Sunday Scripture {Like a Father}

"The Lord is like a father to his children, tender and compassionate to those who fear him.  For he knows how weak we are; he remembers we are only dust."

Psalm 103:13-14

Celebrating our accomplishments

Humility and humbleness is a big theme I glean from scriptures.  It’s attractive to me, and it stands out when put into practice.  Verse after verse speaks to God’s favor of the humble over the proud or haughty. Children inherit the kingdom of God.  We are reminded we must become like them and this includes, in a big way, checking our pride at the back door.  Surrendering it to Him who is without it.

I come from a genealogical line of humble women. My grandmother, my mother, and my sisters will be the first to put others before themselves.  They are faith in action and in a true and real way carry out acts of selfless love when it comes to putting others before themselves.  I think this rings true with many women.  We are taught to serve. To help. To love.  To wash feet.  To open doors.  To feed. To bend.  To adapt.  To sacrifice.

Sometimes in this serving, however, I think women can forget to honor and mark and celebrate those things we’ve risen above, created, or achieved.  While we are taught to be God honoring and people loving, we must not forget to be compassionate with our selves, and be satisfied with our accomplishments, which includes thanksgiving to God for how he lifts us up and helps us in our victories.  Be it in our physical or spiritual.

However big or small, what today, or this week, have you accomplished through Christ’s strength in you? May I encourage you to celebrate it, share it, and recognize it.  What you’ve risen above and reached for is just the beginning of where God wants to take you.

“With God’s help we will do mighty things….”

~Psalm 60:12

Sunday Scripture {Under Construction}

"I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns."

~Philippians 1:6

The shoulds, the haves, and the might have been's.

Are you a perfectionist?  With age, does come wisdom, and while I’m not a self proclaimed perfectionist in the worldly sense {you should honestly see the state of my desk and my car as I write}, when it comes to the standards I have for myself, I’m my own worst enemy.  And I know I’m not alone in this.

I’m beginning to think the 12 Steppers are on to something when they rehearse the Serenity Prayer as a daily reminder to tread lightly with themselves.  Easy on the heart.  Gentle on the mind.  And with the curb side trash, so too can the shoulds, the haves, and the might have been’s be set down nicely alongside their nagging, recyclable selves.

The attraction to Jesus is we get the sense he rolled Type B through and through.  He valued heart and people over mind and rules.  He took risks.  He stepped out.  He pushed boundaries. He broke bread. He drank wine.  He trusted. He wept.  He laughed.  And while we are told that he experienced anguish and suffering, it didn’t appear that he stressed about his performance along the road.  Status quo didn’t infiltrate his thought patterns.  Image was thrown away from as early as the manger and in the belly of the teenage mom. The shoulds, the haves, and the might have been’s were nailed on the wooden beams.  He walked by active, intentional faith and connection to his Abba father. He relied on His strength.  He surrendered in prayer.  He had disagreements and conflict and political hoops to jump through.  He doubted. He grappled.  He faced grief and loss. He was rejected and betrayed.  He didn’t measure up by societal terms.  He wasn’t wealthy.  Life went anything but smoothly and was completely unpredictable.  Sound familiar?

Joseph Conrad once said, “The artist speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, to the sense of mystery surrounding our lives, to our sense of pity, and beauty and pain”.  As with art, beauty, and true love, there exists no room for our self imposed pressure and the expectations we place on our shoulders. Of the shoulds. The haves. And the might have been’s.  Just mystery. And beauty. And yes too, pain.  But more than this, an Abba father who is invested very much in all of it; who longs to shine through the cracks and gaps and broken places.  In you.  In me.  In all of us.

But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.

~2 Corinthians 12:9

Sunday Scripture {Prayer part two}

The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and wonderful results.

~James 5:16

Happy Mother's Day!

In my father's arms.

A little while ago I wrote about seasons.  The thing is I can feel another one bubbling up. Changing.  Travels are pending.  Routine is closing in for the summer. And my little girl starts kindergarten in 3 short months. Time is slipping. Spinning.  Moving.  Just yesterday I ordered a bundle of skin care products to hurl back weapons at the whole thing; the movement and the gravitational pull. On my heart. On my life.  On my face.

My Buddhist friends have it nailed when they talk about life being full of suffering and beauty.  Embracing and letting go; in very simplified terms.  The paradox of welcoming in birth, only to seal the coffin on another.  The unabashed joy, alongside the heavy hearted grief. Welcoming and releasing; and loosely holding both in your hands.

Yesterday as I drove home the din of the windshield wipers soothed my anxious heart, and cleared my vision. Confidence rose up again and peace settled in comfortably as He reminded me that despite the changes, He’s got me. And though the pieces slip through my fingers, they don’t slip through His. I am safe here.  In my father’s arms.

