The Word was with God, and the Word was God. He existed in the beginning with God. God created everything through him, and nothing was created except through him (John 1:1-3).
When Jesus spoke of the lilies of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish that swallowed Jonah, he knew each of these wonders as well as he knew the palm of his own hand. I wonder, did he recall the moment when he and his Father designed the graceful curve of the lily blooms, or witnessed a sparrow’s first flight into the sky, or how they equipped the fish to breathe in water?
As he sipped the fruit of the grape, did he remember instructing its vine to climb and encircle anything in its path? In enjoying a cloudless azure sky did he rejoice in remembering how they stretched it in place? If weeds choked his path, was his heart grieved once again at the foolishness of Adam and Eve? When the famished Jesus ate warm bread was he very glad they had thought of yeast?
Gazing in love upon the disciples, was the Lord thrilled that man and woman were on their to-do list that day? Did he think otherwise when the Pharisees stood like tombs to frustrate his purpose?
Did Jesus ever even fleetingly think about trading places with his creation, John the Baptist?
Whenever the Messiah talked with a pregnant women, would she have been blown away to know that this Jesus was responsible for every delicate inner part of the tiny babe within her? And that he had also knit her together in her mother’s womb?
Our Mighty God – how awesome you are!!!
The Word gave life to everything that was created, and his life brought light to everyone … He came into the very world he created. John 1:4, 10
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
The cashier at a flea market found me a little humorous when I shopped there recently. The sad part is that I wasn't trying to be funny.
After wandering around and gathering up a few items, I returned to the front to stash them until I was ready to check out. Someone else already had a cache going, so I maneuvered my treasures in front of said cache, commenting to myself, "Well, those aren't mine, now are they?" I ask you, should an observer have seen anything laughable about that? Evidently the cashier did, because she snickered aloud. I smiled at her, thinking as I did she was a trifle strange.
Later while I waited in line, I innocently asked, "Can I get the type receipt that lists each item by name?" She looked at uncomprehendingly. I'll need to provide a little background information before my request makes sense. In a previous transaction at this establishment, the checker told me to ask for the detailed receipt before she began tapping on the buttons; otherwise you'd end up with an anemic 4th cousin listing only the prices and total. So ... because I needed the detailed one for tax purposes, I intended to obey instructions.
The uncomprehending one raised her perfectly penciled brows way high and responded, "Do you mean a cash-register receipt? We always give a receipt."
I assured her I was aware they gave receipts every time. "But I was told if I wanted the type listing items by name, I'd have to tell the cashier ahead of time." She now furrowed her brow, looked confused momentarily, then in an extremely patiend tone repeated, slowly this time-"We always give receipts."
I had started to sweat, so I dropped the matter. I also dropped my purse, tucked insecurely under an arm, a moment later as I began writing the check. Every last thing in there spilled out - careening, cartwheeling, crashing and splatting on the concrete floor. My cell phone disassembled itself into what looked like myriads of tiny pieces flying in every direction. I was really sweating now. A kind lady hurried over, stooped down and retrieved my phone's back from underneath the counter. It's a wonder she didn't find me under there too.
After scraping up and dumping everything back into that idiot handbag, I finished scribbling the check and handed it to the clerk. I would not have been surprised if she had doubled over in uncontrollable giggles, but, glory be, she resembled a Puritan preacher. With a flourish she presented the RECEIPT, eyeing me closely. Every last thing I had bought was listed by name in a beautiful font. Okay, okay, I had longed for this piece of paper; why, then, did I feel as though I'd just lost a boxing match? Mumbling "thanks" I slunk off with sacks dangling from every digit and both forearms, trying to graciously exit that torture chamber.
Thanking the Lord for automatic car-door openers, I clicked and clicked as I drew near my vehicle. "I must not have heard it unlock," I surmised. In the next breath, "Good grief!! Now my hearing is going too!"
I tugged on the handle. Unyielding. Click, click, click - violently now - then pulled again. The door defiantly held itself tightly closed. As frustration mounted even higher and heat waves danced on the pavement, I carefully plunked down each sack of individually named items. As I did so, a glance at the car icon on the opener niggled my brain: something looked odd ... Oh great! The wrong keys!
Leaning down to dig in my bag, I finally located the van keys. Straightening up impatiently, I promptly smacked the top of my head on the side mirror. My glasses flew off, and with them any good will I had toward humans and/or inanimate objects left me as well. I glared around murderously, daring anyone to admit they'd witnessed my final performance of the day.
