Discovering Love

Shelter from the storm

2011-12-28T10:22:00.000-07:00

He will cover you with his feathers.
He will shelter you with his wings.
His faithful promises are your armor and protection. Psalm 91:4

2011 Christmas epistle

2011-12-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

Dear family and friends,

Hey, what happened to thedays when I could report on my study trip to the UK,Russia, Ukraine, or Jordan,Amsterdam or Paris? This year and last, it’s limited to thehighway between Phoenix and the California coast.

I hope you’ve enjoyed a yearof health, prosperity, love, and moments of joy. I have! (Not in the expectedways, however, as you’ll see.) I’ve managed to stay unemployed since June 2009 (a dubious accomplishment),so as you might surmise, finances have been extremely tight. Most days I stayat home, typing away on my old, rickety laptop, researching and writing ahistorical novel, writing blog articles, or Facebooking with authors,publishers, and potential customers of my novel.

In April, my high schoolclass, who had reunited in Facebook over the last four years, enjoyed anin-person alumni weekend at ThunderbirdAcademy in Scottsdale. Whether we stood around outsidethe gym, or sat together companionably during the service, lounged on the patioby the pool, or met for a game, not one bit of it was bitter, fakey, or enviousas you’d see in a “reality” TV show. Nope, it was warm teasing and hilarious adventures,tragic revelations that nevertheless brought restoration and healing, withunself-conscious hugs and love. Joy and acceptance abounded. They told storiesof losing loved ones, or parents who are slipping into dementia. They showedpictures of their grandchildren. They were not ashamed to say they’d beenjobless or lost their homes. And one classmate ratted out his friend whendescribing their armored escapades while disguised as trash barrel domes.

One summer day at my agingcomputer, I bit down on something neither hard nor sticky, and my dental crowncame out. I made a quick appointment with a local dentist I’d never met, whoquoted me $1500 to make a new crown—which I couldn’t agree to. He still chargedme $200 to x-ray and chart and basically super-glue the old crown back. I wenton Facebook and updated my status with something about the predicament and thatI’d have to look into lower-cost treatment at a dental school clinic. (Trustme, a long process!)

That evening, a lovely friendof some years messaged me from the Loma Linda area, where I used to live. She’sa dentist, and offered to replace the crown and do what she could about myother dental needs, if I drove over and stayed with her for a week—with my dog(so I wouldn’t worry about a dog sitter). As it turned out, the old, gluedcrown lasted long enough to get over there. She did a ton of mapping and exploring (x-rays and exam), restoration,replaced old fillings, all four quadrants of root planing (dental hygiene atthe roots level), and seated the new gold crown—all at her considerable expense(staff, materials, lab, etc.). She marveled that I wasn’t crying with pain atthe treatments that should have been spread out over weeks, but betweenibuprofen and being joyful about the blessing she was giving, there was no wayI could be critical or negative! (Well, there was a bruise on my face from oneof the procedures, but we decided it was the fault of the oral surgeon whoseated the implant abutment. Muahahaha!)

Between appointments, manydelightful and loving friends met me for meals out (soup and yogurt for thetorn-up dental patient!), a movie, Redlands Market Night, etc. I applied forjobs at the university, met my Texas cousins on the beach at Carlsbad, attendedthree churches, met some online friends for the first time in Hollywood, playedpiano for a 99-year-old on her birthday, and just had a blast (if youdiscounted the hole in my jaw from the oral surgeon removing an infected molar,and the three-plus hours I spent at a low-cost medical clinic so I could get myprescriptions renewed…)

The thing that struck me washow much love resides in the hearts of my friends. They took hours out of theirlives to meet me, host me, and of course, treat my serious dental emergencies(Toothpocalypse, I called it). They’re tender and kind and understanding. Severalpeople this year, absolutely Out of the Blue, gave me gifts. Their unexpected and undeserved generosity justblows me away. Thank you, thank you, dear ones. I recognize that the gifts were more about your love and compassion than about the "stuff." But the "stuff" was pretty cool, I won't deny! :-)

The year wasn’t all sweetnessand light. My dad and his wife, who live for eight months of the year in Pennsylvania in Susanne’s hometown, came to Phoenix to snowbird inJanuary, and Dad was told his metastatic cancer was at stage 4. He and Susannewent through the chemotherapy treatments without telling me, and I barelyrecognized him when I saw him at Easter. A few days later, he had a crisis andthen surgery, with complications. After two weeks in the ICU, he was sent to astep-down rehab hospital for a month of physical therapy to rebuild hisstrength. They were planning to drive their van back to Pennsylvania, but theirchurch took up a collection of credit card points and pulled off a couple ofplane tickets for Dad and Susanne, and a man flew out and drove their loadedvan back across the country. They flew out on Fathers’ Day, six weeks aftertheir intended departure. They were very blessed to have godly friends! Theyhaven’t said what their plans are for this winter. Read more about the journey with Dad and Susanne.

During Dad’s crisis, theowners of this rental house had to do a short sale, as they were under water onthe mortgage. On May 1, I was told to be out in 30 days. I called and convincedthem of their folly at lost income and the dangers of an empty house beingstripped. So I was allowed to stay, but I had to show the house to realtors andclients over and over. Thank the Lord, the buyers were not intending to beoccupants, just investors, and I can stay. As it turned out, my Bible studyclass was praying with me about this matter—and the people who bought the housebelong to our church! Eerie coincidence, or answer to prayer?

My brother’s family (Brian,Stacey, Rachel, critters) moved in with me between late July and earlyDecember, to get back on their feet in this depressed economy. Brian took workout of town when he could get it. Their son Jake married Brittney in thespring, the couple moved to Texasfor work in August, and in late September, I became a great-aunt to LandonBrian Robinson. Brian and Stacey have just rented a house in Glendale and are moving their belongingsthere. Rachel turns 18 this month.

I’m still readin’ and writin’on my historical novel about Mary Barrett Dyer and her husband William. ThoughI have more than 200 pages of single-spaced type, there’s much to be writtenand polished yet. I don’t plan to release excerpts of the novel, but I starteda dedicated blog for the Dyers, and it gets a lot of page views and complimentsfrom other writers and historians, so I think I’m doing it right. The blog (anonline magazine about 17^th-century politics, religion, naturalhistory, biography, recreation, food, culture, etc.) is called a “platform”from which to launch the published book. It’s developed a following of peoplewho say they can’t wait to read the book—which is the point. Each article Ipost represents 12-20 hours of work. http://marybarrettdyer.blogspot.com

I keep other blogs,as well. One is Rooting forAncestors, genealogy articles and photos; the other is Discovering Love, mydevotional blog.

As 2011 draws to a close, Iwish for you a new year of health, prosperity, love, and moments of joy—not likemine, but the traditional way! As you hear again the words announcing the first Christmas,let the richness of the imagery surround you: angels of light (not aliens or warriors) giving glory to God in the highestheaven, announcing PEACE (rest, a cessation from striving, absence of war),with good will among and to mankind, on whom God lavishes his grace. Happy Christmas to you.

Thank you so much for beingmy friend, even in hard times. Your love means more than you know.

Christy K. Robinson and thedog and cats

The book with my name on the cover!

2011-12-09T11:47:00.001-07:00

If you didn't get a copy of "my" book WeShall Be Changed in late 2010 or early 2011, how about now? There are new and usededitions available from $12 down to just pennies. I didn't get royaltiesbecause I was employed at the time, so it doesn't matter to my income (or lack of it) if you buy the used ones.This is a nice Christmas or New Years gift, written for a non-denominationalChristian audience. http://amzn.to/tNyNrY

The healing touch

2011-12-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

Ever want to just smack someone?
Or are you the one getting the Marx Brothers bonk on the head?

There’sa prayer list in my Bible cover that I pull out to remember God’s fulfilledpromises. It’s not a list of requests. It’s a list of pray-ers, more than 40people who promised to remember me daily in their prayers until my request wasgranted.

I hadjust been traumatized by one of life’s blows and was in emotional and spiritualpain. My sisterly neighbor held me in her arms as I wept, and her husband, thepriest of their family, anointed and blessed me with prayer. My pastors gavewise counsel and a sympathetic ear. A friend halfway around the world comfortedme with an email.

Theapostle James wrote: Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. …Is any oneof you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him andanoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer offered in faithwill make the sick person well. James 5:13-15 NIV

I wasin trouble and sick at heart! I invited some Christian friends to my home on aSaturday evening and served strawberries and sparkling cider to lighten themood.

Wegathered in a circle, and each in turn offered a prayer for my situation, tostrengthen my Christian growth and reliance upon God and to ask for healing. Aseach person left, I accompanied them down the walk. Each one hugged me and,amazingly, thanked me for being included! I had forgotten that when helpingothers, we are God’s instruments and His healing touch. My friends were feelingthe anointing of the Holy Spirit as they prayed for me and were thrilled to thecore, knowing that the God of the universe had chosen them for His service.They were awestruck.

Godloves you so much. He has gifts to give you, even in your time of trouble, andHe wants to work through you to love others. Let the Great Physician heal you,and let Him use you to heal people with His gentle, loving, and powerful touch.There’s no feeling like it in the world.

My name is Christy & I’m a dopamine addict

2011-11-24T01:04:00.001-07:00

I’ve been single all my life, and when major holidays likeThanksgiving and Christmas arrive, I experience strong emotions. It might bethat I have unrealistic expectations of some sort of idyllic family gatheringlike on the Waltons TV show, or thatsome long-lost love or sibling separated at birth (do I even have any ofthose??) will show up at my door and hug the daylights out of me, or that I’llwake up to the miracle that I have a fulfilling job after two and a half yearsof jobless insecurity and frugal survival with no income.

It would be really easy to rehearse the negatives of thepast, even the recent past, and trust me, sometimes I do.

“Humans have something called a negativity bias where 'badstuff' in our life outweighs the good by a measure of about 3:1,” said ReneeJain, a certified coach of positive psychology, who is quoted in this article: ThankfulnessLinked to Positive Changes in Brain and Body.

But then I’m reminded of how, even in the midst of news ofunprecedented greed in commerce, and lying and power-grabbing in government,there really is love in this world, and many of those lovers are my friends.

Ages ago, I divided people into the have-God andhave-not-God categories, because I was taught that we, the Christian Elect, theRemnant Church, know that Godis Love, and there is no love apart from God. If you didn’t obey the TenCommandments (which most people don’t), you couldn’t love God, and surely hedoesn’t approve or like you, so You. Are. Going. To. Hell.

Along the way, I learned that that is a false theology! First,it’s not the Ten Commandments spoken of in that statement—the original word is“command” (singular) and refers to Jesus’ one command to love one another in alife-changing way. “This is my command:Love one another the way I loved you. This is the very best way to love. Putyour life on the line for your friends. You are my friends when you do thethings I command you.” John15:12 MSG

Second, I learned that God created humans in his image, butit wasn’t his image in the mirror, with two eyes, a nose, a mouth, ten fingersand ten toes, etc. He created our spiritsin his image: God is spirit. In every human being (and I like to think, in someanimals), God has created our spirits to love and be loved. And even those whosay they don’t believe in God nevertheless have a capacity to love because MYGod created it there. As it says in the Good Book, “he who loves his fellowmenis coming to know and understand God!” I happen to know quite a few people whodon’t claim to be Christ-followers, but they are full of love forfellowman.

⁷Beloved, let us love one another, for love is(springs) from God; and he who loves[his fellowmen] is begotten (born) of God and is coming [progressively] to knowand understand God [to perceive and recognize and get a better and clearerknowledge of Him]. ⁸He who does not love has not become acquaintedwith God [does not and never did know Him], for God is love. ⁹Inthis the love of God was made manifest (displayed) where we are concerned: inthat God sent His Son, the only begotten or ^[a]unique [Son], into the world so that wemight live through Him. ¹⁰Inthis is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Sonto be the propitiation (the atoning sacrifice) for our sins. ¹¹Beloved,if God loved us so [very much], we also ought to love one another. ¹²No man has at any time [yet] seen God. Butif we love one another, God abides (lives and remains) in us and His love(that love which is essentially His) is brought to completion (to its fullmaturity, runs its full course, is perfected) in us! 1John 4:7-12 Amp

And despite apparent evidence that I’m not loved (all thenegatives in my life), I’m WRONG. I am loved! A few months ago, friends pouredout love upon love for me, including thousands of dollars of dental treatments,taking time to go out to meals or movies with me when I visited friends inCalifornia, meeting me at the beach for walks and talks, people who sent megift cards and checks to help me make it through some tough times, people whokeep me in their prayers regularly, and those who put me on the scent of jobopenings. One friend even entered a contest to try to win tickets to a Stingconcert for me.

This week, I received a Thanksgiving card from a friend I’venever met except online. She wrote,

“Ijust wanted to let you know that you are thought of. I don’tknow if you know or not, but you are an inspiration to me. I feel you are apositive person when it counts, something that is so difficult and I admirethat. And I strive to be more like that. I’m thankful to know you and see yourexamples. Sometimes we know we’re blessed, but we also struggle. I wish youblessings so large you can’t contain it.”

Another person wrote, last month,

“Ijust wanted to take this moment to tell you how in awe I am of you!. Your giftto others is support and understanding and it is reflected in your messages andpostings on Facebook. I was reading about Richard and your words, again, ofcomfort while passing on a difficult message to others was very moving. You aretruly an inspiration and I thank you for...being you. I do not share too muchin public. My family and I have had some very sad times this past year,mother's health, father's health, in-law's health, passing of our dearbrother-in-law. Your words and actions, although not directly aimed at me, havemeant so much and provided support. You are a wonderful human being!! Withheartfelt thanks, C.”

I am feeling thedopamine!

I liked what the ThankfulnessLinked to Positive Changes in Brain and Body article said about an attitudeof thanksgiving:

“Studieshave shown measurable effects on multiple body and brain systems…Those includemood neurotransmitters (serotonin, norepinephrine), reproductive hormones(testosterone), social bonding hormones (oxytocin), cognitive and pleasurerelated neurotransmitters (dopamine), inflammatory and immune systems(cytokines), stress hormones (cortisol), cardiac and EEG rhythms, bloodpressure, and blood sugar…. The brain's primary reward chemical is calleddopamine…The interesting thing, however, is that we can't feel rewards andthreats unless we focus attention on them. Many good and bad things happen inour life every day, but until they come to our own attention, we don't get theneurotransmitter release that allows us to feel good or bad."

So before, during, and after the Thanksgiving holiday, weshould choose to have an attitude of thanksgiving. Don’t rehearse all theevents that sucked the wind out of you. Remember the people who lift you up andcarry you when you’re too weak to keep going alone. Remember that in everyperson is a spark or a bonfire, that reflects the love God put in them. Let thespark light your own fire. Remember the people without families, who need to bereminded that they are loved. (It could be as simple as a Facebook note, or acard in the mail.) I promise that loving others will release the dopamine, justas receiving love gives you that shot of joy-juice to your brain.

And, um, if you should spot one of those nearly-extinct “jobcreators” (cough-cough) hanging around with a requisition, send them my way.

Related post: Friendsand Family

Secret weapon

2011-11-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

David B attempts to block Richard W's shot:
playing basketball in the mid-1970s.

I hope you enjoy the guest post by my high school classmate, Pastor Don R. Keele, Jr., as much as I did. Don wrote the article in 2010, about his experience in our school years. The team captain mentioned in the article, Richard W., passed away early in November 2011 from complications related to Richard's years of drug abuse. His parents had preceded him in death, and he had no siblings or children. As Richard lay dying in the hospice facility, his friends sat with him all night, holding his hand or phoning from a thousand miles away to pray for him and tell him he was loved and not alone. Memories poured into a Facebook group, from people who remembered Richard as goofy, funny, lovable. I remember how accepting Richard was of anyone and everyone; though he joked constantly, it was never, ever, to hurt another person. Thank you, Donnie, for sharing this exceptional and inspirational message.

© Don Keele, Jr. (use in this site by author’s permission)

I’ve always had the athletic ability of tree bark. I’m thetype that can’t walk and chew gum at the same time. I’ve even been known topull over to the side of the road to honk the horn. Athletics and me just don’tmix.

I learned this early on when I realized, as I mentioned in the last chapter,that due to asthma, if I had to choose between running and breathing, I wouldusually chose breathing every time, which left me with little time to developmy athletic prowess. Nowhere was this truer than at recess. While I enjoyed thebreak from studies, I hated the pressure of recess, especially in the fourthgrade.

Our teacher, Miss Lester, thought it important that all children learned toplay together, so almost everyday, she would say in her unique nasally way,“Children, line up on the line.” I hated those words because I knew what wascoming next. “The Line” was just on the edge of the blacktop, and it is whereall teams were chosen for whatever game we would be playing that day at recess.She would then continue.

“Vance, Bobby, you be our captains today.” Vance and Bobby were alwaysour captains, because they were the most athletic in our class. And the ritual,no matter what sport we would be playing, was always the same.

“Bobby, it’s your turn to choose first today.” Bobby would then select the nextbest athlete in the class, and then Vance would choose the third best whileBobby and his first pick talked over who to pick next. No matter how itstarted, every day it ended up the same. Everyone else would be picked, and Iwould still be standing on The Line, kicking at a small rock, or uneasilyshifting from foot to foot until we could be past the dreaded words that Ialways knew were coming. It didn’t matter who had last pick, it always wentsomething like this.

“We’ll give you two girls if you take Keele too.” “No way, we had himyesterday! It’s your turn to have him.” “Well, we don’t want him, he can’t doanything right.” “Well, it’s your turn to have him, so let’s get this gamestarted.” “No wait, what if we gave you three girls?” At which point MissLester would finally intervene.

“Vance, it’s your pick and there is still one person, so Donnie, you are onVance’s team today.” A gigantic groan would emanate from all of Vance’steammates and someone would utter the words I least liked to hear; “Oh, great,now he’ll make us lose.”

I’m not sure how I could do that because I always thought it took a whole teamto win or lose, but somehow they were convinced that I was the key to winningor losing. And since they were convinced, I rapidly became persuaded as well. Icame to believe that I truly was the weak link on any team. Which is why mybecoming a secret weapon on any sports team was so unusual. Fast forward to myjunior year in academy.

My dad became principal of ThunderbirdAdventist Academyin Scottsdale, Arizona, the summer before my junior year. Dadwas a competitive sportsman and a good athlete despite his large frame. Askanyone who caught his fast-pitch softball or tried to defend against him inbasketball or who stepped on the racquetball court with him. Dad had a drive towin. My younger brother, Rusty inherited that gift of athletics. I inheritedother gifts, but athletics wasn’t one of them. Nonetheless, dad wanted me toget out there and try whatever sport might be going on at the time. It was timefor basketball that year and dad pleaded with me to sign up to be selected foran intramural team.

“Why don’t you try it, son? Just sign up,” dad pleaded.

“Because I can’t run and breathe at the same time.” I shot back.

“Now that you have an inhaler, you can’t really use that as an excuse anymore,”dad responded. “So why don’t you sign up?”

Because I’m no good at basketball, dad, that’s why. Besides, I hate the sport.Every time I mess up, some jock gets in my face telling me what a dumb move Ijust made and how stupid I am for making it.”

“But this is a new school. You can make a fresh start here!” dad insisted.

“Too late for that, dad. They’ve already seen me in PE classand know that I’m as coordinated as concrete. I hate the pressure and I freezeevery time someone throws me the ball. Then someone steals the ball and therest of my team yells at me. No thanks.”

He continued to plead until finally, just to please him, I signed up. Not thatI was real worried that I would actually have to play. In our school, there wasan “A-league”, a “B-league” and a “C-league”. A-league players were the best inthe school. They lived ate and breathed basketball. B-league guys were ok, butnot outstanding. And C-league…let’s just say they were the leftovers. Even atthat, my skills were so poor that if there had been a “Z-league”, I would haveplayed in it. I knew, even if picked for a C-league team, that I would beadequately prepared to warm the bench. So I signed up just to get dad off my back.

The system for choosing teams went like this. The coach would select the bestof the best to be A-league captains and they would come in the first eveningand choose their teams. Then the coach would post the A-league list the nextmorning. The second day, he would choose the best of those not chosen the firstnight and they would become B-league captains. That evening, they would takethe remaining list and make their selections, and the next morning the B-leaguelist would be posted, and the same procedure would follow for C-league on thethird day.

When the A-league list was posted all over campus, the jocks would all gatherto see what team they were on. They would high-five each other if they foundthey were on the same team or start talking smack about how they were going todeep-six the other team if they found out they were on opposing teams.

I was walking past the library on my way to the Ad Building just before thefirst bell rang when coach put up the A-league list. The jocks swarmed it likeflies on a cow-pie. It was disgusting. But it had nothing to do with me, so Idecided to ignore it. I had two more days before I would have to startworrying.

“WHAT!?” one of the jocks suddenly shouted. “You’ve GOT to be kidding me! LOOK!”he said pointing to a name on the list.

“NO STINKIN’ WAY!” yelled his new teammate. “What was Richard thinking?”

They take this way too seriously, I thought. It’s only a stupid game. Remindsme of elementary school.

“Have you seen him play?” the first exclaimed, “He’ll make us lose!”

Some things never change, I concluded. They just need to grow up. Oh, well,none of my concern.

The bell rang and doors all over campus flew open as students streamed outheading for their next class. I headed around the corner to the Ad Building.

Suddenly, though my feet were still walking forward, I found myself rapidlymoving backward, carried by two big jocks.

“Hey,” I started.

“Shut up, we’ve got to get to the bottom of this,” one of them said.

They turned me around and plopped me down right in front of Richard. Richardwas a senior, and one of the best basketball players in school. He was about6’5” and at that height was also one of the tallest kids in school. He alwayscarried himself with an easy air about him, and a toothpick was always hangingout of one side of his mouth.

“Richard, what were you thinking by picking Keele for our team? Have you neverseen him play? He’s horrible! He’ll make us lose?” jock one almost shouted, hisface red and his veins popping out on the side of his neck.

