Taste and See

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I tried to cook my cookbook.

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Ms. Betty Crocker was not amused.

See that look in her eye?

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No golden roasted chicken sprang forth, no practically perfect pie appeared, no crusty wholegrain bread was in sight. They all stayed put on the cover, taunting me.

The charred cookbook had no flavor.

Then someone taught me to open the pages, read the instructions and follow them obediently. I learned to get my hands in the dough, knead with all my might, patiently wait for the creation to come together. I discovered the joy of opening my mouth, taking in the goodness, savoring the flavor.

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

God wants me to use my senses to experience Him. It’s only in the opening up of myself to His Word, the working in and pushing out of the gospel, the willingness to wait for the Spirit to rise – only then can I begin to gain understanding of His goodness.

It’s only in the receiving of the Bread of Life, the swallow of commitment, the joyful discovery of nourishment – only then can I begin to see Him in all of His glory.

I can look at a cardboard picture of a roasted chicken,

but I can’t know the succulent, juicy flavor unless I taste the real thing.

I can observe evidence of God’s goodness in the world,

but I can’t know He is good to me until I take Him in.

“Open wide your mouth and I will fill it.” (Psalm 81:10)

Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good,

and you will delight in the richest of fare. (Isaiah 55:2)

10 Things I Learned in April

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1. Don’t put away the turtlenecks until May.  We were in the 30s this week.  As in degrees.  To clarify: I personally haven’t been in the 30s for two decades.

2. Gathering twelve women together on a snowy weekend in April can begin a movement.  What IF we lived and loved like Jesus?

3. There are crystals in my ears. If one of them should happen to dislodge and fall into one of my three semicircular inner-ear canals, the room starts spinning.  Thankfully, a friend told me how to get that crystal back where it belongs. The Tilt-A-Whirl has mercifully stopped.

4. Spring cleaning feels good. The best part is looking out freshly washed windows. Gosh, it’s a beautiful world out there.

5. Cell phones are wonderful and horrible. PB and I spent three hours trading in our old cell phones for new models. As the afternoon frittered away, I wondered, “What if we sent a monthly bill to church members, required them to update their Bibles every few years at an outrageous price, made them sign a contract and then preached a three hour sermon?”

6. My new favorite old dead guy is Gerard Manley Hopkins. He was a priest and a poet in the 1800s. He wrote this: “The world is charged with the grandeur of God. The birds sing to Him. The thunder speaks of His terror. The lion is like His strength. The sea is like His greatness. The honey like His sweetness. They are something like Him. They make Him known. They tell of Him.” Why don’t we talk like that anymore?

7. It’s possible to spend six weeks studying 25 verses. The little obscure book of Philemon had much to teach. Who knew?

8. I need daffodils in the spring, but I never think about it when it’s time to plant in the fall. So I took drastic measures – I’ve set a reminder to go off on my phone on September 1, 2016 that says, “Buy daffodil bulbs.” I suppose I should also set a reminder for October 1 saying, “Plant those darn bulbs, for goodness sake.”

9. I’m glad I’m not planning any grad parties or wedding receptions this summer.  In fact, I won’t be pulling together any massive galas for the rest of my life.  The next big family fete will be grandson Hudson’s high school graduation…in 2030.

10. If ever there was a song to close April and usher in May, it’s this one by James Taylor. Stay with it to hear the transition from “Before This World” to “Jolly Springtime.”

“Yes the winter was bitter and long
So the spring’ll be sweet.
Come along with a rhythm and a song
Watch creation repeat.”

april may

Lengthen and Strengthen

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I’ve been hanging out with Isaiah this month. He starts out strong and doesn’t let up for 66 chapters.  Lots of judgment in the first 39 chapters is followed by comfort and consolation (mixed with a little more judgment) in the last 27 chapters. Speaking on God’s behalf to a rebellious nation wasn’t an easy job, so not too many applied for the position.

But when God said, “Whom shall I send?” Isaiah was like the kid in the back row of the 3rd grade classroom who desperately wanted to be the first one to give the answer to the teacher.  Isaiah shot his hand up in the air and almost fell out of his seat, saying “Ooo, oo, oo, me!  Send me!!!  Pick me!!!”  God must have loved that.

