Souls Unglued

 

"What I tell you now in the darkness, shout abroad when daybreak comes. What I whisper in your ear; shout from the housetops for all too hear." 

—Matthew 10:27, NLT

 

The first morning of Writer's Advance Boot Camp, I was almost booted to the floor. As I lunged forward, the corner of the mattress broke my fall. Boot camp coordinators had given us a charge to "Advance!" but I am relatively sure nose-diving into the carpet is not what they had in mind.

 

I looked down at my stylish black boots, the likely culprits. One sole had become unglued and now flapped precariously with each step. (Note to self: Always pack two pairs of black shoes.) I scuffed my way to the conference room hoping to remain upright, while trying to hide my fashion faux pas.

 

God never misses an opportunity to teach, and my well-ventilated shoe amplified his message for the morning. Sometimes it is good to come unglued.

 

Let's face it. It's easier to coordinate our outfits than our lives. We are not glamorous runway models depicted in flawless, airbrushed glossies. We are world-worn sojourners with a God-given platform and a call to be real. Can I really say, "God use me to share your message," and then stop short of baring my soul? Tranparency may cost us, but the soul of another is priceless. Am I willing to pay the price to affect someone's life for eternity? Christ gave his all. Can I do any less?

 

God has entrusted us with a unique ministry, and our experiences set us apart. If we remain silent, our stories will be left untold, and his will remain unheard. Who knows, baring one's soul may actually become fashionable and bring life-changing results.

 

So flap open your soul, and wear your faux pas with style. 





Wait a Moment!

"So teach us to number our days aright, that we may present to you a heart of wisdom."  Psalm 90:12, NASB

 

Millenniums, centuries, decades, years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds, nanoseconds ~ all units of time divinely ordered by God.

 

For thousands of years, man has created calendars and mechanical devices to keep track of these increments. The ancient Egyptians divided the day into two twelve-hour periods and used obelisks and sundials to track the movement of the sun across the sky. We now have astronomical clocks to gauge the movement of the heavenly bodies as well as tide clocks to monitor the ebb and flow of the lunar and solar tides. Men have created water clocks, chronometers, hourglasses, pocket watches, pendulum clocks, cuckoo clocks, quartz and atomic clocks, wristwatches, calendar watches, and stopwatches, yet, no matter how we try to control it, time never stands still, never retreats. Time is always moving forward as if on a mission.

 

There is an Irish saying, "When God made time, he made plenty of it," and yet, we lack sufficient hours in our days to complete what we perceive is necessary. We have always regarded time as something to keep up with. We identify with the White Rabbit's dilemma in Alice and Wonderland, as he scampers through life exclaiming, "I'm late. I'm late, for a very important date. No time to say 'Hello, Good-by.' I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!" We scurry behind schedule, or dart ahead of it, all in an attempt to be on time. And if ever we are on time, we keep a discreet eye on the clock, for there is always another appointment to rush off to, a brand-new dream to chase, a carpool to taxi, or simply one more moment to stalk.

 

Since it debuted in 1965, the daytime soap opera Days of our Lives has featured an hourglass with sand slowly trickling to the bottom, accompanied by the trademark voice-over, "Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives."

 

Have you ever taken the time to number the days of your life? This year on my birthday, I was 23,360 days old. Sounds as if Methuselah is my next of kin, doesn't it? (And stop that! I know you are dividing it out to see how old I am.) According to the life expectancy calculator on the U.S. Social Security Administration's website, I can expect to live another 21.6 years, or another 7,884 days. When I look at that number in relation to how many days I have already lived, it puts my life into sobering perspective.

 

Like sand in an hourglass, our days are rapidly slipping away. We can flip an hourglass over and rerun the sands of time ~ not so with the true "days of our lives." Those sands we will never recall. Perhaps, then, we need to stop keeping track of the moments and start numbering our days "aright."

 

King Solomon avowed that God "set eternity in the hearts of men." Deeply rooted in every human heart is a continual longing for something more than this world has to offer, and yet we are incapable of fully grasping the eternal. Nothing within this physical realm will ever truly satisfy our yearning for something more. Only the eternal presence of God living deep within our hearts will bring the fulfillment we are seeking ~ fulfillment which stretches into eternity.

