Biker Babe

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My husband bought me a bicycle last Christmas.  He also bought himself one, with visions of us riding off into the countryside sunset together.  The beautiful new bikes have been sitting in the basement all winter.  The wheels were fastened into a plastic thingy (I don’t know bike lingo yet) so we could pedal away the snowy days while watching television.  I did that once…..or twice.   No, once.

Now that the days are finally longer and warmer, it’s time to bring the bikes upstairs, clip on the helmet and take off.  It’s true that you never forget how to ride a bike.  I hop on and maneuver around the driveway nicely, shifting gears and gripping the brakes.  There is only one problem.   We live on a hill.

No matter if we go north, south, or east, it’s a downhill ride.  (We don’t go west.)  I love flying past the houses in our neighborhood on my cool new bike.  I feel sporty and athletic, which is a new sensation for me.   As I race along I shout over to my husband, “Thanks so much for getting these bikes, honey!  This is so much fun!”  He is beaming.

We coast along for several blocks before leveling off.  Then we pedal along the river pathway, soaking in the sights, smells and sounds of nature.   It is glorious.  And totally flat.  We stop after a while to take our water bottles out of our cool new water bottle holders and take a few sips.  I love this new thing we can do together, I love my husband, I love my bike.

Perhaps being caught up in the exhilarating feel of the wind in my face outweighed common sense.  But realizing the only way home was to climb a mountain made me want to cry.  My honey wouldn’t consider going back by himself  and bringing the car down to pick me up.  I made it one-half of a block before my thighs began to burn.  From now on, I’ve gotta remember: what goes down, must come up.

Dandelions

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This time of year is full of God-breathed lessons of new birth and fresh starts. I think God is trying to teach me something through dandelions this year. Ah, those pesky, populous, perpetually persistent puffballs. Our lawn is full of them. No matter that we mow them down a couple times a week. They just keep popping back up. Even the act of chopping off those stems seems to spread their cottony seeds and create more havoc in our yard. You just can’t deal with dandelions at the surface level. You’ve got to go deep and get at the root.

Now I don’t plan to go out in the front yard and dig up all my dandelions. But I have heard there is such a thing as weed killer that actually seeps down below the surface and kills the taproot without harming the grass. Cool. Maybe we’ll try that. Next year.

I like to think of God’s Word as that powerful force that seeps down into the root of my being. Hebrews 4:12 says, “The Word of God is living and active (potent stuff), sharper than any double-edged sword (or garden trowel), it penetrates (goes deep) even to dividing joints and marrow (gets the bad stuff, leaves the good stuff).

It’s always a struggle to stay intentional about being in the Word. I’ve tried many, many devotionals, Bible reading plans and memory verse techniques. Finding that it doesn’t really matter what I do, as long as I do something, I change it up every so often. I’ve also found that if there is no plan, there’s not much motivation. So putting my open Bible out on the couch before I go to bed at night seems to make me feel that Someone is out there waiting for me in the morning, so I’d better get out of bed.  As my “roots go down deep into the soil of God’s marvelous love” (Eph. 4:17) the weeds will have a tougher time surviving.

How about you? How do you keep it fresh?

For Crying Out Loud

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Have you ever heard of a talking rock? I’ve heard of a pet rock, rock and roll, rock of ages; one of the kids at church even told me, “You rock!” But I’ve never heard an actual rock say anything. They are usually pretty quiet.

As Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, people became caught up in the moment. They cheered for Jesus, waved palm branches, laid a red carpet. As usual, the Pharisees were tsk-tsk-ing. The church leaders were repulsed by this jubilant show and told Jesus to rebuke his followers. Instead,  Jesus rebuked them! He said, “If the people kept quiet, the stones along the road would burst into cheers!”

Has it ever happened? Have the people God created ever been so silent in their praise for Him that the rocks just have to step in and give a cheer? It did happen, just five days after the Palm Sunday party. Skip ahead to Friday at about 3:00 p.m. The Lamb of God took away the sins of the world, and the Lion of Judah roared from Zion, “It is finished!” Please don’t ever think of those words as a wimpy, defeated, surrendered whisper. Matthew says Jesus shouted those words – a giant, victorious yell!

It was quiet. Aside from a few weeping women and some soldiers milling about, it was deathly quiet. There was no “Hosanna!” or “Halleluia!” from the disciples. In fact, there were no disciples. There was no “Blessed be the name of the Lord!” from the crowd. The crowd had gone home. So the stones cried out. Matthew put it this way: “The earth shook and the rocks split.” The Greek word for rocks is petra, which means BIG rocks or boulders; not pebbles or skipping stones. Rocks were the only part of creation that got it! They heard the victory shout from the cross and couldn’t bear the silence, so they cried out until they split.

May the people of God never be silent! For crying out loud, we can’t be shown up by a pile of rocks when it comes to praising our Risen Savior!

