Category Archives: life

A Little Bit Goes a Long Way

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It was probably about ten years ago, in a long, dark winter when SAD and normal life threatened to swallow me into its vortex, and I decided to decisively, consciously think about the things I was thankful for. Every night I listed at least one thing that showed me God’s smile that day. It became part of my going-to-sleep routine, and I’ve filled several notebooks of dates and lists.

One season, I thought I was beyond that exercise, was mature enough to rise above whatever was around me, didn’t need to concentrate so much on being thankful. Gradually, the threatening vortex came back. One day I was sad and depressed that I couldn’t be a reunion that my friends were at, 5,000 miles away. My friend (who calls herself my pancake turner because she reaches into the corners of my soul, flips over and exposes whatever hides there) said, “Anita, you HAVE to give thanks NOW, for THIS. If you don’t, you’ll become a bitter, miserable person.”

I burst into tears, and said I don’t want to be bitter and miserable, and she repeated that I have to be thankful now and here. So I took baby steps to feebly give thanks again. Every night. I didn’t know that it was an Oprah Winfrey thing to do. I only knew that some nights I waited for a long time before I could come up with something to write, but the exercise kept me sane and focused on good things.

I’m learning to never say never, but this one thing I plan to never do: never stop writing my thanks journal. In the last year or so, I’ve noticed other people are promoting the idea too. And today, I saw an extension of the idea here. (Go read it today because tomorrow you have to pay to access the archives.) The article was good, but missed the point of giving thanks to God, the giver of all gifts.

At the end of the day, it’s great to come up with a list of things to be thankful for, but the best thing is that there’s Someone to say “thanks” to.

Love’s Strength

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It came to me when I was reading John 10–that this Jesus is big enough and good enough to trust because He sacrificed a lot. I am the Good Shepherd; the Good Shepherd gives His life for the sheep.

Giving His life is sacrifice, and proves His love. The lines from Ugo Bassi come to mind: Love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice/And he who suffereth most hath most to give.

It is (relatively) easy to act as if we love someone. One proof of love is in its sacrifice. But I Corinthians 13 says I could sacrifice, give away my belongings or give up my life, without love. And I have seen selfishness masquerading as love.

So what is love? Is it only sacrifice? Jesus must have expected the question, because He explained the difference between Love and Apparent Love: the hired man runs away because he doesn’t care about the sheep, but the shepherd stays and offers his life.

Love doesn’t run away, doesn’t detour conflict, doesn’t look for an easy escape when things get scary. Paul defined love as suffering long–quite the opposite from running away. Christ’s sacrifice and His tenacity prove His love. God sacrificed, gave up, risked endlessly, at incredible cost.

My only reasonable response is worship: love, surrender, sacrifice. The proof of my love for Him is when I am finished with meeting God as if at a drive-through window and ordering super-sized pleasures. Instead, I must meet Him an altar (the place of sacrifice) acknowledging His love, and pledging mine. And I know that I can never out-love Him.

My Commander in Chief Weeps about War

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Recently a friend and I were talking about reading the Bible, and we wondered what we’d think about it if we’d only now read it for the first time. Would we find all the doctrinal points that every church holds so dearly? Would it make sense to us, and would we be persuaded that it is Truth?

So these questions are often in the back of my mind when I read my daily portion in the book I wrote about here. And very recently, while reading through John, the light clicked on in my brain, and I thought to myself, Yes! This Jesus is a man I would follow and I would believe what He says. If I would have heard Him speak and interact with people, I would definitely have been part of the crowd that followed Him.

There was something fresh and liberating in coming to that conclusion, acknowledging that this decision of following Christ is part mystery, part wistfulness, part staunch, glad faith.

Then another friend was telling something about the political shenanigans in her country. I listened because I like to hear people tell me their perspectives about politics even though I never follow the news about it. Then she asked, “So what do you tell people when they ask why you don’t vote?”

My answer went something like this: I have become acquainted with wonderful person of Christ, and He is my hero and I am following Him. He lived in very unstable political times, and He had lots of chances to start His own kingdom/political party but He didn’t. He said He was calling people to the Kingdom of Heaven. This is a place where Love dwells, not war or violence or deceit or pride and one-up-manship. I don’t have a lot of answers on all the details, but I just know that His kingdom is where I want to put my allegiance and time and interest and energy.

Then this morning I read several blogs that extolled the armed forces because of today being Memorial Day in the US, and I wanted to weep. How can violence bring peace? How can killing be laudable? I believe that there are soldiers in the military with soft hearts who want to follow Truth. But they’re part of a ghastly machine and support a kingdom that opposes the one Jesus leads.

