituents.

Terry Neece of the NCPA stated in an interview with Our Blook, "There is little to praise in this $787 billion stimulus bill. The President signed a colossal bill that virtually no one read, which relies on out-of-date economic theories to stimulate the economy." No one read the fine print and no one did the homework. According to Neece, the economic theories that Congress is operating with in order to write this legislation is "obsolete".


The rush to judgment, on a rush job, that stimulates a rush to panic, should cause the governing body to rush and reconsider their ways and means. The ire felt due to the recent bonus pay for AIG, on the backs of American taxpayers, is the fault of those who penned their names without doing their due diligence. So instead of taking responsibility, they pass the buck, or rather steal the buck back from the very one's they mistakenly gave the money to in the first place. It seems to me, that our representative body would do well to give back the pork and beans, and the bonuses they gave themselves and their pet projects, when they signed this stimulus legislation.


The Magna Carta stated that the King was not above the law and even he must obey it. Our founding documents are largely based on this philosophy and yet I wonder if the Senators, the Congressmen and the President have ever read and given credence to the values found in this most important legal document. I find it hard to believe that they have read it, let alone practice it. They live and rule as if they are above the law of the land and they punish the peasants and wealthy landowners for questioning their authority and intelligence.

Not what I want to do...but I do it anyway

Ugliness. That is how my attitude has been recently; flat out ugly and spewing filth without much effort. It doesn't take much. To be honest, it is aimed in one direction and I feel it boiling up, but haven't tried to keep the lava inside the mountain. I just let it rip and then I feel bad.

What is the solution? Like an earthquake fault, I keep swallowing the frustration and then I just rumble. I know that so much of the rumblings is due to being tired of the "trial" that we have lived in for so long. But did Paul rumble when he was tired of the trials he under went? I don't think so! He was in jail and sang. He was ship wrecked and joyfully built the fire. He had trials that normal people like me don't encounter and I don't see much complaining on his part. He knew how to be content in all things. What about me? Why can't I be content and sing in this jail? Why don't I let the earthquake I feel rumble under my chest, shake the chains from my heart and the locks on the gates, so that I can live in contented freedom, no matter what and whom I am living with.

I think humility is what Paul had that I lack. I think he had literally seen the Lord and knew how to keep his eyes on the Author and Finisher of his faith. I think that his humility came because he saw the Lord and saw himself as the most wretched of sinners and didn't have a problem admitting this to anyone. He was transparent and vulnerable and used by God.

I bubble up and words come spewing and then shame overwhelms. At least I know the Holy Spirit is doing His job; I sense His promptings even before the ugly comes flying out. If only there was gaffers tape to cover the lips. But the lips speak what is in the heart and there in lies the problem. I do what I do not want to do. I think what I do not want to think. I feel what I do not want to feel. Oh wretched girl that I am.


There are so many things bombarding me these days and all I can do is hang on for dear life. Hang on to "The Dear Life" to help me. Thank you Jesus that you don't walk away when my lava flows. When the earthquake in my heart shakes and steam pours out. You see it before it even reaches the surface and somehow, some way you love me just the same. You will change this ugliness into something beautiful. Only You can take a broken pot and make it a glorious work of art, ugliness turned into beauty, vileness polished to a crystal pure shine, and an alabaster jar to be used by the Master, even in her unfinished raw form.

