As an addendum to the last post: my inspiration about the power of story comes from speaker and author Donald Miller.
Also, a quote from Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands by Paul David Tripp helped to give guidance to my thoughts in the discussion about how much God is interested in our heart’s treasures:
What rules my heart will shape the way I deal with life’s saddest and sweetest moments.
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?
Michelle and I have done alot of things together, gone on many adventures and dreamed many dreams. But I love how God dreams bigger than we do. We never dreamed we’d both be authors, both have book-birthing stories to compare. Guess I should have known it, knowing how little silence there is when we’re together, and how much we like words.
Finally, this week I got to see her new books: We Build a House and My Brother’s Keeper.
They are both for children, aimed at helping them to adjust to changes in life. We Build a House is Michelle’s own story of building their house, told and seen through her young Adam’s eyes.
My Brother’s Keeper is about a family’s journey of living with a handicapped child. It, too, is written in the voice of the brother. It made me cry, which is another reason why it’s a good book.
I’m proud of Michelle’s vision and skill and creativity evident in these books. I’m proud to show people the books and say “My friend did that!”
Order your copies for yourself and for beautiful gifts from smilesbymiles@gmail.com
If you’d like to get a copy for yourself because you’ve just been borrowing a friend’s, or if you want a different kind of birthday gift for a friend, or if you’d like to suggest the book for your ladies’ Bible study group, now is the time to order! The toll-free number, e-mail address, and web site are listed below for your quick convenience.
And if you’re interested in doing a group study, I will email you my basic study guide–for free! Drop me a comment to let me know, and I’ll get in touch with you.
Order from:
CLR Distribution
28500 Guys Mills Rd.
Guys Mills, PA 16327
Toll Free: 877-222-4769
Phone: 814-789-4769
Fax: 814-789-3396
Email: clr@fbep.org
Online: www.Christianlearning.org
Pretty much the only music I listen to is choral singing. It feeds my soul and spirit with its layers of depth. It’s what I love to sing.And maybe I’m biased and narrow, but I think it’s most like what we’ll sing in heaven.
These are my recent indulgences, and the best choices I’ve made in a long time:
Voce, by Trinity College in Cambridge, England.
The gems on this one is Durufle’s “Ubi Caritas” and Schubert’s “Sanctus.”
Lighten our Darkness is an exquisite collection of evening songs. I love, love the arrangement of “O Gladsome Light.” And the powerful Russian dynamics of Rachmininov’s “Borogorditsye Dyevo.” When I ordered this CD, some glitch happened with their database and John Rutter’s assistant wrote to sort it out. Bravo on their customer service!
I count it a bonus that both CD’s have the song that’s so beautiful, I’d like it sung at my funeral. (Relax– I’m not depressed or tending toward self-destruction.) This is the English translation for the Latin words sung to a most restful, soothing melody:
The souls of the righteous are in the hands of God,
And the pain of death shall not touch them:
in the eyes of the foolish they seem to die,
but they are in peace.
…in pace…
On one of the loveliest days of last summer, my family drove to the quay in Cork City where the Logos was docked. It was a delightful visit, meeting the staff, taking a tour of the ship, and of course, perusing the bookstore.
I came home with a small stack of books, but the best choice by far was The One Year Bible, New Living Translation. No matter that I started it when the year was half-finished.
Every night, it’s like sitting down to a meal. I love it. I love the variety of Old and New Testaments, with Psalms and Proverbs every day. I don’t stress out with guilt for skipping over the genealogies and such like, and the portions aren’t too long–actually, I often think they’re not long enough, that the meal was finished too quickly. The translation helps give a fresh message, so I don’t become lulled by words I’ve read all my life. Lately, in Genesis, I’ve been swept up with the narration and God’s amazing understatements.
A long time ago, every day for 40 years, God fed His people a mysterious food. It was unlike anything they knew so they called it “What is it?” The daily snowing of manna sustained them on their rigorous journey because it came from Him whose hand is strength and grace and love.
So when I pray before I begin my nightly “meal”: “Give me today the food I need” I am asking God to send me sustenance and strength that I can never get anywhere else. What He sends is often a mystery, not always acknowledged for the wonder that it is. But it is a wonder, and a beauty, and I love Him for it.
With two sisters coming from the US for Christmas, and three leaving after, and major winter storms enroute, I have never heard wilder, more impossible tales of travelling. I am one who loves the open road, and thinks happiness is found in a backpack, ticket and passport, heading for the far horizon. But after their stories of being stranded, misled by representatives, and other injustices, even I, the globe-trotter, quailed at the thought of buying another plane ticket. What kept me from despair at planning another trip was that they had some incredible angel stories too.