“What?” I exclaimed as the words wormed their way into my understanding. “Youpicked me on your team? Why?”

“That’s what we want to know!” jock two jumped in. “What in the world were youthinking? Oh, you weren’t!” Richard just kind of grinned and chewed on histoothpick.

Jock one joined back in, “Really Richard, have you seen him play? He’s got tobe the worst of the worst. Go back to coach before they pick B-league and pickup someone else. Maybe Randy. He didn’t get picked yet.”

I was starting to panic as the reality of the situation sunk in. This could beextremely humiliating, because everyone came to watch A-league games. Almost noone came to C-league games.

“It’s true, Richard,” I said, “Randy would be a much better choice thanme. I have been making teams lose for years now. I’m not your man. I really ambad! Just give me three minutes on the court and I’ll prove it to you. Getsomeone else while there is still time.”

“He’s making a lot of sense,” jock two said. “Listen to him Richard, beforeit’s too late.”

Richard deftly flicked his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the otherwith his tongue and then said, “No gentlemen, I want him on my team. I have aplan for him. He’s going to be our secret weapon.”

“WHAT???” we all cried in unison.

“That’s right. I’ve got a plan that I think will work.”

“But Richard,” jock one started.

Richard looked at him and said, “Listen, I want him on the team and he’s goingto be on the team—so either you accept that, or you can find another team.”

I swallowed hard and decided to try one more tactic. “Look Richard, what if Idon’t want to be on your team. What if I don’t want to play at all? Did youever think of that?”

“Your name was on the list,” Richard said, “which means that you wanted toplay. I picked you, so you will play on my team. Now listen, all of you, beforewe’re late to class. Coach said that we could have the gym Sunday at 2 for justour team. I’ll tell you what I’m thinking then. Be there Sunday at 2, dressedout and ready to play ball.”

“But,” I began to protest but didn’t get any farther.

Richard turned and started walking towards his next class. “If you’re notthere, Keele,” he said over his shoulder, “I will hunt you down and drag you there.So make it easy on both of us. Show up ready to play.”

Jocks one and two angrily stomped off towards their next class and I shuffledon to the Ad Building and dad’s office to lament this unfortunate turn ofevents. Dad was thrilled.

“Wow,” he said after hearing my story, “A-league! Now you can show them whatyou’ve got!”

“Yeah, dad,” I responded, “Which is absolutely nothing. I got nothing! And nowthe whole school will know and I’ll be the laughingstock of the entire studentbody.”

Sunday came and I briefly thought of skipping, but remembering Richard’s threatand knowing that he would follow through, I changed into my basketball shortsand headed over to the gym. I hated my PE clothes. I was so skinny my shortshung on by the drawstring for dear life. They were so big around my spindlylegs that I could take three steps before the shorts even started to move.

Entering the gym, I quickly slouched to one of the benches to watch my newteammates as they warmed up. There was Joe, a short but very quick outsideshooter. He would be playing guard, no doubt. There was Kevin, a 6’1” senior. Ihad seen him play both forward and guard. Then you had “Tank”, a rather large,very enthusiastic forward. Tank was not his real name. It was actually John, butI had a bad habit of giving people private nicknames based on theircharacteristics. John was so enthusiastic in his play, he was often obliviousto anyone around him. He had run me over as I walked across the court one day,thus earning the nickname “Tank” in my mind. Eddie was another who could playforward or guard. Richard, of course, would play center and I guessed myposition to be sub after everyone had fouled out if they were really indesperate straits.

Richard saw me on the bench and said, “Ok, we’re all here. Have a seat guys andI’ll explain my plan.”

They all sat along the bench leaving a wide margin between them and me, whichwas ok with me. As it turned out I wouldn’t be sitting there long anyway.

“Keele,” Richard said looking my direction, “come out here.” I got up andshuffled out towards the center of the court where Richard stood.

“Keele,” he said, “this year you are going to be our secret weapon.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong guy, Richard,” I began, but he cut me off.

“Here’s the plan,” he continued. “Everyone already knows how bad you are atbasketball, and by now word is out that Richard is nuts. We’re going to usethat to our advantage.” He paused. Somewhere off in the distance a cricketchirped as we all waited to hear what the plan was.

“Keele,” he went on, “I’m gonna teach you how to play basketball.”

“Coach already tried that and it hasn’t worked yet,” I said.

“I’m not finished, so just shut it,” Richard responded. Then to Joe, “Throw methe ball.”

“Keele,” he said, “we’re gonna get real basic here, so follow me. This is abasketball.”

“Yeah,” I said, “we’ve got those in C-league.”

“I said shut it,” Richard replied. “How you gonna learn anything if you’realways yappin’?” I shrugged.

“These,” he pointed to the lines surrounding the court, “are the boundarylines.” I started to let him know we had those in C-league too, but his looktold me I should just keep it shut.

“Everything inside those lines is what we call inbounds,” he continued. “Everythingoutside, we call out-of-bounds. To score, this ball must go through that hoop.We call that ‘making a basket.’”

I stood there, somewhat embarrassed, trying to figure out the point he wastrying to make with such obvious information, as my teammates just sat andsnickered.

“Your first job on this team comes whenever the other team makes a basket. Iwant you to run over, grab the ball and take it out-of-bounds. Can you dothat?”

I nodded.

“Let’s practice. Pretend this is the other team.” With that Richard shot theball into the basket. I went over picked it up and walked out-of-bounds.

“Good,” Richard said. “Now, watcha gonna do?”

“Throw it inbounds,” I replied.

Richard W in his youth

“To who?” Richard asked.

“Whom,” I replied.

“What?” he asked.

“The correct word to use would be whom,” I said.

“Hey,” Richard shot back, “This ain’t English class.”

“Obviously,” I responded, “or I would be doing a lot better.”

“Look, just answer the question—Who you gonna throw it to?” Richard said.

“Somebody on my team,” I said sarcastically. This was getting old and I failedto see the point.

“Only two people on this team will you ever throw it to,” Richard instructed. “Meor Joe.” I decided to pass on the English lesson. “Now,” he said, “Let’s trythat. Joe, come out here. John, come guard him.”

He shot the ball. I went and picked it up and headed out-of-bounds. “Tank”followed me. When I turned around, he was waving his arms frantically in myface trying to keep me from throwing the ball in. My view was limited to big,hairy armpits. Nasty.

“Come on, Keele,” Richard shouted, “throw it in.”

“Get this baboon with the hairy armpits out of my way and I will.” I shoutedback.

“That’s the point, Keele,” Richard said, “There will always be someone tryingto keep you from throwing the ball in. If that should happen, turn your bodysideways, keeping the ball away from your opponent. Simply throw it one-handedway up in the air, like you’re doing a hook shot, and I’ll get it. Now trythat.”

I turned sideways and launched it up over my head. It easily cleared John’swaving arms. Richard leaped into the air and snatched it.

“See,” he said, “No problem. Now watcha gonna do?”

“Come inbounds,” I replied.

“And go where?” Richard asked.

“To the other end.” I snapped.

“And do what?” he asked.

“I dunno,” I said, “Run around and around and around until somebody throws methe ball.”

“No,” Richard said. “There is only one place you will go. This little paintedsection in the middle we call the key. You’re going to run down and stand atthe top of the key on the right hand side.”

“That’s it?” I asked. “Just stand there?”

“No,” Richard answered, “You will never just stand there. You will always haveyour hands up like this.” He demonstrated by bringing his hands up in front ofhis chest, palms out, as if ready to catch the basketball. He continued, “Thenalways turn to follow the ball. Keep your hands up and just follow the ballwith your eyes, keeping your body facing towards wherever the ball is. If itshould come to you, simply turn towards the goal and launch it up somewhere inthe vicinity of the basket. I’ll be there to take care of it. Got it?”

“I think so,” I responded.

“Good, anyone else have questions?” Richards asked the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” said Tank, “I still don’t get how this is going to work. Keele is stillno good at basketball.”

“He doesn’t have to be,” Richard countered. “That’s the beauty of it. Becausewe are good at it, the other teams will be guarding us, but no one will guardKeele. So once we get the ball to him and he throws it towards the basket, I’llbe able to shake my guys by going up after the ball. From there it should beeasy. Get it?” We all answered back with blank stares. It was obvious that noone got it.

“Ok, let’s try it.” Richard said. “I’ll show you what I mean.” Then to me,“Keele, try to get it somewhere close to the rim. That will help a whole lot. Ok…getin your places guys. Keele, hands up, follow the ball.” Richard whipped theball to Joe who threw it to Kevin. I turned and followed the ball with my handsup in front of my chest. Kevin to Tank, Tank to Richard. Suddenly, whump, ithit my hands like a cannon ball. I went two steps backwards.

“No, Keele,” Richard called out, “once you get the ball you can’t move yourfeet!”

I pulled on my jersey to release my chest from the collapsed position. “Well, Iwasn’t expecting it that hard,” I countered.

“Always expect it hard,” Richard said. “That way, if it is, you’re ready. Andif it isn’t, you’re also ready. Ok…let’s try it again. Remember Keele, close tothe rim.”

Richard to Kevin, Kevin to Joe, Joe to Tank and, whump, back in my hands. Thistime I turned and heaved it towards the basket. Like a flash out of nowhere,Richard came blazing past me, leaped into the air, grabbed the ball and slammedit through the hoop. I stood there with my mouth open. Whoa—that was cool! Heturned and looked at the rest of us.

“Now do you get it?” he asked. We all nodded and then simultaneously broke intoa spontaneous rant.

“Dude, that was awesome! Did you see that? That was so cool! There is no way toguard that! Unbelievable! Who would have thought?”

“Now do you see how Keele will be our Secret Weapon? If he can get it up in theair just like that, it should be no problem to take the lead.”

I stood there shaking at the thought of not being a loser any more. Maybe I didhave hidden talents in basketball. Just be there in my spot with my hands up.Be ready. And if the ball came to me, heave it towards the basket. I could dothis!

We tried the play over and over again. Sometimes I threw it flawlessly, othertimes, not so well. Richard developed contingency plans in case I messed up. Joeor Kevin would run in to help try and recover the ball in case things didn’t gowell. We kept at it until I was getting pretty consistent—and very tired. Someof the guys were running over to the water fountain. Richard called for abreak. I slumped to a bench on the side of the gym. Richard came over.

“Good work, Keele! Now we just need to teach you how to play defense,”Richard’s words sent virtual cramps through my tired body.

“What do I have to do there?” I asked.

“Just run around and around and around till somebody throws you the ball,”Richard grinned.

“Yeah, right!” I said, as I smiled for the first time that day.

“Actually,” he said, “That’s not far from the truth. I just want you to followthe ball. Get in the face and yell at whoever has it. Try to freak them intomaking a mistake. If they don’t know it’s coming, it can cause a turnover. We’regoing to try it on they guys in a minute. Are you game?”

“Just run to whoever has the ball and yell? That’s it?” I asked.

“Well, that and wave your hands in front of them as you yell.” Richard said. “Ok,here’s the deal. You and me and Eddie are going to take on Joe, John and Kevinin a little scrimmage game. You just try that defense. If we get the ball, justrun back to your spot and get your hands up.”

“Ok,” I said, “I’ll try, but can we play half-court? I can’t keep running thisway.” Richard grinned and nodded.

We started into the scrimmage game and the ball went to Tank. I ran over andyelled loudly, “WOOOOOOOW!” Tank jumped back and Richard stole the ball, goingin for an easy lay-up.

“What was that about?” John yelled looking in my direction.

“That,” Richard said, “was exactly what I wanted him to do. And if it worked onyou, it will work on a lot of guys.” He looked my direction and gave me athumbs-up.

Richard threw the ball to John. “So, you guys ready to take on our secret weapon?”

We practiced until I couldn’t yell, or for that matter, move any more. Idragged myself home for a shower, exhausted, but feeling it might not be so badafter all.

Our first game came a few days later. The gym was packed to watch the A-leagueguys play. They made a big deal of calling the starting five from each team. Youknow the drill. “And starting at forward, and a big senior, isKevvvvvvvvvinnnnnnnn.” Every one cheered as Kevin ran out. “In the otherforward position, another senior, heeeeerrrrrrreeesssss Johnny!!!!” The crowdagain cheered as Tank trotted out and high-fived Kevin. “Playing guard, he’sshort, but he’s fast as lightning, please welcome, junior Joooooooooeeeeeee!” Thecrowd went nuts as Joe ran out with both hands up and high-fived both Kevin andJohn. “And in the other guard position, also a junior, for the first time inA-league—heeeeerrrrrrrreeeessss Donnie!” The crowd went totally silent as Itook the first three steps to get my shorts moving. Somewhere off in thedistance a dog barked. Then suddenly, I heard it—small a first, but building inintensity. A snicker, then a short laugh, and before I knew it, the whole gymerupted into laughter.

All of my loser feelings swiftly returned. Maybe I didn’t belong on the court. Iwas about ready to bolt for the door in shame when I heard something else. Asingle clap. Then another one, quickly followed by a third. One person wasclapping! I looked around and spotted my dad standing in the corner of thegymnasium, clapping for me!

Tank high-fived me and whispered, “Don’t worry about it man, they don’t knowyou’re our secret weapon. We’ll call you SW for short. Just stay undercover fora little while longer.” Instantly I felt better.

And immediately, when the rest of the students heard their principal (my dad)clapping, the laughing died away. The announcer continued.

“He’s the captain of the team, he’s a senior, playing center, let’s hear it forRiiiiiiiccchhhhhharrrrrddd!” The crowd abruptly went wild again as Richardtrotted out and high-fived the rest of us.

After the other team was announced, we went out to line up for the jump ball. Wehad never covered the jump ball in any of our practice sessions, so I wasn’tquite sure what to do. I stood out a little bit away from everyone else. No onecame close to me either.

The whistle sounded, Richard out-jumped his opponent and drilled the ballstraight to me. I had my hands up and caught it, but now what? Like a flash,Joe came right past me, snatching the ball and running straight towards thebasket for an easy lay-up. Cool.

“Defense, Keele!” Richard yelled. “Let it go, boy!”

I ran down to the other end of the court and spotted the ball. Runningfull-bore towards the guy I shrieked, “YAAAAAAAAA!” as I lunged in waving myhands frantically. He jumped back, startled, and tried to get a pass off. Tankwas all over it and Joe was already running down-court. We were up by 4 in thefirst minute of the game.

They threw the ball in and brought it down. I was all over my defensive game! “Yaaaa!Wooooow, HAAAAAY! “WatchOUT!” I was having a great time waving my arms andyelling. Suddenly, we had the ball and everyone was running down-court.

“Get in your spot, Keele!” Richard yelled. I ran to the top of the key and hadmy hands up just turning and following the ball. I began to feel like a realdufus when people started pointing and laughing, but I kept my hands up. Whump.I turned and launched it towards the goal. Perfect throw! Richard was on it ina flash and quickly slammed it through the hoop.

The loudspeakers came to life as the voice of the announcer tried to drown outthe roaring crowd. “Two-points, Richard! Assist, Keele!”

I looked and my dad was going nuts! Clapping for all he was worth. “Get downhere, Keele!” Richard yelled. Oh, yeah! I plunged into the melee. “YAAAA! Woohooo,HAAAAAY! “WATCHit!” I was like a hard-core squirrel on caffeine. It was themost fun I’d ever had on a basketball court.

At the end of the game, we were up by 16 points and I had 12 assists behind myname. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually on a team that WON! And I had,beyond doubt, contributed to the win! That was the first of many wins. As amatter of fact, we went undefeated the entire season.

To be sure, the other teams caught on to our strategy. I began to be heavilyguarded. “Don’t let Keele get that ball in the air!” other captains wouldcaution their guards. So Richard showed me a few other moves. A head fake andtoss out to Joe. A bounce pass under the jumping blocker to Tank. An around-the-backdump-off to Kevin. A hand-off to Eddie. Always, I was in my spot. Always withmy hands up, ready to get the pass.

And in the championship game, with three minutes remaining in the game, I had aslow-motion moment. We were going against Ron’s team. Ron was about equal inskill to Richard, and this particular game was hard fought. Someone on his teamanswered every basket we made. The game was tied. Adrenaline was running high.I was in my spot and I was open. Suddenly the ball was in my hands and I turnedand launched it towards the basket. That’s when things went into slow-motion.

Up, up, up went the ball. Ron and Richard both went up at the same time to tryand gain control of the ball. It continued going up, right over both of theiroutstretched hands. They waved, arms colliding. Beads of sweat went flying,glistening under the mercury lights. Still the ball was on its’ upward arch. Theyswung again and missed, as it reached the apex, and then all three startedtheir slow-motion descent together: Ron, Richard and the ball, with a perfectslow-motion backspin. I stood there in my spot, watching it all unfold slowlybefore my eyes. As Ron and Richard hit the floor, the ball swished through thebasket, nothing but net. It went IN! I couldn’t believe it! It actually wentIN!

Somewhere in the distance I heard the announcer say, “Two points, KEELE!” Mydad went absolutely nuts, jumping and yelling, “Way to go son! Good one!” Istood rooted to my spot, soaking it all in until Richard’s voice jerked me backinto reality.

“Get down here, Keele! We need you!” I sprinted down the court and went intothe fray like a shark on a feeding frenzy. “YO! HAY! WATCHIT! LOOKOUT!YAAAAAHHOOOOOO!” I was all over the place! We got the turnover and Joe wasdown-court in a flash. Tank to Eddie. Eddie to Joe. Joe in for the lay-up. Wewere up by two. They were back down-court and working it. Ron drove the basketand we were tied again.

Back and forth it went. Final ten seconds. We had possession and we were down byone because of a free throw. I was in my spot. Hands up. Turning and facing theball at all times. Richard to Tank. Tank to Joe. Joe to Kevin. Kevin to me. Iturned and started to launch, but two guys came out of nowhere to block it. Iswitched up and bounced it under them as Richard came zipping by on his way tothe hoop. He took the pass and drove for the goal, with Ron guarding closely.Releasing the ball, it went up, hit the backboard and dropped through the hoopjust as the buzzer sounded.

The whole place went nuts. Suddenly I found myself on the shoulders of myteammates as they chanted “SW, SW, SW!” My dad was pounding me on the back,yelling, “Way to go, son! Good job!”

Wow, from the loser’s bench to the winner’s circle. I had never been therebefore. It was an unbelievable feeling. I reveled in the glow as I went homethat night. But I also felt a lot of gratitude for what Richard had done forme.

For some reason Richard had chosen me, a major loser, to be on his team. Ithink it was because he secretly wanted to date my sister (which didn’t work). Buthe took a chance nonetheless. Even though I was a loser, he picked me to be onhis team of winners.

And even though I had been the one they picked up off the floor and bouncedaround, I knew full well that I couldn’t really play basketball. I had onlydone what Richard had taught me. He taught me how to stand at the top of thekey and how to throw the ball up in the air. He taught me a head fake and abounce pass and how to act like an idiot on defense, but if the truth were tobe told, I’m still no good on a basketball court. I still can’t play the game. Butthat didn’t matter to Richard. What mattered was that I did what he asked.

My job was to be in my spot and be willing. I needed to have my hands open andready to catch whatever was thrown. I needed to keep my eye on Richard and notworry about what everyone else was screaming at me. And when the ball came tome, I was to just heave it towards the basket and let him take care of the rest.Which brings me to you and your spiritual growth.

You may think that you are no good at this spiritual walk thing. You may stillbe stunned that for some reason, God chose you to play on his team. He knowsthat you may not be the best at playing. He knows that the spiritual walk ishard. He knows that you don’t feel adequate- but for some reason, He pickedyou. Look at what the Apostle John wrote.

John 15:16 You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to goand bear fruit --fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whateveryou ask in my name.

He isn’t asking that you have it all together. He isn’t asking that you be thestar player of the team. Just be in your spot and be willing to serve. Keepyour heart open for whatever Jesus decides to throw at you. Jesus has rarelypicked the most adequate or the most competent. But He has always used the mostwilling. Remember, it’s not based on how bad you are, but rather on how good Heis. Just be in your spot, with your hands up, ready to do what He asks of you. Throwit up there, and He’ll take care of the rest.

Philippians 1:6 “He who began a good work in you will be faithful to completeit.”

It’s His job to take you from a spiritual loser to a spiritual winner, and Hewants to finish that work in your life. Allow Him to do that work and simply dowhat He asks you to do.

What’s He asking you to do? God wants you to be in your spot with your hands upand He wants you to put your heart and soul into it. Mark 12:30 Love theLord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mindand with all your strength.'

Question: How well have you been playing the game? Have you beenpleading to get off of the team? Have you tried to stay on the bench? There isno excuse a Christian can stand on for not fulfilling the Gospel commission. It’sa command of Jesus, not a suggestion. And with every command comes a promise. Checkthis out.
2 Pet. 1:3,4 His divine power has given us everything we need forlife and godliness through our knowledge of him who called us by his own gloryand goodness. 4 Through these he has given us his very great and preciouspromises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature andescape the corruption in the world caused by evil desires.

Did you catch that? His divine power has given us everything we needfor life and godliness. He’s already given you everything you need to be in thegame. So get in there and get your hands up!

And you’ll find, if you’re faithful, that when the final game is played, andthe final buzzer sounds, you’ll be hoisted up onto the shoulders of angels andcarried past God the Father and there you will find Him applauding, saying “Wayto go, son! Way to go daughter! I’m so proud of you! Not because you’re thebest basketball player out there, but because you’re my child, and you learnedto trust me and you learned to trust my Son, Jesus, and together, we’ve madeyou a winning secret weapon in this whole Great Controversy.”

Guest author Don R. Keele, Jr. with Christy
at high school reunion in the gymnasium where
Don became the Secret Weapon.

So don’t take yourself out of the game. Don’t sit and whine that there areothers better or more qualified than you. Don’t excuse yourself because youaren’t having fun or the work is hard. Stay in there and play. Hold on a littlelonger, because someday soon—it won’t be long now—it’s going to all be worthit. Hey, life is short, play hard!

