Without trees, you’d be dead. Within minutes of your first breath, you’d get dizzy and nauseated and lose consciousness. Poisonous gas would overtake you and kill you. The whole human race would be extinct if it weren’t for trees.
Aren’t you thankful for them?
I love trees. They have always been my favorite part of the natural world. Now I know why. They keep me alive.
In early elementary grades, the scientific process of photosynthesis is introduced.
The concept is expanded in advanced science classes, but this is all you really need to know. Tree leaves suck up the lethal carbon dioxide that humans exhale. Sunlight turns the poison into life-giving oxygen that humans inhale.
Brilliant!
“The average human exhales about 2.3 pounds of carbon dioxide on an average day. Take this number and multiply by a population of 7 billion people, breathing away for 365.25 days per year, and you get an annual CO2 output of 2.94 billion tons.”*
Trees are hard workers. They carry out their God-given purpose with no problem. God bless them.
But beyond their scientific, ecological and atmospheric value, trees do something else—they preach the gospel.
Jesus hung on a tree, soaked up my deadly sin, poured out His light, and transferred His breath of life into me.
I call this photo-sin-thesis.
CO2 —> O2 Death —> Life It’s the great exchange. As we approach Holy Week, let’s take our stand beneath the cross of Jesus and breathe deep of the wonders of His redeeming love.
“Jesus offered Himself in exchange for everyone held captive by sin, to set them all free.” 1 Timothy 2:4-5
Join me for some thoughts as we approach Holy Week and the crucifixion of Christ, followed by Resurrection Sunday. I pray these short devotions will help us contemplate the hours that led to the cross.
Also airing on WCNP FM 89.5 at 8:30 a.m., 12:30 p.m., and 5:30 p.m. (give or take a few minutes) and streaming at wcnpfm.org on Monday-Friday of this week and next week.
Recently I read that people have, on average, about 4000 weeks to live. I’m hoping for a few more than that, as 4000 weeks only gets me to about 77 years. I’m aiming for 4,680 weeks. You can do the math.
The idea intrigued me. What would 4000 weeks look like? I had to know, so I made a chart with each dot representing one week. Here’s what my life looks like in dots—each color marks a decade.
See those dark pink dots? Those are my 20s. Five hundred and twenty blue dots cover my 30s. My 40s are shown by yellow dots and purple dots represent my 50s. I’m well into my orange-dot-decade.
See that little heart around that green dot? That’s when PB and I got married. We’ve shared a lot of dots since then, and I’m so grateful.
Every Sunday I draw another tiny circle in another tiny square, step back, and take a long look at my life. I say, “Thank You Lord, for Your faithfulness to me over weeks, years, and decades.”
Then I look at the empty spaces yet to be filled in and say, “Lord, help me to be faithful to You until my dots run out.”
It occurred to me this morning that truly, truly, my dots will go on forever and ever.
“I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me wil never die.” John 11:25
When I was an elementary school student, I thought time began in 1492. I surmised that the written record of history began with the ditty, “Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 1492.”
That’s because every fall, when we cracked open our American Heritage history books, chapter one was all about the discovery of America. I didn’t know what happened before 1492 until I went to high school, and then I still didn’t have a grasp on the sweep of history. It wasn’t until I began teaching my own children that ancient history began to make sense.
Early in our homeschooling days, I made a timeline that wrapped around our dining room and stretched up and down the hallway. Contributions to our homemade timeline were added every year: Katie’s favorite books and authors, Sam’s sports facts, Anna’s musicians and Jacob’s inventors. Ancient Egypt, ancient Greece, and ancient Rome took their place as we began to see the span of time come to life before our eyes. I sure learned a lot in our little schoolhouse. That’s why I still get a thrill out of stumbling upon a story plucked out of the annals of time—especially when that historical narrative has eternal overtones. Like this one:
In 1591, Spanish conquistador Hernan Cortez landed on the shores of Mexico with 600 men. Legend has it that after landing, Cortez ordered the ships to be burned. As the men saw their way of escape go up in smoke, they understood it was all or nothing. Conquer or die trying.
Maybe that happened. Maybe it didn’t. But it’s a story worth pondering.
I tend to make back-up plans. If I never tell anyone my big dreams, then it doesn’t matter if they never come to fruition. I like to keep an itty-bitty loophole open if things don’t work out the way I hoped. I keep the boat in the harbor in case I want to sail away at the last minute. The problem with back-up plans and loopholes is that they keep me from going all in.
