L'Chaim!

The reading list for this week is:

Jan1- Gen  1-3; 2nd -Gen 4-7, 3rd - Gen 8-11, 4th Gen 12-15, 5th Gen16-18, Gen 19-21, 6th- Gen22-24, 7th - Gen 22-24

I'm so excited about spending this year in pursuit of a Life lived consciously in His presence!  I always love starting the year off in Genesis - It's where God started everything - and Adam made a mess of it.  I'm reading the Henry Morris Study Bible this year (I read a different version every year) and, if you don't know who he was, he's the one who started the Creation Institute, which uses top notch scientists to study God's creation and refute evolution.  It's a fascinating site http://www.icr.org/  at any rate, I'm already learning new stuff about God's amazing mind, which, really, is what the Genesis story is about.  What an amazing mind He has, to think of setting up a universe as vast as ours with its own laws and maxims, made out of mostly.....nothing.  That chair you are sitting on has more empty space than atoms in it.  How amazing He is! Then He spoke the world into creation.  All the flora and fauna : He just spoke - and they were created.

Ohhhhh but then, He came to the creation of mankind.  Creating us was the only thing the Word says was hand-crafted, and the Bible tells us we are His poema, His poem or work of art.  That's how He sees us - each of us individually created by Hand, our days written down before one of them had come into existence, He knew us as the twinkle in Dad's eye and watched each division of cells as they occurred until - Poof! - there you were; there I was : God's masterpiece,

One of the things I'm focusing on this year of L'Chaim is to read, understand and meditate on what He says, what His opinion of me is..  As in "God's masterpiece."  I can safely say I have never looked at myself that way!  Why is that?  Why do we let God's vision of us get smudged and spit on until we are the evil one's picture of life instead of the Living God's picture of la Chaim! I'm going to try to be true to God's definitions and values regarding me, not that fallen angel's view.

So, what does that look like, a masterpiece, a poem?  Well for a calligrapher, it means creating something with elegant beauty, something that suggests to the viewer that much time and care went into its creation - the time, the practiced hand, the careful choice of copperplate or Old English or contemporary forms, the introduction of colors and attributes that blend and beautify.  It means something that is valued highly, if in no else's eyes but the one who did the creating.

That's a pretty awesome train of thought, considering Who did the creating of us!

And it leads me to the conclusion that He is not some far off God Who watches me from a distance, waiting to see what I become - He's known from the second I was conceived in His thoughts what and who I would become.  And it has been hands on, all the way!  The people He brought into my life, the ones He wove into my heart to lead me, step-by-step back into His arms and finally to move me to enter in, to be safe in Him, to be part of His bride.

It's a little bit like a living Hallmark card - He cared enough to send the very best.

Which leads me to recognize that my CI (chronic illness) did not happen accidentally, for there is not one thing that could change the events with which  He chose to surround me.  And to someone in pain, that brings up cosmic questions.

I think one of them was answered profoundly when the apostles asked Him why the man had been born blind - did his parents sin, or did the baby sin in the womb (a popular concept in that day.)  Jesus answered "Neither."  He was born blind so that God could be glorified.

Think of the honor of that!!  For those of us who are chronically ill, in pain or overcome by depression or some unending accompaniment to every breath, it is a whole new way to see.  (curing our own blindness!)  We did not sin in the womb - or cause this to come upon ourselves - this, too, was part of God's hand-fashioned plan for our lives.  And with it ("should you choose to accept it") is a paradigm shift in moving from "disabled" to "displaying the glory of God".  To think that our illnesses may contribute to His glory is an enormous opportunity to make an attitude adjustment.  It means, in essence, that people are not amazed at us ( how we are struggling to implement a yellow brick road mindless happiness in our flesh) but that people do not even see that "us" part anymore.  They simply look at us and know we couldn't possibly carry this alone and they note that Someone Else is the One doing the carrying - even when pain and disability is very evident. Something we see akin to a curse (and surely part of the evil one's handiwork)  has been remade by the touch of a Loving Hand into something that magnifies His glory. Which brings up the question of how, then, should we live?

