Rescue Human

My chihuahua loves me. Everywhere I go, he is there, anticipating my every move, golden eyes steady on mine, curled tail wagging, his posture one of total submission.  When I sit, I have to do so carefully because he often jumps into my spot ahead of me, anticipating a snuggle.  If I don't scoot him over, I will squash him. When I eat cereal, he finishes the milk.  When I go into the bathroom, he sits outside the door. When I come home from work, he sits on top of the big chair, the highest point closest to the front door, and stretches his front paws out toward me, lowering his head for a good scratch and a "good boy, Chico."

I used to think that he did these things because I was the one that fed him, gave him treats, and purposefully dropped scraps of food for him to find when I was cooking.  Now, I am not so sure.  My kids are now responsible for feeding Chico, and my daughter is the one who gives him treats for waking everyone up in the morning. Still, given a choice of family members to spend time with, my dog chooses me nine times out of ten.

Now, I have always thought it strange when people referred to their pets as literally being their children.  After all, we are humans, and they are animals, right?  Nonetheless, yesterday, I found myself asking my husband, "Todd, do you think Chico thinks I am his mother?"

"No," he responded, to my great relief, "I think he knows you are his rescuer."

It makes sense.  I found Chico at the Humane Society in Tulsa, Oklahoma.  He was emaciated and sad and needed a home.  I remember that when I opened the door to his cage, he stood very slowly and crept gingerly across the black metal grate, his ribs a visible framework underneath his short, blonde coat.  The moment I held him to me, he stretched his neck, laid his head just under my chin, and closed his eyes.  He had a cough and was wheezing quite a bit, but I felt his little body relax in my arms and knew that I would take him home. He has been my faithful friend ever since, ardent in expressing his undying love and appreciation for having been rescued.  Not just rescued, but adopted.

In truth, I wish I were more like Chico.  I have a rescuer, too, and I am sad to admit that I get lazy sometimes and fail to express my love for Him and show proper gratitude for what He has done.  I was only six, after all, when Jesus wiped my sin away, and I am tempted to use that as an excuse.  Maybe I would be more consistent in my worship if I had gotten farther down that wide and corrupted road before being set free...maybe if I had done something horrible first.  Of course, the biggest problem with that very lame excuse is that my heart knows just how selfish and human I can be.  It's really not what I was before Jesus that terrifies and shames me. It's what I would be now without Him.  That is the cage from which I have been rescued.  Not just rescued, but adopted.

Tornado Season

It's springtime in Oklahoma, tornado season, and our family is on high alert, especially my daughter. She wasn't born yet when the May third twister took her Mema's house to the foundation in 1999, but she's heard enough about it to develop a healthy paranoia when it comes to storms.  Honestly, I think Hope would live her entire life without a single May flower if only she could avoid April showers altogether, each of which sends her into an obsessive tailspin of activity, checking the weather app on her iPod, lying awake listening for sirens, and deciding how best to hang onto her chihuahua should the roof be sucked off of our house.  I think she's decided to go with putting him inside her shirt.

A week or so ago, it stayed overcast and rainy for several days.  On the way to school, her eyes pink and puffy from lack of sleep, Hope sighed, "I just hate the way this weather makes me feel, Mom.  It's like I'm trapped and the sun is gone for good.  I mean, I know it's up there somewhere because l can tell night from day and the plants aren't dying, but  I just want to see it and feel it for myself so I know everything is okay, you know?"

I knew exactly what she meant.  My heart feels that way sometimes. When sickness comes or people disappoint or money is tight or I have just gotten so busy that I haven't made God my priority, it's hard for me to remember that God doesn't change and that He hasn't left me.  Though I never doubt His existence or His love for me, I sometimes overestimate the power of the enemy and allow Him to corner my emotions and steal my joy.  

There's no easy way out of a spiritual funk like that.  Now, sometimes, God in His mercy simply breaks through my thoughts and warms my soul with His presence through the words of a song or the embrace of a loved one, but more often than not, He allows me to do the work of seeking Him before keeping His promise to be found.  

In times like those, I rely on God's Word and memories of God's faithfulness to get me through.  Minute by minute, hour by hour, and day by day, I consciously--though often not so enthusiastically--choose to do the things the Bible tells me to do and wait for God to show Himself faithful, and you know what? He always does.  Sometimes slowly, but always surely, God reveals Himself to me once again, growing my faith, restoring to my soul the joy of my salvation, and letting me know that everything is okay.