He has won me by His love, not His power, and thus He demonstrates that Love, not guns or bombs, is the most powerful force in the world. I follow Him. Falteringly, feebly, but convinced that He is the one who deserves my allegiance. I do this because I have heard His voice in the Gospels (it IS good news) and His is not the voice of a smooth-talking politician but of a healer whose face is streaked with tears.

A Re-read

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Books are like friends. You get attached to them, and keep going back to the ones who tell you things you need to know.

On Sunday, four of us took a picnic out to the cliffs to enjoy the sea and the sunshine. We watched a sailboat sit for awhile for lack of wind, and it reminded me of Sheldon and Davy Vanauken’s fanciful plans for their “Grey Goose.” Together, my sister and I recounted for our friends the gist of the story of A Severe Mercy which was fun because she remembered details I’d forgotten.

I know some people who think the story is about two spoiled children. Maybe it is, but I still liked it from the first time I read it, fresh out of high school. Our discussion on Sunday inspired me to go back to it again for the umpteenth time, and now I’m enjoying it again. There’s nothing like revisiting words that delighted you before. This time, I can understand how it could be seen as a spoiled child’s story, but it is still a powerful account of love, faith, and grief, beautifully told. I don’t mind admitting that Sheldon’s way with words completely charms me.

Back at age fifteen or sixteen or so, I didn’t know what he meant when he said that beauty has an ache, a pang. I couldn’t follow all the British terms from their time in Oxford and friendship with C.S.Lewis. The years have increased my understanding and experience, and now I comprehend more of what he says. “Severe Mercy” was Lewis’ phrase in a letter between the two men, referring to the grief that deepened Sheldon’s faith and love for God.

Vanauken’s second book, Under the Mercy recounts more of his professor days in Lynchburg, VA after Davy died, and shares some papers he wrote in those days. I’ve frequently gone back to the chapter on “The Bachelor” because he writes so eloquently of the historical place in society and the dignity of the single person. He writes about feminism and political protests in DC, and eventually of his “crossing the English Channel” and becoming a Catholic. The second book is good, but doesn’t carry the immediacy of the first.

This is an excerpt from A Severe Mercy that has become part of my world-view:

…we have not always been or will not always be purely temporal creatures…we were created for eternity. Not only are we harried by time, we seem unable, despite a thousand generations, even to get used to. We are always amazed at it–how fast it goes, how slowly it goes, how much of it is gone. Where, we cry, has the time gone? We aren’t adapted to it, not at home in it. If that is so, it may appear as proof, or at least a powerful suggestion, that eternity exists and is our home.

Pentecost

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This morning I woke up earlier than necessary, and obeyed the nudge to take a long walk and talk to God about a lot of my friends who were on my mind. Last night on the phone, I told one of them that I don’t understand how it works or helps, but I WILL pray for her.

God and I have this frequent discussion and we had it again this morning. It goes something like this:
Me: I don’t understand why talking to You about these people changes anything. Do You just beam them a shot of courage or strength or hope or inspiration or whatever it is that they need, when I ask You?
Him: I’m not telling you what I do or what I give them or how I answer. I’m just asking that you talk to Me.
Me: Sometimes when I’m feeling unsettled, peace comes to me in gentle ripples and washes over me. Is that because someone was praying for me?
Him: Maybe.
Me: And when I ask You for things on my behalf or others’, You never make me feel guilty or selfish. It’s as if You like hearing from me.
Him: I do.
Me: And then I feel better, calmer, more loved. Is that what prayer is about?
Him: Maybe.
Me: And it seems that when I bring neediness and brokeness to You, that is an act of worship or praise because it’s acknowledging that I can’t fix this, but You can, and I think You like hearing that.
Him: I do!
Me: Maybe it’s ok that I don’t understand how prayer works because You don’t want it to become formulaic, and You know how fond I am of solutions and plans to reduce problems.
Him: You’re getting close…

Then at church, the first hymn was a prayer and the 2nd verse was one of my very favourites: Oh, bring our dearest friends to God; remember those we love. Fit them on earth for Thy abode; fit them for joys above.
And the next hymn sang: Father-like, He tends and spares us; well our feeble frame He knows. In His hands He gently spares us, rescues us from all our foes…

In Sunday school, the ladies shared prayer needs and I was asked to pray. As earlier in the morning, it was the same verbalizing of neediness, the same thankfulness/worship for His strength and perfect wisdom. Tears dripped off my cheeks despite (maybe because of?) the confidence and gratitude deep in my spirit.