God has promised we'll be fruitful in old age (Pro. 92:14); however, it looks as if my fruit is going to take the form of making others laugh. I could do worse I guess.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
A little bit of kindness
Kindness is never out of place or inappropriate. Laughter can be ill-timed. A smile may be inadvisable in certain situations. Silence may need to be substituted for speaking sometimes. But kindness offered in love is always welcome and fitting.
Kindness isn’t merely an emotion, or an action of the facial muscles – it’s a luscious, good-to-the-core fruit the Holy Spirit produces in and brings forth out of us to benefit others. This fruit is never bitter, never in bad taste, and never considered a faux pas when given to another. The only mistake one can make with kindness is to withhold it.
Monday, April 2, 2012
IMBEDDED
I was out back this morning, busily weeding when Jim noticed something sticking out of a tree near our postage-stamp patio. In a minute he exclaimed, “Look at this little metal sun thing – half of it is Imbedded right into the trunk!”
“Yes,” I sighed, “and all I did was hang it from a nail on the tree trunk a few years ago. The oak swallowed it a little at a time, so that when I finally noticed what was happening, all my tugging couldn’t pull out.”
I loved that round-faced sun; its bright golden face greeted me every time I stepped out the back door, plus it handily held small garden spades and the like. Now its usefulness is gone.
Same thing happened with a metal pot hook I placed on a crepe myrtle limb – within a few months it became part of the tree. The bough would have to be broken to remove the intruder.
It occurred to me that habits can become infused into us in a similar way. We allow an action or attitude into our lives – good or bad – and go about our business, not really conscious of the unseen, gradual process taking place. That’s wonderful if the habit is a godly one; not so wonderful, however, when God is dishonored by the practice of it. In either case, we realize at some point with a shock that we’ve enveloped what we once only allowed. It’s entrenched! It’s almost become part of our DNA! If that awakening calls for mourning instead of rejoicing, take heart. The good news is that the Spirit can implant his fruit into us even more thoroughly and permanently than evil can ever infect and infest us! That’s not all; he can wage war on and root out the hooks in our souls when nothing or no one else can.
The only condition is that we yield completely.
“Yes,” I sighed, “and all I did was hang it from a nail on the tree trunk a few years ago. The oak swallowed it a little at a time, so that when I finally noticed what was happening, all my tugging couldn’t pull out.”
I loved that round-faced sun; its bright golden face greeted me every time I stepped out the back door, plus it handily held small garden spades and the like. Now its usefulness is gone.
Same thing happened with a metal pot hook I placed on a crepe myrtle limb – within a few months it became part of the tree. The bough would have to be broken to remove the intruder.
It occurred to me that habits can become infused into us in a similar way. We allow an action or attitude into our lives – good or bad – and go about our business, not really conscious of the unseen, gradual process taking place. That’s wonderful if the habit is a godly one; not so wonderful, however, when God is dishonored by the practice of it. In either case, we realize at some point with a shock that we’ve enveloped what we once only allowed. It’s entrenched! It’s almost become part of our DNA! If that awakening calls for mourning instead of rejoicing, take heart. The good news is that the Spirit can implant his fruit into us even more thoroughly and permanently than evil can ever infect and infest us! That’s not all; he can wage war on and root out the hooks in our souls when nothing or no one else can.
The only condition is that we yield completely.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Friends and Treasure-Hunting
Why did I like Barbara?
As a little kid, I never analyzed it – I just loved her. She was a skinny brown-eyed kid with olive skin who lived in an old house on my street with her parents, younger brother, and grandmother. She and her sibling looked nothing alike. Buddy was freckled-faced silly kid, always joking and laughing. He was a favorite with the whole neighborhood. Barbara seldom laughed heartily, her expression serious most of the time.
I soon found out this girl was loyal as all get-out. I wanted to be her best friend, but she apologetically turned me down; “I’ve already promised Peggy she could be my best friend.” I immediately felt offended by this Peggy. Can’t you have two? No, she said, there’s only one best friend.
We had the most wonderful tea parties at her home. Her mom – a most accommodating woman – enjoyed them as much as we did, though she never presumed to join us. Standing across the room, Miss Elsie beamed as we pretended. Grandma, who was an older version of her daughter, hovered close by.
A boocoo of kids infested our street. Fourteen of us lived within a short city block. We rode bikes, arranged play houses, played hop-scotch (a piece of smooth green glass was my good luck piece), walked to town together, strung china berries into innumerable necklaces, and dared each other to jump from tree limbs.