Pick Me Up, Daddy!

As often as possible, my husband and I try to squeeze in  some porch time just before sunset.  We've never lived anywhere with a good sized front porch before, and so we are all about observing the very Mayberry tradition of porch sitting whenever we can now that we have one.  The trouble is, we are one of the only houses on our street that has a big front porch, making it difficult to mix and mingle Andy Taylor style with the neighbors.  Maybe if Todd broke out the guitar and I made lemonade...

Anyway, last night, Todd and I heard happy squealing coming from the new house at the opposite end of our street.  A woman had just brought her two small children out to the driveway to welcome Daddy home from work, one a babe in arms, the other a dark-haired little Princess about two and a half years old.   Overcome with anticipation, the two year old clapped, hopped, hugged herself, and squealed repeatedly as Daddy's car pulled around the corner and eased into the driveway.  As soon as the sedan came to a complete stop, the little girl ran to Daddy, arms open wide. 

Todd and I smiled at one another, remembering what it was like when Hope was that small, and I got a little emotional anticipating the embrace between father and daughter that would surely come.

Daddy got out of the car and collected his things.

Princess jumped and stretched and cried, "Daddy, Daddy! Pick me up, Daddy!" 

Daddy didn't respond, but exchanged a lackluster greeting with his wife and turned toward the house.

Again, "Pick me up, Daddy!"

Todd said it first, willing the man to hear him, though he barely spoke the words.  "Pick her up." 

Daddy made his way toward the front door, and Princess began to lose her confidence. "Daddy. Daddy?" A whimper.

Still no response.  

"Pick her up!" I breathed.

A pang went through my heart as I watched Princess give up.  Quiet and dejected, she followed her parents inside, her soft little arms limp at her sides, her tiny head hung low.

"She isn't going to want to be picked up for much longer," Todd said, shaking his head. "He is really missing out."  I agreed, and we sat in silence for just a few moments more before going inside.  

All evening long, I had trouble shaking the scene from my mind.  The whole thing made me so sad. It should not have gone that way, even if Daddy was tired, even if Princess had been a real pill that day. A father's love is supposed to be unconditional.  Our Heavenly Father's is.  That I know for sure, both from personal experience and from Scripture, but did you know that His affection is unconditional as well?  

"Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you." James 4:8

It's as simple as that.  God loves you and is just as eager to spend time with you as you are to spend time with Him.  Even though He is busy holding the universe in balance, even when you have been a real pill, you can approach Him with confidence, knowing that He will always pick you up when you run to him with your heart open wide.  

 

You Know What They Say

Someone just said to me, "You know what they say about all work and no play..." Actually, no, I don't know what they say.  I've heard that phrase my whole life, but I have never actually heard the rest of the adage.  People just assume I know the rest when I don't.   I wonder if they know it or if they are just pretending to know because it sounds like everyone else knows.  Now, I can assume from the context of the conversation I just had that all work and no play is a bad thing, but why? Does it make you grumpy? Bored? Unhealthy?

There are some people who would probably say that all work and no play makes you more productive than the next person, that it is a good thing. Now, I personally think that perspective is a little off, but who am I to say? I don't know how the adage really goes.  No one has ever told me, and no one has ever shown me exactly what it has to do with me.  So, I guess I will just assume that I know what I am talking about, use the phrase like everyone else does so that I can fit in, and leave others to form their equally valid opinions about this particular partial nugget of wisdom, since there seems to be no absolute right or wrong way to say it.

Growing tired of my Seinfeldesque monologue? Me too.  Here is why I even mention it.  I think that many of us, without meaning to, handle the Word of God the same way.  We act as if everyone knows what is in it--especially those of us living in the Bible belt--and understands what it has to do with them.  We  throw out scripture references in conversation without explanation and quote bits of scripture out of context as it serves our purposes, which is sometimes just to sound spiritual. 

The problem with handling scripture this way  is that God's Word is absolute Truth.   It is the standard by which right and wrong is discerned, and it is very, very powerful.  God Himself calls it a two edged sword, and, like any other sharp object, it must be handled carefully.  Those who wield it like a child running with scissors can and probably will do more damage than good.  