Pentecost. Why does the powerful, infinite Creator inhabit His dusty created? Why does the Spirit fill and guide and intercede on our behalf with groanings that can’t be put into words? It must be because of a love that is larger than anything anyone can know.

I’m learning that part of prayer is acknowledging that love, and that’s what changes me when I pray.

A Space in the Music

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Sometimes the most helpful thing we can do is think of a truth and embody it rather than say it.

Not being a theologian, or not always being able to explain what/how I believe what I do, I am always looking for practical, tangible ways to live my beliefs. I believe that on this side of Eden, we cannot avoid pain. I believe that because of Christ, the Healer and Restorer, pain can be redeemed, even on this side of heaven. I believe that Christians’ highest aim should be to be as Christ to their world.

Hence, This article from “Christianity Today” rang clear for me in several ways.

It broaches the theological minefield of the subject of pain without offering platitudes. It uses the metaphor of rests in music as a way to be as Christ to our world. The sentence about embodying a truth without saying it is one I hope I can always remember.

Heavy Books

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Last Wed. I was at the Delta counter in Pittsburg airport, frantically rearranging the contents of my luggage so that they’d weigh less than 50 lbs. each. “Too many books,” my friend said. Too true.

When I returned to the agent who had first taken my bags, he waved me to the next agent and said to her: “Take this lady next. She had a weight problem.”

I couldn’t believe that an agent would say that, and I blushed even though I knew he was talking about my books and not me.

I as settle into normal life after living in the rarefied air of Bible school, I’m re-inspired to read. Lots of books. Ones I’ve read before, so as to become reacquainted with old friends. And others that are new, so as to gain new friends. I will not become overwhelmed with so many books and so little time as I always complained before, but instead, I plan to enjoy and savor and gain from every tidbit that I get.

Come to think of that, maybe it WILL become a weight problem.

What Lincoln Said

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I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go.

Lincoln is credited with these words, but these days they are my words. Walking up and down the stairways and in and out of classrooms of Calvary Bible School, I am love, love, loving this station of my life.

Even as I cry and wrestle with class material and tweak time to grade papers, and talk with young ladies on my couch or on a walk, and feel completely drained every night, I love it. And though I have searched long for formulas and answers to hand out, I am happy to find again that usually the answers we need are found on our knees, hands open, faces toward Him who loves us and for whom nothing is too much.

More Credit Where Due

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Several weeks ago, I posted the story of my sisters’ traumatic experience of being told at the the boarding gate that her airline ticket is invalid. I didn’t write the story to exploit my sisters, or to garner more sympathy for them. My purpose for the post was to alert Orbitz’s PR people that their customers were used wrongly and unfairly. My plan worked, and within 24 hrs, I got a comment from an Orbitz rep who wanted to see if she could help us.

The good news is that they’ve promised a refund for most of the ticket that they had said was invalid. Maybe Orbitz can be trusted after all.

And now, I’m off to fling things into suitcases for my flight tomorrow.

The Rich Young Ruler and me

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I approached teaching the ladies’ class Sunday school yesterday with trepidation because I didn’t want the discussion to degenerate into talking about money and selling all our possessions. Discussions about finances have their place, to be sure, but not in this place, at this time. We were looking at the account of the rich young ruler and the question he put to Jesus: What must I do to inherit eternal life?

Seeing this wasn’t a parable with a commentary, we approached the story as a story. I maintain that story is more powerful than doctrine. Story maps a grid, sets a compass for us, so that we can know what is truth and error, what is wise and good or foolish and reprehensible. An account by which we can make observations such as: this is what a foolish/wise man does, this is how Christ meets a seeker, these are Jesus’ life-giving words, this is how big God is.

So among the few phrases I under-lined as observations from the story were treasure in heaven and kingdom of heaven and with God all things are possible.

It seemed to me that these words were what Jesus really cared about when He spoke with the young man. He still does. He is concerned that our treasures are in heaven, that we focus on His kingdom, and that we never forget how He makes all things possible. In that light, money and selling all that we have are peripheral issues and not the crux of the matter.

I love Luke, and how He puts these human touches on Christ. Luke, the doctor and people-watcher, observed that the young man went away sad, and then Jesus became sad too. I wonder if our treasures sadden Him sometimes.

How quickly our treasures become tangibles like food and appearance. Or intangibles like ministry and people’s praise. He said “Your heart will be where your treasure is.” What is it that we feel we would die without? Is it Christ, who makes me His treasure? If He is my treasure, it will never be shaken or taken away.

We were fourteen ladies in the circle. What would happen if fourteen ladies met their world and went about their work with their highest treasure being their Redeemer and Lord?