But back to Barbara. I recognized, even at seven years old, that she had more character than I. I couldn’t have expressed it in those terms; I would likely have explained that she was “gooder than me.” Barbara was unfailing kind, a commodity in short supply among the pack of kids in our neighborhood. Once when exiting the school grounds I, knowing she’d made a pact with Peggy to walk home with her, began urging that she go with me instead. Truth was, I wasn’t longing to be with her - I only wanted to see if she would break her word to that Peggy girl for me. Barbara must have sensed my insincerity, because, with brown eyes flashing, she pulled abruptly away from my grasp, saying, “I promised Peggy first that I would walk with her – and you know that!!” Chastened by her rebuke I slunk off quietly. The crazy thing was, I liked her even more after that little scenario. (I still wasn’t fond of Peggy.) I’ve since thought of Barbara when I read Proverbs 20:11, “Even children are known by the way they act, whether their conduct is pure, and whether it is right.”
I moved away for several years, then relocated back there in high school years. Barbara looked much the same, just a bigger tiny. Still a solemn person, neatly dressed every day, scholarly. We didn’t gravitate toward each other as when we were younger. Our fellowship groups wouldn’t have jibed – hers took school very seriously, everyone straight as an arrow. My was … well, it wasn’t like hers. Not bad, just less focused on academics. Sometimes in homeroom, or history class I’d catch her gazing at me with an unfathomable look in those chocolate eyes. Made me uncomfortable, but I’d smile at her, she’d smile back and we’d go our separate ways.
I sat in my living room in the 70s reading my hometown paper. Turning the page, I saw my old friend’s obituary. She’d died at 30-something; a wife and mother who lived in Missouri with her family. I felt such sadness, and even bereft, as if I had neglected to mine all the precious jewels from her life that would have blessed me immeasurably.
Just maybe I could have blessed her a little too.
That other girl, Peggy? Would you believe it? We’ve mined each other’s lives for years, from high school even to this day. I found out why Barbara was so high on her: Peggy’s life is full of treasures too!
As a little kid, I never analyzed it – I just loved her. She was a skinny brown-eyed kid with olive skin who lived in an old house on my street with her parents, younger brother, and grandmother. She and her sibling looked nothing alike. Buddy was freckled-faced silly kid, always joking and laughing. He was a favorite with the whole neighborhood. Barbara seldom laughed heartily, her expression serious most of the time.
I soon found out this girl was loyal as all get-out. I wanted to be her best friend, but she apologetically turned me down; “I’ve already promised Peggy she could be my best friend.” I immediately felt offended by this Peggy. Can’t you have two? No, she said, there’s only one best friend.
We had the most wonderful tea parties at her home. Her mom – a most accommodating woman – enjoyed them as much as we did, though she never presumed to join us. Standing across the room, Miss Elsie beamed as we pretended. Grandma, who was an older version of her daughter, hovered close by.
A boocoo of kids infested our street. Fourteen of us lived within a short city block. We rode bikes, arranged play houses, played hop-scotch (a piece of smooth green glass was my good luck piece), walked to town together, strung china berries into innumerable necklaces, and dared each other to jump from tree limbs.
But back to Barbara. I recognized, even at seven years old, that she had more character than I. I couldn’t have expressed it in those terms; I would likely have explained that she was “gooder than me.” Barbara was unfailing kind, a commodity in short supply among the pack of kids in our neighborhood. Once when exiting the school grounds I, knowing she’d made a pact with Peggy to walk home with her, began urging that she go with me instead. Truth was, I wasn’t longing to be with her - I only wanted to see if she would break her word to that Peggy girl for me. Barbara must have sensed my insincerity, because, with brown eyes flashing, she pulled abruptly away from my grasp, saying, “I promised Peggy first that I would walk with her – and you know that!!” Chastened by her rebuke I slunk off quietly. The crazy thing was, I liked her even more after that little scenario. (I still wasn’t fond of Peggy.) I’ve since thought of Barbara when I read Proverbs 20:11, “Even children are known by the way they act, whether their conduct is pure, and whether it is right.”
I moved away for several years, then relocated back there in high school years. Barbara looked much the same, just a bigger tiny. Still a solemn person, neatly dressed every day, scholarly. We didn’t gravitate toward each other as when we were younger. Our fellowship groups wouldn’t have jibed – hers took school very seriously, everyone straight as an arrow. My was … well, it wasn’t like hers. Not bad, just less focused on academics. Sometimes in homeroom, or history class I’d catch her gazing at me with an unfathomable look in those chocolate eyes. Made me uncomfortable, but I’d smile at her, she’d smile back and we’d go our separate ways.
I sat in my living room in the 70s reading my hometown paper. Turning the page, I saw my old friend’s obituary. She’d died at 30-something; a wife and mother who lived in Missouri with her family. I felt such sadness, and even bereft, as if I had neglected to mine all the precious jewels from her life that would have blessed me immeasurably.