Pastor Mark Batterson wrote, “If Jesus is not Lord of all then Jesus is not Lord at all. It’s all or nothing. It’s now or never. For many years, I thought I was following Jesus. I wasn’t. I had invited Jesus to follow me. I call it inverted Christianity. And it’s a subtle form of selfishness that masquerades as spirituality. That’s when I sold out and bought in. When did we start believing that the gospel is an insurance plan? It’s a daring plan. Jesus did not die just to keep us safe. He died to make us dangerous.”
I have decided to follow Jesus. I have decided to follow Jesus. I have decided to follow Jesus. No turning back. No turning back.
Be dangerous. Burn your boats.
“Any of you who does not give up everything he has cannot be my disciple.” Luke 14:33 “Whatever you do, do it with all your heart.” Colossians 3:23
To be clear, I’m not referring to job (JAWB) insecurity. My position as keeper of the checkbook, CEO of all laundry-related business, and boss of menus and grocery shopping is fairly secure.
No, I’m talking about Job (JOBE) insecurity.
According to my 2024 Bible Reading Plan, I am spending February and March in the book of Job. I thought this weighty and rather somber book would be appropriate during the serious season of Lent. As we approach Passion week and the suffering of Christ, it seems like the right time to sit with Job.
Over the past few years, I’ve managed to read through most of the Bible. Except Job. I left him for last. His book makes me feel a little insecure. Why? Because there are a whole lot of tough questions and not very many answers. It’s not for the faint of heart.
There are 270 questions in the book of Job, to be exact. Job asks 122 questions. Job’s friends ask 83 questions. God asks 65 questions.
It’s a hard book to read. It’s a hard book to understand. It’s a hard book to love.
If you are reading along with me and feel the same way, let’s get some help.
The first place I go when starting to read a book of the Bible is straight to The Bible Project guys. They produce short, engaging summaries of each book that are very helpful. For those of us scratching our heads and saying, “What the heck is going on with Job?” check out this 11 minute video.
If you geek out on books about the Bible, like I do, I highly recommend Trusting God in the Darkness: A Guide to Understanding the Book of Job by Christopher Ash. In the Preface, he writes, “If you have never done so (read Job), my prayer is that this short study will help you find a way in. If you have ventured in but got bogged down and confused, I hope this introduction will signpost the main roads.” Ash delivers in this easy-to-read, thoughtful book.
More from Christopher Ash:
Job is a fireball book. It is a staggeringly honest book. It is a book that knows what people actually say and think—and not just what they say publicly in church. It knows what people say behind closed doors and in whispers, and it knows what we say in our tears. It is not merely an academic book. If we listen to it with any care, it will touch, trouble, and unsettle us at a deep level.
I’m not ashamed to say I need help with a fireball book like Job. I’m willing be touched, troubled and unsettled, as long as I’m holding someone’s hand. So I offer you mine as we read, come to understand a little more, and maybe even grow to love this unique part of God’s Word.
Here’s one take-away for me in the first 14 chapters: Job’s friends were better companions when they sat with Job in silence. Things went south when they started talking. Trite answers and shaded accusations were not helpful to Job.
Sometimes people need presence more than words.
If you are reading Job along with me, what are your take-aways?
Ash Wednesday and Valentine’s Day collided yesterday. The juxtaposition of these two holidays was like having a funeral and a wedding on the same day. Can a person grieve and rejoice at the same time? I hope so, because happiness and sadness often walk hand in hand.
My grandparents were married in December of 1919. Five days before their wedding, my grandpa’s mother took her own life. She left a husband and five children, including a 14 year old daughter and an eight year old son. And my grandpa. There was a funeral on Tuesday and a wedding on Thursday.
Ash Wednesday is a day to remember we are but dust. Valentine’s Day is a day to recognize the wonder of being loved. We can hold both of these truths together at the same time. We are loved dust.
The ashes remind us to hug a little tighter kiss a little longer be a little sweeter try a little harder. “Teach us to use wisely all the time we have.” Ps. 90:12
The hearts remind us that love is a gift often given in the midst of sacrifice. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8
I hope you had a Happy Dusty Valentine’s Day. May we all find love in the ashes.
PB and I have four kids, two daughters-in-law, two sons-in-law and eleven grands. That makes twenty-one of us when we all get together. Now it seems we have our first, and only, lefty in the bunch. That means 4.7% of our clan is left-handed, well below the population average of 10%.