Once Upon a Time

Whatever happened to those confident, proud words, "I'm going to sing before and all the way through this Red Sea journey! I'm not going to be like the Israelites and panic, only singing praise to God after He has rescued me. No, I am going to sing in the face of danger!" It sounds like a super hero flick: high tech, special effects, dazzling the audience with theme music that invigorates the soul, not my Christian faith. It looks like Peter, "I will die for you Lord!" and then, "I don't even know the man!" This is me in the flesh, trying to brave the great unknown, smile in place, courageous words of faith spoken like a Biblical champion of old, yet lying face down in a muddy puddle of my tears, fears and failure. When all I could see was the puddle and it brought fear and anguish, Satan had done his job and done it well. One can't sing to the Lord through the trials of life with dirt in one's throat and eyes full of dusty tears, focused on the little bit of earth one is lying on.
Like a bad horror flick where the heroine braves the scary, dark, eerie music infested woods, seeking the monster but then turns, running blindly, recklessly for safety, tripping, crashing to the ground, only to crawl painfully toward the perceived safety ahead, while hot scorching, wretched beast breathe is searing her neck.......this is my episode of foolish bravery gone awry. I know that I am not alone in this haunted wood, many have passed this way before me.

Was my intention of singing in the rain, praising in the storm misguided? Never are godly, biblical intentions wrong. But singing in my own strength and getting my power to do so from the admiration of on lookers was doomed to fail. Striking out alone in the woods to meet the enemy, with only the good wishes and cheers of others, was foolish at best. On- lookers and friends come around at an initial crisis, a hero syndrome all of it's own, and when the crisis grows too lengthy, dull or inactive, or even a better cause arises elsewhere, the helpful crowd of cheerleaders abandon their posts of cheer and wait for the funeral announcement instead. When one's support system crumbles, so does one's strength to go on singing. Suddenly, the heroine loses her status, the mood turns dark and the end of the song comes prematurely.

Brave words, spoken in truthful abandon to God, don't fall on His ears as meaningless ramblings, yet He knows that the very pledge to remain strong in the face of difficulty is humanly impossible and therefore I am in need of a Savior. He knows that the heart felt pomp and dedication to start strong for Him, to put a good foot and face forward, would fail from a human effort if the trial went longer than the well intentioned stamina. So should the heroine not claim victory prior to the dangerous, ominous fight? Should the bold statement, "I will sing before the Red Sea parts, before deliverance!" have not been spoken at all? Spoken words of dedication to God and trust in His promises and ability to deliver are never mis-spoken words. But had the heroine made it through in her own strength of song, where would the need for God's hands of forgiving grace and mercy have come in to pick her up, wipe off the salty, mud streaked cheeks and carry her to deliverance and victory in His perfect strength, while gaining all the glory and honor due His Name?

The heroine and the song are part of God's great story. He is the Author and Protagonist. It is an autobiography in which the heroine plays a minor role in order for God to come in and slay the dragon and save the day. The confidence, though well placed, initially, wore away when the struggle became to oppressive to continue on in one's own song. And so, the theme music changes, though the struggle remains, and the focus is no longer on the heroine or even when or how the saving will come, but on the Writer Himself, as He narrates how the story will climax and eternally shine into the annuls of Great Stories of God.

Sing before, in, through, and in spite of the storm. Sing songs of deliverance, songs of joy and songs of pain- for they are all part of the great musical epic that God is directing in each of our lives.

Unconditional

How much is too much?
We strive, we try, we do our best, we beat the beast within down, trying to tame it. Like a can of Dr. Pepper shaken not stirred, waiting to blow, we shove our frustrations inside and call it long suffering. But if we are honest, we are just eating ourselves into obesity, the obesity that comes from super-sizing our ability to handle the elements from without. But that is just it: our ability.
We can't give grace or mercy or unconditional love for long, especially when it is being demanded from a source that also struggles with this. So we continue to shake the soda can, knowing full well what will happen. We call our struggle for personal control a fruit of the Spirit: Long Suffering, Patience, maybe even Gentleness or Kindness, but perhaps it is just well practiced biting of the tongue. Perhaps on closer examination, there are bloody gashes in one's mouth from holding back so long. So how much is too much? How many times do we allow the can's in our lives to be shaken in our own strength? How many times do we bite back words in the name of love, "what more, in the name of love"?