 

So breathe! Slow down! Take time to spend quiet moments with the Father of time. Consider the brevity of life and devote your heart to true wisdom ~ a wisdom that can only be imparted to us by his Spirit. The previous moment has passed, and the subsequent moment may never come. This moment is all we have. This moment is our life.

 

What shall I do with the next 7,884 days of my life? Stop counting and ~ live!

 

How many days do you have left to be truly productive for God? Apply your heart to true wisdom and, instead of counting the moments, make each moment count for eternity.

Knowing Perfection

 

"And God saw every thing that he had made, and behold, it was very good."  Genesis 1:31, KJV

 

Without warning, the large, burly instructor ripped the nose from my face and threw it across the room, shouting words of disapproval which I cannot recall. Perhaps at the time I was simply too frightened for them to register. Even so, my instructor's disparaging remarks left a lasting impression deep within my spirit.

 

The setting was a big-city art school in the South; the perpetrator a ruthless sculpture professor who enjoyed intimidating freshman. His target the clay head I was painstakingly laboring over; his casualty me. I was proud of my creation. And the nose ~ well, it was just about perfect, at least in my eyes. I had no clue someone might view my creation differently. Neither did I know how my view of myself and my abilities was about to change.

 

Words ~ what power they emit! Their probing tentacles pry deep into our souls, unearthing emotions we are unaware exist. Words have the capacity to change how we think, feel, and act. They have the power to uplift or the power to destroy.

 

Yet, regardless of their power, it was neither my instructor's words nor his actions that held the potential to wield the death blow to my development as an artist. Rather, it was the negative self-talk I would continue to feed my own soul. My destructive internal words began to wear away at my confidence, not only in my individual creativity, but in who I believed I was as a person. I began to second-guess myself and my abilities. My God-given potential slipped from my view. I only saw my failures. Never quite sure my work would bear up under the scrutiny of others, it became easier for me not to produce at all. I was blind to the fact that the assessment of others paled in comparison to the death sentence I was passing down to myself.

 

Elbert Hubbard, a late nineteenth-century American writer, publisher, artist, and philosopher and an influential exponent of the arts and crafts movement, stated, "The greatest mistake you can make in life is to continually be afraid you will make one."

 

Fear of failure is paralyzing. It breeds perfectionism. We hesitate to begin because we believe that, in the end, we will fail. Even when we begin, our work never measures up to our own inflexible expectations, and thus, we fail to finish. In some strange way, we find our solace there ~ never opening ourselves up to the valuation of others.  As a result, our fear of failure robs us of our destiny, holding us hostage to the lies of Satan and our own perpetual self-talk.

 

Recently, my youngest daughter was given an opportunity to "throw" a pot at a nearby potter's house. Before beginning, the instructing potter said, "Do not be afraid to mess up. It's just clay!" ~ simple, yet profound insight that bears repetition in our own spirits.  I believe the Master Potter speaks similar words: "Do not be afraid to mess up. YOU are just clay!"

 

The One who formed us understands that we are dust, and it is his valuation alone that counts. As we surrender our efforts to him, he will take our unskilled hands in his and with the skill of the Master Potter, help us to begin again.

 

Is there something you have been putting off doing because, in the end, you are afraid you will fail? Quit taking yourself so seriously. After all, you are just clay! Begin again by placing your hands in the hands of the Master Potter and partnering with the One who knows no failure. To him, your creation is perfect, and in the end, his valuation is the only one that matters.

 



A River Runs Through It

 

"When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you." Isaiah 43:2, NIV

 



KER-SPLASH!                     

The look of surprise on our young's daughter's face was priceless as the cold mountain stream cut its way around her tiny body. Only moments earlier, with arms outstretched to keep her balance, she  had playfully leaped from rock to rock. It looked easy enough, great fun with evenly laid out stones defining the way. Reaching the other side almost became a reality and then ~ her unexpected plunge. 