__________________

http://www.blogger.com/profile/10579555238004898143

http://donkeelejr.blogspot.com/2010/08/secret-weapon.html

The Onesimus Factor

2011-11-06T01:00:00.000-07:00

Well done, good and faithful [and useful] servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!” Matthew 25:23 NIV

It’s often said, “I couldn’t have done it without you.” I'd like to add, “Thank you so much for helping so generously.”

The apostle Paul wrote to his friend Philemon, saying that he was returning the runaway slave Onesimus. (Onesimus’ name meant “useful.”) Mr. Useful had actually made himself indispensable to the Christian community, and his living testimony of usefulness and willingness to serve inspired Paul to implore Philemon to treat the returning runaway slave not as a criminal, but as a brother in Christ—an equal.

In our society, we might apply the principle to professional ministers and the “lay” Christians who volunteer considerable amounts of time, expertise, and financial resources. The professional clergy and their paid staff, organized ministries, or churches could not function without a community of true believers—believers in the cause of the gospel of Christ.

And what is the gospel? It's the good news that God is a personal God, who passionately desires to have an intimate experience with you now and forever.

Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount that doing the acts of righteousness and giving alms to the needy are godly acts (Matthew 6:1), but to keep them quiet. Because God acts with justice, mercy, compassion, forgiveness, and love, and because we want to be like Him in all things, we are moved to go where we are needed, to liberate those in bondage, to bring Jesus’ healing balm to His children. When we do the acts of righteousness unselfishly and without expecting reward or payment, we not only strengthen those we serve, but ourselves as well, knowing that we have been instruments in the hands of God.

Run or walk to raise funds for a charity. Sign up to teach, carry equipment, lay block, or raise a roof. Sponsor a needy child or orphan in a foreign country (the picture is of one of my sponsored children). Pray for your local church, denomination, and your favorite ministries regularly. Volunteer to work one afternoon a month at the food bank. Advocate in a CASA program at your local court system. Donate blood. Tutor at an after-school program. Develop relationships with children in a poor neighborhood and mentor them on the weekends with outings, as some of my friends do.

God doesn’t need our money or our muscle to “finish His work.” He can just speak the word and it's perfectly created. But we need to exercise both action and finances to build faith and trust in His providence. Volunteering is ultimately for our own good! Simple acts of usefulness really can change the world.

Fruit Cocktail leftovers

2011-09-04T21:51:00.000-07:00

On this site, one of three blogs I write, it’s a mystery asto why the most popular post here is not about Jesus, or God’s love, or findingpeace in a troubled world. Not even close.

When I look at the statistics, I see page-views from primarily-Muslimcommunities like Indonesia, Philippines, Tunisia,Kuwait, Turkey, Malaysia3x, Nigeria, Iraq, Qatar,Pakistan 2x, plus twofrom the United States and one from Iceland. And the big spike in page-views began withRamadan, August 1-30. This seems to happen on other fasts, too.

So what’s the big deal? The incoming-search terms are centered around “fruitcocktail,” “cocktail de fruit,” “fruit cocktail pictures,” and “fruitcocktail.”

If you landed at this article because of its subject, fruitcocktail (that article link is not about the fruit salad, but about grafting fruit trees), PLEASE leave a comment below, anonymous if you wish, and tellme what you’re searching for. Is it a recipe for a beverage? A bowl of mixed fruit? A photo of fruit salad? Is fruit cocktail something that's allowed to be eaten during a religious fast?

You could satisfy my curiosity by leaving a comment...

Where is God when we suffer?

2011-08-20T00:01:00.032-07:00

Statue of Anne Hutchinson at Boston

Why does God allow suffering, even with children? Why aren't God's people shielded from persecution and death?

That's the current question in the novel I'm writing on Mary Barrett Dyer. On August 20, 1643, Mary's mentor and close friend, Anne Marbury Hutchinson (the antinomian religious leader exiled from Puritan Boston), and five of her children were massacred by the Siwanoy Indians they'd come to evangelize. One daughter was abducted by the Indians and returned a few years later in a negotiated settlement.

Mary Dyer heard about it a few weeks later, and the news probably brought on labor and childbirth. She named her newborn son "Maher-shallal-hash-baz," and called him Maher. (The other children had "normal" names like Samuel, William, Mary, Henry, and Charles.) I went digging for the meaning of Maher's name. It comes from Isaiah 8:4, and means, in Hebrew, “suddenly attacked, quickly taken” or “swift to plunder and quick to carry away.”

Mary Dyer named her son in a time of grief and despair over the deaths of Anne and the children, in a sudden and vicious attack where an innocent girl was carried away. Mary's question surely would have been, Why did God allow such a tragedy, when Anne was such a strong witness for him?

“Remember those earlier days after you had received the light when you stood your ground in a great contest in the face of suffering. Sometimes you were publicly exposed to insult and persecution; at other times you stood side by side with those who were so treated. You sympathized with those in prison and joyfully accepted the confiscation of your property, because you knew that you yourselves had better and lasting possessions. So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.” Hebrews 10:32-36 NIV

What was the promise?

Long before Mary Dyer died on a gallows in 1660 for civil disobedience and in the cause of religious freedom, she had found the answer for herself. Mary knew what sustained Abraham, Job, Moses, David, Solomon, and all the heroes of faith listed in Hebrews chapter 11. She understood that God is sovereign, and we are his trusting children. And she knew the Bible promises were not of a mansion or riches in heaven, not of a bubble of safety and prosperity, but of intimacy with God, for all eternity. Intimacy begun in a garden where Adam and Eve walked with God and talked face to face. Intimacy restored in part by the incarnation of Jesus Christ, the temple veil to the Holy of Holies being torn to allow us access to God's mercy, and the miracle of the Holy Spirit speaking in our hearts. And intimacy restored fully by the reunion we'll celebrate when Immanuel, God With Us, tenderly wipes away our tears and takes us to his heart forever.

Mary Barrett Dyer knew that although suffering in this life is terrible for both victims and the survivors who love them, that God brings us through it together with him, that one day we'll know why the pain was allowed, and that because of the surpassing glory of that day, we'll look back and consider our human suffering as a split-second of learning and growing deep in trust.

Mary was already experiencing the bliss of that intimacy while she was lying on a prison's dirt floor before her execution, when she wrote "he gloriously accompanied with his Presence, and Peace, and Love in me, in which I rested from my labour..."

Where was God? Inside her. All around her. Holding her in his arms. Welcoming her to eternity with him.

...

READ MORE ABOUT MARY DYER AND ANNE HUTCHINSON ON THIS NEW WEBSITE:
http://marybarrettdyer.blogspot.com/

Friends and Family

2011-08-02T00:57:00.002-07:00

"Sometimes people are beautiful.

Not in looks.
Not in what they say.
Just in what they are."

— Markus Zusak, Australian novelist

It used to be a viral marketing campaign for the MCI telephone company: “Friends and Family” was a friend circle of free long-distance calling. The point was to recruit your friends and family to subscribe to MCI so they could call more friends and family, who would add their friends and family, and so on, and so on… Having worked in PR and marketing for years, I’m disinclined to use marketing phrases in my writing or conversation. It’s trite. I won’t wear statement apparel, and am actually anti-designer label. If they want me to wear their logo or advertise their company, they can dang-well pay me for it.

But back to the friends and family thing. I have some great ones. There are some who pray for me regularly without needing a reminder. Some who are sensitive to the things I don’t say, and go out of their way to help. Some who will water my plants and take care of my pets so I can get a much-needed break. Some who are faithful to keep in touch, or send me messages about news or jobs or ideas. Some who actually believe and encourage my claims or hopes. Some who have sent gifts of money when I’d given no hint I was desperate. Some who have grieved with me and listened to my rants. Some who are professional colleagues but who like me as a personal friend. Some who say they’re inspired by my comments at Bible study, my writing, or my Facebook comments. Some who admire my opinion of what politicians ought to be doing. Some who sense or observe a need, and fill my need with the gifts of time, skill, expertise, and even cash. Some who, when I make a 350-mile trip back to visit my former life, lay down other plans in order to take me out to lunch, dinner, the movies, a drop-in chat, and (are you ready for this?) thousands of dollars’ worth of dental treatments at her expense. [post continues below images]

Every one of those gifts is evidence of their love and commitment to friendship—with me! I treasure the givers more than the gifts.

It’s not that I have such terrible self-esteem (well, not usually, anyway), but probably like you and many others, I wonder what in the world they’re thinking, that they should show me such love and honor. Is it because they have big hearts, or that their spirits are open to God’s prompting, or that they see a need they can fill and take initiative, or what? Am I so entertaining or such a valuable social asset?

While thanking a couple for treating me to a three-hour lunch and delightful conversation, I asked one of them what made her decide to come all that way. She looked surprised that I asked. “It’s because we love you, Christy!” she said.

This scripture is meant to be a proverb about the superficiality of people who value you only for what you can do for them, but just this once, I’m going to turn it around and upside down. I’m without income, and struggling with finances. But rather than being despised, I'm loved. The poor are despised even by their neighbors, while the rich have many “friends.” Proverbs 14:20 NLT It’s true. I do have many friends. Therefore, I must be rich. Woo-hooooooooooo!

Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance. 1 Cor. 13:4-7 NLT

Refuge in the storm

2011-07-28T20:05:00.003-07:00

The world has changed since the onset of the Great Recessionof 2007-to-Infinity. Yes, I know the government economists say the recession wasover in the summer of 2009. But that’s theirnarrowly-defined set of rules to classify slumps, bubbles, recessions,Black Fridays, and crises. They declare that unemployment stands at 9.2percent, but that figure only includes those covered by miniscule unemploymentcompensation payments, not the millions of men and women who termed out, neverqualified, are military veterans, are returning to the workforce, or haverecently graduated from university or high school.

The real unemployment rate is between 18 and 27 percent.That means you and/or one of your family members and many of your friends areunemployed—and scared. People over 45 years of age have been unemployed longer, and makeup the greater part of the pool of potential labor.

This means that people have lost their homes and vehicles,have moved in with relatives, and disposed of beloved pets because they can’tkeep them any longer. It means that they’ve given or sold their heirlooms andheritage. They’ve moved from the place they called home, to an unfamiliar placethat gives no sense of refuge or rest from the fray.

What economists don’t say, because it would create a crisisof “consumer confidence” (you are encouraged to laugh derisively here), is thatwe passed out of a recession, and into a de-pression.The economics we knew have gone away, and will not return. Ever. I heard oneeconomist say that unemployment cannot (not just won’t—cannot) return to its sick levels of 2007, until 2023. Who can lastthat long? No one! Better stake out your appliance carton under the bridge,right? Or stop wasting time on thesearch for a job that doesn’t exist, and start making your own work—which iswhat I’ve done.

With all the pain, loss, anger and greed in this worldstorming around us like a Category Five hurricane, it’s easy to be discouraged,become sick with frustration, and lose sight of our refuge and secure, quietplace.

But somewhere over the roar of the storm winds and thunder, whilewe’re drowning in our finances and trauma, we hear sometimes as a whisper and sometimes as a triumphant shout, ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Jesus said. ‘Takecourage. I AM here!’ Matthew14:27 NLT. Or, colloquially, “You've got the I AM—here—right now, so there's no reason to be afraid. The I AM has it handled.”

I AM. God’s personal name. I AM loving, compassionate,merciful, forgiving. I AM here. I AM the bread of life. I AM the resurrectionand the life. I AM the good shepherd. I AM WHO I AM.

What is left but to submit to the One who exists, whoorders, who creates, who heals, who restores. The One who offers to take ourburdens upon himself and give us rest. In him all the time is the sabbath rest that makes ussigh with deepest satisfaction, “Ah, thisis the life.”

Ah, surely yourgoodness and unfailing love will pursue me—hound me, stalk me—all the days ofmy life, and my home will be in the heart of the Lord forever. Psalm 23:6,my version.

Dadliness

2011-06-17T16:11:00.002-07:00

This may be the last time I have a father for Father’s Day. My dad is 76 and very ill. At some point, all I'll have will be memories.

My dad was a hero. He was a terrible handyman and car mechanic, but he was a hard worker who supported my brother and me, and my chronically-ill mom, on a middle-class salary. When he was delivering dairy products to a home early one morning, he smelled smoke, broke into the house, got his hair and eyebrows singed by the fire, and helped an elderly woman to safety before the firefighters arrived. When my mother had a terrible virus and congestion added to her asthma, and she was choking, he force-fed her one of those killer-hot yellow chilies from the jar in the fridge. It fried the mucous on contact, and she was able to catch a breath and let the oxygen tank do the rest. Dad had AB-positive blood, and I remember several times that the blood bank called after 9:00 pm to ask if he could go to the hospital and transfuse blood to save a life. He always did, even when he had to arise before 5 a.m. to go to work.

Dad was loyal. When he gave his support or his promise, it was forever—come hell or high water. He was faithful to his wife and children, to his political party, his church, and his God. When his parents were old, he sent money every month, for years, to help with their expenses.

Dad was good-looking. In the college dorm, I had my father’s portrait in a 5x7” frame on my desk, and friends would ask who my movie-star crush was. Though a few women tried flirting with my dad, he was absolutely faithful to my mother. When I was little, my mom used to sing me to sleep (because Dad couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket) with Gershwin’s “Summertime,” but she’d reverse the lyrics.

Summertime, and the livin’ is easy.

Fish are jumpin’, and the cotton is high.

Your mama’s rich, and your daddy’s good lookin’,

So hush, little baby, don’t you cry.

Dad hated to inflict pain. Mom would spank and slap if we disobeyed or sassed her. She hated being the disciplinarian, and one of the few things they ever argued about (besides home-handyman jobs) was who had to punish the naughty children, and how. If I did something sufficiently egregious that it was Dad’s turn to spank me, he’d take me out to the attached garage and sit down and talk for a few minutes about how he was disappointed in me, then give a couple of halfhearted slaps to my backside that didn’t even hurt—yet I wept much harder and mended my ways better, than if I’d gotten a spanking and lecture from my mother.

Dad was a softie. He always loved our family pets (in a manly, dignified way, of course). When he went bow-hunting for deer with his friends, I’m pretty sure his arrows came home without DNA, although he had a share in the prize when it was butchered. When I saw a domestic rabbit along the side of a road, he stopped the car and helped me catch it and take it home, and built a fence to let it have the side yard as a rabbit paradise. Cats would settle on Dad’s lap as if it were the finest, softest pillow, magnetized especially for cats. When it was time to euthanize the old and sick pets, he couldn’t do it—I took them to the vet.

Dad was a daddy. When I had bronchitis attacks as a child, he’d set his alarm to get up at oh-dark-thirty to give me my medicine. He let me hang around as he and the neighbor guys would chat over what was needed to make the Renault run; or put me in a frilly party dress to go grocery shopping because he liked to show off his little girl. He helped me climb up to the roof to watch lightning or meteor showers; and he built a pretty cool tree house platform with safety rails, and a zipline, in our mulberry tree. At 17, I graduated from high school and mourned that I'd lose my friends as we went separate ways, and Dad comforted me by listening and hugging.

Dad was a quiet man. There was no need to fill silences: he said what needed to be said, and was silent when he was done. He had a calm spirit that soothed my mother when her asthma medications made her jumpy.

Dad was funny. We’d go on 2,500-mile car trips to visit grandparents in Minnesota, and he told stories about riding sheep or getting in trouble as a farm kid; he remembered the lyrics to poems and folk ballads (if not the tunes!); if he passed gas it was never the father, and always the dog to blame; and he remembered jokes for years. Here’s one from his homeland:

Two mosquitoes are flying over Minnesota, when they spot their prey below—an unsuspecting fisherman. The first mosquito asks, “Hey, do you think we should eat him here, or take him back to the swamp for later?” The second mosquito, older and wiser, responds, “No, we should eat him here. If we take him back to the swamp, the big mosquitoes will get him!”

Dad was a reader. If it wasn’t the Reader’s Digest magazine in the bathroom, it was the daily newspaper. He always had a history (usually World War I or II) or biography on his night table. His reading tastes were sometimes questionable: Eric Van Daniken's "evidence" for UFO interference over the eons; Velikovsky's apocalyptic "history"; and material written by the founder of the Worldwide Church of God. (My mom did not approve of that stuff!) As a boy, he read the Hardy Boys Mysteries, Black Beauty, and The Call of the Wild. And gave them to me when I was maybe eight.

Dad was trustworthy and dependable. I had him as a rock-steady man I could count on to back me up or take my side against the world. I measured potential mates (obviously none of them worked out) against my dad for their real or potential qualities of commitment, honesty, kindness, fidelity, and, you know—Dadliness.

Dad was strong and healthy. He almost never caught colds or flu, or the latest virus to make the rounds. He gave my brother and me that same immunity. Unfortunately, he also loved junk food, and imparted that carb-craving to us.

But for a few years now, my dad has been fighting several major illnesses. This may be the last Father’s Day, or any day, I see him alive, when he flies back to the home he’s shared with his wife for half a decade. After Mom died and Dad remarried, the relationships between Dad and me and my brother have changed dramatically. There are things that cannot be spoken, words that can’t or won’t be retracted, forgiveness that will not be extended. After a recent chain of events, I had to ask if my father still loved me. I had to know, had to hear the words, if these are my last moments or days with him.

He was surprised, and his big, strong hand, with bruises surrounding the IV needle taped to his skin, closed over my arm as I wept. And he said he did love me. This is the Dad I’ll remember, because my dad is trustworthy.

I will tell the promise that the LORD made to me: “You are my daughter, because today I have become your father.” Psalm 2:7 CEV

Parable of the Lost Earring

2011-06-07T16:05:00.000-07:00

I lost one of my gold and opal earrings. It’s very small, about the size of a ½-inch metal nut. After attending years of Christian schools and universities with a no-jewelry policy, and working with schools, universities, and a ministry with the same dress code, I found myself laid off, without a job in this Great Depression of the 21^st century. Honestly, one of my first thoughts as the shock of being jobless set in was, “Woo-hoo, now I can get my ears pierced and no one will censure me as a Jezebel.” So I did get my ears pierced for the first time at age 50, and I can finally wear the little earring sets that were given to me over the years, that have languished in my jewelry box.

I discovered the loss at about 10 pm yesterday, after I'd come back from a short walk to the mailbox, and from rolling the wheelie bin to the street for trash collection. Mundane tasks, to be wearing pretty jewelry, I suppose.

I took out the flashlight and retraced my steps in the dark, walking back to the mailboxes with a side-to-side scan of the flashlight, and looking in the gravel around the trash cans where I'd moved them. I searched the front courtyard, where I’d watered my plants, but all I found were weeds to spray in the daylight. Back inside, I searched the floors and rugs like a CSI technician, looking for a sparkle of gold. I shook out my bedding, and looked in the clothes I'd worn earlier to see if the earring had got stuck in the fabric.

THEN I prayed that if God cared about my missing earring, would he please let me find it. “It's just vain adornment, according to what I was taught, and not important when one considers earthquakes, tsunamis, nuclear meltdowns, or killer tornadoes. Not important, when one considers the economy that’s flushed irrevocably down the sewer. Closer to home, how does this loss compare to the ongoing lack of a job, the family member with a terminal disease, the relationships that are broken, the hope that’s been lost. It's not like Jesus' parable* of the woman who lost a tenth of her savings and searched and cleaned the house to find it—it’s just a little piece of jewelry. But you know, if you care that I care, please let me find my earring.”

I put away the flashlight and locked up the house for the night. An hour later, I went to bed and stepped barefoot on my little earring. (It didn't hurt, as the pin was closed.) It had been on the far side of the bed where the bedtime dog treats are. My lesson is that God cares that I care—maybe earrings don't matter, but my feelings do matter to God.

My friends, thank you for your prayers! I don't think that God answers certain requests because all the “pray-ers” have collectively sent enough energy that they’ve reached some cosmic quota; or that righteous people are more favored than others in their requests. I don't know why he is silent on some things, and shows his hand on others. But it sure does good to the human heart to know that other human beings care enough to take issues to God in intercession for their friends and family. It benefits both the pray-er and the pray-ee. Please continue to pray for the truly important issues, and remember me sometimes when you do.

It does me good to know that the Creator of the universe sent me some love, and some hope that he’s working on my other issues; and at the same time, blew a raspberry at the man-made, non-scriptural “adornment” code. Haha!

Rejoice with me and the angels of God; I have found my lost bauble!

* The Parable of the Lost Coin—Luke 15:8-10

“Or suppose a woman has ten silver coins and loses one. Doesn’t she light a lamp, sweep the house and search carefully until she finds it? And when she finds it, she calls her friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin.’ In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”

Forbidden Fruits Create Many Jams

2011-06-05T00:01:00.000-07:00

The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. Genesis 1:12

In June, my baker’s rack is groaning under the weight of bottled fruit and jams. The freezer is also full. Each year, I peel and pit, squash, or dice the ripe fruit from my back yard. I have a tree trunk with one nectarine and three peach grafts; several varieties of apple on another tree, seedless and Concord grapes, cherries, strawberries, feijoa, mulberries, almonds, avocados, tomatoes, peppers, and herbs. God blesses me bountifully. Some years, I have so many peaches that I give away bags and bags of them!

Every evening in late June, most of my time is for peaches, preserving them in light syrup or as thick jams. A few get sliced and frozen for nonfat smoothies. Excess juice freezes for party punch.

I heard once that “forbidden fruits create many jams.”

Do you know the difference between jam and and jelly? Jam is made from the fruit's flesh and contains fiber; jelly is made from the juice and is usually strained clear. I make jams.

Most jam recipes call for more sugar than fruit. Four cups of berries or peaches need five cups of sugar, plus pectin, to thicken and jell. All those nutritious mulberries, perfectly provided by God for our delight and nourishment (come on, He could have just given us tasteless fiber and left it at that!), He declared “good.” Now when God says it’s good, it’s good!