It is so important that we, as believers, become knowledgable about scripture so that we can speak Truth responsibly and intentionally into the lives of others, leading them to salvation and/or a deeper, more meaningful relationship with Christ.  If we don't, they will make false assumptions, spread half-truth (which is falsehood), and become complacent about standing up for what is right because they honestly don't know right from wrong.  We all have to do our part, so that one day, when future generations are told, "You know what the Good Book says...," they will be able to respond with a resounding "Yes!"

Shoulder Pads and Diet Pepsi

Last week on American Idol, Jennifer Lopez wore a dress with shoulder pads for the second time this season. Don't get me wrong.  I am an eighties girl.  I don't have anything against shoulder pads.   I just find it to be an interesting fashion choice for someone like her.  When I mentioned that to my family, my twelve year old shrugged, "Maybe that's all she had clean."

Now you and I both know that JLo had more than one dress clean.  She probably never has to wear an article of clothing more than once, diamond studded or not, if she doesn't want to.  Her closet is, no doubt, something like the one belonging to Princess Mia on The Princess Diaries 2, tiaras and all.  She wore that dress because she meant to wear that dress.  She pulled it out of her personal treasure trove specifically for the occasion.  A mistake, in my opinion.

You know, JLo isn't the only one with a treasure trove to pull from.  I have one, too, though not like Jennifer's, and I was reminded of that during my personal Bible study recently.  I have known Jesus for well over thirty years and, as the wife of a minister, have spent more hours than many people my age focusing on "God things," not always because I wanted to but because it comes with the territory.  I have spent years of my life listening to sermons and Bible studies and have had many one on one conversations with people who are doing great things for the Kingdom of God.  Last but not least,  I have a Bible that contains Truth pertinent to any and all issues that may arise related to the human experience as well as God's clearly delineated plan of salvation. That Bible tells me to be ready in and out of season to share the reason for the hope that I have in Jesus.

Why, then, didn't I respond properly the day that a woman, looking haggard and a bit crazed, showed up on my front porch looking for help? It was about nine o'clock in the morning, and I had just finished watching The Today Show when I heard a banging on my door.  Before I had even opened it all the way, a giant lady reached in and pushed the door back, reeking of stale cigarette smoke and soured laundry.  "It's all gone to hell in a hand basket, and I'm straight trippin', Boo!" she exclaimed.

Now, to my knowledge, I have never been anyone's Boo, so maybe that's why I didn't know quite what to say.  I stood there stunned.  After a few awkward seconds, I think I responded with something lame like, "I'm so sorry.  Would you like a Diet Pepsi?" 

I wish I could say that I shared the gospel with that woman.  I don't know that I have ever come across a person so ripe to hear it.  But, I didn't.  I did get to the bottom of her immediate need and was able to help her purchase school uniforms for her boys, but I missed the chance to introduce her to Jesus.  After she left, I realized my mistake and my heart sank.  It turns out that the woman's boys went to my school, and so I tried repeatedly to find an opportunity to make things right, but I never got the opportunity to share Jesus with her again.  

Whether they admit it or not, those who don't know Jesus want to hear the Truth of the gospel.  Deep down, they want to believe that life is more than they have found it to be on their own.  When they seek us out asking for help, they are expecting the real, life-changing answers from us that we claim to have. In a manner of speaking, that day on my front porch was my big moment on stage, and I blew it.  A heart full of Truth at my disposal, I offered a woman shallow words and a quick fix in her time of real need because I wasn't prepared.  She needed Jesus, and I handed her a cold beverage because that's all I had handy.  A tragic mistake.

For Now

I don't remember much about my grandad.  He passed away when I was six or seven years old, so the memories that I have of him, though significant to me and emotionally charged, are fragmented and fuzzy at best.  I do remember sitting on his lap in church when I was very small, however.  My grandad was six and a half feet tall, so his was a bony, long lap that extended far beyond the hem of my dress.   It wasn't particularly comfortable, but I preferred it to the padded pew.  I liked the way he would tuck my cold hands under his to keep them warm during the sermon, his long, slender fingers like a heavy blanket.

No matter how hard I try, I can't see my grandad's face, but I can feel his smile, his approval, when I concentrate.  And though I can't hear his voice, I do remember knowing exactly what he expected of me and feeling secure in his love.  More than anything, I remember the way I felt when I was with him, cherished, protected, and preferred.