Life mimics this at times, plunging us into icy, cold waters as we make our way along what we think is a clearly defined path. It looks as if we are making notable progress, and then ~ the unexpected happens. We are taken off guard and submerged in the current of life's troubles ~ winding rivers of difficulty that eventually confront us all. There are days when we are pulled under, entrapped, dragged down by life's undertow ~ days when the current is too swift and the river far too wide to pass through. How do we navigate our way to safety? Where do we find the courage to press on?

 

The day our daughter plummeted from her path and was flooded by the icy, cold water, she didn't hesitate to cry for help . . . and help didn't hesitate to come. The same will be true for you. Cry out! God will come running.

 

"He reached down from on high and he took hold of me; he drew me out of deep waters. He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes who were too strong for me." (Psalm 18:16-17, NIV)

 

My daughter emerged wringing wet that day, but her spirit was not dampened. Her goal was still in sight; she would not be deterred. After drying off, changing into her sister's over-sized pants, and enjoying a picnic, she returned to her game. With pant legs rolled up and determination set, she plotted her way across the swiftly moving stream with slow, deliberate steps. As she planted each foot securely on the rock in front of her, her confidence grew and her fear of failure subsided. Finally, she stepped onto the opposite side, her face beaming with pride. She knew the joy of rising above what once had defeated her. Victory was hers!

 

What is blocking your pathway to victory? Does a river run through it? Do not let it defeat you! Cry out! God will come running and will plant your feet securely on the rock.

 

Now . . .  are your feet wet yet?

Doormat Dialogue

Really, Lord? I do have my limits, you know. No one should be treated this poorly! It's time I take my stand. This turning the other cheek thing isn't working. It only seems to embolden them and their uncanny need to humiliate me. I'm done! This is the last time they walk all over me. Certainly, it is not your will for me to be treated like a doormat. Why, I'm your child!

Really? My child? You could have fooled me ~ except for one fact ~ I am God! What's wrong with being a doormat, anyway?

What's wrong with being a doormat? How would you like someone wiping his feet all over you? Oh! Sorry, Lord. I guess I forgot whom I was talking to for a moment. You do know what I mean though, don't you? Why, it's just ~ it's just degrading. That's what it is ~ degrading.

My child, you have it all wrong. What you need is a fresh perspective. Yes, it is true. A doormat is designed to wipe one's shoes on before entering the house. But it can also be a thing of beauty. A doormat not only serves as a welcoming invitation into a home, it helps keep the house clean. You do like a clean house, don't you?

Well, yes ~ who doesn't! But, what's your point, Lord?

Have I not told you, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:30)? Laying down one's life should not be looked on as a degrading task, but as an act of love.  I laid my life down for you so that you can walk in righteousness. Follow my example, and love others as I have loved you. Laying down one's life is a good thing, especially if it means, someone's walk will be cleansed.

Well, I never thought of it like that, Lord. True, there is no greater calling than to lay down one's life so that another can enter your presence ~ leaving all the dirt at the door. I want my usefulness to outweigh my beauty. Life has its share of useless decor.

Oh, I'm sorry, Lord. I didn't mean to leave you standing at the door. Won't you come in? But, don't mind me . . . I'm just "laying" down.

Displaying Christ

Each year as the Christmas season begins to unfold, I cautiously bring from our attic three large cardboard boxes which contain our mantle nativity scene and gently remove the brown paper wrapping from each piece. Whenever I unwrap the baby Jesus, he always welcomes me with outstretched arms as if to say, "I was wondering when you were going to take me out of this box!" I then give him his prominent place upon our mantle alongside Mary, Joseph, and the three wise men.

Throughout the Christmas season, those who enter our home are drawn to the two-to-three-foot figures, their uniqueness, and their beauty, while the set's primary placement in our home helps us  remember to keep Christ at the center of our hearts and all our holiday activities.

The nativity is always the first Christmas decoration I display and the last one I put back in the attic. Sometime during the first week of January, I carefully remove it from the mantle, wrap the figures, pack them back in the boxes, and return them to the attic until the next Christmas season.

This year, as I contemplated my annual ritual, I sadly surmised that far too often, I deal with Christ this way in my daily life ~ putting him on display for specific occasions, or during moments of hardship and then, as soon as the occasion or situation passes, quietly tucking him away again. How this must sadden the heart of my Lord! How many opportunities to display Christ have I missed simply because I placed him back in the box to await another season, another occasion, another hardship?