Lots of famous people favored their left, including Leonardo da Vinci, Napoleon Bonaparte and Babe Ruth. Five of the last eight presidents were lefties. Of all professional sports, baseball has one of the highest left-to-right ratios at 30% and southpaw pitchers dominate on the mound. Both of our sons bemoaned the fact that they were right-handed pitchers. They thought we shirked our parental duty by not tying their right hands behind their backs as toddlers.
Even in Bible times, having lefties in your army was highly advantageous. Seven hundred men were chosen among the Benjamite tribe who were left-handed, “each of whom could sling a stone at a hair and not miss.” (Judges 20:16) Sign ’em up.
It appears that God has a dominant right hand. At least, that’s how the Old Testament poets and prophets view Him. Over 60 times in the Psalms, the Lord’s right hand is extolled. God saves, sustains, upholds, seizes foes, achieves awesome deeds, and holds victorious power—all with His strong right hand. When Jesus ascended, He sat down at the right hand of the Father. (Ephesians 1:20) In heaven, we will experience eternal pleasures at the Lord’s right hand. (Psalm 16:11)
What’s up with all this right vs. left hand business?
According to early Jewish thought, the right hand was considered to be more prestigious. This general rule that the right should take precedence over the left was carried into every aspect of Jewish life. They went a little overboard with the whole idea. Rules were put into place that commanded people to wash their right hand before their left hand. They had to put their clothes on in prescribed ways (right sandal first, then left; right arm in the tunic first, then left). The rabbis even advised that when in doubt on which way to turn on a road, take a right.
This preference for the right hand was perpetuated by the teaching that the right represented the attribute of kindness, while the left represented severity. If a person was faced with a situation in which a decision had to be made between kindness or severity, kindness was always the right choice.
God has a strong and mighty right hand. And left hand. He’ll kindly take either one of ours when we reach out to Him.
“For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.” Isaiah 41:13
The past few years, I’ve done a short recap at the end of each month. I read through my journal entries and go over the calendar. Then I make a short bullet point list of the highlights as well as the challenges. At the end of the year, I sit PB down and read off the events of the past twelve months. It’s a good way to look back on what life brought our way—joys, struggles, answers to prayer, areas of growth. Did I learn anything in January? Here’s another list.
1. One of my goals for 2024 is to build a good home library, so I spent a few days sorting, culling out, and re-arranging. The books on marriage and parenting got the boot, along with fluffy fiction and twaddle. (Twaddle = nonsense, foolish, insignificant or trivial.) I went to a library book sale and bought a classic for $1. I’m on my way.
2. What happens when you rent a lock-box at a bank and you lose both keys? You have to swallow your pride, confess, and pay big bucks to have someone come to drill out the lock. This is especially painful for someone who thinks she is quite organized. The marriage certificate, birth certificates and treasured hand-written letters are safe (I hope) at home in our little safe that will be forever left unlocked.
3. It seems our extended families are at the point where we gather mostly at funerals. While these are sad events, they are also mixed with the joy of being with loved ones we don’t see often. We had a lovely time visiting with our niece and nephew at their grandmother’s memorial service luncheon. These two kids surprised us by being all grown up. We probably surprised them by being older and gray-haired. PB and I refrained from saying, “I changed your diapers once.” At least I did.
4. Winter is different this year. Two snowstorms and long strings of cloudy days don’t seem to be bothering me or dragging down my mood. I can honestly say I’m enjoying winter more this year, maybe because I don’t have to go places very often. I’m quite content being cozy with some books and a cup of tea. I’d make a good monk. PB needs a little more excitement, so he goes to Menards a few times a week.
5. A friend celebrated her birthday this month and instead of just wishing her a happy birthday, I asked her to pass on to her parents my heart-felt thanks for giving her life and raising her to be such a wonderful human. Wouldn’t that be a nice birthday custom? I wouldn’t mind getting a card on my kids’ birthdays saying, “Good job with that one!”
6. I’ve had a fountain pen in my drawer for a few years. I decided it was time to be like Jo March and get some ink on my fingers. After writing a few lines in my journal with the beautiful pen, I snapped the cap on and put it back. It’s un-erasable, a tough hurdle for this perfectionist. Sometimes I write a word and think, “My goodness, that’s ugly” and go back, erase the word, and make it beautiful. I do love the feel of that pen in my hand, though, and there is delight in the scritch-scratch of nib on paper. I will use it for a one-sentence summary of each day in a smaller notebook. And hopefully, get a little ink on my fingertips.