Just maybe I could have blessed her a little too.
That other girl, Peggy? Would you believe it? We’ve mined each other’s lives for years, from high school even to this day. I found out why Barbara was so high on her: Peggy’s life is full of treasures too!
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Inney or Outey?
It seems to take us humans such a long time to be more concerned with inward growth than outward trappings, in other words, to be an "inney," rather than an "outey."
We seem to be experts about getting the motor before the Volkswagen, particularly regarding our physical versus our spiritual. We tend to lavish all kinds of attention on our outward persons: make-up laid on generously (and constant searching for the kind that will make us look like someone else), wrinkle-preventer slathered on nightly (depends on age), to-die-for cologne, just the right kind of shampoo/conditioner/gel/mousse so we can toss our lustrous, shiny heads of hair, not to mention brushes, blow-dryers, straightening irons, etc., etc.
Only one kind of jeans will do - either the expensive sort for the brand-conscious, or those that makes the posterior look smaller – ha! How about the underwear that promises to make certain parts appear more perky - and shoes ... well, shoes galore.
Before some of you complain, I'm really not picking on us women – we all know men have problems with inney and outey also - I just know females better because I are one, and I've certainly spent time (and, unfortunately, sometimes still do) in the "outey" category more than the "inney."
After all this attention to heads, faces, and bods, is there time to give thought to the grooming and nourishment of the inside of us – our spirits - the “inney”? Are we apt to ingest a thimble-full of the rich nourishment of Scripture occasionally, but give most of our energy, money and time to the daily tending of this shell? Our bodies are aging daily and won’t even enter heaven, folks! (that is, until Jesus does a radical remodel of them at the last trump)?
Don’t let the deceiver claim your mind. Look through the lens of the sword of the Spirit – the Bible – daily. Don’t listen to television or anything else for your game plan – but: “Give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice … Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think” (Rom 12:1-2). NLT
We seem to be experts about getting the motor before the Volkswagen, particularly regarding our physical versus our spiritual. We tend to lavish all kinds of attention on our outward persons: make-up laid on generously (and constant searching for the kind that will make us look like someone else), wrinkle-preventer slathered on nightly (depends on age), to-die-for cologne, just the right kind of shampoo/conditioner/gel/mousse so we can toss our lustrous, shiny heads of hair, not to mention brushes, blow-dryers, straightening irons, etc., etc.
Only one kind of jeans will do - either the expensive sort for the brand-conscious, or those that makes the posterior look smaller – ha! How about the underwear that promises to make certain parts appear more perky - and shoes ... well, shoes galore.
Before some of you complain, I'm really not picking on us women – we all know men have problems with inney and outey also - I just know females better because I are one, and I've certainly spent time (and, unfortunately, sometimes still do) in the "outey" category more than the "inney."
After all this attention to heads, faces, and bods, is there time to give thought to the grooming and nourishment of the inside of us – our spirits - the “inney”? Are we apt to ingest a thimble-full of the rich nourishment of Scripture occasionally, but give most of our energy, money and time to the daily tending of this shell? Our bodies are aging daily and won’t even enter heaven, folks! (that is, until Jesus does a radical remodel of them at the last trump)?
Don’t let the deceiver claim your mind. Look through the lens of the sword of the Spirit – the Bible – daily. Don’t listen to television or anything else for your game plan – but: “Give your bodies to God because of all he has done for you. Let them be a living and holy sacrifice … Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think” (Rom 12:1-2). NLT
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Vessels
I used to look around the room at the young wives and moms in our class, and think: What a flower garden of women God has created! And he longs to bless each of them for his purposes. Perhaps not in Searcy; he may call some elsewhere to serve. One thing's for certain: their Creator enables each to bloom beautifully for him anywhere. "The godly will flourish like palm trees and grow strong like the cedars of Lebanon. For they are transplanted to the LORD's own house. They flourish in the courts of our God" (Psa 92:12-13).
Before you ask "Just the younger ladies?" No, ALL of God's women are beautiful - even we who are walking much further down the path. Read the next verses: "Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare, 'The LORD is just! He is my rock! There is no evil in him!' "
Satan knows this is God's plan - he tries every conceivable way to block it. One of his most common lies is, "You're too ordinary to do much of anything. Quit dreaming!" Our enemy is also expert in using shame to hold us hostage; we feel unworthy to do anything for God.
