Every gift

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadow. James 1:17

Every good thing in our life is a gift. It’s all from Him. “Count your blessings, name them one by one …”

Light is life. It illuminates and reveals. And He is called the Father of light.  I love that. 

it does

I found a piece of my mind.
It was just lying around....
a little scrap of paper that I had written on with a dull pencil

Doesn't kindness break your heart?

It does.
But sometimes it needs to break to let in the light.

just under

I sometimes feel like I'm spread as thin as a skiff of butter on a slice of toast.
Hit and miss.
Barely there.
Don't think that I'm claiming to be too busy, although I've had those seasons in my life; those times when a heady combination of duty and pleasure keep your feet skimming just above the ground.

Instead, I feel like I have become fallow land.
But is that a bad thing?

Perhaps something is happening that I can't see.
Something green and fresh.
Just under the surface.

save the drama

Save the drama for Mama!
I laughed when I heard that line for the first time last year.
But what if Mama IS the drama?
I'm not referring to my Mama.
She has lived an exemplary life of steadfastness. Never weepy. Never moody. Never anything but sensible and calm.
Even when she was a teenager for goodness sake.
Who can measure up to that?
Well, not me, that's for sure.
My DNA has predisposed me to a certain amount of drama.
Personal drama mostly thank goodness but still more exhilarating than it needs to be.
Kind of reminds me of bike riding.
My bike is a smidge too big for me.
The frame and my own are at odds.
It's fine as long as I'm rolling along.
As long as I am balanced.
But if I need to stop in a hurry, if I need to get a foot on solid ground, perilous times ensue.
I have to hop to a stop.
I feel my life flash before my eyes.
That is never a good feeling.
That wild eyed, out of control feeling.
I felt that way as 2014 rolled up to the finish line this year.
Balance eluded me.
I felt afraid.
And wild eyed.
I did a bit of hopping and wobbling but I'm rolling along again and picking up speed.

grace

Any idea what story this is?
I imagine the big fish will be a big clue although seeing the little Playmobil man swallowed whole should be a pretty big help too.
Got it?
No?
It's the story of Jonah.
It's one of my favorite stories from the days when I sat on tiny painted plywood chairs and listened with all the other fidgety four and five year olds in Sunday School. 
Back then, it was just a story about obeying. Or rather the danger of not obeying depending on where the teacher placed the emphasis.
To come to that conclusion though, the one about obedience, is to miss the amazing truth the story holds about who God is.
The truth that God will do anything He can to keep from punishing or judging us. That His love drives Him to take extreme measures, even supernatural ones at times, just to help us, His cherished creation.
A lot of people don't really think about God much.
They are in this story.
There are others that are sort of superstitious and afraid of God.
They are in this story too.
And there are some who know God, have even come to think of Him as a Father, but don't want to be like Him. Not if it means forgiving someone they think doesn't deserve to be forgiven.
That person is in this story too.
And God is in this story.
And He can't help giving away who He is in the telling of the tale either.

