1 Samuel 8:21,22
When Samuel heard all that the people said, he repeated it before the Lord.
The Lord answered "Listen to them and give them a king."
The story of Israel in 1 Samuel 8, resonates within me. They are tired. They want an easy answer, a quick solution. Following an unseen God, hoping in miracles, that seem to come to few and far between, trusting in people who always seem to fail them, the daily grind...chips away at their Faith. It clouds their memories of Grand Deliverance, Pillars of Fire, Parted Seas and Bread from Heaven. They look around at their neighbors...THEY have kings! THEY have gods you can see and touch! THEY have it so good. What about ME?
I wish it were not such a familiar lament.
It's amazingly easy for me to meld into this petulant child. If only I had a husband, or more money, a better job or education, better looks or a better body, respectful kids or a more supportive family, better friends, better connections....The list is endless. Sometimes (more often then I'd like to admit) I even find myself trying to "arrange" it. Take a square peg, and see if I can whittle the corners a little and cram it into a round hole. Just like the toy that toddlers play with, the little shape bucket, they get so frustrated trying to shove that star into the oval space.
There is always a sense of fear and panic.
What if I don't get what I want?
What if in the end, I am empty and alone and bitter...and all the rest of the world is smiling and laughing.
But lately, somewhere underneath all of the struggles and vain attempts to wrestle the world into my box. In the breath between the complaints and whining, comes another question.
What if what I want, isn't enough?
What if, like the Children of Israel, my desperate need for concrete solutions, is blocking the only True Answer?
The God of Abraham, Isaac and Moses, is more than Enough. The God of Miracles is Big Enough. The Determination of a God who Chose a Nation is Strong Enough. The Love of a God who Sees me, is Deep Enough.
And lately, there is another fear.
What if I insist on my own way, one too many times...
and God decides to let me have it?
Psalm 106:20
They exchanged their Glory
for an image of a bull, which eats grass.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Family Stories
Luke 2:51,52
...But his mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus grew in Wisdom and Stature and in Favor with God and men.
My mother's pregnancy with me, was the worst out of the three. She was sick the entire time and went into premature labor in the 7th month. Her labor began at my grandmother's house when Johnny Carson was getting ready to start (for those of you who don't remember Johnny Carson, he came on at 11:30 pm). My grandmother thought it was a false alarm because it was to soon. But before long, she found herself racing down Thirty-one, blaring her horn, with my mom hanging her head out the window, screaming. By the way, it was the absolute worst, most insane pain anyone has ever experienced, ever. I was born at 12:55am.
There's more to the story. Accounts from family and friends who were a part of my mom's life during her pregnancy with me, Accounts about the weeks I spent in an incubator and how small I was when I finally came home. Accounts of first words, first steps, projectile vomiting, and some crazy (usually naked) escapades as a toddler. The story of my birth and childhood is remembered in the accounts of others.
The story of Jesus' birth and childhood, in the first two chapters of Luke, reminds me of these family stories. It begins with the conception of John the Baptist and ends with a precocious 12 year old in a temple. And while verse after verse could be singled out and examined with awe, read in it's entirety...there is a rhythm and whisper of something mind-blowing.
As I read it, I feel myself drawn in, as if I'm sitting around the living room at Thanksgiving, full and sleepy, with family and friends who are laughing and telling stories.
Do you remember when.....?
Something stirs under the peaceful tranquility of this safe, comfortable, familiar place. My heart beats a little faster, and I take in accounts of angels and visions, shepherds and kings, prophets and wise men. What really takes my breath away, is not how fantastic it all is, but the image of a boy.
A young dark-haired, barefoot boy, around the age of 8 or 10, sitting cross-legged on the floor, full and sleepy, among his family and friends laughing and joking, and someone says....Do you remember when....?
What would it be like to be told our own story and have it include things like...
Do you remember when the angel came? Wasn't it a hoot when Elizabeth got pregnant? Zechariah couldn't believe it! Remember the shepherds and gifts from the wise men? How about running from that evil king?...Do you remember the Star?
or...
"He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the House of Jacob forever; His kingdom will never end."