When I got to chapter 54, I hit the brakes and squealed to a halt.  There it was — flashing in red lights and sounding the siren. “Enlarge the site of your tent, and stretch out the drapes of your dwellings; don’t hold back. Lengthen your tent ropes and strengthen your stakes.” (verse 2)  

There has been a theme looking me square in the face every time I turn around lately. Every book I read, every Bible study and Sunday school class I sit in on, and even in a conference I attended, the same idea keeps hounding me.  It boils down to this:

I have spent a lot of time and effort putting my stakes down deep. I’ve studied, read, prayed and memorized. I’ve pounded down some sturdy anchors. Now it’s about time to lengthen the ropes.

Strong stakes aren’t for the purpose of keeping me safe and sound in my own little protective tent, complete with all the creature comforts this world has to offer. They are there to create the potential for enlarging my site, to make more room for whoever God wants to bring my way.  I don’t know exactly what “stretching out the drapes” will entail. I’m not sure what or who I’m making space for. But the message is loud and clear.

Strengthen the stakes and lengthen the ropes.

Lengthen and strengthen.

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Saving the World

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I was talking to a friend recently about things we did when we were younger, when our fresh faith set us on fire for the Lord. We shared stories of innocent, but not very well thought-out attempts to share Jesus with everyone we possibly could.

She told about getting some friends together and going downtown at bar closing time with hot coffee. They stood on the sidewalks and “ministered” to tipsy people by handing out free cups of strong, black java. There were some issues with this “reaching out” tactic, however well intentioned. First, nobody remembered the nice church people in the morning. Second, it wasn’t the safest place for young people to be hanging out. Third, it got awkward when someone they recognized from the next pew stumbled out of the establishment.

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Her story reminded me of my own fervent attempts to spread the love of Jesus. When I would visit a public restroom I would take a Sharpie marker out of my purse and add to the graffiti in the stall. Right above the roll of toilet paper, I would solemnly write, “Let Jesus wipe away your sins.” This method of evangelism also was questionable. First, writing on public property was vandalism. Second, it was borderline offensive. Third, I doubt if there was any real soul searching as a result of my entreaty.

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After some study, it appears that the Bible is silent on both handing out coffee at 2 a.m. and writing on bathroom walls. The closest the Good Book comes to mentioning coffee is naming a New Testament book Hebrews. The only thing that will actually be wiped away, according to the Bible, is tears. (“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” Revelation 7:17)

God’s approach to saving the lost was much more effective.

“But God demonstrated His own love for us in this:

while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.” 

Romans 5:8

 Maybe dying to myself and loving others sacrificially would get me better results.

April (Snow) Showers

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Somebody forgot to tell April that it’s spring.

So I will.

Dear April,

You are supposed to be bringing gentle rain to cleanse the earth of nasty gray snow.

You are supposed to be warming the ground and calling out daffodils.

You are supposed to be giving midwesterners a lift, a spring in their step.

You are not supposed to be blanketing the grass with ice pellets.

You are not supposed to be making us wear turtlenecks and sweatshirts.

You are not supposed to be stealing precious spring days from us.

Shape up, April. We need you.

Sincerely, Me

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Dear You,

Thank you for your reminder.

Let me remind you that it IS spring, whether it feels like it or not.

It IS spring, whether it looks like it or not.

It IS spring, no matter what you are wearing.

As Lilly Pulitzer said, “Despite the forecast, live like it’s spring.”

So shape up. The world needs you.

Warmest Regards, April

“Spring is coming soon. Our words must tell of it. Our mouths must sing of it. Our prayers must ask for it. Our actions must reflect it. Our lives must embrace it.”  From “Hunting Hope” by Nika Maples.

Dear April,

I guess you showed me.  Thank you for your cooperation. (As soon as I posted this, the snow melted.)

Love, Me

10 Things I Learned in March

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1. You CAN go back. For PB’s birthday this month, our daughter arranged dinner out with the “original six”, meaning no spouses or kids were invited. We rode together to the restaurant and there was some faintly familiar banter about who would have to sit in the back seat. At the restaurant, we all took our places at the table in the same seating arrangement as years ago. Only a few things seemed to have changed: 1) nobody teased a sibling to the point of tears and 2) nobody farted and fell off the chair laughing. They are all grown up. It was such a lovely time.