Unconditional means Jesus loves me in my wretchedness. Unconditional means I am to love as He loved me. I can't. I should, but I can't. Jesus poured out grace again and again to people who rightly frustrated Him. Jesus spoke the truth in love, even if the words seemed unkind, to white washed tombs and religious zealots, who didn't do it right either. Jesus didn't need to bite His tongue, the only piercings He had were not on His tongue, but on His Hands and Feet. His unconditionalness, His grace, His love resulted in a cross, crown of thorns and a spear in the side.

I am not like this even in the wildest desires of my heart. Perhaps in a moment of deep devotion I may admit an inkling of desire to the Lord for this type of love, but when the rubber hits the fan, or any other type of organic material, I fail, miserably. How does one speak the truth in love and not shove the frustration down? When does one swallow hard and administer grace, turning the other cheek. Jesus did both. He spoke out against hypocrisy, He offered undeserved forgiveness, He quietly was lead to slaughter. Do we spin the wheel and pick the proper behavior? Do we roll the dice and follow the dictates of our emotional stability for the day to determine whether a gentle answer turns away wrath, or love covers a multitude of sin? How and when do we speak truth in love or turn the other cheek?


The can has been punctured and the dark liquid is hissing out, but I want to do it right. I just don't have the strength on my own. I can't pour out the grace when the frustration is spewing out my side. I can't pretend the unconditional love when the soda can seems to have intentionally been shaken. Pretending only results in a sticky mess.


The fruit of the Spirit is love....unconditional, gracious, merciful, forgiving. Are any of us doing it right? Do any of us really love as Christ loved us? Only on our best days, when everyone is looking perhaps do we shine like white washed tombs, but what about when the bones and skeletons are animated and rattling our lives? Then what? Do we unconditionally give grace?


It is a bitter drink realizing how far I am from this. Can I honestly sing the words, "Show me how to love like you have loved me"? Do I really want the burning fire to destroy those things in my life that are keeping me from loving in this manner. Am I willing to be so closely examined by the Spirit, and ready to adhere to His movings in my soul, that I must obey His promptings?
We cry that we want to be like Jesus, we want to be like Jesus, but won't submit to the humble suffering, the non-grasping manner in which He lived His life for us as an example.
I believe our songs and our prayers are conditional because we say when and how much. We dictate to God what we are willing to do. We want heaven, but not the cost of the ticket. We want Jesus, but not the blood that was shed. We want His love, grace and mercy, but not at the expense of giving up our rights to our issues, our rights to ourselves. We want our Dr. Pepper in a can and in an icy cup, not realizing we can't have it both ways. So we strive to look like Christ and continue to swallow our anger in the name of patience and not give it up completely to the One who died for all the angry, hard to love, people in the world.


If, then. If I am a sinner, I will go to hell. If Christ died, I can be saved. I am a sinner, Christ did die, then why am I hanging onto the things that He saved me from?
Unconditioanal love is humanly impossible.

Santa Didn't Bring Me What I Wanted and Now I am Pouty!

I sent a letter to Santa, or maybe it was God. I remember writing the same thing last year, I thought perhaps the first got lost. So I picked up my pen and again jotted down my request, but once again on Christmas morn I realized I'd been forgot. I want to give the benefit of the doubt to the Giver of Gifts, but right now, my human nature is really throwing a fit. I want to stomp like a toddler and scream, "Hey, I've been really good!" Why didn't my two year old Christmas gift come wrapped as I think it should?
So what do you tell yourself when the magic is not found, when the Christmas lights still glitter, the songs are still sung, but your heart is not into it, when all's said and done. What do you tell your heart when it is crushed with disappointment? When the Gift Giver, the Answerer of Prayer, doesn't answer the way you think fair?
You can do what I've done and throw a sullen fit. You can walk around in a miff because of what you didn't get. Or you can write another letter, or rather get down on your knees and ask the Giver of Life for forgiveness....if you please. And while you are bowed down to the One who gives good gifts, present your requests to God again, and let Him decide what is best.
He knows what I need, but sees the desires of my heart. He loves me enough to say no and perhaps even before Christmas, He will answer this request for a Home.