I had never looked at my illness in that way - there is something about not being strong enough to endure, to do things you must do - and watching someone else have to do it for you.  That really attacks the pride in us that wants to take over and have people see how wonderful I am.  It also makes me feel guilty that I'm not "doing my part.".  It humbles me - and humility is a favorite characteristic that God desires for His children.  To me it tastes like bleech in my mouth; but it makes His heart dance to see it.

Hence, He is glorified.  Now then, aren't all you able bodied people jealous? Nanner nanner nanner!

Soooo, starting off the year learning that I am capable of giving glory to my Creator in special way feels pretty cool to me.  I'm  looking fwd to what else He has to share with me - and those of you who have chosen to accompany me!

Please feel free to comment on anything you wish - to share what God is teaching you in all this

And thanks for coming along - it's not so lonely now!

L'Chaim!

It is a few moments away from Christmas day as I write this.  The house is quiet - and she who lives under  the bed has come out for awhile to be sociable.  If the legend of the animals was true, where they can all speak at midnight on Christmas Eve, I would ask her what the deal is - but since I have  a normal average run of the mill cat, I will just guess.

I have been pondering my word for 2013.  It has become my custom to pick a word to govern my thoughts for the year.  Last year, 2012 was "teachable" - and I concentrated on learning all He laid before me, trying to see the lessons in my days.  I've been prayerfully considering my focus for 2013, and the winner is:

(drum roll, please)                               "to life!"

I want to concentrate on everything from the smallest of joys to the most gigantic of crises.  I want to see and experience Life with Him, noticing the smallest of lessons.  Making it through the pain in His grace, shouldering the sorrows that are inevitable, enjoying each day as it comes.

This past year was, for me, painful physically and emotionally.  Yet He was watching over me - and I learned that I needed to rest in His promises - to trust in His words to me - to live in the moment.

There are several physical problems that are worrying my doctor.  I think she takes it personally when my illness starts taking tolls she never foresaw - but how could she?  My life is not in her hands - it is in His hands.  And if He so chooses, things will get worse, or they will get better.  I am losing my hearing, and possibly my eyesight, and my kidneys are not up to snuff.  Some laser repairs on my eyes are on the horizon, and my hearing loss is very irritating to the people closest to me.  Happily, they laugh with me when I repeat what I think I heard - sometimes is it far from what was really said!  But I've noticed when I watch my church's services via Internet (ccgreenvalley.org) I hear every word.  And so I do have things to celebrate, thanks to His mercy.

I have been thinking about that first Christmas so long ago.  The town of Bethlehem was a dusty little hamlet in that day, packed to the gills with travelers for the census.  It is still a dusty little hamlet to this day, swollen from time to time with pilgrims come to see "the cave" - now with a silver star overlaying the place where Jesus was born (on white marble, no less).  I have to laugh to see the elaborate changes made in that cave - Mary wouldn't recognize it!

I prefer to imagine it as it was 2000 years ago.  How tired and in pain she must have been from the long travel on the back of a donkey! How desperate Joseph must have been to find a place to stay to give her relief!  How confusing was it for Messiah, the coming King, to apparently be birthed in a stable.  Was Mary's heart envisioning a palatial birth up to the last minute?  For money and warmth to suddenly spring forth, assistance at the birth, a place in a palace to rest up?  And then at the purification to hear that a sword would pierce her heart someday.  Was that a literal sword, she must have wondered?  Or symbolic of some great sorrow?  She didn't know - nobody ever explained details to her.  She just bowed her head and submitted to the Lord, keeping these things in her heart.

After giving birth in a stable she must have wondered what other surprises awaited her!