Today I will return our nativity to a dark corner of the attic once again. But this year I am choosing to make a simple change: I will not put Christ back in the box! I will display the Jesus figure in the center of our home throughout the year as a subtle reminder to myself that displaying Christ is not a seasonal event, but a daily necessity.

"No one lights a lamp and puts it in the cellar or under a basket, but on a lampstand, so that those who come in may see its light" (Luke 11:33, HCSB).

Jesus came as the Light of the world. Displaying Christ in all that we say and do is vital to our relationship with God, our families, and our fellowmen. It is my prayer for this year that the precious Christ of Christmas will remain in the most prominent position of my heart and yours, never to return to a place of obscure darkness again.

Where have you positioned Christ in your life? Have you given him a place of prominence for all to see, or have you hidden him away? Can you hear him say, "When are you going to take me out of this box?"

Let today be the day! He is waiting with opened arms.

The End Is in Sight!

 

Tonight will mark the 105th New Year's Eve ball drop in New York City's Times Square. Jubilant choruses of "Auld Lang Syne" will be sung, a ton of confetti will descend, and the deafening cheers of a million partygoers will usher out the old year and ring in a new one. But for most of us, 2012 will take its final bow and make its quiet exit virtually unnoticed and with little fanfare. Some will embrace its passing with only a nod as they pull the covers more snugly over their heads while hoping 2013 will offer brighter days for which to wake up.

 

For me, 2012 has been quite a journey. It has provided exciting new avenues and challenges, sometimes tempered with dead ends and unexpected sadness. There were days when I thought I had it all together and others when I wondered if I would even be able to hold on for the ride ~ days when making a strong finish seemed doubtful. And then there were days when I wondered if the God who had launched me from the start would even show up in the end. However, in those eleventh hours, he proved himself faithful time and again.

 

I would not trade my journey for any other. I have seen my Lord in some of the most unusual places. I have been awed by him in the ordinary and humbled by him in the extraordinary. Throughout this process I have been changed ~ for the better, I hope ~ and yet, I have found my Lord to always be the same: loving, steadfast, true, full of mercy and grace, and ever faithful!

 

So I will move on! I know not what lies ahead, or whom I will meet along the way, but one thing I know for sure: my Lord will make the journey with me, and beyond that he will be there to greet me at the end. Upon my arrival, there is but one thing I long to hear him say: "Well done good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your Master's happiness!" (Matthew 25:21, NIV).



Star Search

 

We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him." 

Matthew 2:1-2 (NIV)

 

Over two thousand years ago, Magi living in the east marveled at the appearance of an unexplainable star which prompted their search for the prophesied newborn king of the Jews. Departing from Persia, they began their five-to-six-hundred-mile trek westward toward Jerusalem.

 

Matthew's gospel account of the Magi stopping in Jerusalem to ask King Herod for directions suggests that the star they saw "when it rose" disappeared and was not actually visible for the greater part of their journey. King Herod, noticeably disturbed by their questions, personally did not see the star.  However, after consulting with the chief priests and scribes and hearing the prophecy, he sent the Magi on their way toward Bethlehem. Soon the star reappeared, going ahead of them. "When they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding great joy" (Matthew 2:9-10, KJV).

 

Many of us can relate to the uncertainty of being lost on the highway. Yet, the apprehension we experience on one of today's well marked multilane highways pales in comparison to the Magis' sense of remote isolation in the vast, rugged hill country of Judea. Our immense relief on seeing a familiar landmark or road sign holds no likeness to the "exceeding great joy" that washed over them as they saw the star shining overhead once again.

 

For much of their journey, the Magi were not guided by what they saw, but by what they believed in their hearts to be true. Consequently, they journeyed to Bethlehem by faith, continuing through uncertainty until they found the king they were seeking.

 

Can you relate your journey to the Magis'? Where is your Bethlehem? What are you seeking? Is your terrain uncertain?

Walk on! Follow what you believe in your heart. You may see a great light!