7. I’m learning a TON listening to The Bible Project’s year-long series on “The Sermon on the Mount.” I’m reveling in how the sermon is broken into three parts: the intro, the body and the conclusion. And how each of the three parts is broken down into three parts. And how those three parts have three parts. It makes for a lovely color-coded chart. Trying to take in all the goodness in this extended study reminds me of a poet’s words, “Tell it to me, tell it to me, all of it! I guzzle with outstretched ears!”
8. I keep a list of names of people I am praying for, mostly family members and friends. Sometimes I remember to lift up our government leaders, service men and women, and pastors. I don’t usually have actors on my prayer list. But I do now. After watching the Netflix documentary series “Jonathan and Jesus” I added Jonathan Roumie to my list. Roumie plays the part of Jesus on “The Chosen” and, hoo-boy, the weight of responsibility in portraying that character is incredibly heavy. I’ve even added directors, cast, and crew to the docket.
9. When friends are going through tests and troubles, I’ve learned to stop saying, “I’ll be praying for you.” Too many times I’ve used that phrase to close a conversation or as an exit line. Instead, I’m learning to say, “I’ve set my alarm to go off at the top of every hour today and this is what I’m specifically praying for you——” Instead of texting a cliche, like “Thinking of you and praying,” I might text the actual prayer. We can send some power through those EMFs.
10. Quote of the month: “Abiding is a humble, gentle persistency in attending to Jesus and only to Him, and a kind of unyielding yieldedness to Him alone.” Leighton Ford, The Attentive Life
In what seems like many lifetimes ago, I was a college student working toward a degree in vocal music. I learned how to round my vowels and breathe from my diaphragm. I learned the solfeg system and how to recognize half-diminished seventh chords. I modulated and transposed and notated. I practiced the harmonic minor scale, the pentatonic scale and the whole-tone scale. In my senior recital I sang Bach in English, Faure in French, and Puccini in Italian.
The music degree required two years of piano instruction. I had taken years of piano lessons as a youngster, even though I begged my parents to let me quit. I even went so far as to safety-pin notes to my mom and dad’s bedsheets so when they turned down the covers one night, they were faced with a barrage of petitions, such as “Please let me quit piano,” and “I hate piano lessons,” and “Just because my sister took piano lessons doesn’t mean I should have to.”
They did not give in. And I’m so glad.
I had a fantastic piano teacher in college named Mrs. Grill. I never once was tempted to pin notes to her bedsheets. I didn’t want to quit taking lessons from her, even after graduation. She pushed me beyond what I thought were my limits—I was convinced I couldn’t play music with sharps. Flats were no problem, but sharps? No way. Until Mrs. Grill assigned me Canciones Y Danzas by Federico Mompou.
Not just one sharp, not two, not three, but four sharps. And I learned to play the piece! And memorize it! And perform it in a recital! Dear Mrs. Grill. I couldn’t have done it without her.
One of my goals for 2024 is to play Mompou’s “Song and Dance No. 5” once again. Right now, I’m stumbling and bumbling my way through it. Right hand alone, then left hand alone, then slowly together. I may never play it with the same confidence I had over 40 years ago. But then, I don’t have Mrs. Grill encouraging me every week.
I’m learning the joy of doing something just for the love of it—not to pass a class or fulfill requirements or even perform for an audience. Sometimes I still need to be pushed beyond what I think is possible. On the other side of practicing scales and finger exercises, there is delight.
The Psalmist said, “But his delight is in the law of the Lord and on His law he meditates day and night.” (Psalm 1:2) The disciplines of regular prayer and scripture reading can seem to drag on, but then suddenly, there are days when it is pure delight.
Don’t stop. Keep walking (and practicing) every day.
These frigid, dreary days of midwinter can be challenging.
Some of us slowly plug away at winter projects in the basement, take an afternoon nap, and heave great sighs of general antsy-ness.
Some of us slowly type away on writing projects on the computer, read English novels, and heave great sighs of contentment.
To inject a little joy into our hum-drum days, I’ve started a new tradition—tea time.
Between 2:30 p.m. and 3:00 p.m., (depending on the length of the nap) the tea kettle goes on, the tea biscuits come out, and PB humors me by being a good sport. It’s a fun little break in the day. I don’t make him lift his pinky finger or speak in an English accent (although I want to so badly). He would rather be in the woods or in the garage or…. probably anywhere else, but alas, the wind chill is dangerous and the garage is not heated. So he’s stuck inside with me, drinking Hot Cinnamon Spice Tea and munching on shortbread biscuits.
a small drop of ink 