I don’t want to know the extra calories I add to God’s perfect, juicy fruit when I make sweet jam. I’ve made something into a forbidden fruit—to my diet—by adding a foreign substance, although I give them as gifts at Christmas. (I have recently learned to make delicious low-sugar jams.)

When you’re tempted to sample the proverbial forbidden fruit, remember that it may seem sweet or exotic at the moment, but it’s a deception. It’s sure to make you ill or fat. Pluck from the Tree of Life, and find nourishment in “every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.”

Under attack

2011-05-25T17:52:00.002-07:00

Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Ephesians 6:11-13 NIV

Without going into specifics out here in public, I feel I’ve been under attack from many sides, in terms of career, home, relationships, finances, and health. A family member has a terminal disease.

I lived my life frugally and as a saver. I contributed liberally to my church and helped others with long-term support and interest-free loans. My credit cards had zero balances, and I held a healthy equity in my house. I did everything “right,” but that was the old financial reality. Everything has changed, and I’m in the same sinking ship as the people who never saved, who spent lavishly on credit and then suffered the consequences. (Except that they’re eligible for government assistance, and I, a taxpayer for 35 years, am not.)

But what hurts most is the attack on love. There’s rejection and apathy from a person who was extremely close to me, who should have loved me unconditionally. Another person who claimed to love me like a daughter—doesn’t. I suspect neither of them knows my deep sorrow at the loss of those relationships.

Just when I’ve become accustomed to living with the pain of the most recent wound, another blow falls on me. How much more am I expected to take?

How does that happen to a person who has obeyed God’s voice, and has committed one’s life—in every respect—to the Lord? I’m still waiting for those blessings promised by the feel-good TV preachers. You know the ones: have faith, claim your promises, speak prayer and blessings over situations, always be positive, follow the commandments and you’ll be blessed, smile and be joyful, etc.

I am blessed to have loving, accepting friends, including my brother and sister-in-law. But I crave being the most important and beloved person in another human’s life. And that has never happened. There’s a line in a play by Christopher Marlowe that describes what I want but can’t have: “He loves me more than all the world.”

Rather than waste time feeling sorry for myself, I hang on (by my shredded fingernails) to promises that God does love me unconditionally and with a passion. Wearing armor against the attack, I put one foot in front of another, and keep going, because the Psalmist says that we walk “through” the valley of the shadow of death. We don’t stay there. We keep walking, until we’re back out in the light and life.

Thou art my servant; I have chosen thee, and not cast thee away. Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness. Isaiah 41:9-10 KJV

I have ransomed you.

I have called you by name; you are mine.

When you go through deep waters,

I will be with you.

When you go through rivers of difficulty,

you will not drown.

When you walk through the fire of oppression,

you will not be burned up;

the flames will not consume you.

For I am the Lord, your God,

the Holy One of Israel, your Savior...

You are precious to me.

You are honored, and I love you. Isaiah 43:1-4 NLT

She loved much

2011-04-26T00:01:00.000-07:00

When Simon, a Galilean Pharisee, invited Jesus to have dinner with him, Jesus accepted the invitation. Of course, when one invited the popular rabbi, there were the disciples and other close followers to accommodate, so the feast was no small event. It began in the house, but spread outside to tables in the courtyard. Certainly the neighbors were aware of the preparations, and the local vendors had provided the best foods that could be obtained. A musician had been hired, and servants bustled about with linens for the tables and basins of scented water for the guests’ footwashing, a ritual of greeting and hospitality.

A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee’s house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. Luke 7:36-38

This woman was probably unmarried or widowed without family, since the Bible commentaries suggest that she had been a prostitute. No one loved that kind of woman. She fit no one’s notion of gentility and grace, great intelligence or interpersonal skills. Her body, having suffered beatings and perhaps sexually transmitted diseases, was no great prize. Having no husband to care for her in a society where women had no civil rights, she was probably taken advantage of, and perhaps lived in poverty in a dangerous part of town.

For a woman like her to anoint the rabbi’s head would be unthinkable. Simon had deliberately omitted the kiss of peace, the greeting he should have given Jesus, and then waved away the servant who stood by to wash Jesus’ feet. Another insult, most certainly intentional, and a shock to the other guests. Instead of leaving the banquet, Jesus let the offenses roll off his back.

The woman, alone among the guests who notice the insult, could not stand still as would those with greater social skills, and a political mask prepared for any occasion. Forgetting that she herself was not welcome in the midst of the invited men, she impulsively took action.

She had no basin and towel, but she could brush his feet with her head cloth. And she could anoint at least his feet with the costly perfume meant for his head.

She knelt before Jesus and kissed his feet, but that’s when, finally, the tears of love and outrage burst from her eyes. The tears fell on Jesus’ dusty feet and rolled off, leaving streaks. So she made a further offense to the company: she let down her long hair, uncut since childhood, from her hair covering. Waves of dark, lustrous hair cascaded over Jesus’ streaked feet, and the men stared in fascination, lust—and outrage. The act is one that’s reserved for seducing a husband, in the intimacy of the bedchamber.

After rubbing Jesus’ feet with her hair, the woman opened her alabaster jar, and the room filled with the warm, soft, sweet scent of her perfume.

She brought the only thing of material value that she had, perfume she used in her business—perfume that covered the scent of what she did with the men of her town. It was expensive, the sort of perfume with which bodies were anointed before the funeral.

Could a woman who used her body to have sex with strangers, actually love? Could she see past the heaps of abuse and neglect she’d been dealt, and reach out to give her heart?

With the rich scent now hanging in the air, the woman continued to weep over Jesus’ hair-swept feet. She poured out her heart with the perfume. She expected nothing in return for her love, and felt only gratitude that the rabbi had not snubbed or shamed her, but seemed to enjoy her ministrations.

When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself, “If this man was the prophet I thought he was, he would have known what kind of woman this is who is falling all over him.”

Jesus perceived the man’s thoughts. He knew perfectly well what kind of woman this was. Not only was Galilee home to Jesus, he could tell by the woman’s actions and her looks, what kind of woman she was.

But Jesus wanted to talk about what kind of man Simon was: the kind who would invite a popular rabbi to his feast so he’d be seen as open-minded, popular, and wealthy, and the kind who would hurl one insult after the other at his guest to silently state his disapproval of the guest’s inferior social and political status, and poverty.

Jesus said to him, “Simon, I have something to tell you.”

“Oh? Tell me.”

“Two men were in debt to a banker. One owed five hundred silver pieces, the other fifty. Neither of them could pay up, and so the banker canceled both debts. Which of the two would be more grateful?”

Simon answered, “I suppose the one who was forgiven the most.”

“That's right,” said Jesus. Then turning to the woman, but speaking to Simon, he said, “Do you see this woman? I came to your home; you provided no water for my feet, but she rained tears on my feet and dried them with her hair. You gave me no greeting, but from the time I arrived she hasn't quit kissing my feet. You provided nothing for freshening up, but she has soothed my feet with perfume. Impressive, isn't it? She was forgiven many, many sins, and so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal.”

Then he spoke to her: “I forgive your sins.”

That set the dinner guests talking behind his back: “Who does he think he is, forgiving sins!”

He ignored them and said to the woman, “Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.”

At that, the woman had no words, but if she’d been allowed an education in the scriptures, she might have replied in the words of Ruth, a foreign laborer in Israel a thousand years before: “Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me.”

But not being a poetess, not being a woman of noble character or good background, not even having a name worth mentioning at this gathering of Pharisees and the Rabbi, she had poured out her frustrations—and devotion—at the feet of Jesus. He had honored her faith, not kicked her aside, like the men in the room, some of them her clients.

She loved absolutely, with no room for doubt or insecurity. She would do anything for Jesus. Here was a woman who was despised by her community, universally recognized as a sinner, but publicly honored and forgiven and restored by Jesus.

And when he told her that she was forgiven and could go in peace, in shalom, she went with his blessing, and under his name. She was loved at last, after loving much.

Rewritten from an article by Christy K. Robinson published in ASM Bulletin, Dec. 1987

Is it a sin to be overweight?

2011-04-20T21:15:00.003-07:00

Recently, a friend asked in a forum, "Is being overweight as much a sin as smoking, drinking or sexual immorality?" He received 105 replies, most respondents writing that being fat is morally reprehensible because our bodies are the temple of the Holy Spirit. Few people questioned the assumption that those behaviors are actually sins. Many replied along the lines that excess body fat is evidence of sin: “Yes, it falls into the same category of abusing the body God gave you” or “anything that decreases our health or harms us (‘the temple of God’) is sin.” Out of context, they cited 1 Corinthians 6:19, where Paul calls the body the temple of the Holy Spirit, as the basis for healthful living.

But if the body God gave you has genetic disorders, or subsequent accidents, illnesses, or medications that cause weight gain even with hardcore diet and exercise, then are you a sinner? If one has been sexually violated (one in three women and one in six men), or has crazy-making job stress that releases cortisol into their system, are they to blame? Not every overweight or obese person has gotten that way by sloth and gluttony. It's no secret that the diet industry makes billions of dollars every year as people try and fail to lose weight.

There are many passages in the Old and New Testaments of the Bible that say that the sexually immoral (those who have sex outside of marriage) will not be in heaven unless they’ve confessed their sin and turned away from it. On the other hand, there are no passages about the overweight or obese not being able to fit through the pearly gates.

Gluttony was considered bad behavior, but Jesus hung out with gluttons and wine-drinkers! Gluttony is just as much a problem for slim people on whom it does not show, as it is for those who have excess weight. But gluttony is not a cause of most weight problems (ask any bariatric doctor). When I did a whole-Bible search for gluttony as a sin, the only reference I could find was for the people of Sodom: "Sodom’s sins were pride, gluttony, and laziness, while the poor and needy suffered outside her door." Ezekiel 16:49.

As for alcohol, the Bible is full of instances of alcohol and its good points (gladness, celebration, medicine, ritual, sacrifice), as well as the adverse effects of alcoholic intoxication. There’s no good thing to be gained from smoking tobacco, and it harms not only the smoker, but many others in the immediate environment—but it’s not a biblical issue unless you take it to the extreme of “thou shalt not murder.”

Everyone would agree, I think, that the body should be in the best condition that you have the power to make it—but it’s not a matter of religion! Good health and good looks are desirable, but again—not what God looks for. He looks at the heart or the spirit, rather than outward appearance. He looks for the qualities of mercy, compassion, forgiveness, love, and humility. If you do a search for “body” in an online Bible concordance, most of the passages say or imply that the body is temporary and imperfect housing for the awesome thing that God created in his image: the spirit! God formed the body from soil or clay, and it wasn’t a living being until he breathed into it. The word is pneuma (like pneumonia), which means breath, spirit, wind.

Some people are very smug about their own righteousness in the area of food and self-control. I know a few of them who have made idols of extreme nutrition and exercise. But physical condition is not a yardstick for your spiritual or moral superiority.

Well, that’s my opinion. Here’s the opinion of a 19^th-century writer and church leader:

“If they will gratify a gross appetite, and by so doing blunt their sensibilities, and becloud their perceptive faculties so that they can not appreciate the exalted character of God, or delight in the study of His word, they may be assured that God will not accept their unworthy offering any sooner than that of Cain. God requires them to cleanse themselves from all filthiness of the flesh and spirit, perfecting holiness in the fear of the Lord. After man has done all in his power to insure health, by the denying of appetite and gross passions, that he may possess a healthy mind, and a sanctified imagination, that he may render to God an offering in righteousness, then he is saved alone by a miracle of God's mercy..." (Testimony Studies on Diets and Foods, a 1926 compilation from books and articles by Ellen G. White) Emphases by author of this blog.

The above statement is just one of many similar quotations that have hammered church members since the 1850s. The concept there is wrong, particularly the belief that man must be working, working, working, and perfecting his own salvation, and his appetite or asceticism is the key to his acceptance by God. When he is finally sanctified by his own efforts, he slides under the pearly gates in an anorexic puddle. When he’s worked hard enough to attract God’s attention, he finds pity in a last-minute miracle of mercy.

I saw this statement recently: “Life is hard; it's harder if you're stupid.” ~John Wayne. Someone replied, “So can we measure how stupid we are by how hard our life is?” I’d add, “Can we measure my spirituality or Christian witness by the tape measure around my butt?” A Christian musician who was a guest in my home left a thank-you note for me to find, which said that my witness for Christ was compromised by my weighty appearance and I ought to try harder to lose weight. She was so skinny that you could count her ribs, front and back. And now, when I hear her name mentioned, I think of the not-so-Christian impression she made on me.

But back to the question of sinning by being overweight. There were a lot of words from the Fat Police on that forum thread, but very little in the way of what God has said about foods or salvation. Here are just a few of the Bible's statements about how God sees food as a spiritual or moral issue:

"God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago." Eph. 2:8-10
"But food does not bring us near to God; we are no worse if we do not eat, and no better if we do." 1 Corinthians 8:8
"Do not destroy the work of God for the sake of food. All things indeed are pure, but it is evil for the man who eats with offense." Romans 14:20
"These people are hypocrites and liars, and their consciences are dead. They will say it is wrong to be married and wrong to eat certain foods. But God created those foods to be eaten with thanks by faithful people who know the truth. Since everything God created is good, we should not reject any of it but receive it with thanks. For we know it is made acceptable by the word of God and prayer." 1 Timothy 4:2-5

Every human body is different from every other one. Just like one “cure” is not possible for the countless viruses that cause the common cold, I believe there's no ONE perfect way to cure overweight and obesity for all humanity--not even “diet and exercise.” Psalm 139:13-16 says that God formed us and knew us from conception. I have to conclude that the Creator made some people with the socially-desirable trait of leanness, and some with the genetic, accidental, or medical condition of fatness. Eph. 2:8-10 says that we are God's poema, his work of fine art. Red and yellow, black and white (and fat or lean), we are precious in his sight.

In our society, fatness is a curse in terms of career and romantic discrimination, bullying, the lifelong (unsuccessful) struggle to lose weight, and the damage it causes to the body. People today think that overweight people are ignorant or stupid for being fat--because if they were "smarter" about nutrition and had some personal gumption, they'd exercise and the fat would just melt off. It's so obvious, right? Fatness was a good thing in the Old Testament. It was seen, along with wealth, as a manifestation of God's blessings for the person's righteous behavior in keeping the Sinai covenant.

Now we are members of the new covenant of the Holy Spirit living in our hearts and speaking to us personally. The verse the Fat Police quote about the body being the temple of the Holy Spirit is NOT talking about food, fitness, or health. It's talking about the pollution and desecration that sexual immorality causes to the housing of the Holy Spirit, and the spirit he put in you by his holy breath. Here’s the body-temple reference, so you can see for yourself:

Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body. Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? You are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies. 1 Cor. 6:18-20

If your temple has been desecrated and polluted by sexual immorality, it can be sanctified and cleansed, but not by trying with all your might to behave, or by fasting, dieting, obsessing. Only God can forgive and heal, and when he does this as a gift, there is no condemnation for you. Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death. Romans 8:1-2

You know what? That “no condemnation” clause covers overweight people, too. No, it's NOT a sin to be overweight. Be the healthiest person it's in your power to be (keep at it), and remember who made you. Be a loving, merciful, tender, compassionate, forgiving person, and you'll be beautiful in others' eyes, and the Lord's eyes, no matter how much you weigh.

And you know, go ahead and enjoy a serving of mashed potatoes at the church potluck. You deserve it!

Springtime in Heaven

2011-04-17T10:23:00.000-07:00

Happy April to you! By now, you should be done with the agony of tax preparation and settled into a beautiful spring. My garden is blooming and fruiting, and I hope that your garden or potted-plant window is also responding to the sunshine and nutrients. I practically hop around the back yard for joy that my peach and almond trees are setting their green fruits, that the mulberries are putting on leaves and the beginnings of tiny berries. I nearly lose control when I see the microscopic buds that will become seedless grapes!

When I see the baby fruits growing on the trees and vines, I think of Galatians 5:22-23: The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

Is the Master Gardener also rejoicing over the fruits that His garden is producing? Is He pointing to you proudly and joyfully, and saying, “Today my child [insert your name here] sprouted the fruits of gentleness and peace”? Is He rejoicing over you with singing?

Rather than anthropomorphizing God, making Him into a human image, let’s imagine that as we are His children and have inherited His characteristics by both birth and adoption, that we can project our emotions back to our Creator and Father. I really can envision God becoming excited over the growth of His children’s godly characteristics.

We see the fruits of the Spirit in each other as we corporately and individually experience spiritual growth. And we’re pretty excited about growth of another kind: growth of the family of God. Evangelism teams, supported by your contributions and God’s grace, evangelize thousands of people around the world each year. Hundreds are baptized, but untold thousands have found the love of God so compelling that they’ve given their lives unreservedly for Jesus to change. More flowers and fruits for the Gardener.

Take a walk in the Lord’s garden. Let Him cultivate a garden of fruit in your spirit. It’s springtime in heaven, too!

April Fools

2011-04-01T08:59:00.000-07:00

Become wise by walking with the wise; hang out with fools and watch your life fall to pieces. Proverbs 13:20 MSG

April Fool’s Day, a holiday of uncertain origin, has been known for practical joking for many hundreds of years. Prior to the adoption of the Gregorian calendar in 1564, the date was observed as New Year’s Day by cultures as varied as the Roman and the Hindu. The holiday is related to the festival of the vernal equinox, which occurs on March 21. The year began with the newness of the spring season, the resurrection of life from the dark, frozen winter. The Passover celebration of the Hebrews being released from slavery took place on the fourteenth day of their first month, which became their New Year every year, and Christians celebrate Good Friday (the crucifixion of Jesus) and Easter (Jesus' resurrection) during the Passover celebration.

If God didn’t love humor, would He have created the okapi (a zebra thing with giraffe face)? Baboons? Platypus? Parrots? Have you seen yourself in the bathtub? It’s good for the body and spirit to enjoy a joke, providing it’s not at the expense of hurt feelings.

April Fools Day is the anniversary of my baptism. Over the years, some people might have wondered, “Hmm, did it ‘take’?” I'm happy to report that even though I've sinned repeatedly since my baptism at age 13, I don't need to be rebaptized to show my repentance. I claim, by faith, Jesus' perfect baptism for the remission of my sins. You were all called to travel on the same road and in the same direction, so stay together, both outwardly and inwardly. You have one Master, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who rules over all, works through all, and is present in all. Everything you are and think and do is permeated with Oneness. Ephesian 4:4-6 MSG

My choice for funniest Bible verse is this: Now Moses was a very humble man, more humble than anyone else on the face of the earth. Numbers 12:3 NIV Really—on the entire planet? Did Moses write that of himself, or did an editor insert that? As an editor myself, I love the wordplay. It's almost an oxymoron, like "jumbo shrimp" or "military intelligence." The absolutely most-humble man on the face of the earth.

Pranks will be carried out on April Fools Day. Some radio deejay will get fired for perpetrating a hoax or calling out emergency services unnecessarily. Government leaders will say something outrageous and stupid (as usual—pardon my cynicism), but when they see the outrage of their constituents, will be able, for one day, to backtrack by claiming it was a practical joke for April Fools.

Paul mentored young Timothy, explaining how rough the Christian life can be because of hoaxes and deceptions. “Anyone who wants to live all out for Christ is in for a lot of trouble; there’s no getting around it. Unscrupulous con men will continue to exploit the faith. They’re as deceived as the people they lead astray. As long as they are out there, things can only get worse. But don’t let it faze you. Stick with what you learned and believed, sure of the integrity of your teachers— why, you took in the sacred Scriptures with your mother’s milk! There’s nothing like the written Word of God for showing you the way to salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. Every part of Scripture is God-breathed and useful one way or another—showing us truth, exposing our rebellion, correcting our mistakes, training us to live God’s way. Through the Word we are put together and shaped up for the tasks God has for us.” 2 Timothy 3:12-17 MSG.

So be wary of Satan’s traps today. Be alert for the tricks of your friends and family. And before you step out the door, open your Bible and take out some wisdom on Christian living, perhaps from the Proverbs. Solomon had much to say about fools!

The Single Shoop

2011-04-01T00:01:00.001-07:00

The singular of geese is goose. What’s the singular of sheep? Shoop?

Once upon a time, there was a flock of sheep. They all did as they were told. They walked where they were told, they jumped when they were commanded to ump. They moved as one, and the sheepdogs could run across their backs when all one hundred of them were tightly packed in the fold. Of course, the dogs also nipped at their heels when they were a bit slow, or stopped to nibble a bush along the paths.

These sheep had it good. The shepherd led them in green pastures, and beside clear, cool waters. They never shivered on winter nights because they had their thick wool coats and the company of friends and family close by. In the spring, the shepherd relieved them of their wool, and they liked the Chinook breezes that ruffled the tall grass and cooled their bodies.

But in this flock, there was one shoop. He looked just like his relatives in the flock of sheep. But inside he knew he was different. He had ideas, thoughts of his own. When the flock moved to higher pasture, he liked staying on the edge of the group, where he didn’t feel so crowded. That way, he could see the sights, not just the bodies of other sheep. If the dogs didn’t notice, he could sneak along a parallel path, and get really juicy grass, the tender variety that grew in shaded areas, away from heavy foot traffic.

The shoop knew that the shepherd was always close by. He had heard that the shepherd had defended the flock against coyotes, and things that went “bump” in the night. The shepherd had actually cleared the area of carnivorous predators long before the shoop was born. But since the shoop was always on the outskirts of the large flock, he didn’t really know the shepherd very well, except what the other sheep muttered between mouthfuls of grass.

One evening, before dark, the shoop was munching some tender grass between some large boulders. Only he knew about this little haven, and he quite enjoyed the solitude. Who needed all that bleating and baaing, anyway? Those sheep never paid him any attention or tried to integrate him into their society. They never seemed to notice him.

