Monthly Archives: March 2010

Psalm 59:0

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Before Psalm 59 actually begins, the composer jots down some notes:

For the director of music. To the tune of “Do Not Destroy”. Of David. A miktam. When Saul had sent men to watch David’s house in order to kill him.

This interesting side note is not assigned a verse number, but it sure sets the scene. David is peeking out between the curtains at night and sees King Saul’s gangsters are back again. They are like mad dogs, lurking in the shadows, waiting for a chance to attack. David knows he is on the top of Saul’s hit list and that the thugs are there to assassinate him. 1 Samuel 19:11 verifies the story: “Saul sent men to David’s house to watch it and to kill him in the morning.”

So what does David do? What any man would do in that situation. He picks up his pen and journal and writes lyrics to a song that’s been going through his head all day! Instead of sharpening his sword and forming an escape plan, David writes. He sets down before God everything that is on his mind. “Deliver me! Save me! Protect me!” and “Bring them down! Consume them in your wrath! Show no mercy!” His fear and his desire for revenge pour out in complete honesty. Once all that is off his chest and he has cleared his head, his heart is able to speak: “I sing praise to you; you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.”

That’s what I love about David. He always comes back around to praise and worship. Even when his house is surrounded by hit men sent by the king, he finds a song to sing. Even when his life is in utter chaos, David is confident in his God.

I need to remember David’s example when all my worries howl at me in the night and nip at my heels. After I’ve cried and complained to God, I need to remember to come back around and wrap it all up with praise. And when I can’t come up with praise-filled words of my own, I’ll borrow some from David.

Bunny Blood

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Bunny Blood probably isn’t the best title, being so close to celebrating Easter and all. But that’s what this story is about.

When I was ten years old, I was sure that I wanted to grow up to be a veterinarian. Living on a farm, there were plenty of cats and dogs and bunnies to care for. One spring I had 2 rabbits that quickly turned into 32 bunnies, giving me a classic farm girl lesson on reproduction. That summer I found a sickly little abandoned baby raccoon and tried with all my might to nurse it back to health. Bandit, the raccoon, would drink formula from a doll’s bottle. His little clawed feet would wrap around my fingers as he sucked away. Unfortunately, the little critter didn’t recover and there was a funeral service in the pet cemetery.

When my 4-H club offered a Veterinary Science project, I signed right up. The meetings would be held in a real vet’s office in town and I was positive this was the start of my future career. The night of the first class arrived and my mom dropped me off. I noticed most of the other kids were a lot older but I was excited! A real vet’s office! With all kinds of cute dogs and cats and bunnies! In fact, the first animal the vet brought out was a white rabbit; it looked a lot like the one in my hutch at home. The doctor was pointing out all the body parts and I was right up in front, eagerly following along.

The frantic look in the eyes of that cute bunny should have tipped me off. Or maybe I should have read the description of this class more carefully the day I signed up. A realization slowly came over me. As the vet arranged various sharp utensils on his tray, I began to sweat. The impending doom of what was about to happen made me dizzy and I backed up behind a bigger kid. All of a sudden, the bunny murderer committed his crime. As the now lifeless rabbit lay on the table and the fluffy white fur began to soak up the red blood, the room started spinning. I stumbled out.

I went outside and sat on the steps of the vet’s office and cried. While all the other kids were inside learning about the heart and lungs and digestive system of small mammals, I was crying my eyes out. I never went back to that class and I never talked about being a veterinarian again.

There’s something about seeing the blood. It makes some of us cringe, others pass out. I’ve seen a few very graphic films on the crucifixion of Jesus. It’s still the blood that makes me cry. The blood of the lamb on the doorposts, the blood of the Lamb on the cross – such a high price to pay. His life for mine. It’s a good thing that the Easter story doesn’t end with the cross and a bloody Savior. A resurrected Lord with a new, cleaned-up body is what gives me hope for my sin-stained heart.

What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus

What can make me whole again? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.

The Letter

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A few weeks ago, when I went out to the mailbox to get the mail, tucked between the credit card offers and the bills, there was a letter. It was an actual handwritten letter on real paper. I hadn’t received one of those in a very long time. I get lots of emails each week and text messages every day, but a handwritten letter is pretty rare and I felt honored to have one in my hands.

I started thinking about letters that I have saved over the years; love letters from my husband, special cards from friends, and summer camp postcards from the kids. I have a box of letters my dad wrote home to his parents during WWII. Those 965 yellowed pages tell an amazing story and are so precious to me. I don’t get too nostalgic deleting old emails or texts, but there’s just something about hand-written letters that seems worth preserving.

Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “You are a letter from Christ, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the Living God.” We are letters to those around us, meant to be personal and with a story to share. I expect some days I am more like junk mail, delivering my bad mood or selfishness to those around me. Other days I may be more like an annoying unpaid bill, pointing out what someone owes me or keeping track of others’ wrongs. Sometimes I’m short and hurried and come off as an impersonal text or email.

Jesus wants us to be the letters; the special, personal, keepsake-type. Like it or not, we are “known and read by everybody” (2 Corinthians 3:2). So, it really does matter what kind of message we are delivering.

Job 36:16, 19

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This morning’s reading: Job 36:16,19 “He is wooing you from the jaws of distress to a spacious place free from restriction….  Would your wealth or even all your mighty efforts sustain you so you would not be in distress?”

Stress. Stress wants to chew me up and spit me out. So why do I need to be wooed away from the jaws of stress? Why do I fight to remain in this tight, stuffy, confining place where I can’t breath or move? Why do I need to be gently pursued and persuaded to shake free of  pressure and tension? Money and effort generally lead to more distress for me. And mighty effort is an invitation for a burn-out breakdown.

A spacious place free from restriction. Now that’s more like it.  Woo me, Lord.