2. There is more than one kind of cheesecake. For PB’s birthday, a good friend took a chunk of pepperjack cheese and cut it to look like a mini birthday cake, candles and all. It was a true one-of-a-kind cheese cake for a one-of-a-kind guy.

3. An early Easter overloads March. We had Daylight Savings Time, St. Patrick’s Day, Palm Sunday, the first day of spring, Good Friday, Easter and the March Madness NCAA basketball tournament all packed into two weeks. Whatever will we do in April?

4. The best way to break a reading fast is to get up at 4:30 a.m. and read the first two chapters in five different books before going to Easter services at church — not unlike pigging out at the Easter buffet after church. Both felt like extravagant indulgences. One made my stomach ache, one made my head ache. But I thoroughly enjoyed them both.

5. Spending a whole month meditating on Jesus’ last week on earth as recorded in the gospels is wonderful and terrible. I wrote two pages of longhand in a college-ruled spiral notebook every morning, getting my heart deep into Passion Week. I can’t go back and read over it now without weeping. “You gave your life, to give me mine. You say that I am free. How can it be?” (“How Can It Be?” by Lauren Daigle)

6. Buzzer beaters are only exciting if it’s a guy from your college team who throws up the shot with no time on the clock and it swishes through the net, sending you to the Sweet 16. Otherwise, it’s devastating. But if it is a guy from your team, you get to shout like crazy and jump around in front of the TV like you’re in the celebration huddle.

7. Best advice of the month: “Pray to catch the bus, then run as fast as you can.”

8. Tulips and daffodils only come up in the spring if bulbs were planted in the fall. But in the fall, I’m not thinking about tulips and daffodils. I’m more interested in pumpkins and chrysanthemums. Every spring I knock myself on the head and say, “Darn. Too late for tulips again this year.”

9. It’s possible to get your Christmas shopping done in March. There was a big sale on a big ticket item and I had a 30% off coupon to boot. I bought a bunch of them and socked them away. Fa-la-la-la-la.

10. I’m not only saved from something (eternal separation from God), I’m also saved for something (for the life of the world). This spring, I’m looking forward to learning what that means with my Bible study friends.

 

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Holy Week Confession

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thornsI’m grateful for Saturday — the day after Good Friday. The intense emotions of Holy Week wear me out and a breather is welcome.

Engaging in the events that marked the last week of Jesus’ life on earth was a struggle for me this year. I didn’t know if I had it in me to walk through the suffering and death of my Jesus yet again. Every year it seems to hurt more. I seriously considered just going through the motions and pushing through the dark days until the relief and rejoicing of the empty tomb on Easter morning.

In other words, I wanted to skip the suffering and go straight to the celebration.

It doesn’t work.

Because going through the motions is exactly how to engage the emotions. As a pastor’s wife, Holy Week services are not optional. I intended to show up, but I planned to keep my heart guarded and not enter in to the agonizing story once more. But showing up was all it took for God to break down my resistance.

On Thursday, I sat in the quiet sanctuary, drew near to the table, tasted the bread, swallowed the juice. I took Him in.

On Friday, I heard the words of Isaiah and Luke, surveyed the wondrous cross, sang, “If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.” He took me in.

Going through the motions is what ushered me straight into His presence.

On this blessed quiet Saturday, I am remembering that the day after the death of Christ is also the day before the glorious life of Christ. But it is the suffering of yesterday that gives weight to the jubilant joy of tomorrow.

“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”         Psalm 30:5

A Slow Fast

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I’ve finally discovered a way to slow down time.

Fast from something for 40 days.

My, how the days do seem to drag on.

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For Lent this year, I chose to give up reading. At first it was nice to have quite a bit of extra time to do other things. But now I’m getting antsy — longing for the feel of a book in my hands. 