The story begins in the middle which is often the best place to begin.
Jonah knows that God wants him to travel to Nineveh and tell the people living there that God has seen their overwhelming wickedness. It was the sort of evil that would make the evening news and call for action from the UN if it happened today. And of course, it does happen today.
Jonah knew that God wanted him to offer them all His forgiveness.
Repent or else is kind of how I always thought the story went.
Repent is an old fashioned word, but it really just means to stop, and turn away.
To stop and change direction.
Being offered the chance to change and be forgiven is gracious.
Jonah did not share God's gracious outlook.
He bought a ticket on a ship heading in the opposite direction.
There could be no misunderstanding his intent.
He was NOT going to go to Nineveh.
And that was that.
Except it wasn't.
God had a job for Jonah to do.
He could have just asked someone else to go, but he graciously allowed Jonah to be part of the story.
The Master of the wind and waves sent a huge storm.
The ship was caught up in a terrifying gale with mountainous waves and howling winds.
The men on board could tell that this storm was not a normal storm, but had a supernatural horror about it.
They were terrified.
Jonah told the men to throw him overboard.
He figured that God was angry with him and was trying to kill him.
He figured that innocent sailors would pay with their lives too.
He figured wrong of course.
He misjudged God.
The storm wasn't sent to harm Jonah, but to get his attention.
I imagine that if Jonah had just repented, the storm would have died down and he could have gotten on the next ship heading to Nineveh....... and he could have spared himself the close encounter with nature that he experienced next.
The Bible says that God prepared a 'great fish.' And it swallowed Jonah when he was thrown into the sea.
God could just as well have provided Jonah with a nice big chunk of driftwood but I guess there is something about being swallowed whole by a 'great fish' that causes a person to reevaluate their choices in life.
Jonah did and it didn't take him long to repent.
And he really meant it.
And he was ready to listen.
And to do what God wanted him to do.
The fish burped Jonah out onto dry land and with that running start, Jonah traveled to Nineveh.
His words rang with authority when he told the people that God would not take no for an answer. His eyes likely flashed with passion as he spoke of God's power.
It doesn't surprise me at all that the entire city stopped in their tracks and listened just as Jonah had feared they would.
And they repented.
Joyously.
Grace can do that.

The story has a postscript.
Jonah was exhausted.
No surprise there.
The Bible says God provided him with shade from the desert heat.
A place of refreshment.
Ahhh, now that's more like it, you might think.
Except God wasn't finished.
Jonah's heart was not beating with the compassion of God yet.
And so, the storyteller tells us that God sent a worm to chew on the vine that sheltered Jonah from the heat and it shriveled and died.
Jonah was indignant and depressed and very, very hot.
I love how the story ends.
God Himself reasons with Jonah, like a parent with a moody child.
Nineveh was a huge city teaming with people.
The poetic language refers to the many children living there as those who couldn't yet tell their right hand from their left.
How could Jonah care more about a vine, about the fate of a plant, than the fate of an entire city of people?
How could he not feel pity for them and wish for them to experience grace?
I am guessing that Jonah came at last to understand the heart of God.
We have his story. 

When Jesus was trying to prepare his followers for His death, He spoke of the story of Jonah. He told them that just as Jonah had been in the belly of the fish for three days, so He would be in the grave for three days. His life was a story of grace. And of extreme, even supernatural measures. Remember Bethlehem?
Beginning with the story of the baby in the manger is the middle of the story, but its the best place to begin.

specialty and delight

My mother is a walking Kleenex box. That revelation came to me this morning as I sorted her clothes for washing. Kleenex were liberally sprinkled inside shirts and pant waistbands and even acting as limp shoulder pads. Pockets bulged. As I peered down sleeves, removing rogue Kleenex it occurred to me that my mother is so well padded with tissue that its probably a safety feature. A fragile, little old woman, packed carefully in tissue. Just like a treasure.
I'm not sure when hankies were replaced by Kleenex. I can remember my mother seeing me with startled eyes, as though for the first time just as we were about to enter church.
Out came the hankie.
Up to her mouth it flew.
Spit and scrub.
Spit and scrub.
I find myself wrinkling my face now in recollection.
But it was just something mothers did.
Their specialty.
That hasty once over.
To make us presentable.
Church and outward appearances seem at home in the same sentence, but they are an object lesson of an eternal truth.
When it comes to God, we just have to show up.
We don't have to clean up.
That is His specialty and His delight.

rise and shine

There's nothing like a sunny day to make me see the error of my ways. When the golden spring sunlight pierces the venetian blinds like a flashlight on high beam all is revealed.
All that is dusty.
Not tender little dust bunnies either.
Great jack rabbits of lint and dirt and crumb.
And the windows that have seemed such wide expanses of view on the winter world are suddenly something else entirely. Something that makes me squint and grimace.
It's not that Spring is a harsh taskmaster....Spring Clean or else.....
No, she's a long anticipated guest. She's all things fresh. The morning of a new year.
Rise and shine.
Rise and shine the windows.
And sweep out the dust.
Sweep out the tired, cloistered thoughts, the dim and the dark.
Good morning Spring.