“You will be safe in His arms
You will be safe in His arms
'Cause the hands that hold the world are holding your heart
This is the promise He made
He will be with You always
When everything is falling apart
You will be safe in His arms”

~Lyrics by Phil Wickham

Sunday Scripture {The Power of Prayer}

And we can be confident that he will listen to us whenever we ask him for anything in line wtih his will.  And if we know he is listening when we make our requests, we can be sure that he will give us what we ask for.

~1 John 5:14-15

Flambeed Faith

I wonder, have you got a sweet tooth?  Or, like me, do you prefer the diversity of the sugary and the salt, welcoming in recipes from cinnamon buns, to chips and dip?

Can we talk food for a moment here?

I give credit to Mrs Karol Ladd, scholar of scripture, and woman of faith. She used a recent story to illustrate God's purpose in our sometimes very jagged roads of life.  And the word pictures had to do with all things divine and delicious to tempt your palate.

Morsels of rich New York style cheesecake, to grandma's apple pie, our individual "life" recipes are as unique and diversified as the range and wonder of the findings in a pastry kitchen.

The temptation in baking, as in life, is to want to trade  in for something more appealing.  More tantalizing. When our meringue falls flat, or our muffins raise lop sided, or worse, glued to the ungreased pan, it is easier than not to glance at our "failed" product while eyeing up our neighbors' meticulously sculpted fruit flan.  And really, who wants to be Aunt Sarah's fruit cake?

Last night, I chuckled to myself in reflection of Ms. Ladd's study, and surmised that over these recent years my "recipe" is pretty much anything flambeed. Anything that involves extreme heat.  Bananas Foster, Creme Brule, and a small audience of people who could witness the whole thing go up in smoke.

I'm flambeed faith. But, at least I'm not Aunt Sarah's fruitcake.

God gives us each a recipe. I don't know what yours is, but I'm certain that the specific ingredients you require are structured and configured very differently than mine.  It may involve sitting and waiting as it rises.  It may involve refrigeration as it solidifies and strengthens.  It may involve some time under the elements.  Or, it may involve extreme heat on display.

Each are beautiful.  Each exquisite.  Each morsels of heaven in their own right if tended to obediently, wisely, carefully, and passionately.  Focus on the recipe He's given you. It's been handed to you for a reason and He wants to use it well to glorify Him.

Happy Baking.

The sun has one kind of glory, while the moon and stars each have another kind.  And even the stars differ from each other in their beauty and brightness.

~1 Corinthians 15:41

Blessed Be Your Name

I grew up singing hymns in the pew. Flipping back and forth between “Glory and Praise”  and the “Catholic Book of Worship”.  Concentrating hard on the right page numbers and the correct verse to be followed.   Tracing music notes with my small fingers.  Up and down and down and up.  Rest and rest and start again.  A lady led us on organ.  My dad filed his already manicured nails.  There was one good singer in a rotation of many who came around about once per month, and when she did the sleepy congregation was recharged and revived.  Her voice poured out evidence of a heart filled with Jesus. She made my mother weep. She made me crave the donuts that were awaiting us in our Sunday school class.

I entered my first church as an adult in blue jeans.  I recalled too many fights over fancy shoes as a kid and I had one stipulation with God: I’d try out this church thing again, after many years, but I came with the blue jeans and he’d have to take it or leave it. I was done with pretenses and I was searching for the living authentic God who wasn’t concerned with fashion.   And, this time, I needed more than the donuts after the service. I needed him to take hold of my heart like a long lost lover, embrace me as his little girl, and never let me go.

He met me in that place the very first day.  Alas, there was no organ lady.  No angelic soprano.  No manicurist to my left.  But, a man, a guitar, and U2’s “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For” blasting from the auditorium.  I had shivers run down my spine. He whispered in my ear in a personal and real way. I felt deeply blessed that he made himself known to me when I asked him to. And He has faithfully walked with me since.

My experience of worship has never since been the same. To have an outlet for the overflowing cup of blessings that are poured into my life, gives me an experience of being connected in an intimate way to my heavenly father. Rubbing shoulders with fellow believers who have been in or are in the trenches of life, yet who still come before him, palms up, voices lifted, thanking him for the gift alone of knowing him, is on it's own, a blessing.

Knowing there is an anchor despite life's ups and downs, and all arounds.  The blessings and the heartaches.  Teaches me to be less concerned with the results of my faith, and expectancies that life will somehow now go my way, but to bask in the beauty and mystery that I have a blessed redeemer who knows my name, hears my voice, and has my heart in the palm of his hands.  From this day forward.  For better or for worse. I am blessed.

 

 

“You give and take away.  You give and take away.  My heart will choose to say, Lord blessed be your name.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.  Blessed be your name.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.  Blessed be your glorious name”. ~ Lyrics "Blessed Be Your Name" by Matt Redman