 

" . . . for we walk by faith, not by sight." 2 Corinthians 5:7, ESV

 





The Remaining Gift

 

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift"

2 Corinthians 9:15 (NIV)

 

Last year, due to the busyness of the Christmas season, I was unable to wrap our Christmas gifts before Christmas Eve. Until then, an unassuming red box with a stick-on silver bow maintained its lonely vigil beneath our tree. The box was a gift our eldest daughter had brought to us the previous Thanksgiving Day. Oddly enough, it was empty! 

As Christmas Day arrived and family members gathered, each brought and placed a small object of remembrance and thanksgiving into the box as instructed by our daughter. Later, after an extraordinary dinner, we sat around a beautifully lit tree, opened the box one by one, took out the article each had put in, and shared our thoughts concerning it.

Cherished memories spilled forth, accompanied by gratitude, laughter, and an ocassional tear while the spirit of Christmases past and present wondrously filled the room, our hearts, and our lives.  As a result, those who had passed on took their rightful place within our family circle once again in almost tangible presence, reminding us that they live on beneath everything we do and all that we are.

Today, the red box, after being opened numerous times at two Christmas family gatherings, still remains! It appears no worse for the wear as its profound impact on our family lingers.

The God-given gift of a family is a circle that can never be broken, a gift that will always remain. And just as the impact of the little red box will  maintain a prominent place within our hearts after all else has faded, so will the spirits of those we love.

It is quite astonishing how full an ordinary, empty box can be when the true Spirit of Christmas fills it and pours the contents of his love upon our hearts and lives. This outpouring, is truly an indescribable gift which will always remain!

Thanksgiving Leftovers

“Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”

Matthew 15:2

 



It is the day after Thanksgiving, and a surplus of leftovers is precariously stacked in my fridge.  So precariously, in fact, that the thought of having to unpack the milk for this morning’s cereal causes me to settle for dry toast with a smidge of jelly snatched quickly from one of a dozen jars in the door. I have no time this morning to risk the avalanche that may result, nor the energy to rearrange the fridge’s chilly interior before my first cup of Java Joe kicks in.

 

Yesterday, after pushing back from a table laden with ham, turkey, giblet gravy, dressing, and all the trimmings, I vowed never to eat again. Now, before the dawn breaks and with only the light of the refrigerator piercing the morning darkness, one bleary-eyed glimpse of Tom Turkey and a half-eaten pumpkin roll has me eagerly anticipating my next meal.

 

Leftovers are rarely seen as choice fare, but for the Canaanite woman, even leftovers were  desirable. Seen as only a “dog” within this pharisaical community, she was deemed unworthy of anything more than table scraps. However, the desperation that seized her soul regarding her daughter’s well-being propelled her to push past the disciples and the self-righteous glares of the crowd to fall humbly at the feet of the Master. This outsider had the vision needed to see the One who contained the power to alter the outcome of her daughter’s life, while those he came to save blindly looked on. The apostles must have felt a sense of smugness as Jesus’s initial silence appeared to validate their deeply embedded beliefs. Little did they know a few well-thought-out words from Jesus would swiftly extract their shallow roots.

 

The words of Jesus seem callous, yet he typically seized the moment to demonstrate his unconditional love and to foreshadow the coming salvation of the Gentiles. In spite of his seeming indifference and the intolerable attitude of the disciples, the Canaanite woman clung to the hope that she had placed in Jesus.

 

True, Jesus had come to save the lost sheep of Israel, but this humble, outcast woman believed in her heart that even scraps from the Master’s table were more than enough to restore her daughter’s life. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table,” she said (Matthew 15:27). Jesus’s response to her was, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted” (Matthew 15:28). As a result of her faith, her daughter was immediately healed.

Today, as I sit munching on my meager toast, an abundance of food is piled high in my fridge. Do I, an heir alongside of Christ, take for granted all I have, and yet feel entitled to more? Or, do I with undaunted faith desire whatever God has to give, knowing that even scraps from his hand will bring more healing to my bones than the surplus of leftovers stacked in my fridge?

 

It is not how much we receive but the spirit with which we receive it that brings not only the results we desire, but the leftover sounds of thanksgiving that our Master so longs to hear.