Category Archives: Devo Drops

Thoughts on daily devotional scripture readings

Love in the Ashes

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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.



Right Hand Rules

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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

Song and Dance

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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.

Bema

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My spell-check is trying to change Bema to Beam, but I have overcome. I have no thoughts to share on beams, but I do have something to say about the Bema.

What’s a “Bema”? Glad you asked. Here comes a history lesson.

The places of worship back in Jesus’ day looked nothing like our modern churches. In 1st century Israel, every village had a synagogue. And every synagogue had a Bema.

Synagogues were large, fairly plain spaces, where Jewish people gathered to worship Yahweh. Around the edges of the room were benches, like mini-bleachers, made of stone. Important people sat on the benches, while the common people sat on the floor, which was usually made of dirt or flagstone. In the center of the room was a small, slightly raised platform called the Bema. In the middle of the platform was a pedestal on which one of the Torah scrolls was placed. (Torah = the first five books of the Old Testament.) Someone would step up onto the Bema and read the Word of the LORD to the congregation.

On the Sabbath, the community came and gathered around the scriptures. The Word of God took center-stage. Because people were sitting in a circle around the Bema, they were able to look each other in the eyes. Each one could contribute to the discussion that followed the reading, although if a rabbi or special guest was in attendance, he was invited to speak.

As the disciples took the gospel to the Gentiles, many of the early Christians were Greek. Over time, the Greek influence was seen in Christian churches that were designed to accommodate larger groups, with a stage in front and rows of seats for an audience. As more time passed, the Bema was replaced by a pulpit. Worship consisted of sitting passively, looking at the back of others’ heads while professionals led from the stage. While scripture was still an important part of the worship service, most of the time was spent listening to one person expound. In Colonial America, a minister’s sermon could last several hours.

This may sound radical, but what if we went back to looking more like a synagogue than a theater? What if everyone came to worship ready to contribute? What if we beamed (!) a spotlight on the Bema?

It’s a crazy idea.

Your Word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.
Psalm 119:105

Note of Thanks

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I used to make my kids write thank you notes. I was a firm believer that birthday money from Grandma or a Christmas present from Auntie deserved acknowledgement and gratitude. The notes were written in very large letters and usually ran along these lines:

Dear Grandma,
Thank you for the birthday money.
Thanks again!
Love,
Your favorite grandchild

The kids didn’t put a lot of thought or creativity into their sentiments. I didn’t care. I just wanted them to develop the habit of saying “thank you.” It was important to put the simple, terse words down on paper in actual handwriting. Emails, texts, and phone calls would not suffice. That would be too easy. Instead, the scritch-scratch of pencil on cardstock, the crooked address on the envelope and the licked stamp says, “I took the time to do this because I am serious about being grateful.”

Call me old-fashioned.

This year, I’m proposing a new, old-fashioned tradition.
Write a thank you note to God.

Put the pen to paper and jot down a few sincere words of appreciation. Instead of extemporaneous spoken prayers or recited doxologies, give it some thought and maybe a little creativity. A yearly record of gratitude at Thanksgiving could stand as a witness to generations yet unborn.

If you need some inspiration, open to Psalm 106, 107, 118, 0r 136. They all begin with the same line: “Give thanks to the Lord for He is good.” That’s an excellent place to start.

No Thanks

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Thanksgiving is two weeks away! It’s time to buy a turkey, dig out my gravy-splattered recipe cards, and one other thing….oh yeah! Give thanks.

Being thankful and saying “thank you” are two different things. I am struck by how genuinely grateful people seem to be this time of year, yet not many know whom to thank. It’s like appreciating the feast laid out on the table without saying “thank you” to the cook. Knowing Whom to thank makes all the difference.

In November, my Bible automatically opens to Luke 17 where the healing of ten men leaves Jesus asking questions. I make note of all questions when they appear in the Bible, but when the Son of God puts forth a query, I sit up and pay attention.

“Were not all ten cleansed?
Where are the other nine?”
Luke 17:17

The account begins with Jesus going into a village and being met by ten men who had leprosy. They stood at a distance and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

This poor, pathetic group of outcasts must have recognized Jesus from afar. They seemed to know He had healing power, although all they asked for was pity. No one in the group of ten dared to draw near to the Master, but kept their distance and yelled out at Him. Jesus yelled back and they were cleansed as they walked away.

Nine men kept walking. One man turned around.
Nine men were cleansed. One man was healed.
Nine men were grateful. One man said, “Thank You.”

Hear the difference:

Ten men
stood at a distance
and called out in a loud voice.
They went and were cleansed.

One man
fell at Jesus’ feet
and praised God in a loud voice.
He came back and was healed.

All ten had faith—only one had gratitude.

Dear Jesus,
may my call for help from a distance
draw me to Your feet with praise.

Oh Lord God,
may the intensity of my thanks
match the fervency of my requests.

Make Yourself At Home

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PB and I have gone into homes where no one offered to take our coats (so we tossed them in a corner), we weren’t welcomed to come in and sit down (so we stood around awkwardly), and nothing was offered to eat or drink (although cookies sat on a plate all evening). Sometimes people just don’t know how to be hospitable.

We’ve also been places where we were greeted politely (although it seemed a bit formal), we were escorted to an immaculate parlor (where we sat awkwardly), and gourmet food was served (with all the properly placed silverware and goblets). Sometimes people only know how to entertain.