Or he urges us to fixate on everything we hate about ourselves. Oh, he really shines here!! How many women lament their body shape (or the lack thereof according to them), skin texture or color, its sagginess, bagginess etc., or their stringy or mule's tail hair. Some feel their families of origin have handicapped them for the rest of their lives, spiritually, emotionally and/or mentally. The devil wants us to blame the Lord for our perceived deficiencies - in our bodies, personalities, emotions, minds and circumstances. If we buy his lies, he has successfully damaged our faith in God's love and wisdom - we begin to suspect God has short-changed us. How could he love me and let me be born to those parents? Or with this horrible birthmark? Or so dumb?
With some of us, aging is the handle Satan uses to pump us dry. It's hard to deal with getting long in the tooth! I struggle with the junk keeping me company as I get older. The deceiver points out my achy joints, my less-than-swift brain action, and lures me to be whiny. He also now and again whispers, "No one wants to hear what you think. Go take a nap instead."
Here's a principle we must, must believe:
It matters not how your bones are arranged, whether you're healthy or ill, to whom you're married, your skin color or its condition thereof, whether you're a new believer or old faithful, kids or no kids, ancient or young ...etc, etc.
GOD CAN USE ALL THAT YOU ARE AS A VESSEL, AND YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES FOR HIS PURPOSES.
And he will use you if you BELIEVE him.
Ready for this? God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God's grace you have been saved!)
For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms ...God can point to us as examples of the incredible wealth of his grace and kindness toward us ... Eph 2:4-7 NLT
Okay, who are we gonna believe - the slanderer, deceiver, diabolos - or the Creator, Sustainer, and Savior who gives us our every breath?
We are vessels. Will we be the kind of vessel that shatters - or implodes - (or rolls in the closet) every time the Master tries to use us?
Our vessel will disintegrate into shards unless we believe God. Believe he has given each of us exactly what we need to serve him. No, we're not perfect - neither are most vessels. Some constructed of metal have dents, ceramic vessls may be chipped. Most of us certainly show some wear, and one or two may even leak. No jokes here. Even the leaky containers can be used -stick dried flowers in them for beauty in your world.
Get that vessel cleaned out, ready for the Master's missions.
Before you ask "Just the younger ladies?" No, ALL of God's women are beautiful - even we who are walking much further down the path. Read the next verses: "Even in old age they will still produce fruit; they will remain vital and green. They will declare, 'The LORD is just! He is my rock! There is no evil in him!' "
Satan knows this is God's plan - he tries every conceivable way to block it. One of his most common lies is, "You're too ordinary to do much of anything. Quit dreaming!" Our enemy is also expert in using shame to hold us hostage; we feel unworthy to do anything for God.
Or he urges us to fixate on everything we hate about ourselves. Oh, he really shines here!! How many women lament their body shape (or the lack thereof according to them), skin texture or color, its sagginess, bagginess etc., or their stringy or mule's tail hair. Some feel their families of origin have handicapped them for the rest of their lives, spiritually, emotionally and/or mentally. The devil wants us to blame the Lord for our perceived deficiencies - in our bodies, personalities, emotions, minds and circumstances. If we buy his lies, he has successfully damaged our faith in God's love and wisdom - we begin to suspect God has short-changed us. How could he love me and let me be born to those parents? Or with this horrible birthmark? Or so dumb?
With some of us, aging is the handle Satan uses to pump us dry. It's hard to deal with getting long in the tooth! I struggle with the junk keeping me company as I get older. The deceiver points out my achy joints, my less-than-swift brain action, and lures me to be whiny. He also now and again whispers, "No one wants to hear what you think. Go take a nap instead."
Here's a principle we must, must believe:
It matters not how your bones are arranged, whether you're healthy or ill, to whom you're married, your skin color or its condition thereof, whether you're a new believer or old faithful, kids or no kids, ancient or young ...etc, etc.
GOD CAN USE ALL THAT YOU ARE AS A VESSEL, AND YOUR CIRCUMSTANCES FOR HIS PURPOSES.
And he will use you if you BELIEVE him.
Ready for this? God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God's grace you have been saved!)
For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms ...God can point to us as examples of the incredible wealth of his grace and kindness toward us ... Eph 2:4-7 NLT
Okay, who are we gonna believe - the slanderer, deceiver, diabolos - or the Creator, Sustainer, and Savior who gives us our every breath?
We are vessels. Will we be the kind of vessel that shatters - or implodes - (or rolls in the closet) every time the Master tries to use us?
Our vessel will disintegrate into shards unless we believe God. Believe he has given each of us exactly what we need to serve him. No, we're not perfect - neither are most vessels. Some constructed of metal have dents, ceramic vessls may be chipped. Most of us certainly show some wear, and one or two may even leak. No jokes here. Even the leaky containers can be used -stick dried flowers in them for beauty in your world.
Get that vessel cleaned out, ready for the Master's missions.
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