I do get frustrated sometimes at my inability to connect with this man that loved me so much.  I would love to have just a few hours with him so that I could fill the gaps in my memory, but that is impossible, at least for now.  So, for now I guess I'll be content with what I know of him and look forward to Heaven, where he waits for the rest of his family.

As much as I would love to be reunited with my grandad, I only think about him sometimes.  I was just a little girl when he went ahead.  My desire to finally see my Jesus face to face is so much more intense.  Scripture tells us that though we only see in part right now, someday, we will know in full, and that is exactly how I want to see Jesus, not as I do now, peering through the fuzzy and fragmented lens of human experience. 

I cannot even imagine the relief it will be to see with my own eyes the tender love in my Savior's when He looks at me, and  I can't begin to fathom the thrill it will be to finally hear His audible voice say my name after a lifetime of calling on His. The more I think about it, the harder it gets to wait, but I don't really have a choice.  For now, I guess I will stay the course, live for His approval, and rest in the knowledge that I am loved, protected, and preferred by the One who has gone to prepare a place for me.

Leave It to Jesus

"Father forgive them, for they know not what they do," or something very near to that.  That's what Jesus said while his murderers stared, not helping, not caring, not sorry.   You know, I feel like I am pretty good at forgiving and moving on until I consider this verse. Now,  it's a small thing to forgive small acts of rudeness or neglect, though I find that I do have trouble pardoning the drivers that give me dirty looks and people who cut in line or take up two parking spaces because they think their expensive car deserves more space than mine or cuss at me...okay, so maybe it's not such a small thing.

Anyway, it should be a small thing to overlook the minor infractions of other people, but it's even harder to forgive the intentional attacks of others.  (I would start a list here, too, but I fear what I might reveal about myself!)  So how did Jesus do it?  How did he forgive such an intentional, brutal attack?  Leave it to Jesus to do the impossible...

Here is what I can't get past about Jesus' prayer.  He told God that the killers didn't know what they are doing.   They most certainly did!   How do you accidentally crucify someone?  Even if you were in some kind of trance, the cries of agony would have to bring you out of it, wouldn't they?  Jesus knew this, so what did he really mean? Maybe he was referring to the fact that they didn't know who He was, didn't know that He was God's Son.  If that's it, they were about to find out, weren't they? I must admit that it gives me some degree of satisfaction to imagine their shame and horror when the sky turned black and they realized what they had done.   

And this is where my reverie ends.  This is where the story hits too close to home.   After all, isn't the Jesus they killed the same one that I grieve each and every time I sin?  Is it not His death that I take lightly every time I knowingly choose to ignore the warnings and commands of the Holy Spirit in my heart?  Much as I hate to admit it, I am no better than Jesus' killers in and of myself. Much to my shame and horror, I find that I am just as deserving of God's wrath as they.

And yet, because of what Jesus did, I am forgiven.  Because of what Jesus did, God calls me His child.  Now that I think about it, maybe those who do me wrong, intentionally or otherwise, just aren't aware of Whose I am.  Knowing what God says He will do to those who mess with His kids, I actually feel sorry for them.  I wouldn't wish that kind of judgment on someone else after having been spared myself.  How could I? Hah! Listen to me. Who would have thought that I could learn to have mercy on my enemies?  Leave it to Jesus to do the impossible...

Good, Good Friday

This year, Good Friday finds me smack-dab in the middle of a struggle with sin, although it is not the kind of sin that some people would give a second thought.  I'm not in danger of being arrested or damaging any relationships, just in case you are wondering (I would be).  Still, the Bible tells me that sin is sin (James 2:10) for what it does to our relationship with Him, not for the effect it has on others, contrary to popular belief. And so here I sit, the knowledge of my sin a heavy brick in my chest.

I know that my sin is not unusual and that others have struggled with the same thoughts and attitudes (1 Corinthians 10 :13), but this is my struggle. Knowing that I am not alone in it hasn't helped so far.  In fact, no effort that I have made in and of myself to get past it has done any good.  And so I find myself on Good Friday, keenly aware of my very real need for a Savior.  Until now, when I have thought about what happened to Jesus on that day, I have been tempted to side with Peter and protest the necessity of Jesus' brutal death.

Today, however, I find myself watching the events in my imagination as a guilty and silent onlooker.  I cannot stop Him.  I will not try.  I need His sacrifice too much.  The notion both shames me and stirs me to worship as I haven't before, further evidence (as if I needed it), that God can use the things that the enemy intends for evil, both Jesus' crucifixion and my own struggle with the flesh, for my good and His glory.  What an amazing God we serve!