not alone

New Years seemed to slide by this year almost under the radar.
There was no drum roll.
Nor fireworks either.
The old year just seamlessly transitioned into the new.
One moment I had my foot in 2013 and the next I was perched at the brink of 2014.
I usually love beginnings.
There is something so irresistible about a clean slate.
I love the vantage point that this time of year provides too.
There is value in glancing back at lessons learned, and hope and anticipation in gazing ahead.
Somehow though, this past year seemed full of lessons half learned and gazing ahead seemed counter productive.
I think that is one of the lessons I have learned though.
I've learned that life is full of lessons that need to be learned.
I've learned that it is an ongoing, forever sort of process.
And I'm thankful that I am not alone in this, that I am surrounded and upheld and loved by the Shepherd who leads beside still waters and restores my soul.

one true light

We are drawn to love like moths to the light. And Light is just what this dark wintery world craves.
There is plenty of it all around us; reflections of the love of the one true Light. Christmas blessings to you all.

solid underfoot

Have you ever noticed advice, the kind we can so glibly dispense, has a way of coming home to roost? "You can want more, and be unhappy, or be thankful and be happy," I had exhorted.
Sure enough, as I lay in bed this morning i found my thoughts leading towards a perilous place and quickly made the leap, from the slippery slope of wanting/wishing to thankfulness and found the ground very solid underfoot.

lullaby

I dialed the number.
Beep, beep, beep, beep, bip, beep, bip, bip.......
So many numbers,
and I reached A Voice that instructed me to press a number which I gamely did,
and I reached A Similar Voice that instructed me to press a number which I gamely did,
and I reached A Strangely Similar Voice that instructed me once more to press a number which I did,
although a little warily,
and then I was put on hold.
Not just put on hold.
There was music.
My glazed eyes cleared with a jolt when I realized I was listening to Brahms Lullaby.
Really?
A lullaby?
Was this a veiled threat?
An indication as to how long I would be on hold?
No,
just a Classical soundtrack, Pachelbels Cannon came next as I snoozed on hold.
I've found myself thinking about that lullaby though.
About comfort and music.
And so, I am going to share a lullaby with you too.
Is there a voice more soothing than the voice of Fernando Ortega?

rusty nails

We pass this pole as we head off on our route; our walking loop through distant neighborhoods. It is studded with staples and rusty nails.
Garage sales and open houses have been advertised here.
Lost cats and dogs lamented.
Posters and balloons have probably had their day here too.
The pole is looking pretty battered now and weathered.
But people know where to look.
They aren't bothered by the rust.
It's all about the message.

math of life

Do you remember when I shared the math of muffins?
And then the math of cake?
Well, there is a math of bread too.
I don't know why that seems like a revelation to me this morning.
The math of bread is just as simple as can be; for every loaf desired, a cup of liquid and three cups of flour. And the flour, so neatly divided in thirds should be added just that way, in thirds. The first cup will be stirred into the liquid containing the dissolved yeast and beaten into a smooth batter. This releases lots of gluten which equals texture. The second cup is then added to create a thick and sticky dough. The final cup is kneaded in. The larger the batch of bread, the longer you will need to knead. Hey, wouldn't that be a great bread cookbook title? The Need to Knead? or Needing to be Kneaded? Bread can be made without kneading but the dough is kept in the fridge and time creates the gluten and therefore the texture instead. A very different texture of course, but just as delicious.

Baking is more than technique and a mathematical formula though.
It's art.
The hand and heart of the baker are part of the magic.
And think of painting, or quilting for that matter.
They benefit from good technique, and an understanding of the math of art; the basic principles of design, but the hand and heart of the artist or quilter are part of the magic. The art itself becomes a reflection of the creators inner world; their dreams and passions.