But all that was before the craziest story ever: Hannah and Esther were ready to board the plane at Dublin, when Hannah was told that her ticket was invalid.
Void.
No permission to board. No explanation. The. ticket. was. void.
The ticket had been paid, and a routine notice sent two days before. But on the day, the ticket was invalid, and no one can tell us why.
The angels were still on duty. One let Hannah board the first leg of her journey without a pass. The girls heard him on the speaker phone, telling the stewardess to let Hannah onto the plane after the luggage crew was told to get her bags off the plane. Who was he? How did he know to call at that moment? Who else but an angel had the power to make that command to the stewardess?
In Manchester, they had enough time to call dad who was able to buy a new US Airways ticket so that Hannah didn’t have to be stranded with an invalid ticket.
Orbitz, the company that sold the original ticket, has given no satisfaction, no refund, no explanation.
Which is why I studiously avoided them last week and got a ticket on the Delta website.
During the summer, there was a for-real mushroom growing on a carpet in my house. I was trying to discover the source of the damp smell, and to my horror, found a button mushroom by the leaking radiator. The landlord called a plumber who fixed the leak, and I got a dehumidifier the same week, so now there is no more fungus. Anyhow, it’s too cold for anything to grow.
Except now book stacks are growing like stalagmites on a cave floor. Beside the bed, on the bed, beside the chair, on the desk. Books of writing, women, stories, character studies. I have tickets to fly to the US on Feb. 11 for my 2nd stint of teaching at Calvary Bible School. Yay, yay!
I plan to teach for 6 wks. ‘Godly Womanhood’ class accounts for the women’s studies and character studies and counselling books. And I will be assistant teacher for Christian Writing class, which is why I’m reading Zinsser and Card at the moment. How to inspire writing that is excellent in creativity and Truth? This is my quest.
The stalagmites grow slowly and steadily upwards.
Community seems to be a buzzword these days, but it’s a good word even though it runs the risk of being over-used and under-estimated. Paul David Tripp, my distance course lecturer, keeps saying that heart-deep change happens in community. I think he’s onto something. Sometime when I grow up and can process deep, profound books, I want to read Jean Vanier’s Community and Growth.
Until then, I am part of a small writing community in which good change is taking place in our writing skills. We are 6 ladies scattered over the globe, having many things in common but especially our love of words. Some of us are published writers, some are on the way. We use the old-fashioned method of postage, paper, envelopes, wherein each submits a manuscript for the rest to critique.
There are large helpings of encouragement, suggestions, and affirmations. A letter accompanies each person’s submission, and those are the parts I enjoy almost more than the creative writing pieces. We share our hearts and care and support each other’s life assignments.
We have 7 days to process the packet when it arrives. I failed badly this time, and sent it off a month late. My only justification is that it was a crazy month, and I’ve never kept it so long before, and will do my best not to let it happen again.
I’ve heard of some groups who do this kind of thing electronically but I do love the tangible paper, the handwritten letters, the assorted stationary–and the thunk on the floor as the postman drops the packet in my letter slot. I’ve been part of groups like this for over 10 years. I’ll never forget one of the first groups I was in, when the leader drew a red line under all my passive verbs. There were LOTS of them! But it was the best thing for me, and it gives me authority to gently point out others’ passive verbs.
A friend and I started this present group about eight years ago, inviting our friends whom we knew would be interested. I’ve dropped out of most of my former groups, but it will take something drastic to persuade me to give up this group. Start your own group! You and/or your writing may change in wonderful, significant ways.
Last night, under the bright full moon, I reveled in a cold, solitary walk down to see the sea. As always, it fed my soul and spirit. I talked with God about the past year, and the new one, asked Him many questions, and thanked Him for His gifts of redemption and beauty.
I have a slight inferiority complex about never having taken a literature class. I don’t know what good poetry is, and haven’t been taught how to appreciate the best writers. I call myself an amateur aficionado of words, but when I saw these lines by T. S. Eliot today in Jill Carratini’s Slice of Infinity, I heard/felt a soul-deep resonance. I think that’s one indication of good literature. I don’t know all that Eliot was implying, but there is enough there that I identify with that it draws me toward it. Which is another quality of good poetry.
The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream.
Tis a Gift to Receive 