At sunset, he heard the shepherd call the flock, but the shoop figured he’d just rest in his secret pasture and save the walk back tomorrow morning (he thought sheepishly). He lay down on the grass, and dozed a bit under the stars, enjoying the sounds of the birds rustling in the bushes, and the feel of the breeze playing in the tufts of his wool.

When the sliver of moon was at its zenith, the shoop awoke with a shiver along his spine. There it was again—it wasn’t a dream. A thin howl, and some yips, and a small chorus of answering yelps. The shoop had never heard the sound before, but instinct told him it wasn’t a good sign. He stood up and sniffed the air, but it only smelled of grass. He looked around, but the moonlight wasn’t enough to help him see past his nose. He took a few tentative steps. There was the howl again.

He made his decision. He would have to get back to the sheep and shepherd. But to which of the night pastures had they moved? He went uphill, toward the rocky heights, but when he was nearly to the top of the hill, the howl sounded again, from just above him. In panic, he dodged and stumbled, and fell to his knees, but he was able to put a little distance between himself and the terrifying sound. He moved more cautiously, now, trying not to make noise. Step by step, he moved around the hill, trying to see in the dark.

The shoop gingerly stepped on some sandstone at one point in his travels, but he jumped when he heard a howl from only a hundred yards away. The unstable rock gave way beneath him, and he found himself actually sliding toward the howling creature! “It’s mutton time,” he bleated. “I’m a goner. The flock will never notice my absence. What’s the loss of one shoop, when there are ninety-nine real sheep?”

His forward motion was arrested when he tumbled in a heap at the feet of the shepherd. The shepherd stood tall and strong. He put his arms around the shoop, and lifted him up onto broad shoulders. The shoop’s breathing became more normal as he listened to the words of the shepherd. “There you are, my precious lamb. I’ve been seeking you for hours.”

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the Lord, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior… You are precious and honored in my sight, and I love you.” Isa. 43:1-4 NIV

“How wonderful it would be for you to be here among my children. I planned to give you part of this beautiful land, the finest in the world. I looked forward to your calling me ‘Father’ and thought that you would never turn away from me again.” Jer. 3:19 LB

“I long to be gracious to you; I rise to show you compassion. For I am a God of justice. How gracious I will be when you cry for help! As soon as I hear, I will answer you.” Isa. 30:18-19 NIV

The shepherd took long, bold strides as he joyfully brought the shoop back to the fold. The shoop couldn’t tell who was the more overjoyed: he or the shepherd, who had called for a celebration.

The shoop immediately set about waking the flock, and telling them of his terrifying adventure, and what a wonderful shepherd they had. And a few minutes into his story, he realized that he always wanted to stay close to his rescuer, not out of a sense of fear for the unknown, but of gratitude and love for what and who he did know.

He wanted to be in the midst of the flock, side by side with the shepherd. He wanted to be a sheep, not a shoop. He could still retain his individuality, knowing that the shepherd had specifically braved the dangerous wilderness for him. He knew he was special.

“I am his, and he is mine,” he told his fellow sheep. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall lack nothing.”

The Single Shoop, by Christy K. Robinson, first appeared in ASM Bulletin, May 1989

Fruit Cocktail

2011-03-25T00:01:00.001-07:00

There is a holy, God-planted, God-tended root. If the primary root of the tree is holy, there’s bound to be some holy fruit. Romans 11:16

When I was little, one of my favorite breakfasts was to open a can of fruit cocktail, with its peaches, pears, and fake-cherry grapes.

I have more varieties of fruit in my yard than I have fruit trees or vines. My cherry tree has five different grafts on a cherry root stock. I have one nectarine and three peach varieties on one trunk, plum, pluot (hybrid of plum and apricot), two kinds of almonds, Asian pear, black and white mulberries, and don’t get me started on citrus! They’re called fruit cocktail trees. They’re meant to be space savers, but the branches also pollinate each other for a better harvest.

People marvel at how many fruits I have, assuming I know how to do grafting. No, I buy them at the nursery! It’s a science to successfully marry an alien sprout to the trunk.

The process is instructive: a sharp cut is made to the host plant, a bud from another plant is placed up against the cut (so it gets sap and nutrients), then is bound tightly so the wounds of both plants are healed and become strong.

Grafters often start with a hardy, pest- and disease-resistant root stock and trunk. Your gorgeous roses look very different from the puny blooms of the suckers, because the desirable part has been grafted to the wild roots. Ever taste an ornamental orange? (Don’t.) Their roots are better adapted to resist bugs and harsh weather than the tender, grafted stock of sweet oranges.
Olive trees can live for thousands of years. After a few decades, though, they can't bear fruit from original branches. When a tree's wood ages and hardens, it can't force out new shoots with leaves, flowers, and fruit. Then it's time for pruning, or even cutting down the main tree trunk. However, the life is in the ROOTS of the tree, and the next season, as if in a resurrection, green shoots come from the extensive root system of the tree, and from all around the trunk. And from the mature new branches spring the tiny, cream-colored blossoms, and the olives that have so many medicinal, mechanical, cosmetic, and culinary uses.

There is a holy, God-planted, God-tended root. If the primary root of the tree is holy, there’s bound to be some holy fruit. Some of the tree’s branches were pruned and you wild olive shoots were grafted in. Yet the fact that you are now fed by that rich and holy root gives you no cause to crow over the pruned branches. Remember, you aren’t feeding the root; the root is feeding you. Romans 11:16-18 MSG

God grafted wild shoots, the Gentile believers (that’s us), into the cultivar of the Jewish faith, then bound us closely with Jesus' healing blood. The result was a new fruit entirely: the Christian faith.

Regardless of which variety of fruit we develop as a result of God’s miraculous graft, let’s remember to take our nourishment from our strong and hardy, tested and true Root, the Lord Jesus Christ. He is providing moisture and nutrients, and protecting our souls from illness and injury. Shall we make His day today? Shall we blossom and bear fruit?

Here’s mud in your eye

2011-03-12T01:01:00.000-07:00

The first thing he recognized in his entire life was the face of God.

The blind beggar only knew one way of life. He had no trade or skill, and no family except his parents, who hadn’t trained their son for a profession or showed any backbone in standing up for their son. He knew his way around Jerusalem through the texture of the walls facing the street, the cobblestone paving beneath his feet, and the sounds of the marketplace. His acquaintances were known by their voices.

The blind man sat on a woven mat with his hand out, wondering if anyone in the crowd would throw money in his lap. The center of the throng came closer to him, he could tell by the dust kicked up, the noise, and the excitement of the people. Then it stopped, and he was the center of attention. Either he was in for abuse as a non-working, unproductive leech on society, or he’d find a few shekels thrown his way.

Here were new voices: strong, self-assured, but with a country accent, not the smooth accent of urbane Jerusalem.

“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”

Oh, great, thought the beggar cynically. It was to be the judgment, not the sympathy and support. But the rabbi’s answer surprised him.

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him. As long as it is day, we must do the works of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

The speaker said he was light of the world. What was light? How did one distinguish darkness from light when darkness was all that was known?

He recoiled when he smelled and felt mud being placed on his eyelids. The voice spoke again, this time directed at the blind beggar. “Go wash in the pool of Siloam.” Instead of a handout of money, he got mud in his eyes!

With no explanation about the mud or what it signified, the blind man obeyed the voice. No questions. No arguments. No complications. Maybe it was the rabbi’s kindness and lack of condemnation for his poverty and disability. Maybe it was a hunch that something extraordinary might happen.

He shuffled down the tiled road leading from the Temple to the Siloam Pool, where pilgrims did ceremonial baths to prepare for acts of sacrifice or worship. Carefully, he felt his way down the stone steps to the water, and sat down on the lowest step, clothes and all, to rinse himself, and wash away the dried smear of mud on his eyes. And when he did, a burst of light blazed into his brain. Sunshine sparkled on the ripples in the pool, and he turned his wet hands this way and that, in complete shock.

Never having seen before, not knowing depth perception through sight, he felt his way back to where he’d left the rabbi, with hands and feet that told him the familiar paths and how many steps between the street corner and his beggar’s mat. He kept turning, round and round, touching things with his fingers, comparing the touch to what his eyes told him. He couldn’t get enough of this new world. So this was light!

His neighbors recognized him by his clothes, undoubtedly dusty and ragged, and he looked something like the dirty beggar they’d seen near the Temple every day for years. They weren’t all that impressed that the man could see for the first time in his life—they suspected he’d faked it all along to beg for handouts rather than learn a trade.

So they took the man to the priests at the Temple, who were going about their sanctified duties on the Sabbath. The priests asked when this alleged healing had taken place. Today, they heard. The Sabbath. Well, here was something to pin on the renegade rabbi: stirring up dust and spittle to make mud was work. (Unlike this panel of inquisition meeting on the Sabbath, of course.)

When the Pharisees questioned the man, he told them the same story he’d given his neighbors, but this time he added, “He is a prophet.”

They called the man’s parents to verify that the sighted man was the same man as the blind beggar. The parents knew that if they acknowledged it was Jesus who had healed their son, they’d be put out of fellowship, flogged, and shunned by their synagogue and their community. So they tossed responsibility back to their son. “Ask him. He is of age, he will speak for himself.”

And he did. The leaders insisted that he give the glory and credit for the miracle to God, not to Jesus, for Jesus must be a sinner for breaking the Sabbath by working. The man’s eyes were still open wide, drinking in his surroundings and the jealous, accusatory faces now confronting him. So this was the face that went along with a suspicious voice. But the new bright eyes opened a little wider. “Whether he is a sinner or not, I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see!”

The priests knew their theology and their denominational doctrines, but the now-sighted man had personally experienced salvation from an incurable, hopeless condition. Now his experience consolidated. He first called Jesus a man. Then a prophet. Now he testified that Jesus was not a sinner, but from God.

This infuriated the leaders. They beat him, and threw him out of fellowship and any hope of salvation as they understood it. They pronounced him a non-person, and shunned him.

But Jesus hadn’t finished with the man. He’d initiated the encounter the man hadn’t asked for, and when he heard that the man had been excommunicated, Jesus sought him out. “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” he asked.

“Who is he, sir?” the beggar asked. “Tell me so that I may believe in him.” He still saw with his hands and ears, not his eyes. Who was this person with a kind voice, and a face to match?

Jesus replied with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, “You have now seen him, in fact, he is the one speaking with you.” Jesus identified himself by voice, in the most familiar and comfortable way the man knew.

At that moment, the beggar’s healing was complete. He blinked. He had spiritual eyes to see, with no magnifiers, no filters, no preconceived notions. Jesus instilled trust in him. He answered the rabbi, “Lord, I believe,” and he fell at Jesus’ feet and kissed them in an act of worship. “For you have delivered my soul from death and my feet from stumbling, that I may walk before God in the light of life.” Psalm 56:13.

Read the Bible story in John 9.

This article by Christy K. Robinson appeared in the Loma Linda Campus Hill Communique, February 1999.

Go Ants! Go Ants! (No, really. Go.)

2011-03-07T01:01:00.000-07:00

Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise. Proverbs 6:6 KJV

Ewww. I hate slugs and snails. And I’m really sick of ants, too. I remember this verse when I’m watering my trees or cutting back morning glory vines. I memorized it in church school, probably as work-ethic indoctrination!

I grew up in Arizona, where slugs and snails were unheard of until we got bedding plants shipped from California growers. Of course, there were ants. But not in the plague proportions I see in southern California, where I live now. Ants drop on me from the trees, and they climb my ankles. They bite rarely. But I don’t want insects on me!

After fighting ant invasions in the house, I employed an exterminator. But they don’t “do” snails, so I spend about $50 a year on snail poisons (beer and salt are not the answer). The baits kill the arthropods, but those nasty things can sleep in the soil for up to five years, so wave after wave hatch out, thus needing smushing and poisoning.

Solomon had a point, though, comparing critters to people. Slugs can’t be bothered with industry: they are parasites that eat desirable plants and destroy seedlings. (They’re also hideous, smelly, and leave slime trails.) And ants, though not known for their IQ, can move mountains by teaming (and teeming) together. When the hose water floods the tree well where they have one of their many colonies, they mobilize the army, and carry the eggs and larvae to higher ground to prevent drowning and preserve their community. Their colonies aerate the soil, their workers pollinate my flowers and fruit, and they don’t bite (much), so I tolerate the yard ants.

There are four small creatures,
   wisest of the wise they are—
      ants—frail as they are,
   get plenty of food in for the winter;
      marmots—vulnerable as they are,
         manage to arrange for rock-solid homes;
      locusts—leaderless insects,
         yet they strip the field like an army regiment;
      lizards—easy enough to catch,
         but they sneak past vigilant palace guards.

Proverbs 30:25 says that ants—frail as they are, get plenty of food in for the winter and calls them the wisest of the wise, along with marmots, locusts, and lizards, because they are small, vulnerable, leaderless, and easy to catch. Ah, but they have God-given strengths that make them the best little creatures they can be!

What are your weaknesses? Ask God how He can turn those weaknesses into strengths. He can turn it around. He loves to surprise us with blessings!

Great Expectations

2011-03-04T01:01:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately about excellence in the overall picture of my life. I have high expectations of myself, for my life’s trending upward in regard to my career in writing and publishing, in making musical contributions through teaching or worship, and in growing and nurturing relationships with people from my past and those I’m becoming better acquainted with.

I’m a pleaser. I have a need to be praiseworthy and inspirational. But you know, those are God's traits, not mine. Does aspiring to them make me a godly woman? I'm not so sure.

What does excellence mean to me? Too often, I have to admit that it means other people notice and appreciate my efforts or consider me clever. They say they’re inspired by my writing, or that my homemade fruit jam is the best they’ve ever eaten, or that I entertain them with my humor. On the good side, I think making a difference for other people is very satisfying. Persuading them by writing, teaching them, turning on a light switch—that must be a positive thing.

One friend who’s a pastor says he has NO expectations of anyone, especially himself, so he's never let down by peoples' attitudes and actions, nor by their failures in moral matters. He has an open, friendly nature that gives him thousands of admirers, and considers no one on earth an enemy. His attitude is one that Jesus preached: “Love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.” Luke 6:35

But I can't not have expectations of others, and honestly, don’t want to think that way. My mom had high expectations for me, for education and excellence, and personal integrity. It's in the fiber of my being. I come from New England Puritan stock, and they were a people who believed one was saved by good works, adherence to the Ten Commandments, and ultimately, the fickle choice of God. “Be perfect as your father in heaven is perfect” Matt. 5:48 was the mantra I heard for years, although the word "perfect" didn't mean "without sin:" it meant "complete and mature [in loving others]."

Author Max Lucado wrote: "Religious rule-keeping can sap your strength. It’s endless. There is always another class to attend, Sabbath to obey, Ramadan to observe. No prison is as endless as the prison of perfection. Her inmates find work but they never find peace. How could they? They never know when they are finished."
I don't expect perfection of others or myself—not in rules keeping, and not in loving. But I do expect the good old TRY.

My brother and I understood, from earliest memory, that integrity and honor were paramount. And that may be one of the sources of high expectations. We, in middle age, are still surprised and saddened when someone lies or cheats to get ahead—and they prosper when we don’t.

Another source of high expectations is the books I read as a kid. I loved the (completely fictional) children's book series about the early lives of famous Americans. I enjoyed biographies and histories, works of literature—and their subjects and protagonists were heroes. It's like a parent telling their kid, “You can grow up to be President someday.”

I was raised to study the Bible, and who hasn’t read the exploits of the “good” and “bad” people that populate its pages? The expectation is that God’s people are on an upward path, running a long-distance race and throwing off anything that hinders, that we’re kind and loving to one another, that we persevere in all things, and live a life worthy of God’s high calling.
“And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.” Philippians 1:6 Does that not show that God has plans for me to excel?

If God expects great things (the best I can do with the circumstances) of me, why should I not have great expectations, also? When I and others don’t meet those expectations, I’ll be disappointed again and again. But I don’t like the alternative—settling for mediocre.

Of dogs and leftovers

2011-03-01T01:01:00.001-07:00

There was a woman of Syrian Phoenicia who lived with her little daughter in the area of Tyre and Sidon, on the Mediterranean seacoast (northwest of Galilee). She was a Gentile, which the Jewish population of Galilee considered to be of the canine persuasion, and of course, she was a woman, which was probably worse than a dirty dog. Both Jews and Gentiles were known to praise God that they hadn’t been created a woman or a beast. Today, there's a commonly-used insult for a female dog: a bitch.

But what others thought of her didn’t daunt this woman. She was self-sufficient. Without a family to depend upon, she made a living for herself and her daughter. As a woman of Greek thinking, she was known for her intelligence, her quick answers, and she could be counted upon for lively, colorful conversation with her friends and business associates. She was even a kind mistress to family pets.

But one thing she could not handle: her small daughter was mentally ill, or, as the people of that day believed, the girl was possessed by an evil spirit.The girl would fly into violent rages, scream obscenities, and hurt herself and others.

News reports from travelers told the woman of a traveling Jewish teacher who had healed thousands of sick people across Judea and Galilee, that many people had touched just the fringe of his garment, and were healed. He had the power to cast out evil spirits. He had made a meal for five thousand men and their families, from just a few loaves of bread. People had considered taking him by force to make him their king in place of the evil Herod dynasty (who were Idumeans, not Jews). They followed Jesus incessantly, hoping for miracles of free food, or spectacular feats of magic.

He told them several times not to work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life; that the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. It was said he’d been born in Beit Lehem, the House of Bread. He declared that he was the Bread of Life. (John 6:25-59) But they weren’t interested in theology. They could think only of their stomachs.

This teacher, Jesus of Nazareth, was on his way to Tyre to get some rest at the seaside. The Canaanite woman heard about it immediately, and set out to find him. She followed him “along the highway until she got on the disciples’ nerves and they begged Jesus to get rid of her. However, Jesus’ attitude was very different; he saw her as an individual and dealt with her in the way that she needed. He did not send her away but rather talked with her.” *

She threw herself at his feet, and begged,

“Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is suffering terribly from demon possession.”
            Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”
            He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”
            The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.
            He replied, “First let the children eat all they want, for it is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to their dogs.” (Matthew 15:22-28; Mark 7:24-30 NIV)

The woman was not offended. She knew something of the Jews’ thinking, and she knew that Jesus was a descendant of King David. She understood that Jews considered her a foreigner, an outcast. She had seen wild, mangy curs fighting over scraps thrown to them. Well, she didn’t consider herself that kind of animal, and knew that Jesus didn't, either!

So she agreed with Jesus, to stay in conversation with him. “Yes, Lord,” she persisted, “but even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” She was thinking of the kind of beloved pet to whom masters did not toss scraps, but rather fed them leftover tidbits from the table. Children will often very willingly sacrifice their green beans or beets to a hungry, accepting dog below!

She recognized that Jesus was not talking about discarding his influence, his power, or attention on a “mere” Gentile woman. He was assuredly not calling her a bitch. He used the word for little dog, or lap dog. He was talking about his ministry. “I am the bread of life,” he had said, and his own people did not understand. “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If a man eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.”

The woman had heard this story told, and she understood what bread Jesus was talking about in figurative terms.

“She could understand that Jesus’ first responsibility was to Israel and that she therefore had no claim to him, but she wanted only a crumb and recognized that it was in his power to give it. Her reply showed intelligence and insight. Jesus rejoiced at her faith and granted her request.” *

Then Jesus told here that she should go home, because the demon had left her daughter, who was now sleeping soundly and in health.

The story of the Syro-phoenician woman of Tyre is “sandwiched” (so to speak) between the stories of the feeding of the five thousand, which represented Jesus’ ministry to the children of the twelve tribes of Israel, and the feeding of the four thousand, which represented his ministry to the Gentiles (the seven nations driven from Canaan by the conquering Israelites). Incredibly, in Mark 8:14, we can see that the disciples had forgotten to bring bread on their journey, even for themselves. After seeing thousands of people fed, after seeing Jesus walk on the water, and seeing and hearing his woman with her fast, clever reply about crumbs.

Jesus has invited people, Jews and Gentiles, to become part of him—to partake of the bread of life, and be hungry no more.

The woman went home satisfied and full, even with her crumbs. The teacher had spoken to her in what seemed to be esoteric terms, but she had interpreted his lesson correctly. And best of all, her beloved little daughter was free from illness. She could get on with her life, knowing that she would never be hungry again, having partaken, to the full, of the Bread of Life.

*Woman in the Bible, Mary J. Evans, Intervarsity Press, 1983

This article, by Christy K. Robinson, was published as "The Crumbs of Life" in ASM Bulletin, January 1990

Famine and abundance, death and life

2011-02-25T01:01:00.000-07:00

She wasn’t surprised when the dusty stranger asked for a drink of water and a piece of bread to eat. After all, she was down to her last day’s ration of flour and oil. She had been told in a dream that she would supply this man with food. It had better be today, for tomorrow there wouldn’t be any.

The rainy season had come and gone—without a drop. Her little garden shriveled before the herbs and vegetables opened to the first leaves. The father of her son had been a fisherman in their seaside village of Zarephath, near the Mediterranean kingdom of Sidon. After he’d been lost at sea in a violent storm, the villagers had brought food and loaves of bread and helped for a while, but with the spreading famine, everyone was stretched thin. Buying food shipped in from foreign markets was beyond their means. Their principal god, Baal, was supposed to supply the earth with dew and rain, and make their livestock fruitful. But a prophet from Israel, Elijah, had threatened a drought, and it had become a reality.

The widow and her son had barely survived on plain flour-and-oil flatbread for weeks. There were no more fish, for she had no means to buy them. Her firewood was used up, and, breathing hard in her weakness, she picked up sticks on the beach to build one last cooking fire. When she had an armload, she dragged herself back through the city gate, and there was the dusty stranger. He was lean, but muscled from walking, so he had escaped the worst of the famine.

“I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour and a little oil. I’m making a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die,” she responded to his request for food. They were already so weak and malnourished that death would come quickly.

