The county fair is in town this week. 

It is that special time of year when all things are fair.

My aunt had a famous comeback to my cousins when one of them whined, “But it’s not fair!”  She would respond, “The fair comes to town once a year and the rest of the year, it’s just not fair.”  I’ve used that line many-a-time with my own kids.  For fifty one weeks out of the year, my aunt’s saying is golden.  But for that one week, when it IS fair time, the adage is trouble.

For me a sense of fairness usually comes into play when I’ve been slighted or  overlooked.  I look at someone else’s portion and compare it to mine — always a dangerous game — and feel like I’ve gotten the short end of the deal.  However, when I look at my heaping plate and compare it to someone who has less, rarely do I cry out, “It’s not fair!  I have more than they do!”

This comparing among ourselves gets us into trouble.  But when we start looking heavenward and shaking our finger at God, we’ve gone too far.  The Israelites took it to that level and God delivered a message to them through Jeremiah.  “Do I hear you saying, ‘That’s not fair! God’s not fair!’?  Listen, Israel. I’m not fair? You’re the ones who aren’t fair!”  (Jeremiah 18:25, The Message)  Gulp.  That leads to a good question: How fair am I being to God? 

Considering the cost of His own Son’s death so I could have forgiveness, how fair is it to God when I hold on to ill feelings toward others and refuse to let them go?

Considering the creative genius and intricate detail behind the creation of this world, how fair is it to God when I entertain thoughts that it all just happened by chance?

Considering the provision I enjoy (food I eat, the clothes I wear, the house I live in) how fair is it to God when I think I’ve done pretty well for myself?

I guess my aunt was wrong.  Even when the county fair is on, it’s still not fair.

Who can compare with God, our God, so majestically enthroned, surveying his magnificent heavens and earth? He picks up the poor from out of the dirt, rescues the wretched who’ve been thrown out with the trash.  Psalm 113: 5-7 

Oh yeah.  I got the long end of that deal.

 PB bought an orange tree — it even came in an orange pot.   He brought it home and set it on the deck, tag and all.  The next morning he got up, opened the blinds and looked out the window to behold a miracle.  Oranges!  Big,  juicy, shiny oranges.  What an amazing plant!

It’s hard to admit it when you’ve been fooled.  PB was a good sport, though, confessing that the tagboard citrus fruit looked like the real thing just for a split-second.  Now we get a kick out of pointing out our miraculous orange tree to every unsuspecting guest.  They are so impressed — until they see our smirks and take a closer look.  It may appear to be an orange, but if it doesn’t smell like an orange, or feel like an orange, or taste like an orange, it’s probably not an orange.  Trouble is, looks can be deceiving.   From a distance, that orange tag is pretty convincing.  Zoom out far enough, and what is fake can be mistaken as real.  Maybe that’s why we don’t like to let people get too close.  Our cardboard fruit will be revealed for what it is. 

That little plant sitting outside my kitchen window has become a daily reminder to me: it’s not enough to look like a Jesus-follower.  I had better sound like one and act like one and even smell like one (believers are “the fragrance of life”. 2 Cor. 2:16).   If I want to bear real fruit, it has to come from the real Vine.

I am the vine; you are the branches.  If you remain in Me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.  John 15:5

Our church joined with several others in town for an ecumenical communion service last night.  We listened once again to the story of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.  And once again, a layer was peeled away and a fresh understanding of the old story began to form in my mind.  Hang in there with me as I wander toward a point.

The night of the Last Supper, Jesus knew that “he had come from God and was returning to God.” (John 13:3)  He was fully aware that he was about to leave his group of friends; men with whom he had spent three years, day in and day out.  When I was in high school, I spent a summer on a mission project.  Our team went through a lot together in those few weeks and by the time it was coming to an end, we had grown very close.  Leaving each other was hard and tearful.  How difficult it must have been for Jesus to spend one last night with close friends.  He also knew he was going to be tortured and put to death.  So often, for me, the anticipation of having to go through something difficult is almost as bad as having to actually go through it.  Facing a scary medical test or needing to confront someone on a touchy issue can loom large in my mind before the encounter even takes place.  How heavy must have been the thoughts going through Jesus’ mind that night.

Last evening it became clear to me that Jesus was suffering as he washed his friends’ dirty feet.  He was crushed beneath the weight of saying goodbye, facing a gruesome death and bearing the sin of the world.  Yet in the midst of his own personal suffering, he served.

I’m most likely to serve when I’ve had a good night’s sleep, enjoyed a hot cup of coffee and have a fairly clear schedule.  Even menial tasks like picking up the nursery, putting music back in folders, or washing out coffee pots, are met with a good attitude.  But if I’m not feeling well, or I’m weighed down with worries, or overwhelmed by everything that needs to get done, my servanthood wanes.  It’s hard for me to serve when I’m suffering.

I was reminded of a quote by Calvin Miller: “You are most mature when you minister to others in their pain, without reminding them that you yourself have problems.  To minister to others even when you need ministry is to liberate your soul from small addictions to yourself.” 

Jesus was not addicted to himself. 

I am addicted to myself.

I am most like Jesus when I am not serving myself, but serving others.

I am most like Jesus when I serve others in the middle of my suffering.