Luke 1:32,33
What would it have been like for this boy who was given a true vision of who God created him to be? Who was told that long before he was conceived or born, he was alive in the mind of God, the entire earth was waiting for him.
I am moved beyond words, stunned by the magnitude, not only of who Jesus is, but something more. There's more to the story. It's my part of the story. It is me...at the foot of the cross. It is me...born of God into a family of saints. It is me...resting in the company of loved ones who are whispering my story....God knew you before you were born, You were born with a purpose, You were meant for greatness...Remember who you are.
The creation waits in eager expectation for the Sons of God to be revealed.
Romans 8:19
...But his mother treasured all these things in her heart. And Jesus grew in Wisdom and Stature and in Favor with God and men.
My mother's pregnancy with me, was the worst out of the three. She was sick the entire time and went into premature labor in the 7th month. Her labor began at my grandmother's house when Johnny Carson was getting ready to start (for those of you who don't remember Johnny Carson, he came on at 11:30 pm). My grandmother thought it was a false alarm because it was to soon. But before long, she found herself racing down Thirty-one, blaring her horn, with my mom hanging her head out the window, screaming. By the way, it was the absolute worst, most insane pain anyone has ever experienced, ever. I was born at 12:55am.
There's more to the story. Accounts from family and friends who were a part of my mom's life during her pregnancy with me, Accounts about the weeks I spent in an incubator and how small I was when I finally came home. Accounts of first words, first steps, projectile vomiting, and some crazy (usually naked) escapades as a toddler. The story of my birth and childhood is remembered in the accounts of others.
The story of Jesus' birth and childhood, in the first two chapters of Luke, reminds me of these family stories. It begins with the conception of John the Baptist and ends with a precocious 12 year old in a temple. And while verse after verse could be singled out and examined with awe, read in it's entirety...there is a rhythm and whisper of something mind-blowing.
As I read it, I feel myself drawn in, as if I'm sitting around the living room at Thanksgiving, full and sleepy, with family and friends who are laughing and telling stories.
Do you remember when.....?
Something stirs under the peaceful tranquility of this safe, comfortable, familiar place. My heart beats a little faster, and I take in accounts of angels and visions, shepherds and kings, prophets and wise men. What really takes my breath away, is not how fantastic it all is, but the image of a boy.
A young dark-haired, barefoot boy, around the age of 8 or 10, sitting cross-legged on the floor, full and sleepy, among his family and friends laughing and joking, and someone says....Do you remember when....?
What would it be like to be told our own story and have it include things like...
Do you remember when the angel came? Wasn't it a hoot when Elizabeth got pregnant? Zechariah couldn't believe it! Remember the shepherds and gifts from the wise men? How about running from that evil king?...Do you remember the Star?
or...
"He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the House of Jacob forever; His kingdom will never end."
Luke 1:32,33
What would it have been like for this boy who was given a true vision of who God created him to be? Who was told that long before he was conceived or born, he was alive in the mind of God, the entire earth was waiting for him.
I am moved beyond words, stunned by the magnitude, not only of who Jesus is, but something more. There's more to the story. It's my part of the story. It is me...at the foot of the cross. It is me...born of God into a family of saints. It is me...resting in the company of loved ones who are whispering my story....God knew you before you were born, You were born with a purpose, You were meant for greatness...Remember who you are.
The creation waits in eager expectation for the Sons of God to be revealed.
Romans 8:19
Sunday, June 22, 2008
My Father's Voice
Deuteronomy 8:3
...Man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.
There were times during my childhood when my father would sit my brothers and I down at the dining room table on Saturday morning...to read The Bible. It wasn't an optional activity, if friends spent the night, they joined too. Each of us took turns wistfully glancing into the living room at the blank t.v. screen, Saturday morning cartoons were so close, yet so far away.
We started reading Genesis 1:1 and read straight through. Everyone would get their turn, the next week we would pick up where we left off. I don't remember how far we got, much to our relief, my dad was a little inconsistent in his spiritual discipline. I know that my dad has read the bible cover to cover more than once. I know that if you asked me today to recite the names of the first 14 books in order, I could do it without batting an eye. My dad taught me that, I bet his intention was to teach me all 66.