The stranger could see this for himself, but he said to her, “First make a small cake of bread for me from what you have and bring it to me, and then make something for yourself and your son. For the God of Israel says: ‘The jar of flour will not be used up and the jug of oil will not run dry until the day the Lord gives rain on the land.’”

The God of Israel. Not her god, Baal the lord of fertility and abundance, who seemed to have gone underground despite prayers and sacrifices. Whatever god Elijah called on, she didn’t care at this point. But the personal integrity of this woman, deep in the flesh and bones of every honorable person, demanded that she offer hospitality to strangers even at ultimate cost to herself.

The widow didn’t skim off a little bit of flour and oil from the abundance of her pantry. She used the entire handful—all she had—for this crazy prophet. She gave until she had to trust in someone else’s god for sustenance.

And sustain her, the God of Israel did. Every day the flour and oil were miraculously replenished. Perhaps as the drought worsened, the widow even supplied bread to her neighbors and extended family. And yes, Elijah the prophet. The man responsible for this drought and famine that had fallen not only on Israel, but all their neighbors as well.

That’s another thing. The widow was harboring a fugitive from King Ahab and his queen, Jezebel, in her upper chamber. Perhaps there was a reward for his capture, or death for the person harboring him. But the unmarried prophet Elijah, the widow, and her son lived together as a family, sharing the food-gathering, fishing, foraging, and other chores, and the joys and pains of everyday life. Isaiah said years later, “God sets the lonely in families.” Even if the family is made up of unconventional components!

Sometime during those three and a half years of famine, according to the story in 1 Kings 17:7-24, the woman’s son became ill and died. In her grief, the widow lashed out at her friend Elijah. Wasn’t it enough that Elijah had prayed for disaster on Canaan? Did he have to bring death with him? “What do you have against me, man of God?” she cried. “Did you come to remind me of my sin and kill my son?”

Elijah took the boy from her arms, carried him upstairs, and laid him on the bed. He prayed for the boy to live again, and God answered the prayer immediately.

Then the woman said to Elijah, “Now I know that you are a man of God and the word of the Lord from your mouth is the truth.” She had experienced God’s grace for herself, though she had heard it from Elijah over many months of evening talks.

Hundreds of years later, Jesus said that this Phoenician woman had received a great honor. “There were many widows [here in] Israel in Elijah’s time, when the sky was shut for three and a half years and there was a severe famine throughout the land. Yet Elijah was not sent to any of them, but a widow in Zarephath.” Luke 4:25-26

Because of her openness and hospitality to a stranger, the widow and her son were sustained and renewed during the famine. Because she learned to trust God, everything that she feared: loneliness, starvation, her own and her child’s deaths, were answered with companionship, food in plenty, life and health. They were given to her because she gave all that she had. When she was emptied, she could be filled. When she was weak, she was made strong.

In speaking of another single woman, Jesus said, “This poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth: but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” Mark 12:43

Whether it’s a season of harvest, thanksgiving, and gift giving, or a season of recession, joblessness, and poverty, this is the time to bring a sacrifice of love and praise and service to God. Cast yourself upon him, as a child would on its father, and see the showers of blessing he’ll have to let go, to catch you in his arms! Your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom.

This article by Christy K. Robinson was published in Loma Linda Campus Hill Communique, Sept/Oct 1998.

The Four-Thousand-Year-Old Valentine

2011-02-21T20:20:00.000-07:00

On Valentine’s Day, some of us went to parties, some out on dates, and others stayed home and watched reruns on television (not the romantic movies that would make them bitter and sad).

A few days earlier, I had gone shopping for Valentine cards for my friends. I believe in sending the perfect card to each person, so I put some time in on the project. My favorite was a card that read something like this:

How would you like to spend your Valentine’s Day?

___ With your head doused in honey, buried up to your neck in sand, next to a giant ant pile?

___ With me?

Obviously, the card recipient was out of his or her mind, because the inside of the card said, “OK, what if the ants were really big and they had fangs?”

It seems pretty obvious that being eaten by ants wouldn’t be the optimum Valentine’s Day. And yet when God gives us a choice—Him or you-know-what, what do we pick?

In Deuteronomy 28, the Lord sets forth blessings for those who obey Him, for those who are faithful in loving Him: prosperity, victory over enemies, a happy family, blessing on vocation, and even good weather. People would be known among the nations of the earth as belonging to the Lord, protected and favored by him.

This is what the LORD Almighty says: “In those days ten people from all languages and nations will take firm hold of one Jew by the hem of his robe and say, ‘Let us go with you, because we have heard that God is with you.’” Zech. 8:23

What a promise for the spiritual children of Abraham!

“However,” it says in Deut. 28:15. (You may be thinking there has to be a “but.” There’s always a “but.”) In this case, it says, However, if you do not obey the LORD your God and do not carefully follow all his commands and decrees I am giving you today, all these curses will come on you and overtake you.
When we read the list of calamities, we’re not talking about a month of rainy Mondays, here. This is hell. Without the Lord’s approval and protection, we put ourselves in the hands of Satan.

Yet, in Deuteronomy 30, the Lord says, When you and your children return to the Lord your God and obey him with all your heart and with all your soul…then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you…

Jeremiah 32:40-41: I will make an everlasting covenant with them: I will never stop doing good to them, and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul.

A few verses later, it says, I will bring health and healing to it; I will heal my people and will let them enjoy abundant peace and security… there will be heard once more the sounds of joy and gladness, the voices of bride and bridegroom…

God was offering his people a choice. They could be covered in honey and set down next to an ant hill. Or they could choose him and all the health, prosperity, wealth, and rejoicing they could stand.

See, I set before you today life and prosperity, death and destruction… This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live and that you may love the Lord your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the Lord is your life… Deuteronomy 30:15, 19, 20

For Joshua, the only answer to the one he loved and trusted could be, “As for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” Joshua 25:15

The people with him promised the same. But their actions spoke louder than words. They not only chose the ant hill, they chose the one with really big ants, the kind with fangs.

The power of a positive Christian life is in your hands. “Choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve.”

Let your choice be the Lord.

This article, written by Christy K. Robinson, was published in the ASM Bulletin, March 1988

The Kinsman Redeemer's Daughter

2011-02-19T13:18:00.000-07:00

This had been a very full day for Jesus. After a night being tossed in a violent storm on the lake of Galilee, he’d healed a demon-possessed man, crossed back over the lake, and began to teach and heal near his boyhood home. At the bidding of a synagogue ruler, he was on his way to raise a dead girl to life.

But for one woman in the huge crowd which pressed in around Jesus, all of them wanting his attention, his words, his touch, this was a day for which she’d never stop praising God.

She had been plagued with uterine bleeding for twelve years. She was severely anemic, pale, short of breath, and chronically exhausted. She’d been to doctors, trying every cure or incantation or diet or potion available for a price. Now she was not only in worse shape than when she began, she was destitute.

In a world where women had no rights except through the men in their family, this woman seemed to be alone. She’d spent all of her money. There was no evidence of a husband, brother, or father to speak to Jesus for her. She had no kinsman redeemer, the guardian and savior of the clan.

Furthermore, she was ritually unclean (Lev. 15:25, 31), considered on par with a filthy pig. What proper Jewish man would defile himself by touching her? Any law-abiding Jew would shun her. She was alone. No supportive family for her. She was untouchable, as badly off as the Samaritan left for dead by robbers. According to the Jewish Mishna Tamid, she or anyone she touched would have to stand at the eastern gate of the Temple in humiliation for their contraction of uncleanliness.

Public opinion held that she was a sinful woman, who had contracted her ailment as a result of some grave error, because disease was an inevitable consequence of sin. (John 9:2)

But on this day of days, this nameless, desperate woman met God. She wasn’t afraid to approach Jesus. She pushed through the crowd with all her strength. She crawled between the legs of the people who were crushing close to Jesus. She was trampled and dusty, her hands and feet and clothes kicked and trod upon, but she succeeded in reaching Jesus’ feet. She knew that if she only could touch his tassel, that symbol of his constant communication with the Father, that she would be healed.

She closed her eyes, reached out her hand, and focused her heart and mind on God’s ability to create and renew.

Suddenly, the earth stood still. There was no crowd, no noise, no social disfavor, no loneliness, no poverty, no—no pain! In wonder, she knew that she was free, different, strong, energetic. She was healed.

Gradually, she became aware of a commotion. Jesus stopped the forward motion of the people with a question, and she came back to real life. She realized what she’d done: dared to touch a rabbi, to steal his power and to make him ceremonially unclean. This person on whom she’d placed all her hope, and now devotion and gratitude, was now subject to all of her humiliation and its penalties.

She picked herself up, knowing what had happened, and in dread, trembling with fear, she fell at Jesus’ feet and his mercy. In her mute glance, she told him the whole truth of her alienation and shame, the rejection by her family and society because of an illness she couldn’t help, and her boldness in seeking help.

In the woman’s eyes, Jesus saw a reflection of his ancestress, Ruth the Moabite. “I am your servant,” Ruth had said to her employer, Boaz. “Spread the corner of your garment over me,” proposing an intimate, covenant relationship to him.

Boaz had replied, “The Lord bless you, my daughter... Don’t be afraid. I will do for you all you ask.”

Jesus said to the friendless woman kneeling before him now, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

Daughter. Daughter!

And with Jesus’ word this woman was restored to the Children of Israel, the daughter of her Creator and Savior. She was honored, protected, cherished. She had a present and a future. No longer alone, no longer a woman without a name or family. Someone claimed her as a relation.

That was more precious to her than her new health, for Jesus bid her “Go in peace,” as Boaz had given Ruth God's blessing over her life.

For the first time, she had peace. True peace. She was loved, she was restored. She was a daughter who belonged to a people, and to God.

“As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years, but no one could heal her. She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

When they all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.”

But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.”

Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. Then he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” Luke 8:42-48 NIV

Published in Women of Spirit magazine (early 1990s) and ASM Bulletin (Oct. 1988)

Your Valentine

2011-02-14T10:00:00.000-07:00

Hebrew literature put the crux of the poem, the pinnacle of thought, right in the middle of the composition. Here, in the middle of a month where we are inundated with messages about having a Significant Other (spouse, boyfriend, girlfriend--or you're nothing because no one thinks about only you), hear from God’s lips how He loves you.

This is how much God loved the world: He gave his Son, his one and only Son. And this is why: so that no one need be destroyed; by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. John 3:16 MSG.

Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you. I’ve called your name. You’re mine. When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you. When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down. When you’re between a rock and a hard place, it won’t be a dead end—Because I am GOD, your personal God, The Holy of Israel, your Savior. I paid a huge price for you…That’s how much I love you! I’d sell off the whole world to get you back, trade the creation just for you. So don’t be afraid: I’m with you. Isaiah 43:1-5 MSG.

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8 NIV.

"Is not Ephraim my dear son, the child in whom I delight? … I still remember him. Therefore my heart yearns for him; I have great compassion for him,” declares the LORD. Jeremiah 31:20 NIV.

Jesus said, "The first in importance is, 'Listen, Israel: The Lord your God is one; so love the Lord God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence and energy.' And here is the second: 'Love others as well as you love yourself.' There is no other commandment that ranks with these." Mark 12:28-30 MSG.

But the people you redeemed, you led in merciful love; You guided them under your protection to your holy pasture. Exodus 15:13 MSG.

There are so many more. Look up “love” in your concordance, and read your Valentine from your Savior. He can’t wait to take you in His arms and whisper sweet words in your heart.

Legacy

2011-02-03T00:15:00.000-07:00

Mortality. I’ve been thinking about mortality a lot, lately. Two cousins, an online friend I’ve never met, my aunt, and my father—all are battling cancer, and for some of them, it’s not the first bout. They’re experiencing pain from the disease, and from the surgeries to treat the cancer. The outcomes are by no means sure. It was so difficult to see my father, always so gentle, dependable, healthy and strong, in pain in the hospital bed. He's recovered from that cancer, but another, less virulent lurks inside him, and it's being treated.

Immortality. Some of my Christian friends believe that their family members and friends who have passed away are already in heaven, basking in the light and love of Jesus. Others believe their loved ones are sleeping in the grave until the Second Coming, and their next thought and sight is of their resurrected and living Lord. Some believe that this life is all we have, and there's no other existence. Some say that the spirit never dies, but hovers around the people and places it knew in life. (I prefer the biblical explanations.)

Friends say that they feel the presence or watch-care of their departed family members, and are comforted by the peace that passes understanding. And I can understand that, having had a similar feeling—but I think it’s because my mother is present in my DNA and in the training she gave me. The legacy that she left is who I’ve become and what influence I can provide to others. Mom taught me many of the creative arts, including music, literature and writing, visual art, and graphic design. Although my children are the furry, four-footed variety, I have the privilege of teaching hundreds of students over many years, about the pursuit of excellence that I received from my mother.

I played the organ and piano for the memorial service to Fred Black, a member of my church. I’d met him once or twice, and seven years ago, he called me at work to tell me that his uncle wrote the hymn, “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder.” He was a nice old guy, but I didn’t know him well. That’s my loss, as I discovered when his many friends and family members told anecdotes about the legacy of love, service, and excellence that Mr. Black left. But Mr. Black lives on through his descendants, the people he worked with, those he taught and fellowshipped with, and those he blessed as if he were serving Jesus Himself. Mr. Black will live again—forever.

My uncle and aunt were a minister couple in Wisconsin (he a pastor, she a nurse), and not only did they adopt children to their family, but were involved in “green” endeavors in their community, being politically active, building homes for Habitat For Humanity, and ministering to their fellow retirees when they “snow-birded” in Arizona each winter. They died within a year of each other, with grace and dignity, surrounded by their children and many grandchildren.

That is an amazing legacy. But a legacy doesn’t end. A legacy lives on in one form or many, for eternity. Sometimes, the legacy is property left in a will or trust, or the worn heirlooms that remind us of the hopes and dreams that have gone before us; but the legacy that’s remembered is the gift of the experience: the life well-lived, the teaching or discipline imparted, the marked-up family Bible with answers to prayer noted in the margins, the encouragement to keep on trying to your utmost in both failure and success.

Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians, wrote about the gifts of the Holy Spirit, meant to build up Christian believers and multiply their numbers. Among the gifts were teaching, discernment, wisdom, healing, prophecy, languages, and others. But then Paul said we should earnestly desire the greatest gift of all: loving people the way God loves them. That is where the love of 1 Corinthians 13 comes from—it’s a gift from God. It’s not something we can “develop” or progress to. We can only receive a gift.

God has multiplied the gifts of the Spirit far beyond our wildest imaginings. Far into eternity. And we have forever to meet and greet our brothers and sisters, those who have gone before us, and those who will come after us. It will be the fulfillment of a legacy that began at the cross and continues today.

We often think of great historical figures or biblical heroes (Abraham, Moses, Solomon, the prophets and apostles, the saints who've gone before us), when we read in Hebrews 12:1-3 :

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

What if, for future generations, we are among the great cloud of witnesses? What if we're rubbing elbows with those greats of Hebrews 11, the faith chapter? What legacy have we left behind for future generations? What sort of life are we living right now? The legacy may be invisible to us, and when we learn of it in heaven, we will be shocked at the seeming insignificance to us, and the great import to them. Something we do or something we leave behind can be an inspiration so that others will not grow weary or lose heart in their journey.

It puts mortality and immortality in a different light!

All things new

2011-01-01T01:01:00.000-07:00

The rush of the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays are over. The deadlines of finishing work projects, gift-preparation and gift-giving, making last-minute tax deductible arrangements, cooking the feasts—all in the past. The guests have gone home, the decorations have been removed, and your waistline is back at last January’s measurement, when you did your previous crash course in power-walking and dieting.

Maybe the last year sucked for you. Or even the last two or three. The economy tanked, a loved one died, a relationship or marriage broke up. You're waiting for the country song to be played backward so you can get back to the life that seemed to have an upward direction.

The daylight lasts a few minutes longer now. It’s time to paint the kitchen, rearrange the garage or attic, prune the rose canes, approve the budget at work or church or home, start a new school term… Renewal time. Start over.

Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them. Matthew 9:35-36 NIV.

Think of that! Jesus renewed all the towns and villages by healing every disease and sickness, and showing His compassion. He made every diabetic and cancer sufferer free from disease (and the painful treatments). He gave sight to the blind and even the presbyopics! He turned the asthmatics into distance runners. He took those afflicted by demons and mental illness, and let their human spirits soar free and unafraid. He made the handicapped into dancers, and those disfigured by skin disease had bodies as fresh as the day they were born. He preached the good news that the kingdom’s gates were open to all whom God loves.

Renewal is one of the greatest gifts the Lord gives us. When He forgives our sins, He doesn’t file them so He can drag them out and zap us with guilt the next time we mess up. He throws them away in an inaccessible place, and He forgets them. That is truly a miracle, because I remember my sins, and Satan certainly brings them up again and again. But God declares that my sins are forgiven and that He has wiped them from my account. Gone. Poof!

“But this is the new covenant I will make with the people of Israel on that day,” says the Lord. “I will put my instructions deep within them, and I will write them on their hearts. I will be their God, and they will be my people…And I will forgive their wickedness, and I will never again remember their sins.” Jeremiah 31:33-34 NLT.

How we love the Lord for forgiving and forgetting! That’s where we find healing and renewal: in the knowledge that Jesus has paid the penalty for our rebellion, and that He remembers our sins no more. He said that even if a mother could forget the infant at her breast, God could not forget us, His beloved, because He has engraved us on the palms of His hands—the nail prints. (Isaiah 49:15-16)

In this new year, come back to Jesus. Ask Him deep in your heart, where He’ll write His will for you: that you be buried in Him, and Him in you, forever.

And the one sitting on the throne said, “Look, I am making everything new!” And then he said to me, “Write this down, for what I tell you is trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:5 NLT.

All things—new. What a promise. It’s trustworthy and true.

In Conclusion

2010-12-30T21:00:00.000-07:00

The phrase that is guaranteed to wake up an audience: “And in conclusion...”

It's New Year’s Eve. Today’s news will carry summaries of the big stories of this year, and tomorrow’s will be about the first children born in the new year. You may rush to donate to your church or charity before the year’s tax-deduction books close. Perhaps you’ll finish off the Christmas sweets today, knowing that the diet resumes tomorrow.

I asked Facebook friends what their biggest stories of the year were. Some answered natural disasters, some getting fired or laid off from a job, some said the terrible economy or which party won the elections, and one said that her husband's life is now measured in days. I think one of the best things in a difficult year was meeting new people, including relatives, and laughing with--or at--friends in Facebook. I like the "If you can't beat it, laugh at it" attitude, which gives energy to push through and prevail after all.

The New Year holiday is significant. It’s the day when people remember one year and look forward to a clean start in the next. The Roman god Janus, after whom January was named, was the god of gates and doorways, depicted with two faces looking in opposite directions. It's interesting that the apostle James spoke of the double-minded man as being unstable (James 1:8). There's really only one way to face what's handed to us in this world: forward, head-on. No turning back.

Jesus, who is our true Door and Gate, said, "I am the gate. All who come in through me will be saved. Through me they will come and go and find pasture." John 10:9 CEV

Isaiah 43:18-19 NIV says: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”

That's not to say that we should forget our experiences or the ways in which we grew. No, that’s why God gave us reason and wisdom, the application of knowledge. He wants us to forget and forgive ungodly actions and imperfect human ways, and look forward with joyful anticipation to the work He wants to do in us, and through us to humanity. Don’t dwell in past glories or miseries—walk by faith into the future.

The future springs up: could it be a spring of fresh water bubbling up through gravel, or the tension in a metal spiral spring? Either way, there’s irrepressible energy coming to you from God.

What new thing will God do in you in the coming year? What gift has He given you that He’s eagerly waiting to unwrap and set before you? Don’t wait for tomorrow—accept it today!

2010 Christmas epistle

2010-12-14T19:05:00.000-07:00

December 2010
Phoenix, Arizona

Dear family and friends,

I hope that this letter, sent by email and my blog because printing and postage are still not in my budget, finds you well in every sense of the word. Prospering in your hopes and dreams. Growing in all your relationships with those you love. Learning and standing taller, always.

Twenty-ten has been a year like no other in my life. It began with me packing up my “stuff” and showing my home in Redlands, in preparation to sell it. After being laid off from my job in June 2009, I’d run out of savings, and only God’s miraculous providence through some incredible servants of His, got me through and kept me going until the house sold and escrow closed. The help came in several forms: checks in the mail, a legal settlement, skilled handyman work and moving (bathroom tile, house painting, dismantling my heavy stuff, moving boxes and heavy furniture onto and off the trucks, driving the U-Hauls, and so much more).

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

My Redlands house sold in less than 30 days, for the agreed-upon, appraised amount. That was rather a large miracle in this depressed economy. Then it was time to find a house to rent in Phoenix, and with lots of help from my brother and sister-in-law, I found a nice one in a nice neighborhood, which reeked of tobacco smoke (I’m SO allergic to it) for weeks, no matter what we did. Eventually, with Febreze neutralizer sprayed directly on walls and the carpet professionally cleaned twice, the toxic smell departed. You remember how I’d designed and planted my trees and flowers in Redlands, and I mourn their loss. This rental house has stickers and vicious weeds that defy my lawnmower! And no trees… not one.

I’ve continued to apply for jobs in communications (copywriting, publications and website editing, primarily), but have only been called to three job interviews all year. If the official jobless rate is 9.7%, they’re only counting the people currently receiving unemployment comp. The real rate is 19-25%. In August, my brother and his wife both lost their jobs, too. Brian has found lower-paying work and is hoping his networking will land him a better job soon.