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.

Goodies from God

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The most anticipated part of our church’s worship service is the moment when my husband-pastor says, “Kids, come on up!  I have something to show you and something to share with you.”   This invitation is followed by a flurry of little feet stampeding up the aisle. They can’t wait to hear the stories of Jesus.  Or maybe it’s the Tootsie Pops.

There’s no doubt that the kids love this special time with their pastor, as there is some jostling for the envied spots next to him.   A few of the more uninhibited ones are certainly hoping for a chance to say something that will send a ripple of chuckles through the adults.  This accounts for the angst a few parents experience as they send the arched-eyebrow warnings from the pew.  My fun-loving husband always has a toy or unusual prop to lead in to a biblical lesson.  And he has a jar of Tootsie Pops.

One Sunday, the children were settling in up in front when one little preschooler realized she was about to miss it.  A mad dash was made down the entire length of the aisle, pigtails flying.  What followed was the the most compelling children’s sermon ever given.   This sweet little girl charged down the aisle, reached her hand into the Tootsie Pop jar, grabbed a sucker and bolted back to her seat.  It happened in a matter of seconds and most of the congregation probably missed it.  All she wanted was the goodie.

How many times have I done the exact same thing?  I race into my Heavenly Father’s presence, pigtails flying, and go for the goodie jar.  No time to stop and sit at His feet; not particularly interested in what He has to say.  I just grab a quick blessing and sprint off to my place in the back row.

Forgive me, Lord, for grabbing the goodies and giving no thought to Your goodness.

“Taste and see that the Lord is good.”  Psalm 34:8

Give It Up For Lent

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Give it up for Lent – that solemn time of year when we are to join in Christ’s sufferings, maybe by giving up soda or cookies for 40 days.   However, I’m not sure that’s the kind of sacrifice that captures the real spirit of Lent.  Besides, there is likely a hidden motive there to lose a few winter pounds.  In that case, who is really benefiting from such martyrdom?  The kingdom of God or our own self image?

I prefer to think of Lent as “a time for making room for God”.  For some, that may mean giving up something in order to create some space for God in their lives, such as skipping lunch on Friday to spend some time talking with God.  For others, it could mean adding a new habit, such as reading the Good News before opening up the morning newspaper.  Whatever the choice is, Lent is meant to be a chance to deepen our relationship with God.

One year I gave up Oprah for Lent.  Instead of plopping down on the couch from 4:00 to 5:00 each afternoon, I spent that hour listening to some good music and reading some spiritually challenging books.  I never went back to Oprah.  Giving up something I enjoyed was hard at first, but since there was a replacement plan, I didn’t feel deprived.  In fact, what started as a sacrifice ended up being a joy.  How like God – to surprise me with joy.

We shouldn’t let this season pass without an intentional attempt to make a way for God to be more at home in our lives.  Maybe that will mean giving up soda or cookies, but let’s allow that craving for a Pepsi or Oreo drive us to the only One who can truly satisfy our longings.  Or let’s do something a little more unique: give up the need to be right for 40 days and discover that others have some good ideas.  Let go of the desire to hold a grudge, and by Easter see if it’s worth your energy to pick it back up.  Fast from blaming or complaining or nagging for a few weeks and see if your relationships improve.

God will not barge into our lives, but politely waits to be invited.  So let’s make some room and be hospitable for a few days.  Prepare for a pleasant surprise.

“To obey is better than sacrifice.”  1 Samuel 15:22

Green Smoothies

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My boys have become men: they drink green smoothies.  This is truly revolutionary.

I tried for years to get my kids to eat healthy foods.  When they were little I never bought sugary cereal, hardly ever had soda in the house, and was able to sneak all manner of pureed vegetables into spaghetti sauce.   My husband and I went to great lengths to make it fun to eat green beans.  While sitting at the supper table, I would distract everyone while my hubby would stick a string bean in his ear.  It wasn’t long until a squeal would announce that, once again, green beans were growing out of dad’s ear!  Somehow the possibility of vegetables growing out of their ears made it enticing to down the pile of beans on their plates.

So what makes a young man (who at one time showered his momma with his mouthful of green Gerber baby food) drink a green smoothie?  What possesses a boy to go and buy a bag of spinach, put it in a blender and drink it?  Well, actually, he throws in a banana or a kiwi, but it is green as green can be.  It looks strangely like the Gerber version.  It looks gross.

As the kids grew, I gradually gave in to providing all the junk food their hearts desired.  But the winds of change are blowing.  The days of chocolate cereal and endless frozen pizzas may be coming to an end.  The bags of chili corn chips and microwave mac and cheese may be no more.  My boys have become health conscious, and oddly enough, I am disgusted by the green goo they guzzle.  Pass me that bag of chips.