Prayers

Posted on August 19, 2015 by dinahoverlien

I used to pray the same bed-time prayer every night. My mom would tuck me in and listen to me recite this verse:

“Day is done, gone the sun, God be with us everyone.”

Then I would go on to “God Bless” everybody — Mommy and Daddy, Grandpas and Grandmas, brothers and sister, cousins and friends.

When our family gathered around the supper table and it was my turn to say the blessing, I always rattled off this little ditty:

“Thank you for the world so sweet,
Thank you for the food we eat,
Thank you for the birds that sing,
Thank you God, for everything.”

My siblings and I each had our own special prayers to recite. I don’t know who chose those little sing-songy verses or they how they got assigned to us. Meals didn’t start until dad called on someone to say grace and we all bowed our heads. For Sunday dinner, my brother would usually get the nod because his prayer was short enough to get in between plays of the Packer game:

“God is great, God is good. Let us thank him for our food. Amen.”

My prayers have changed since those days, but sometimes I still feel like I’m saying the same things over and over again. If I’m getting bored with the way I pray, I wonder how God feels. I have a lot to learn here.

Prayer is one of those topics that tend to induce guilt (“I know I should pray more.”) or anxiety (“I don’t have to pray out loud, do I?”) or doubt (Does it really make a difference?”). Prayer can seem mysterious, but as Billy Graham once said, “Prayer is simply a conversation between you and God.” And most of us are pretty good at talking. Listening, on the other hand, can be a problem.

This fall I’m going to be leading a Bible study on prayer, so expect the topic to come up here in the coming weeks. I don’t expect to have an answer for every question about prayer or attempt to solve this thing once and for all. Instead, my hope is that we will take a step forward in enjoying our relationship with our loving Father, who wants to chat with us awhile every day.

Hear my prayer, O God; listen to the words of my mouth. Psalm 54:2

It’s Time

Posted on August 14, 2015 by dinahoverlien

Sometime this summer, this old clock stopped ticking.

Actually, it’s not an old clock. It’s a $5.99 clock from Ikea.

I remember the day it happened.

One of my grands dipped it in the bathtub until the 5, 6, and 7 were drowning.

I dried it off and set it back on my desk, but the ticker was silent.

I guess you could say that sometime this summer, I kinda stopped ticking, too.

I don’t know when it happened.

Maybe I was drowning in funerals (5) and weddings (6) and fun activities (at least 7).

I allowed myself to be silent for awhile.

Today I picked up that clock, wiped off the soap scum, twirled those hands around, and gave it a shake.

The ticking returned! The rhythm is back!

My clock came back to life!

So I figure it’s telling me to do the same —

dust off the dander, limber up my hands, and breath some life back into small drop.

May the click of ideas and the rhythm of words return.

It’s time.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

Novocaine

Posted on July 22, 2015 by dinahoverlien

God bless Alfred Einhorn, who developed the pain-killer Novocaine in 1905.

I was the lucky recipient of a syringe full of the merciful magical anesthetic today.

For the past two weeks, I haven’t been chewing on my left side. Because it hurts. Okay, maybe it’s more like four weeks. So, being the adult that I am, I made a dentist appointment. Making that call required an enormous amount of self-control due to a traumatic dental history.

My mother took me to a small-town dentist near our home when I was very young. His office was above a store and we walked up creaky wooden stairs and through a creaky wooden door. The dentist had very thick glasses which made his eyes look huge. There was no dental assistant, no laughing gas, and no novocaine.

That’s right. I said no novocaine.

Once when he was drilling my tooth, he hit a nerve and I fainted dead-away in the chair. He picked me up and carried me in his arms out to the small waiting room. I’ve always wondered what my mother thought at the sight of her limp little girl. All I remember is coming to with smelling salts and his magnified eyes inches from my face.

Hence, the four (ok, maybe six) weeks of no chewing on my left side.

Today, as I sat in the dentist’s chair and felt my tongue and cheek go numb, I was grateful. Not for the Novocaine, but for a Savior that refused the pain-killer, because He was determined to be a sin-killer. As Charles Spurgeon, my favorite old dead guy wrote, “To us, sensations such as our Lord endured would have been insupportable, and kind unconsciousness would have come to our rescue; but in His case, He was wounded, and felt the sword; He drained the cup and tasted every drop.”

“They offered him wine mixed with myrrh, but he did not take it.” Mark 15:23

Vacation

Posted on June 6, 2015 by dinahoverlien

Today,

I smell a yellow rose,

drink coffee from a smiley cup,

and watch PB read the paper across the table.

No deep thoughts,

no pressing demands,

no duties to perform.

I am taking a vacation

from myself.

“Come away with me to a quiet place and get some rest.” Mark 6:31

Hall of Fame

Posted on May 20, 2015 by dinahoverlien

Last Sunday our church honored those brave, hardy souls that came week after week to teach squirrelly children about the love of Jesus in Sunday school. These are people who intentionally chose to not sleep in on Sunday mornings for a good nine months. They volunteered knowing that antsy little boys and chatty little girls would ask unbelievably hard questions about God and life and the universe. Some of our teachers who serve week after week also have been faithful year after year. If there was a Sunday School Teacher Hall of Fame, I would have several inductees.

Being a Sunday school teacher can be daunting and thankless. So, at the close of the school year, we sing the praises of these unsung heroes.