So what am I to do? I had several small freelance editing jobs, but that’s not employment! Yet I keep very busy. In April, I began researching a historical novel on Mary Barrett Dyer, the Quaker minister who was executed for civil disobedience in 1660 Puritan Boston. Because I made an Excel spreadsheet on my major characters cross-referenced with political and natural history events, I’ve found some absolutely amazing details that historians haven’t connected—stuff that will make my book (even more) fascinating. As of the beginning of December, I’ve written more than 53,000 words, and have barely scratched the surface! When I say “historical novel,” I’m emphasizing history, with fiction to create bridges and conversations between actual events. Even the fiction will be culturally correct. My favorite authors (with whom I correspond on Facebook) have set a lofty standard. The book’s protagonist is my direct ancestor, 12 generations back. My religious experience, coupled with my writing skills, make me the perfect person to write her story from what I believe will be her mindset. The working title of the book is The Calends of June, as several major events occurred on June 1 during her life. I created a Facebook page and photo albums for her, which you’re most welcome to join.

My devotional book, We Shall Be Changed, was published in hardcover in June 2010, and is now available for sale on two websites at least: Amazon, and the ABC Christian store. It was advertised in the ABC Christian book catalog, too (page 2). It’s a daily devotional book for the whole year, and I hope you’ll at least take a look at it online, if not buy some copies to keep and give away. (The book was written for a non-denominational audience.) I was paid a salary while I prepared the drafts, so I receive no sales royalties now. But it’s still awfully COOL to have my name on the cover and in the Library of Congress. Woo-hoo! Some of my classmates, friends, and members of my Bible study have purchased the book. My friend in Canada says her store sold out and she had to reorder. I wish I had copies to just give away, but you know how it is when you haven’t had a job for 18 months…

It’s been great to reconnect with my Arizona friends here, but I really miss my California friends, too, and the dear ones who made themselves family. Facebook and email are no true substitute, although I’ve met some amazing people online who share interests in spiritual matters, history, genealogy, professional skills, and shared memories. I’ve even connected with relatives I’d never known before. One of them wrote: “Christy, I just love you!! That reminds me of the Disney movie Up when the dog says, ‘I just met you and I LOVE you!!’ LOL!” And it was a thrill to get a phone call from my cousins Phil and Christine Berkland as they passed the Mary Dyer statue at the Boston statehouse. They’re not descended from her, but they remembered me because of the Facebook page I set up for Mary.

I’ve edited all sorts of publications and video scripts over the years, and have had a byline in many of them. After I edited several of her manuscripts, Hyveth Williams asked me to write a preface for her Secrets of a Happy Heart a few years ago. But this year my name made several surprise appearances: I found my name on page 298 of I Used To Think God Was Perfect, But…, an autobiography of Herman Bauman, who called me “special” and a dear friend; and in Trudy J. Morgan-Cole’s book The Wise Men, in her dedication! (“To all my writer friends who are so supportive, especially Patty and Christy. I’m sorry I didn’t use your suggestions.”) When in Trudy’s first draft, the wise men were stalled, getting ready for their road trip to Bethlehem, we suggested (via Facebook) why they might have delayed—but strangely, our anachronisms didn’t make Trudy’s manuscript:

1. In winter cold, camels need a 20-minute warm-up.
2. Got a late start because the donkey races went into overtime.
3. Spent too much time at the Checker Camel Parts stall in the bazaar.
4. Once on the road, ain’t nuthin’ stoppin’ the wise men–not asking for directions, not taking hieroglyphs along the way, no time for a quick trip to the bushes…
5. Does the next oasis have a Pita Bell?
6. Gold, frankincense, myrrh, and Cheetos.
7. “Someone” lost the camel keys.
8. Couldn’t decide whether to take the Bactrian or the dromedary.

May the Lord bless you at Christmas season and in the new year. I’m a living testimony that he does take care of his children, and I thank you for your prayers in the past and the future.

Earnestly desire the best gifts. And yet I show you a more excellent way.. And now abide faith, hope, love, these three [gifts]; but the greatest of these is love.

Grace and peace,

Christy K Robinson
and pets Evie, Mali, and Smetana

The Hanging of the Greens

2010-12-10T01:01:00.000-07:00

With this headline, The Hanging of the Greens, one might expect to find a political-commentary article about how conservatives who deny the global warming phenomena have lynched some environmentalists. Happily, this is a whole different theme! (Read on, below the video.)

The rich woods of

Lebanon

will be delivered-all that cypress and oak and pine—To give a splendid elegance to my Sanctuary, as I make my footstool glorious. Isaiah 60:13 MSG

In some denominations, people have taken care not to celebrate Christmas traditions from pagan origins, including decorated trees or garlands in the sanctuary. In other churches, Christmas trees carry pledges or gifts to needy families or a community project.

I’ve been employed as a keyboardist and choir director for several denominations, and they have a wonderful tradition that my church hasn’t celebrated: the hanging of the greens. On the first Sunday of Advent, during the worship service, they bring fresh fir and pine boughs, handmade Christmas ornaments (some antique), and carry in a fragrant tree for the chancel. The sanctuary decoration is not left to a committee or a person with a design degree. As they move through the liturgy of praise to God, the choir members, children, couples, singles, and the elderly, all participate in beautifying God’s house and decorating the tree. Carols are sung, candles are lit, scriptures are read, children imperfectly clang the hand bells, and Communion is joyfully shared and celebrated. Offerings of green garlands and ornaments, as well as tithes and gifts of money, are presented to the Lord. In other words, the people fellowship and worship together, their eyes on God.

I hope that you will be blessed by the verses my Christian friends quote and sing in their Hanging of the Greens ceremony:

But I am like a green olive tree in the house of God: I trust in the mercy of God for ever and ever. I will praise thee for ever, because thou hast done it: and I will wait on thy name; for it is good before thy saints. Psalm 52:8-9 KJV

I am like a green pine tree; your fruitfulness comes from me. Hosea 14:8 NIV

A green Shoot will sprout from Jesse’s stump, from his roots a budding Branch. Isaiah 11:1 MSG

All your people will live right and well, in permanent possession of the land. They’re the green shoot that I planted, planted with my own hands to display my glory. Isaiah 60:21 MSG

An old-fashioned Christmas

2010-12-03T01:01:00.000-07:00

Throughout December, my parents loved to do traditional activities to prepare for Christmas: bake and decorate shaped cookies (to give to the neighbors), hold a Christmas-theme recital for Mom’s piano students, and decorate the house differently each year. We always cooked the entire Christmas feast from scratch. One year, we thought we’d do the “Little House on the Prairie” sort of décor. We strung popcorn to lay garlands on the Christmas tree, and baked gingerbread men and other frosted cookies, pierced their heads, and threaded yarn through them to make dangling ornaments. (Tragically, many cookies broke when pierced, and we were forced to eat our mistakes.) We finally had enough cookies and popcorn to decorate our tree, and we went to bed.

The next morning, I went to the living room to admire our — hey! What happened to all the cookies and popcorn? Gypsy, the 25-pound miniature poodle, lay behind the tree, looking guilty as sin, with probably two pounds of Christmas treats in her tummy. She’d stood on her hind legs and walked around the tree, eating everything up to 36 inches from the floor. The glass and paper ornaments remained pristine.

Gypsy didn’t know the Genesis story about not eating from the tree in the center of the garden, or the one about David eating the sacred bread in the tabernacle. She was smart, but she was just a dog with a sweet tooth. Stolen bread tastes sweet, but soon your mouth is full of gravel. Proverbs 20:16 MSG. Gypsy wasn’t completely at fault. Valuables are safe in a wise person’s home; fools put it all out for yard sales. Proverbs 21:20 MSG. We should have known that edible decorations would be too tempting for a dog!

Giving, not getting, is the way. Generosity begets generosity. Stinginess impoverishes. Mark 4:24-25 MSG. Pet lovers understand that whatever we give our animals in treats, toys, vet bills, and other expenses, we receive back in rich measure.

This is a worrisome time in the global economy. We’re trying to plan our personal, church, and corporate budgets for the next year, wondering whether we should freeze at current levels, invest now while prices are low, cut back on essentials, or conserve every penny against the time when pennies are again worth stooping to pick up. Pay off those bills to avoid interest, or take advantage of tax deductions and depreciation? Should we look for extra income from freelance or part-time jobs?

It’s gift-giving time in almost every culture, whatever the religious (or non-religious) beliefs. Should we limit our spending? Stimulate the economy with the purchase of a giant electronic marvel or gas-guzzling vehicle for the family? Think about handicrafts or homemade goods for gift-giving? Is there anything left of you to volunteer at a soup kitchen, tie quilts at the Dorcas meeting, deliver meals to the homebound, or rock preemies at the neonatal ward?

Perhaps instead of giving Dad another thing for his shelf (and eventually the garage rafters), we should consider giving a gift in his name. You know the kind: groceries or a check to help the local food bank, or one of many animal rescue organizations. And for your brother’s teenagers, a gift to a a child sponsorship group like Compassion or World Vision, or a Haitian relief organization, or to a charity like www.Heifer.org.

Doing good deeds motivated by love, and leaving the materialism and rush behind, will give us that feeling of an old-fashioned Christmas. Christmas is about the heart, not about stuff. It’s being like God: compassionate, merciful, loving and forgiving – not doing the expected thing for advertisers and corporations.

That applies to all of us. Let’s invest our tender care, our gentle touch, our careful respect, in people. It’s the best gift we can give. Material goods pale in comparison to pleasant relationships. We’ll all be blessed beyond measure.

The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. Galatians 5:6 NIV. That is exactly what Jesus did when He came to dwell with us. Surprisingly, He expressed His faith in us: His faith that we would listen to His voice and learn to be like the One Who expresses Himself through love.

If we love Him, we will keep His commands, which are to love the Lord with all we are, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. That kind of love would blow modern Christmases out of the water! It would be a bright, guiding star in the darkness, leading seekers to the Light.

It starts with YOU.

Eternal life and Hanukkah

2010-12-01T01:00:00.000-07:00

At that time the Feast of Dedication took place at Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the colonnade of Solomon. John 10:22-23 NASB

There is a festival of lights that pierces the long nights of winter, and it’s been celebrated for more than 2,000 years. The festival recalls the 168-165 BC Maccabees’ revolt against the assimilation of Hellenistic Jews and oppression by the Syrian Greeks who had desecrated the Jerusalem Temple. When the Maccabean Jews reclaimed the Temple, there was only one day’s measure of consecrated oil to burn in the large menorah. Because of their prayer and sincere intention to cleanse God’s sanctuary, He kept the lamp burning for eight days, until more olive oil could be obtained and ritually purified.

The Hebrew word Hanukkah means “dedication.” Jews and Christians believe that this dedication and purification of the Temple was a fulfillment of Daniel’s prophecy of the desecration and cleansing of the sanctuary. Today’s Hanukkah customs include gift-giving and family celebrations. Many holiday foods are fried to commemorate the miracle of the oil.

Jesus celebrated Hanukkah! John 10:22-23 NASB says that Jesus was at the Temple during the festival of dedication—Hanukkah. Jesus used this Hanukkah celebration to compare the miracle of extending the life of consecrated oil in a lamp, and the heart consecrated to Him. God is all-powerful to grant eternal life or measureless oil. He’s more interested in your heart than He is in ceremonies or the accoutrements of worship.

The Jews then gathered around Him, and were saying to Him, "How long will You keep us in suspense? If You are the Christ, tell us plainly." Jesus answered them, "I told you, and you do not believe; the works that I do in My Father's name, these testify of Me. But you do not believe because you are not of My sheep. My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give eternal life to them, and they will never perish; and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand. I and the Father are one." John 10:24-30 NASB

Eternal life which no one can snatch from God’s nail-scarred hand. He extends His hand to you right now, just as you are. Accept your gift!

The harvest of gratitude

2010-11-25T00:45:00.000-07:00

It’s a quickstep now, to the end of the year. The Thanksgiving holidays, winter festivals, the whole Christmas season, and New Years celebrations race along, catching everyone in their path. Miss one finger crossover in that sonata, and you’ll go sideways with the metronome!

It’s like that at the ministry where I work, as we work through budget projections, strategic planning, the end-of-year bookkeeping, the most generous time of year for our financial supporters, the everyday duties, the conventions to prepare for and attend, and big projects with too-close deadlines. Of course, it never stops, because nothing slows down in the new year, either! It’s not as easy to keep smiling (as opposed to grimacing) when there’s so much pressure during the holiday season. Surely you have experienced the same thing. Even retired people say that since they retired, they’ve never worked so hard!

But then we receive a thank-you from halfway around the world or even across the country, reminding us that we are loved, appreciated, and that someone thanks God for us! That knowledge brings a burst of energy. It’s encouraging!

In Ukraine, I watched some “church ladies” who were entranced with the message of grace they heard from their visiting evangelist. And later, when that evangelist learned of their joy, he was encouraged and strengthened in his labors. In Russia, when the social worker at Zaoksky Theological Seminary heard of the American and Canadian interest in providing Bible teaching and comfort to “her” orphans, and watched as they impetuously filled the passed hat with $2300 in rubles, dollars, and grivnas, she wept for joy. (And the people who gave were not far from tears, either.)

Nearly a hundred evangelists left their families at home, and sacrificed thousands of dollars and weeks of their time to minister in Ukraine. Yes, they enjoyed their missionary service time there, they made friends, they loved the hospitality—but when they flew home, they were unsure of the results of their investment. They were planting seeds for the Holy Spirit to nurture and harvest—but they wanted to have a glimpse of the progress. Who wouldn’t?

God loves to give us gifts. So He inspired the union president to send a thank-you letter by email, along with an Excel file of the baptism and Bible-study preliminary results. Imagine the joy they’re feeling right now! They’ll not be able to contain their enthusiasm, but will share that excitement with their church families.

“God can pour on the blessings in astonishing ways so that you're ready for anything and everything, more than just ready to do what needs to be done. As one psalmist puts it, ‘He throws caution to the winds, giving to the needy in reckless abandon. His right-living, right-giving ways never run out, never wear out.’ This most generous God who gives seed to the farmer that becomes bread for your meals is more than extravagant with you. He gives you something you can then give away, which grows into full-formed lives, robust in God, wealthy in every way, so that you can be generous in every way, producing with us great praise to God.” 2 Corinthians 9:8-11 MSG.

So sacrificial giving grows great wealth? Although it seems like a paradox, that’s what Paul is saying. Investing in seed and the hard labor that goes along with farming the crop leads to a multiplied yield. The harvested grain becomes bread for your meals, even the bread of Communion. God is truly extravagant.

When we realize even a tiny bit of what God has done for us in His mercy, compassion, and boundless love by offering His own perfect, divine life to give us eternal life at His side—we have a reason to be grateful. It’s so much more than being thankful for a nice house, job, health, loved ones, or a special meal on the table. God actually gives us the attitude and action of gratitude.

The English clergyman and poet, George Herbert (1593-1633), wrote,

Thou hast given so much to me,
Give one thing more—a grateful heart;
Not thankful when it pleases me,
As if thy blessings had spare days;
But such a heart whose very pulse may be
Thy praise.

“Carrying out this social relief work involves far more than helping meet the bare needs of poor Christians. It also produces abundant and bountiful thanksgivings to God. This relief offering is a prod to live at your very best, showing your gratitude to God by being openly obedient to the plain meaning of the Message of Christ. You show your gratitude through your generous offerings to your needy brothers and sisters, and really toward everyone. Meanwhile, moved by the extravagance of God in your lives, they'll respond by praying for you in passionate intercession for whatever you need. Thank God for this gift, his gift. No language can praise it enough!” 2 Corinthians 9:12-15 MSG.

Yes, thank God for His gift of a grateful and gracious heart. Thank Him that we live in a country that recognizes that giving money, time, and thanks is a blessing to not only the recipient, but the giver as well. Thank Him that He has given you extravagant blessings in order that you may have the same joy of giving that He does.

Thank you, Lord, for making us grateful. Thank you for sharing brilliant glimpses of eternity and what our puny labors have wrought. Thank you for the very pizzazz and vibrancy that comes from giving—and from receiving thanks. Remind us to share that gratitude, that grateful heart, with those around us by thanking them.

Published elsewhere in November 2007

St Crispin's Day

2010-10-24T23:27:00.000-07:00

We don't deserve praise! The LORD alone deserves all of the praise, because of his love and faithfulness. Psalm 115:1 CEV

In 1989, I dashed home from the movie theater, humming the Henry V soundtrack theme and its descant repeatedly, until I could reproduce it on my piano, and notate it so I’d never forget it. I still use that theme when playing softly under a prayer or offertory. The music for Non Nobis Domine had a great effect upon me because of its setting in the Shakespeare play.

In the morality play similar to Psalm 115, King Henry V of England was pursuing his ancestral rights to territory in France, but (naturally) was being rebuffed by the French government. As Anglo-centric William Shakespeare wrote it, the arrogant, godless French depended upon their superior numbers, home advantage, and mercenary muscles to beat the battle-weary, disease-ridden, far-from-home, humble, God-fearing English at the Battle of Agincourt on October 25, 1415--St Crispin's Day. When the battle was over, the French herald gave Henry the news of his victory. Vast numbers of French had died, and only a handful of the English had gone down.

Shakespeare’s poetic rendering of King Henry’s victory speech was: “O God, thy arm was here; And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem, But in plain shock and even play of battle, Was ever known so great and little loss On one part and on the other? Take it, God, For it is none but thine! Come, go we in procession to the village. And be it death proclaimed through our host To boast of this or take the praise from God Which is his only… God fought for us. Do we all holy rites; Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum.”

God fought.. for us! It's almost unbelievable. But he loves us with a love that literally tore him apart to save us from hell. He fought for us when we never wanted him, or thought of him with anything but fear and distrust. He fought for us because he's our creator and parent. He knew before the creation of the world how each one of us would need him and his love, and that we'd do anything to get away from his care--and he loved us the more for our misery and need. God fought for us. And he won.

In the 1989 movie, composer Patrick Doyle begins singing “Non nobis Domine, sed nomini, Tuo da gloriam,” and gradually the weary, heroic English soldiers join the glorious chorus as they trudge to the nearby church.

The Non nobis is Psalm 115:1-3: Not unto us, O LORD, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory, for thy mercy, and for thy truth’s sake. Wherefore should the heathen say, Where is now their God? But our God is in the heavens: he hath done whatsoever he hath pleased.

The first fruit

2010-10-19T21:43:00.000-07:00

Whatever it takes, Lord, fulfill your promise and work your purpose for my life. Even if I lose my job. Or my health. Or my possessions. None of that matters without love. You formed me for that purpose: to love. You said,

"If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given you. This is to my Father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples. As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Now remain in my love. If you obey my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have obeyed my Father's commands and remain in his love. I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete. My command is this: Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. I no longer call you servants, because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other. John 15:7-17 NIV

And that's all I'm asking. For the completedness of love. That God will take delight and joy in me because I love others. Finding the job and the concerns with daily life will be resolved because when I ask in Jesus' name (which is Love) and for his glory, he will give whatever I ask, and as he said at first, whatever I wish. What I remember hearing in countless Bible classes and commentaries, sermons and seminars, is whatever I "need." [And forget asking for anything material, the teachers and pastors said. What we're supposed to ask for is the Holy Spirit and his gifts.] But Jesus is not talking about needs of food, water, shelter.

This passage is not the Great Commission, where Jesus sent his disciples into all the world to tell people who he was and what he stood for, and to love others as he loved, resulting in discipleship and enlargement of the kingdom of God. No, this was an intimate, last-will-and-testament moment before Jesus' arrest, trial, and crucifixion. Final words spoken with urgency and on the verge of tears because they were so important. Jesus communicated his most intimate thoughts with his Father, and let his disciples—now his friends—into that relationship.

Jesus said that he was the vine, and his followers are the branches which bear much fruit. But he doesn't describe the fruit in terms of works of righteousness or accomplishments. He doesn't say that keeping the Ten Commandments is fruit. His fruit is about loving one another. In Galatians 5:22, the first fruit of the Spirit is love. The trunk of the vine carries nourishment from the roots to the branches with their leaves, tendrils, and the grapes themselves. This love or fruit is not a product of our trying, but of our receiving.

It seems too simple. Just "love." Shouldn't there be more to it, involving time, money, exertion, or pain? Shouldn't we sell up, give our goods to the poor, and travel to foreign lands to preach at people? Maybe, if that is what God is unmistakeably telling you. As anyone knows who loves, those things come right along with love. Love is not just a pleasant emotion about the upholstery in your new car, or that you prefer chocolate ice cream to 100-calorie yogurts. Love can be a very rocky road, as parents of teenagers will tell you, or spouses who have weathered life's storms. Or missionaries who have been surrounded by death and disease, terrorism and peril. Love is difficult.

But in this passage, Jesus says that love is the most important concept, the most important life, that we can choose. The decision to love is the decision to be godly, because God is Love. He is the source of love. He is the sap that runs through the vine's trunk and into the branches, and fills the fruit with sweet juice. That juice is what we drink at the Communion or Eucharist service. Jesus' blood was symbolized by the juice of the grape.

So this is my prayer: that your love will flourish and that you will not only love much but well. Learn to love appropriately. You need to use your head and test your feelings so that your love is sincere and intelligent, not sentimental gush. Live a lover's life, circumspect and exemplary, a life Jesus will be proud of: bountiful in fruits from the soul, making Jesus Christ attractive to all, getting everyone involved in the glory and praise of God. Philippians 1:7-11 MSG

Oswald Chambers wrote: "The love of God is not created— it is His nature. When we receive the life of Christ through the Holy Spirit, He unites us with God so that His love is demonstrated in us. The goal of the indwelling Holy Spirit is not just to unite us with God, but to do it in such a way that we will be one with the Father in exactly the same way Jesus was."

Love is more than a feeling. It's part of our spirit, the spirit that was created in the image of God. He created us to love him and to love one another. He is the love that runs in our veins, and fills that best fruit of all with its sweet juice.

Lord, give me love. Let love fill my respiratory and circulatory systems to overflowing. Let me bear fruit.

My book is now available for sale!

2010-10-02T16:58:00.000-07:00

Get your Christmas gift list checked off NOW, because the book you'll give your friends and family members is now available.