The wonderous thing about this experience, cartoons aside, is that even as a young girl, I was enthralled with the bible. It read like a novel to me, it was mysterious and exciting and I was sure that with each turn of the page something amazing would unfold. I loved the language of the King James Version, and the sound of the words in my father's voice. I was utterly convinced that God was speaking directly to me, and if parts were confusing or I didn't understand, it would all be revealed when we got to the end.
I feel the same, even more so, today.
Throughout my life, much like my father, I have turned and returned to this God-Breathed work, like a lost traveler trying to read a map that has been folded too many times. I know the answers are there, but the tighter I clutch it and the more intently I scrutinize it, the harder it is to see. In frustration and despair, I have given up. At the same time, no matter how lost I get in the distortions, many of which I have created...God reveals himself in the creases. There is always a whisper, a word, a sign, a crossroad, a direction...it is just not possible to open this book without the truth pouring out.
I am learning to rest in the word of God. I'm learning to quit grasping and analyzing and allow God's spirit to come through the pages. I am encountering not only the unfathomable character of Christ, but forming an intimately familiar relationship with him. I am learning who God created me to be and how to love others as I am loved.
I am learning to listen to the voice of my Father.
What I write here will be a reflection of the love of my Fathers. My Father God who created me with intention and purpose and is revealing himself to me in letters and verses. And my dad.
I learned from my dad that God is accessible and knowable. He taught me that God doesn't live in a building, God lives in scripture. He taught me that I am close to Moses and David and Peter and Paul, he showed me how to see myself in the lives of people who lived long ago. We are all woven together in God's story.
My dad opened my heart and inspired my passion for the Living, Breathing Word of God.
...Man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.
There were times during my childhood when my father would sit my brothers and I down at the dining room table on Saturday morning...to read The Bible. It wasn't an optional activity, if friends spent the night, they joined too. Each of us took turns wistfully glancing into the living room at the blank t.v. screen, Saturday morning cartoons were so close, yet so far away.
We started reading Genesis 1:1 and read straight through. Everyone would get their turn, the next week we would pick up where we left off. I don't remember how far we got, much to our relief, my dad was a little inconsistent in his spiritual discipline. I know that my dad has read the bible cover to cover more than once. I know that if you asked me today to recite the names of the first 14 books in order, I could do it without batting an eye. My dad taught me that, I bet his intention was to teach me all 66.
The wonderous thing about this experience, cartoons aside, is that even as a young girl, I was enthralled with the bible. It read like a novel to me, it was mysterious and exciting and I was sure that with each turn of the page something amazing would unfold. I loved the language of the King James Version, and the sound of the words in my father's voice. I was utterly convinced that God was speaking directly to me, and if parts were confusing or I didn't understand, it would all be revealed when we got to the end.
I feel the same, even more so, today.
Throughout my life, much like my father, I have turned and returned to this God-Breathed work, like a lost traveler trying to read a map that has been folded too many times. I know the answers are there, but the tighter I clutch it and the more intently I scrutinize it, the harder it is to see. In frustration and despair, I have given up. At the same time, no matter how lost I get in the distortions, many of which I have created...God reveals himself in the creases. There is always a whisper, a word, a sign, a crossroad, a direction...it is just not possible to open this book without the truth pouring out.
I am learning to rest in the word of God. I'm learning to quit grasping and analyzing and allow God's spirit to come through the pages. I am encountering not only the unfathomable character of Christ, but forming an intimately familiar relationship with him. I am learning who God created me to be and how to love others as I am loved.
I am learning to listen to the voice of my Father.
What I write here will be a reflection of the love of my Fathers. My Father God who created me with intention and purpose and is revealing himself to me in letters and verses. And my dad.
I learned from my dad that God is accessible and knowable. He taught me that God doesn't live in a building, God lives in scripture. He taught me that I am close to Moses and David and Peter and Paul, he showed me how to see myself in the lives of people who lived long ago. We are all woven together in God's story.
My dad opened my heart and inspired my passion for the Living, Breathing Word of God.
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