And what of the mighty Pharisees?  When the Magi arrived a couple of years later and shook up Herod, he asked them where the Messiah was to be born.  The Pharisees told him Bethlehem.  5 miles away.

Right next door.

Did they even bother to look?  Supposedly they were awaiting Messiah themselves.  If someone came asking where He was, and I was waiting for Him, I think I would have gone 5 measly miles to see Him.

They didn't stir a muscle.  That tells me their attitude was locked in already.  They had no intention of supporting any messianic disturbances that could take away their power.  Power and pomp was what they lived for - don't bother them with details.  They'll take care of any messiahs when they have to.

And so they did.

5 measly miles.

I ask myself, how far would I have gone?  Would I have ignored the news, afraid of Herod's revenge if he thought I was shifting my allegiance?  They used to say it was safer to be Herod's pig than his relative - the pig was unclean so he left it alone.  His family aroused his suspicions - and once suspicious of someone, they were goners.

I've always wondered what Jesus thought of the world He created - and when He realized Who He was.  His communication with His Father must have begun as soon as He was able to understand.  Was he 5? 10? 13 and ready to be Bar Mitzvahed?

Did He know the details?  Or was it slowly unfurled before Him with the passage of time - the form of death He would endure? The suffering it entailed?  The betrayal by a friend?  With a kiss, no less!

These are all questions without answers for the moment.  But they leave a lesson of sorts with me: do I put off going to find Him - when He is a heartbeat away, not 5 miles?  All I need to do is call that Name, and He is here.  How much effort do I put in to know Him better?

Those questions do have answers - and I will be using my new word-of-the-year to explore them.  Endeavoring to lead my Life in larger than life sized letters; trying to experience Him in any way possible.  Walking through Life with Messiah, the Creator, my Savior.

"To Life!" "L'Chaim!"

Where was God?

The whole world mourns with Sandy Hook CT today.

The homes of the children and the adults who perished echo with their absences.  The heart will forever long to hear, just one more time, those voices - their laughter, their nonsense. The words "I love you."

Even  the endless questions little ones can come up with.

Just one more time.

Well, today, we are the ones left with the questions.

I wonder what horrors and inner torture could drive someone only 20 years of age to do something like this.

I do not, however, wonder who gave him the idea.

I have noticed, over and  over, how the evil one loves to harm children.

And then I think of my Lord Who said, "Suffer(allow) the little children unto Me."  His arms were - and still are - open to all little children.  And when faced with such horrors we all, regardless of chronological age, become little children.  I know I needed to crawl into my Poppa's arms and cry.

The words that came out surprised me in a way.

I was crying "O Lord, forgive us!"

Forgive us for shutting You out.  Forgive us for endlessly demanding our "rights" - our right to kill unborn babies.  Our right not to be responsible for ill parents.  Our right to ignore You, to push You away, to demand You leave our civil life. Our right to teach children "situational ethics" instead of right and wrong.  Our right to absolutely state there are no absolutes.  Our right to do as we please - even when we know it is morally questionable or outright wrong. Our right to hold other people's lives cheaply.  Our right to defame the One Who holds each breath in His hand.  Our right to blaspheme and ridicule the Creator of all things.  Our right not to be restricted by "religion" or - horror! - have to look upon a cross or a creche in a public place.

Our strident cries of "How dare you judge me!"  "I don't believe there is a God."  "Separation of church and state!" echo through the universe.  (The Amendment was  actually made to insure there would be no government interference with the practice of religion - like, say, forcing churches to provide money for abortions against their beliefs.)

But we can look upon pornography - even porn that destroys little children.  We can watch movies with explicit sex and language that would have caused our parents and grandparents to turn crimson with shame (but then, what did they know?  They were so dumb they believed God created them, not primordial slime and a lightning strike)

And then we demand with shrill voices (when a Sandy Hook or a 911 occurs,) "How could a loving God allow this to happen?  How can God be good if He allows people to do such evil things? Where was God?"

Well, I can tell you where God was.