After applauding the sacrifice and dedication of these wonderful people, the congregation settled in for PB’s sermon. He was preaching on Hebrews 11 – the great “Faith Hall of Fame” chapter. The writer names several giants of the faith like Abraham and Moses, but ends the chapter with many unnamed saints who “faced jeers and flogging, while still others were chained and put in prison. They were stoned, they were sawed in two; they were put to death by the sword.”

That jarring statement suddenly made teaching Sunday school look pretty tame.

So far, not one of our teachers has been sawed in two.

What we call “sacrifice”, the saints of old might have called “privilege”, “opportunity to serve”, or even “joy”. Until I am chained and put in prison, maybe I better rethink the use of the word “sacrifice”.

High Heaven

Posted on May 13, 2015 by dinahoverlien

There’s been a mysterious smell in our house. It didn’t matter how many candles I lit, how many plug in air fresheners I plugged in, or how much Oust I sprayed. The foul odor lingered. It was especially strong near the kitchen, by the back door, in the closet.

This is the broom/mop/dog food/light bulb/batteries/wasp spray/duct tape/spray cleaner/recycle bin/plastic and paper bags/vacuum cleaner/ toilet brush/miscellaneous box closet. Did I mention there is a refrigerator in there, too?

It’s a big closet.

I also keep potatoes and onions in the stackable baskets.

Hence the stink.

I kept dropping hints to PB like, “Gosh, where could that awful stench be coming from?” Or “Did you step in something, dear?” I even tried to appeal to his curiosity by whispering, “There’s something in the closet and I think it’s dead.” He didn’t bite.

This was going to be my battle to fight.

In the dark recesses of the catch-all closet, I was momentarily startled by what I thought was a one-legged spider, but it was just a sad, shriveled potato.

It stunk to high heaven.

Funny how such a little thing,

ignored for months in a dark closet,

can produce such a foul smell.

“Be tender with sinners, but not soft on sin.

Sin itself stinks to high heaven.” Jude 1:23

Connected

Posted on May 5, 2015 by dinahoverlien

See these nice sturdy cement block walls?

They are built to last.

See these durable ceiling tiles?

They are firmly fixed in place.

And outlets? How many outlets does one building wing need?

Back in 1965, nobody was thinking about wireless internet connections.

The word “internet” didn’t even make the dictionary until twenty years later.

Today, a nice young man came to look things over and help us set up Wi-Fi.

He spent two and a half hours walking around, taking pictures and jotting down notes. Pages and pages of notes.

Bless him. He’s got his work cut out.

I’m sure glad the Spirit of God isn’t hindered by brick walls or immovable tiles. I’m so relieved I don’t need wires or ethernets or modems or routers.

I just need to say, “Abba, Father.”

Connected.

Quench

Posted on April 28, 2015 by dinahoverlien

More than once, I’ve been accused of throwing a “wet blanket” on a creative idea. And rightly so. I can’t help it. When a brilliant notion is presented to me, I seem to think it’s my job to point out all the problems that could arise. I’m just offering a dose of reality to balance out the brilliance. Unfortunately, my input can be received as discouragement. I really don’t like being a “Debbie Downer” but somebody has to speak truth into the mix. Right? (Somebody agree with me.)

Because I’m married to an “idea” man, I’m learning (over 36 years) to hold off on dousing wild and wonderful ideas with my wet blanket. Here’s why: I’m learning that…

1) …even if it’s not my idea, it can still be a good idea.

2) …when a scheme challenges my comfort zone, it might be good for me.

3) …I don’t know everything. (No surprise there.)

4) …sometimes faith means doing things that don’t make sense to me.

Paul wrote in 1 Thessalonians 5:19, “Do not quench the Spirit.” In other words, I shouldn’t throw a wet blanket on what the Spirit of God is prompting me to do. Whether it’s to send a note to someone who needs a lift, or whether it’s to bring up Jesus in a conversation with an unbeliever, it’s never my job to question the Holy Spirit. My job is to listen, trust, and step out in faith and obedience.

I’m trying to trade in my wet blanket for a fan.

“I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you…” 2 Tim. 1:6

Half A Cup

Posted on April 16, 2015 by dinahoverlien

When I was seven years old, our family went to New York City. One of my memories from that trip was having breakfast at a small diner in Manhattan. My wide-eyes had never seen anything like it. The waitress was yelling out orders, the cook was yelling right back, people were yelling for more coffee…it was New York City mayhem at it’s finest. There was more noise and chaos in that little place than I had seen in all my seven years on the farm. At one point, the waitress was moving so fast that she knocked over a tray of empty coffee cups. She picked up one cup that was broken clean in half down the middle, held it up in the air and shouted, “Who wants half a cup?!” The customers broke out in laughter and cheers, so we did too. When in New York……

I thought of that story the other day when I was reading Philippians 3. This is such a great chapter that I’m putting some of it to memory, starting with verse 10. “I want to know Christ and the power of his resurrection…” Coming off of Easter and a fresh sense of wonder and awe at Christ’s resurrection, this verse sends goose bumps up my spine. What would it be like to really know the kind of power that could take a dead, beaten, bloody body and breath life back into it? Wow. Count me in — I want to have that Very. Same. Power.

Verse 10 isn’t done, though.

“….and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings…”

Wait. What?

Hold on just a second.

Power? Yes, please!

Suffering? *crickets*

Who wants half a verse?

Like the shattered cup, half holds nothing.

True power rises up out of true suffering.

And actually, our hurts and disappointments are just a share of what Christ suffered….

and honestly, fellowship thrives when brothers and sisters carry each other’s burdens.

Jesus took the whole cup.

I should, too.

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Reflecting God's Heart, Refreshing Yours

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