We Shall Be Changed is an adult daily-devotional and inspirational book, edited by ME! And I wrote 92 of the 365 inspirational essays, so I'm the principal author, too. This hardcover book has 375 pages.

It was begun in 2004, printed by my former employer in 2005 as four separate quarterly paperbacks, and then Review & Herald Publishing Association picked it up for 2010 hardcover publication. They manufactured the books in June 2010, and my "baby" is for sale now, in time for Christmas and end-of-year birthday gifts--and to satisfy those New Year resolutions to improve oneself.

Some of you have suggested you'd like a signed copy. If you're a friend in the Phoenix, Arizona area, you know how to reach me. (I have none for sale.) If you purchase the book from the publisher, Amazon, or an ABC bookstore, and would like a signed bookplate, contact me by commenting on this article, and I'll send you a sticker to affix inside.

Each article is written (or re-written or edited) in a breezy-fresh, conversational style, and is accompanied by a scripture for the day, taken from modern, contemporary versions of the Bible. Some of the modern applications of ancient texts will surprise you (in a good way, of course).

The book was created from the beginning (I know, I put it in the writers' guidelines!) for a non-denominational, Christian audience, so you won't find dogma, branding, or secret rituals in these pages! Just everyday situations with a fresh, upbeat perspective, tied to a daily scripture text. If you're looking for a positive kick-start to your day, this book should be open on your night table. If you're looking for an inoffensive, nonpartisan, inspirational gift for a friend or family member--this is it. It might show another dimension to the God you thought you knew!

Here are the online ordering sites for We Shall Be Changed:

Publisher (RHPA) will ship faster than Amazon. Ask them about institutional discounts or volume discounts.

Amazon (visit this site to "see inside" the book, including text and graphics). Note that Amazon's shipping is 2-5 weeks (because they have to order it from RHPA).

Or call toll-free to order We Shall Be Changed: 1-800-765-6955.

Related posts:
http://christykrobinson.blogspot.com/2010/06/we-shall-be-changed-is-now-in-hardcover.html
http://christykrobinson.blogspot.com/2009/06/my-book-manuscript-is-officially.html

It’s a dry rain

2010-08-20T23:45:00.000-07:00

“When it rains, I like to tell children that God is crying. Probably because of something they did.” ~from Deep Thoughts, by Jack Handey
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I was born in a desert city, an arid place with high summer temperatures which people excuse with “It’s a dry heat.” There are few places on earth like this, where rain is welcomed with dancing in the streets, where people come out of their offices and homes to experience for themselves the big splatters of rain, the blasts of ever-cooler wind that take the temperature from 110° to 80°, the bolts of lightning striking the power substations.

We desert people love our storms. Like gamblers coaching dice, we look to the eastern sky and beg the thunderheads building over the mountains, “Come on, baby, you can make it!”

It’s called the monsoon season, although it bears no resemblance to the monsoons of the Near East. When I was a child and the city was much smaller, the storms hit several times a week through July and August. Now that Phoenix is 100 miles from northwest to southeast, the column of heat rising from concrete and asphalt bounces all but the strongest storms back into the desert and its mountains.

The funny thing is, desert storms aren’t broad systems, but individual towering clouds only a few miles across. Sometimes the rain will fall 30 feet away on the neighbor’s property, but your own property gets nothing. Wet sidewalks there, dry here. The Doppler radar on your computer shows a big red blob headed for your neighborhood—but the storm splits and goes around, leaving you with all the dust, some of the cool, and a few of the sprinkles. But not the downpour that would wash away the months of powdered sand, stream off the roof, or sink into the thirsty ground. Someone wrote on Facebook, “It’s a dry rain.”

Here in this dry place, separated from loved ones, rejected by an employer, applying for jobs in the black hole of the economic recession, seeing no spark of a love life, unable to afford the reunion this year, lacking resources for health care, not qualifying for aid after paying taxes for 35 years, having moved away from a house that I made home, leaving friends in another state, and feeling unappreciated—I need rain.

It’s been my practice to follow the advice of a friend, to “stay sweet and positive” in my relationships and communications. Certainly in this discouraging world, it’s important to present myself as strong and happy, that I have my act together and am successful in my work, that I'm invulnerable and have faith in God’s desire and ability to bless, that because I’m a child of God he supplies all my need. It's not hypocritical to want to portray God as my "everything"--it's called evangelism, sharing the good news that our loving God is the answer. But I confess that I'm the same as every other hurt child.

The danger is that my own friends and family don’t understand the need because they see the image I successfully projected. They have their own need to worry about, so if they think I’m doing all right, well, that’s all good. So day after day, month after month, I am a heat island, repelling the storms I need in the fiction that I-am-woman-hear-me-roar. No hugs, no touches, no heart-to-heart communication. No rain.

The powerful and beautiful storm clouds tower above, and there are precursors to a soaking rain. Then the storm splits and goes around, and I’m left as hot and dry as ever, but this time without hope. It could be days or weeks before the next storm appears, and it may roll over again, leaving its refreshing blessings on someone else.

Your Father in heaven… gives his sunlight to both the evil and the good, and he sends rain on the just and the unjust alike. Matthew 5:45 NLT

The point of the verse is to love the unlovable as well as the lovable, just as God distributes his grace to all, righteous and unrighteous. But at this beaten-down, vulnerable time (that seems to drag on endlessly), I just need to know deep inside that I’m loved by God and loved by people, that all this painful change is not the consequence of something I did or a bad choice I made. It's the way of the world that is not our home. However, it's the only home any of us has known thus far.

I need real, wet, soaking, refreshing rain. I need to feel that God is not punishing me; that he's not withholding blessing to teach me a lesson; that he's not closing all the doors—and windows, too. I need to know that he's not crying about something I did. Hearing people say they’ll pray for me is nice, but it’s not enough. I don’t know what will fill my empty reservoir.

Springs will gush forth in the wilderness, and streams will water the wasteland. The parched ground will become a pool, and springs of water will satisfy the thirsty land. Marsh grass and reeds and rushes will flourish where desert jackals once lived. Isaiah 35:6-7 NLT

That would be a good start to filling the dry desert lake. There would be enough water to release into the dry riverbed filled with rocks, prickly cacti, and mesquite trees, and let it nourish the lands beyond.

Surely I’m not the only person on earth going through the parched, empty valley, desperate for the pillar of cloud. Look around. Those who seem to have it all together—don’t. Millions have lost their jobs and had to make hard choices when they thought that their years of sacrificial work and good sense would allow them to thrive, not just survive. They've seen their immediate family turn away. They have deep wounds that they hide in an attempt to keep it together for an example to others, and to "witness" about godly life. God doesn't need our public relations efforts. He will be glorified anyway.

What can you do? Realize that everyone is a lost, lonely child. Start with a hug. When they pull away in embarrassment or confusion, give an extra squeeze as if to say "I just can't do it in only one hug." Don't believe them when they say everything's all right and change the subject. Your open heart might be rain to them. They might step outside, inhale the sweet breeze, soak up the raindrops, and begin to dance.

Perseids Meteor Shower

2010-08-11T11:21:00.002-07:00

Mom and I would climb the ladder, take a blanket up to the still-hot roof, and watch the Perseids meteor shower in the northeastern sky while we talked softly and laughed. The brightest meteors fell after midnight. My dad and brother, early to bed, missed it all. When Phoenix, Arizona was a small city in clear desert air, we could see the Milky Way. Phoenix is a megalopolis now, and city lights have overcome the starry host. Sometimes, there are monsoon clouds obscuring the stars anyway.

Laurentius was a Christian deacon martyred by the Romans in 258 AD. They roasted him on an iron stove, from which he reportedly (and improbably) cried out, “I am already roasted on one side and, if thou wouldst have me well cooked, it is time to turn me on the other.” The saint’s death was remembered on his feast day, August 10, and the shooting stars of the Perseids meteor shower also became known as the fiery Tears of St. Lawrence.

The meteors we see are only the size of a grain of sand, with a few reaching the size of a pea or marble. They are the “exhaust” trail of the Swift-Tuttle Comet, which circles our Sun every 130 years. Earth passes through this grainy trail every year at this time, and the grains fall through our atmosphere at 37 miles per second, flaming with heat friction.

The Lord was not obligated to create anything, much less such fascinating beauty. But He has His reputation to keep up. The beauty was not lost on the ancients, either.

Isaiah 40:26 MSG: Look at the night skies: Who do you think made all this? Who marches this army of stars out each night, counts them off, calls each by name—so magnificent! so powerful!—and never overlooks a single one?

Song of Solomon 6:10 MSG: Has anyone ever seen anything like this—dawn-fresh, moon-lovely, sun-radiant, ravishing as the night sky with its galaxies of stars?

Daniel 12:3 MSG: Men and women who have lived wisely and well will shine brilliantly, like the cloudless, star-strewn night skies. And those who put others on the right path to life will glow like stars forever.

This article featured on "Paper.li Daily Inspiration and Arts Travel" at http://paper.li/jc_roxas/1310390788/2011/08/14

Predictions and prophecies

2010-08-02T12:19:00.000-07:00

I wrote this article in early June 2008. We all know what happened in September 2008: the collapse of multi-national financial institutions and the government admission that we, um, er, had been in a recession after all since December 2007. Hmmm, what a surprise. It was an even greater surprise when I was laid off in June 2009, and in September 2009 a financial expert declared that the Great Recession was over. Well, at least HE has a job.

June 2008– Some in-the-position-to-know newsmakers, pundits, and government spokespeople look at financial indicators and say that the economy is strong, to spend your tax refund on big-ticket items, and not to listen to the pessimistic forecasters--there will be no recession in 2008. Others say that not only is a recession predicted, it is already upon us. The local newspaper has changed its editorial format to reflect the many pages of legal notices about foreclosures and bankruptcies. Many newspapers have closed their operations for lack of advertising revenue and subscription losses. Two months ago, we heard that US gasoline prices might rise as high as $4 per gallon. In California, $4 is a dimming, distant memory. We've been there and done that.

On Sunday, June 1 [2008], a religious program predicted that Fred Thompson and Hillary Clinton would receive their party nominations, and battle it out for the 2008 US presidential election (must have been taped last December before primaries!), and that people should invest everything in precious metals against the coming economic meltdown. In 2001, the Iraq war was predicted by the Secretary of Defense to last no more than five months. Geologists predict that southern California will suffer a 7.8 earthquake in our lifetime. This hurricane season will be more terrible than others because of worldwide climate change. Every time the doorbell rings, my dog predicts that very dangerous people have come calling.

With all the alarms and hype, it’s easy to sink into a funk about how awful the world is. We Christians say to each other that surely, Jesus is coming "soon." But Jesus said that two millennia ago, and it doesn’t seem particularly immediate! Meanwhile, it’s definitely more difficult to make the income stretch to meet the expenditure, and the “bad guys” work even harder in myriad ways to steal your earnings.

How was it possible that in the midst of a hurricane of several days’ duration, and the impending doom of the ship carrying him, the apostle Paul was able to have peace, and tell his fellow sufferers that all was well, to have a meal, and they’d all be saved? How could Jesus’ disciples, experienced fishermen, be expected to know that their slumbering Master would calm their raging tempest with His spoken word?

Hebrews 13 has interesting prepositions and conjunctions. The writer exhorts us to keep loving both our spiritual family and the aliens among us; to cultivate hospitality because we may be honored with the presence of the angels; to honor marriage vows (even if you’re not married, be faithful to your future spouse); and then – “Don’t love money; be satisfied with what you have. For God has said, ‘I will never fail you. I will never abandon you.’ So we can say with confidence, ‘The LORD is my helper, so I will have no fear. What can mere people do to me?’” Hebrews 13:5-6 NLT.

How do those statements track? For? So? Surprising little words. Paul used the same little words at the end of the two-week gale that threatened 276 lives on the ship. “So take courage! For I believe God. It will be just as he said.” Acts 27:25 NLT

This part of the story holds a huge surprise: cut loose your only hope and security, let it drift off and sink, and watch what God will do to your situation.

Then the sailors tried to abandon the ship; they lowered the lifeboat as though they were going to put out anchors from the front of the ship. But Paul said to the commanding officer and the soldiers, “You will all die unless the sailors stay aboard.” So the soldiers cut the ropes to the lifeboat and let it drift away. Acts 27:30-32 NLT

LET GO?? Be relaxed? Have peace? Put your hands down and stop struggling? That’s a lot like saying during the Force-Five tornado, “Peace, be still.”

A song lyric by Steven Curtis Chapman says, “Sometimes His voice comes calling / Like rolling thunder, / Or like driving rain; / And sometimes His voice is quiet, / And we start to wonder / If He knows our pain. / But He who spoke peace to the water / Cares more for our hearts than the waves…” *

We often attribute troubles and storms to the enemy. To the devil. But sometimes it’s God Himself in the raging hurricane or the earthquake or the fire. His voice, the same voice that created the heavens and earth, the same voice that declares our salvation, comes in a whisper, and it comes in a roar. Sometimes His glory and grace can best be revealed in what we perceive as trouble.

How was God’s glory revealed in Paul’s storm and shipwreck? Everything happened as Paul’s angel had said. No one even lost a hair in the ship’s breakup and the swim to the island. But better than that, when the poisonous snake struck Paul's hand, people witnessed God’s miraculous healing power and became believers in Jesus Christ.

Just by reading the news, we can see how predictions played out as the months and years pass, and we can make educated predictions of our own. But some predictions are not of this world: they’re spiritually discerned. That’s how we can predict with confidence during a crisis of finance or war, during a life-threatening natural disaster, that we trust in the Lord and have submitted all we are and have to Him, SO He is in control and we will have no fear FOR He is God alone.

We have faith. We trust that God’s glory will be revealed, and that we are His servants, His instruments to make peace where there is war, to create prosperity from disaster, to encourage and lift up the terrified and hopeless and abused.

We know that this world is the unreal, and that the kingdom of God is the ultimate reality. It’s all upside down and backward from what we’ve always known. The first is the last. The peace is found in the eye of the storm.

Predictions. We will have NO FEAR. All we have to know is that God will never leave us or forsake us. Ever. Because He is Immanuel, God With Us.

* His Eyes, by Steven Curtis Chapman, c. 1988.

A hummingbird's heart

2010-07-19T19:00:00.000-07:00

Hummingbird hearts beat 1,260 to 1,400 times per minute or average 23 beats per second. Their wings beat 55 to 75 times per second, creating the famous humming noise. They live an average of three years. Some migrate thousands of miles in a single season, following the blooming plants. They need to eat (flower nectar and tiny insects) about every ten minutes to maintain their metabolism. They can’t walk or hop, but they can hover. Their two-inch-wide nests are made of plant down, spider webs, and stray bits of fluff.

“My” green and tan hummingbirds love blue sage and lavender spikes, ripe black mulberries, and pink orchid trees. They’re boldly curious little beasts, hovering close and checking me out as I water the plants or read in my garden nook. They perch in the trees, do aerobatics, and buzz the dog’s head. When they scold my cats for just existing, their chirps can be heard many meters away. The tiny ones peer in the kitchen window as I’m preparing a meal. When the young hummer is temporarily abandoned in the orchid tree, she chitters for her parents for ten minutes before she’s hungry enough to seek and sip her own nectar (which was why she was “abandoned” in the first place).

Hummingbirds are so inoffensive--and beloved--that when they get into a house through an open window or door, we try everything to lure them back outside. When a hummer came into my kitchen through a door but kept butting the window looking for a way out, I put the cats behind a door, and tried luring it with a big red advertisement. No luck. So I went outside, took off the screen, and gently and slowly opened the window. Still the bird wouldn't go out the open side. So I slowly and quietly shooed it toward the open air and it flew away like a lightning bolt.

I was researching 17th-century New England for a book I'm writing, and came across this description of a hummingbird. The writer, William Wood, published his 1634 book on natural history for the English Puritan emigrants. Hummingbirds were unknown in the Old World, so this was a new species to them.

The Humbird is one of the wonders of the Countrey, being no bigger than a Hornet, yet hath all the demensions of a Bird, as bill, and wings, with quills, spiderlike legges, small clawes: For colour, she is as glorious as the Raine-bow; as she flies, she makes a little humming noise like a Humble-bee: wherefore shee is called the Humbird.

Like many other species, the hummingbird is not mentioned in the Bible, which is admittedly not a scientific nature handbook. They are native to the Americas, not to the Bible lands. Would it be a stretch to liken our desire for a relationship with the Lord, to a hummingbird’s heart? Imagine that with every heartbeat (and at 23 beats per second it’s humming, too), you would “Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.” Deuteronomy 6:5 NIV

Perhaps this hum is an example of having a song in your heart. A miserable heart means a miserable life; a cheerful heart fills the day with song. Proverbs 15:15 MSG

Greater love hath no dog

2010-07-06T20:00:00.000-07:00

Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command. John 15:13-14
This is my command: Love each other. John 15:17

When I was five, my parents adopted a miniature poodle from the Humane Society shelter. We named her Gypsy. She was gunmetal gray, with soft, wavy hair—not curly, like a poodle. Sometimes, her hair grew out all shaggy, as you see in the photo.

Although only about 25 pounds, Gypsy was a giant in spirit. She knew about 70 phrases and commands, learned with graham cracker treats. She came along on every vacation between Phoenix and northern Minnesota, where my grandparents lived. Gypsy would stick her head out the window and her pink tongue would fly in the Rambler’s slipstream. When we arrived at the lake cabin in Minnesota, Gypsy snuffled around the lake shore while we frolicked in the water.

My teenage cousin Debbie had a similar hairstyle and coloring to my mom. When Debbie flew by the dock on water skis and released the tow rope, Gypsy thought Debbie was Mom, and Mom seemed to be drowning. Gypsy, at full tilt, launched herself from the dock and paddled to Debbie to save her life. When Debbie turned around to swim back in, Gypsy discovered her mistake, gave up on the rescue, and headed back to shore, but her long fur dragged her down in the water. My dad ended up rescuing the struggling dog. Thirty years later, we still laugh at the memory.

Another time, my family was playing on a hand-pulled mono-rail car, crossing the Verde River in Arizona. My younger brother shouted with laughter, and that was enough for the mighty poodle to launch from our elderly friend’s care, diving into the swift river to save us. Again, Gypsy had to be rescued from her heroic mission.

God gave us domestic animals for love, companionship, to assist us in many ways, and to teach us lessons about our relationship with and obedience to our Master. The prophet Nathan used a pet ewe to teach David about his sin (2 Samuel 12). Many faithful animals love their masters more than their own lives, and their obedience is legendary.

Praise God for His wisdom and His gift of pets to brighten our lives and teach us about love, tenderness, obedience, and loyalty.

Citizens of a kingdom

2010-07-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

The kingdom of God is within you. Luke 17:21 NIV

Jan and Dorothy, nurses, have dual Canadian-American citizenship. Antoinette, from the Azores Islands, is a resident alien in America. Steve, a New Zealander, was adopted by Arizona’s Pima Indian tribe, then moved back Down Under. Cordell is “Jamerican,” a Jamaican-born, naturalized American. Lance, from Australia, recently was sworn into American citizenship. Ana Maria, from Ecuador, is a health educator in a jail system. One of her sons is in pastoral training. Darwin, from Missouri, sat in a Niagara Falls Canadian-side restaurant, looking at the American shore. “Across that river lies freedom,” he declared melodramatically. The server was not amused.

My friends are from all over the world. And the best friends of all don’t even belong to this world! We are aliens. We’re not green and tentacled, but we don’t fit in with most other earthlings. We belong to the Kingdom of Heaven.

The Kingdom of Heaven is not a pie-in-the-sky futuristic kingdom that we’ll see shortly after Jesus’ Second Coming. It’s now, and it’s been here since we accepted salvation or “got saved.” We may choke on smog, see cigarette butts and homeless people in the gutter, and hear of oppression everywhere on the globe. But we Christians are, at this moment, living in the Kingdom. It’s both current reality and future promise.

We who live in democratized countries don’t usually understand the distinction between a reign and a realm. The reign is a time and place of government rule. But the realm is the territory or sphere of influence. And because the Kingdom of Heaven is in our hearts, and our Monarch is Jesus, He is our King now as well as after His advent.

Once, having been asked by the Pharisees when the kingdom of God would come, Jesus replied, “The kingdom of God does not come with your careful observation, nor will people say, ‘Here it is,’ or ‘There it is,’ because the kingdom of God is within [among] you.” Luke 17:20-21 NIV

American Independence Day is always a fun holiday. It lacks the pressures of Thanksgiving or Christmas; there’s no need to use the day for chores or a dental appointment. On the plus side, you get the day off work, there are fireworks, picnics, swimming, parades, news stories about heroes, and sales. At church this week, we sing “America the Beautiful,” and “Faith of Our Fathers.” Flags and bunting are everywhere. We dress in national colors.

My favorite Independence Days were ones spent in Washington, DC, with the symphony orchestra playing and the shells bursting over the Washington Monument; and at Lake Powell, Arizona, where we swam and boated, watched a parade, met Navajo code talkers, and saw fireworks from a sandstone mesa. I once spent July 4 at the British Museum in London, where I wore my colors and was wished well by a tour guide!

Patriotism means supporting our government and armed forces, waving the flag, cheering for our country in sports, and having the “correct” political beliefs. Are we true patriots for doing these acts, or are there other ways of expressing love and honor for our country?

What about obeying the laws, including speed limits and zoning ordinances? Do we hire and pay people under the table to avoid taxes? Do we lie on tax forms? Do we study the voter information and the news reports and vote for issues, moral principles, and qualified people, or do we vote a party ticket? (Do we vote at all?) People offered their lives for these liberties we sometimes discount, and for the lifestyle we believe is our right.

But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does. James 1:25 NIV

It’s been said that you are your true self when no one is looking. Are you a patriot? Are you a “doer” or just a talker? Wave your flag with pride, but follow it up with a life worthy of a citizen of the Kingdom of God.