God was right there, not infringing on your rights .

God was honoring your strident demand:  "Thou shalt not rule over me."

And He was crying.

The simple elegance of grace

Looked up the definition of grace and it is "simple elegance or refinement of movement".  This, of course is the "secular" definition.

But it fits the "unmerited favor" of the spiritual definition as well.

The movements of God in my life have, truthfully, always been movements of simple elegance.  He blasted His way into my life in a way that was elegantly simple.  The difference He made is the difference between unsullied Light and unenlightened darkness. Black and White.  Elegant. Crisp.  Refined.  And, may I add, vivid.

If is as if He took a black and white painting - simple elegance - and added color in delicate hues, now pastel, now gloriously iridescent, now distilled and pristine.  Nuances galore - that refinement of movement coming into play.

And all of it unmerited favor.

I have been meditating a lot on gratitude and being thankful - not just for things, but for people and places and everyday miracles - like eyes that see, lungs that work, a heart that beats.  I've been reading a 21 day gratitude challenge and it's been illuminating as well as spiritually edifying (there's that refinement of movement again).  The author maintains that our emotions follow what we purpose in our hearts to do.  If we maintain that we will be grateful, darkness lifts and self-pity can be conquered.  It's not a snap-your-fingers type of thing, but a spiritual battle - a simple elegance of the soul that rightfully proclaims that each beat of the heart is a gift of grace. Why 21 days?  That's how long it takes to form a habit. She suggests journaling gratitude in 3 areas : physical, spiritual, and relational - and suggests sending a thank you note via snail mail to one person each of the 21 days as ways to fight self-pity, discontent,  and - in my case - complaints about physical pain or aches.  To consciously fight the darkness with the light of His presence; as the Psalmists says, "We enter in with praise and thanksgiving".

Simple elegance.

I'm discovering that God's ways are just that.  Simple to grasp, elegant in their ease of understanding.  But my efforts at actually doing them are far from being refined movement.  More like fits and starts and falling over, getting up and dusting off the feeling of failure, and going at it again.

I was raised in a religion of fear - one mortal sin and the trap door to hell opened.  When Jesus bought me out of the slave market it took me awhile to realize all my future sins as well as past sins were already paid for.  Jesus taught me that He knew before He chose me exactly how much darkness and sinful ways lurked in the recesses of my soul - and still He chose me from before the foundation of the world.  All of my failures  and fits and starts and tripping in the mud, falling hither and yon were nailed to the cross.  What was important to Him was that I continue to get back up, confess it and repent, (washing off all the caked on mud,) and begin again on the narrow way.

Simple elegance.  Unmerited favor.  Refinement of movement.

Now, I cannot claim that "refinement of movement" stuff for my own yet, and  I think "simple elegance" will only be conferred upon me when I reach Home. But all three of those terms certainly fit my King.

So, I'm trying to form that new habit.  I have "thankfulness journaled" in fits and starts for awhile now, but not trying to hit all three categories every day.  I'm trying to be "present" with Him in the Word, in prayer, in gratitude.  To consciously realize that I am truly and actually in the Presence of the King of Kings, the Creator of the universe, the Savior of my soul.  And, for at least the next 21 days, I will journal with intent.

In a simply elegant refinement of movement, I will chronicle the unmerited favor in my life, one day at a time.

Care to join me?

the first day of December

The first day of December always calls to me.

Time to sweep the stable clear of any impediments to the entry of the Child.  Am I harboring a grudge - unforgiveness towards someone?  Have I been judging anyone? Need to ask forgiveness?  Hiding some secret sin?  Allowing my heart to grow as cold as the bitter winds of winter?  Slacking off on the Word?  Skipping prayer?  Trying to clean myself up instead of bowing before Him and accepting His grace and forgiveness?  Allowing fear to rule me instead of faith.?

Someone shared a blurb on the web that brought me up short.  It said " Faith is the bridge between where I am and where God is leading me."