We live in an ordered universe. There is the math of life so to speak. The earth revolves in a predictable pattern, the tides and moon likewise. There is DNA and the Periodic Table. But that doesn't explain the magic. The hand and heart of the Creator are there to see and tell us something about God, about His dreams for mankind and His passions.

but

"Is there more darkness or more light?" my grandson asked. He is a philosopher and theologian as all children innately are.
"It seems like there is more darkness," I said slowly. "It does seem like there is so much darkness, but God is light."

finding

I gazed in admiration at roses spilling over a fence yesterday.
Red, red roses.
Fairytale red.
The color of Snow White's lips or a Prince's tunic.
It has made me ponder fairytales.
It has made me think of the power of myth.
The enduring potency of story.
For centuries, philosophy and fact were carefully crafted into story and passed along, and eventually down to the next generation.
The brothers Grimm gathered the stories that were still circulating in their day, and the fragments of stories and compiled an anthology of sorts. There were common themes but they added and embellished as is the way of the story teller. How glad I am that those ancient myths still remain.
I loved fairytales when I was a girl.
And fables.
There is an excitement in finding the gems; the glittering truth that lies obscured.
In Sleeping Beauty, a child is blessed with every blessing in the world by the fairies, and then cursed with death by a malevolent crone. The curse was softened from death to sleep and Beauty was reawakened by the kiss of true love. G.K.Chesterton saw the story of mankind contained within that ancient tale. The story of mankind being blessed with every blessing imaginable and then cursed by everlasting death. The curse of death was softened to sleep in that we die but may live again, immortals reawakened to everlasting life by the death of God Himself in our place, a divine kiss of love.
The story of Cinderella is another ancient tale rich in gems.
It contains the universal truth of transformation. Cinderella's supporting cast, the footman and coach and horses and driver were really the most ordinary things, the most mundane and even humble things; A vegetable and vermin and a mangy dog. They were elevated to a place of great usefulness, great purpose and honor. They needed only the masterful touch of the supernatural. Cinderella herself is humble, toiling unnoticed and unappreciated. But of course, the universal truth is that she was not unnoticed at all. She was a princess undiscovered. She was made ready for the Prince, who loved her at first sight and who searched for her until she was found and who then claimed her forever as his own. If you are familiar with the stories liberally sprinkled through the gospels, told by Jesus, you will see common themes. We toil in poverty of soul, in despair even. But transformation is possible. The Prince loves us and seeks us. He longs to claim us as His own forever. Transformation is His specialty. 
1 Corinthians 1:27-29
"But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong. God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, so that no one may boast before him."

lily of the valley

A black and white photo will often tell a story that is quite different from a colored photo.
It is as though the mind, freed from the distraction of color, is better able to visualize the abstract, to see the negative space as a part of the whole.
We have photos of our garden that appear for a fleeting moment or two on our computer screen when it is parked and running, and one of those photos is of a lily against the weathered lattice.
 It has always seemed such a symbol of Easter to me; a cross and a flower like a golden star. It makes me think of an old hymn....." He's the lily of the valley, the bright and morning star, the fairest of ten thousand to my soul."

moment by minute

Sometimes I forget that I have choices to make and in that forgetting, I am making choices by default. My default settings are not always what they should be either. I think I so easily yield to powerlessness, to fatalism.
I am not powerless though.
Attitude lies within my grasp and has such power over circumstance.
By the moment, by minute, by daily, weekly, rubber meeting the road of life, habits are created and in turn character.
Now if ever there was a thought to make me feel fatalistic, that would be it apart from the amazing reality of regeneration, that principal of renewal and hope.
We were created with the power of choice; a very risky venture by God.
We don't default to thankfulness to Him naturally, but He has offered transformation in His hands.
A choice.

the heart

Thankfulness = Happiness
Algebra of the heart.

my days

"I'm just getting a grasp on life and I feel like I've reached my best before date," I lamented to my husband.
I get a bit morbid that way sometimes, a bit mortal.
I see my own life flash before my eyes.
I see the myriad superficial concerns that consume my thoughts and energy.
Oh to live a life of some consequence, some value.
To number my days aright that I might at last present to Him a heart of wisdom.

summoning

"You never know what may cause them. The sight of the Atlantic Ocean can do it, or a piece of music, or a face you've never seen before. A pair of somebody's old shoes can do it. ... You can never be sure. But of this you can be sure. Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next."     
Beyond Words by Frederick Buechner ^[62]