I urge you, friends, to take a moment today to stare your own sin square in the face.  Let the realization that this is what you produce on your own without Christ sink in.  Once it has, turn your gaze to the cross and remember the moment of your deepest guilt.  Feel the pain and transfer it in your mind to the person of Jesus, realizing that He felt that very pain multiplied by every soul that ever lived or will live even as he died.  

Now understand that, in spite of the fact that the very sin you currently struggle with hung Him there, His love for you was and is even more intense than the pain He felt, His desire to glorify His Father even more consuming than His desire to be spared agony.  Stand at the foot of this cross and see if you are not compelled to love and worship Jesus anew this Easter, giving Him the glory for any good that exists in your life.

Chubby?

People are always asking me if I have lost weight. I used to take it as a compliment, but I am having second thoughts. This has been going on for years, after all, and my weight really hasn't changed much in that time. I am beginning to think that I just leave a chubby impression on people. Maybe that's why they are always surprised when they see me. As vain as the next person, I don't know how I feel about that...

On the topic of compliments, a dear friend recently told me that she was trying to be more intentional about encouraging other believers. "Every time I spend time with people, I make a point of trying to see them as a container that needs to be filled," she explained. "I think about how God could use me to help fill them up. Then I pour as much encouragement into them as I can in the time that I have." I was challenged and more than a little convicted by her words and began to wonder why I haven't been more intentional in my encouragement of others.

It's not that I never give compliments. I do. It's just that I tend to compliment people more when their actions or words stand out to me as being extraordinary. I guess that means that the words and actions of some people don't seem as extraordinary to me because they are the norm for those people, as per my observation anyway. In a way, my silence, up until now, in response to the godly actions of others has been a sort of compliment. Of course, this is a very pious and skewed way of thinking, so I am trying to correct it by speaking words of affirmation every time I think them instead of assuming that people know that I admire them or see God at work in their lives.

My new perspective does have me wondering, though, about the compliments that I get from time to time about the way I live my own life. Are they spoken because my godly actions are extraordinary for me or because the people who offer them are simply better than I am at encouraging others? I am hoping the second is true. Just as I don't like the idea of leaving a chubby impression on people, I would hate to think that my obedience to Christ would strike anyone as being unusual for me, wouldn't you?

Gift Card

Recently, my family and I spent the afternoon at an outlet mall.  I would say that we shopped, but we really didn’t buy that much.  For the most part, I wandered in and out of stores mindlessly dragging my fingers across the tops of hangers and people watching while Todd and the kids tried on goofy sunglasses, goosed each other, and played with their ipods. 

For the first part of our outing, my daughter Hope at least made a show of shopping with me, pretending to be interested in what I was trying on and pointing out sales offering 50% off or more, but she gave up within seconds of entering the Polo Ralph Lauren store.  The white walls and dark wooden columns made us feel a little underdressed in our T-shirts and gym shorts, and the salespeople looked ready to do business on Wall Street.

Frowning, Hope lifted a price tag on the first display we came to and quickly let it fall.  “Um, Mom,” she whispered, “I think this is the kind of place you only shop in if you have a gift card from Nana.”

I laughed.  She was right.  Anxious to be on our way, we made a quick once-through and moved on to the next store.  No sense wasting time wishing for things you can’t have, right? 

I wonder sometimes if that is the way people who don’t know Jesus feel when they realize they can't afford the good things in life for themselves, things such as joy, peace, and healthy relationships.  Do they think they can't have them simply because they can't afford them?  Is that why they settle for the off-brand junk the world is peddling? 

Here is the truth.  None of us can afford those things, but Jesus can.  Not only CAN Jesus afford those things, He has already purchased them with His own blood and offers them to anyone willing to love Him with their heart, soul, mind, and strength.  In a sense, each one of us has a gift card waiting for us with our name on it, not just for eternal life in Heaven, but for a very real relationship with Jesus that stands up under the greatest pressure, heals the deepest hurts, comforts in the midst of unbelievable hardship, and makes the otherwise impossible possible. 

All we have to do is trade in the old self for a brand new one by confessing sin and receiving God’s forgiveness.  Exchange junk for the good stuff?  Now that’s a bargain anyone can afford.