For over three decades, PB ended worship services with a paraphrase of Ephesians 3:17-19. It starts like this: “We pray that Christ will be more and more at home in our hearts, living within us as we trust in Him…”

Is Christ “at home” in my heart?

Do I address Him formally? (Dear Gawwwwd.) Is there awkwardness between us because there are things too touchy to talk about? (I’d rather not discuss that please.) Am I following the rules of etiquette and decorum? (And making sure everybody else is, too.)

Am I trying to entertain God?

Or am I waiting at the door, anxious to invite Him in with warmth and joy? (Lord! I’m so glad You’re here!) Do I offer Him myself, foibles and faults included? (I’m not much, but I’m all Yours.) Does He feel comfortable enough to put His feet up on my coffee table? (Make Yourself at home here.)

Is my heart hospitable?

I can invite Jesus to stop by, perhaps on special occasions. I can clean up the place, get dressed up, and put out the best china. But He’s not impressed by my outward show of righteousness.

Or I can sign over the deed to the place and give Him ownership. I can let Him clean out the closets, clothe me in His righteousness, and fellowship at the table daily.

“Look! I stand at the door and knock.
If you hear my voice and open the door,
I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.”
Revelation 3:20

What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I’d bring Him a lamb.
If I were a wise man, I’d do my part.
Yet what can I give Him? Give Him my heart.
~ Christina Rossetti


Coming and Going

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PB and I have been doing some coming and going.
We took a drive up north to see the fall colors.
The leaves weren’t in full autumn splendor,
but glorious nonetheless.

“The Lord will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.”
Ps. 121:8

This verse is from a dearly loved psalm in which the phrase “watch over” appears five times in eight verses. I often send this verse to people who are anticipating a surgical procedure. I tweak it just a bit: “The Lord will watch over your going into anesthesia and coming out of anesthesia both now and forevermore.”

I’ve read that psalm hundreds of times, but today I noticed something new. The Lord is most watchful when we’re moving. Coming and going. Going and coming.

Our Teddy is a boy on the move. When he visits, I am on high alert making sure he isn’t riding his bike out on the street or wandering off into the woods by himself. I need to be on the lookout for swinging baseball bats and flying Nerf gun bullets. My ears are attentive to the sound of the rattling cookie jar lid and the crash of thousands of Lego pieces being dumped out.

But when I’m reading “The Bunny Book” to Teddy, he sits still and cuddles up to me. I relax and enjoy the momentary closeness. It’s magical.

God is all-seeing, all-knowing, and all-powerful so it’s not taxing for Him to keep watch over my coming and going. Yet, I wonder if He most enjoys those moments when I cease my striving and simply sit still, savoring His nearness.

“What is the chief end of man?
Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.”
(Westminster Catechism)

Be a Bee

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Once upon a time there was a Garden. It was full of beautiful blooms and fragrant flowers. Garden creatures scuttled under the brush and winged flyers skimmed over the petals.

garden

Light and airy after a lifetime of crawling in dirt, the newly transformed butterfly was the most enchanting creature in the Garden. It hovered and glided and danced about with grace. It careened through the spikes of foxglove and wove between the wispy cosmos. Its wings caught the sunshine and made the Garden sparkle. Landing for only a second or two, it continued to flit here and there and everywhere. After two weeks it was gone. It had given a measure of joy and frivolity to the Garden, but had not contributed in any meaningful way.

butterfly

Another heartier breed also buzzed among the foliage. Not as light and airy, not as sparkly or whimsical, the bee was not on holiday in the Garden. The bee was there on a mission. This round-bodied flyer did not have the grace of the butterfly. It did not flit or charm. The bee did no stylish pirouettes. Instead, this one dove straight into the depth of the blossoms, drawing out the nectar, burrowing down into the fragrance. Having done its job, the dive-bomber sped out of the Garden and deposited its bounty into the hive. 

bee

What is the meaning of the story of the butterfly and the bee?

bible

“To get anything from our Bibles, we must plunge in. Butterflies wander over the flowers in the garden and accomplish nothing, but bees plunge right down into the flower, and carry away essential food. We won’t get anything if we just hover over our Bibles; we have to dive right in.” David Guzik, Blue Letter Bible, Acts Commentary 

In other words, be a bee.  

“How sweet are your promises to my taste,
sweeter than honey to my mouth!
Psalm 119:103

Letters

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This is the way I feel sometimes.

There are letters floating all around me and in me.
If only I could grab the right combination of those shiny characters—
snatch them out of the air,
shake them up in my hand,
toss them onto the paper,
then I could be profound.

Some days those letters don’t want to stop swirling long enough
to come together in a coherent thought.
Sometimes those ABCs just don’t cooperate.

When that happens,
I simply offer the alphabet to God.
I ask Him to arrange those twenty-six letters
into words, sentences, and paragraphs that please Him.

When my words are slow in coming,
I recall this advise on prayer given by Jewish rabbis:

“If you recite the alphabet five times very slowly,
God, to whom all prayers are known,
will put the letters together to form
the prayers you can’t put to words.”

After all,
He is The Word,
The Alpha-Omega.
“Lord, to whom shall we go?
You alone hold the words of life.”
John 6:68