Selah

I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you….Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.  John 13:15, 17

I love the way Moses and God talk to each other.  The conversation at the burning bush (Exodus 3) sounds a lot like some talks I’ve had with God.

“Dinah, do such-and-such.”

“What?  Huh?  Who am I to do such-and-such?…….Suppose I do it and something-or-other happens…..then what?…….What if no one listens to me?…….Lord, I’m not good at that…….in fact, I have never been good at that………Please send someone else…..”

Thirty chapters, ten plagues, one deliverance and a lot of manna later, Moses sounds very different.  Instead of making a list of excuses when God tells him to lead the Hebrew people across the desert, the seasoned shepherd simply says, “If You don’t go with us, do not send us at all.”  It seems Moses stopped saying “no” to God when he realized he had the Presence of God.

I like that approach.  In the mornings, when the alarm goes off, I say, “Lord, if you don’t come with me into this day, I’m not going.”  Of course, He promises to never leave us or forsake us (Hebrews 13:5), so eventually my feet hit the floor and we begin the day together.  There hasn’t been one morning when He’s said, “I’m taking the day off, so you’d better just stay in bed.”   Not once.  The assurance of His Presence is what I need to face the day.  No excuses.

The Lord would speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks with his friend.  Exodus 33:11

I didn’t know I had a psoas until today.  Evidently, it was out of whack.   Thanks to my wise and wonderful chiropractor, it’s back where it’s supposed to be, doing what it’s supposed to be doing.  A quick adjustment was all it took.  According to wisegeek.com, “The psoas muscle is a major muscle in the human body, responsible for stabilizing the base of the spine, allowing the spine to flex, and rotating the hips for a free range of movement.”

And I thought I had a pain in the neck. 

This morning’s experience has got me thinking.  How much of my trouble on the surface is really due to a deeper issue?  For instance, if I’m being critical, is there a pride problem attached somewhere underneath?  Or if I get discouraged, am I dealing with an insecurity in the pit of my soul?  Perhaps a bad mood is really indicating a root of selfishness.  Maybe that discontent reveals an ungrateful spirit.  When I’m being a pain in the neck, it might be due to some inner condition that needs attention.

Once again, I am reminded how badly I need to check in regularly with my spiritual Adjuster.  The Holy Spirit is able to look at the outer parts of my life, yet see what is going on down deep.  If I allow Him to tweak those tender spots, I am sure to become free and flexible, better able to serve.  There is no doubt that without His stabilizing presence, I can get all out of whack.

So, how’s your psoas?

Sometimes I think I should have been born in the 1800’s.  I like the clothes they wore; I like the manners they had; mostly, I like the way they talked.  From time to time I read Jane Austen just to get my fix.  When I was out west, Katie and I watched two seasons of “Downton Abbey” which was great fun and made us want to talk in high British accents.  However, there’s nothing quite like reading the language straight from the page and feeling those words roll off the tongue.  Maybe that’s why I was so moved this morning by the following commentary by Alexander MacLaren, a Scottish preacher from the 1850’s.  Read it slowly once or twice and let the truth of his words sink down deep.

“We often court the coming of the evil influence, and are willing to be fascinated and to turn our backs upon Jesus. Mysterious it is, for why should men cast away diamonds for paste? Mysterious it is, for we do not usually drop the substance to get the shadow. Mysterious it is, for man does not ordinarily empty his pockets of gold in order to fill them with gravel. Mysterious it is, for a thirsty man will not usually turn away from the full, bubbling, living fountain, to see if he can find any drops still remaining, green with scum, stagnant and odorous, at the bottom of some broken cistern. But all these follies are sanity as compared with the folly of which we are guilty, times without number, when, having known the sweetness of Jesus Christ, we turn away to the fascinations of the world.”

Mysterious it is, indeed…

“His sheep follow him because they know his voice.”  John 10:4

This week I’ve been studying shepherds. 

They herd sheep. 

Impressive, huh? 

But now I’ve realized my picture of sheep-herders is all wrong.  I usually think of long-robed, bearded bedouins, walking behind a flock of animals pushing them along and keeping them from straying off to the right or left.  My imagination is probably influenced by the old TV westerns where cattle drives were noisy, dusty, chaotic ordeals involving whips and prods and lots of shouting.  Sheep-herders have a different style.

Instead of walking behind their flocks and driving them from the rear, shepherds go out in front of their animals.  As long as the sheep hear the sound of their leader’s voice, they keep following along.  This means, of course, that the shepherd must keep up a steady stream of encouraging words; he never shouts, as that would scare the sheepish bunch and send them running.  Little lambs grow up with the comforting sound of their shepherd’s voice guiding them and as long as they listen, they can trust him to keep them safe.

When I was out west bonding with my new grandson, I observed something amazing.  One day I was in the living room with Hudson, sitting on the couch, looking at his fingers and toes.  I was talking and cooing to him and he was working hard to focus his eyes on me.  Then my daughter walked into the room and said something.  Immediately, Hudson turned his head toward the sound of his mommy’s voice.  He knew that voice!  He was only a week old, but the sound of her words captured his attention. After all, he had been listening to that beautiful sound from his fifteenth week of development.   

So I’m learning that the more I listen, the more familiar the voice of my Shepherd will become.  The more I study His words, the easier it will be to know when He’s speaking.  The better I know Him, the sweeter the sound of The Voice.