Here’s what I’ve been learning on this slow fast:

1. It’s good to have a chance to be alone with my thoughts. When I grab a book every time I have a few minutes (or hours) I’m continually cramming information into my brain. It all gets squished in there and I can’t differentiate between my thoughts and the notions of the five authors I’m reading. I was pleasantly surprised to find that, given a little space to breath, I do think my own thoughts.

2. There has been a feeling of empowerment with denying myself something I assumed I needed. I can look at my TBR pile of books and say, “You’re not the boss of me.” I can drive by the library and gloat, “You have no hold on me. (Or holds for me.) ” I can click out of Amazon and resist the urge to hit “Buy now with 1-Click”. I can.

3. Limiting my reading to only one book (the Bible) has made that precious time delightfully sweet. My eyes are more eager in the early morning hours to open the pages and soak in the words. I’m paying attention better, staying more engaged and falling in love with the words of life.

4. I am learning that I can do without things and it’s not really that hard. What seemed like a lofty and admirable plan on Ash Wednesday, quickly showed itself to be small potatoes. Coffee, chocolate, Facebook, spending money, reading — those things aren’t as big a deal as we think. We could live without any of it and survive.

5. Reading lots of books had become a source of pride for me. I’ve kept track of every book I’ve read over the last twelve years and adding a title to that list was puffing me up a bit. Or maybe a lot. I don’t know who I thought I was impressing, but I didn’t see it for what it was until now.

6. Now I know what it’s been like for PB all these years when he’s wanted to go to sleep and I’ve kept the light on to read. It’s so annoying. But I’m proud of my hubby – he’s read more than I have in the last month.

7. It’s been confirmed in my mind that TV is a wasteland. Outside of watching a few documentaries and basketball games, my only other go-to activity has been to go to bed. I’ve definitely gotten more sleep than usual.

8. On the scale of what qualifies as true sacrifice, giving up reading is pretty weak. It doesn’t come close to donating a kidney or falling on a grenade to save a fellow soldier. My little experiment pales in comparison with what this Lenten season is really all about. The supreme sacrifice will never be required again – my debt has been paid in full. My eternal future has been secured, not because I gave up reading for forty days, but because my Savior gave Himself up for the love of the world.

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Abba

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When Agnetha, Bjorn, Benny and Anni formed the Swedish rock group ABBA, I doubt if they knew they were using one of the dearest names for God found in the scriptures. I was a teenager in the 70s, so I still love me some “Dancing Queen” and “Waterloo”, but when I hear the word “Abba” my mind associates it with “Father”, not “Fernando”.

The word Abba appears three times in the Bible– it is used twice by Paul and only once by Jesus. It is an intimate term of endearment a child might use when addressing a much-loved father. Some scholars believe it can be translated “Daddy” or “Papa”. I get a little uneasy when people start using familiar names for God such as “Buddy” or “Pops” or “The Big Man Upstairs”. God is certainly our Father, but He’s not a jolly man that lets us crawl on His lap and tug on His beard.  The only time Jesus addressed God as “Abba” was when he was sweating great drops of blood while agonizing over his impending death on a Roman cross.

While many people like to relate to God on more familiar terms, using the name “Abba” actually says more about us than our Heavenly Father. If we want to use the term that conjures up visions of a toddler calling out “daddy”, then we have to realize that we are putting ourselves in the position of complete submission, with the unquestioning trust of a small child.

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We may want to think of God in intimate ways and try to bring Him down to our level, but we can’t say “Abba” unless we are also willing to surrender without crossing our little arms and stomping our little feet.

“Papa, Father, you can—can’t you?—get me out of this. Take this cup away from me. But please, not what I want—what do you want?” Mark 14:36 (Message)

Birthday Boy

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PB was born on a Saturday in March, exactly 59 years ago today.

When news of his arrival reached the extended family, congratulations started pouring in. Among the cards and letters was a note from Auntie Eileen and Uncle Jack.

“Congratulations! Sure glad to hear that it’s over. Must admit we were a little disappointed he wasn’t a girl…”

I suppose that’s what happens when you’re the fourth boy.

But, let me tell you, I sure am thankful he was a boy. What would have become of me if he had been a girl? I shudder to think about it.

So, today I celebrate the birth of my best friend, my partner in life and ministry, and the guy who still makes my heart go pitter-pat.