I found great wisdom in that little blurb.  As one who always seems to fight God's leading, leaving black heel marks on my Christian walk where He has had to drag me from one place to another, trust always seems hard for me.  Correction: recognizing God's hand in irritating places is more the problem.  Once I know He is in something (which should be recognized all the time!) I can take a deep breath and step off the cliff, trusting in the Everlasting Arms that are underneath me.  It's the recognizing part that throws me every time.

Why is it so hard for me to see His hand in the unpleasant/painful/irritating circumstance?  While I was still working, God moved my comfortable office to an uncomfortable office, working with a doctor I had difficulty relating to.

Hidden in that office was a Christian sister bereft of friends she trusted, in a hostile office environment.  We have been friends for over 20 years now.

Another time I had hurt my back and had to be on light duty.  I was moved to a tiny corner of an office worker's small office - and discovered not only another sister, but one who was a kindred spirit as well, and has been as close as an "official" sister to my heart for the last 30 years.

The only situation I recognized was my illness - and that probably because it was so serious I knew it was too big for me to handle!  I watched Seas galore part to allow me thru on dry ground, obstacle after obstacle removed from my path, blessing after blessing showered upon me.

So why haven't I learned?  Why do I still fret and gnash my teeth and froth at the mouth when something "small" disrupts my daily walk?

And why do I not recognize that with a God as Awesome as ours, they are all small?

This month will be full of hustle and bustle, hither and yon stuff.  For once, with my King;s help, I am purposing in my heart to lay it all at His feet - the small stuff as well as the gigantic stuff that immediately drops me face down before Him.  To take the irritation to Him. To take the daily hassles and arrows of hurt feelings and dark days to the One Who filtered each hurt feeling and hassle and arrow through loving hands.  It seems to me that our Papa loves to teach us through less than comfortable situations.  Somehow the pain seems to insure the lesson will be remembered.  And it reminds me that Jesus learned obedience "through the things He suffered."

After 20 years delivering babies, the Nativity holds great meaning for me.  I often think of the One Who cast aside His crown to be born a baby - to open His eyes for the first time not in a pampered palace nursery but in a cold stone trough, to get His first human-sized view of the world He had come to save.  A newborn is a sponge, soaking up every sound, every sight, learning from that first breath on, contrary to popular thought.  Newborns mimic facial expressions, begin babbling in vowel, accent and consonant sounds of their particular language, and come complete with behaviors designed to induce bonding: grasping fingers, focusing on black dots on white backgrounds so they establish eye contact immediately.   To facilitate this, they instinctively turn their heads to the right, whether they are right or left handed.  Since most people are right handed, they will most likely be held in the left arm - and when they turn their faces to the right, they will find eye contact.and, when combined with the rooting reflex, a source of nourishment.  All finely tuned behaviors our Father designed for His children.  Eye contact and touch are as necessary as food to the newborn,  Deprived of them they cannot process foods correctly. and find themselves swallowed by a syndrome known as, simply, " failure to thrive."

I think of how this birth-in-a-stable scenario must have confused Mary and Joseph - how could the Messiah not be born with pomp and fanfare?  How they must have wondered what the heck was going on - and felt shamed by how little they could give to this Amazing Child.  Did they miss a signal somewhere?  Surely God didn't mean for Messiah to be poor!  Why was life such a continual struggle when the King of all the earth had been entrusted to their care?  Their offering in the temple was two doves - a provision for the very poor to offer.  And soon there would be at least 6 more children - four brothers are named in Scripture, plus a mention of "sisters", plural, so there were more than one.  At least 7 children, including Jesus, would have to be provided for - plus a hasty trip into Egypt and then a move back to Israel.  The visit of the Magi (nowhere does it say three, nor does it call them "kings") provided an easily transported source of funds as well as prophetic gifts to the small family (Jesus is estimated to have been around two years old @ the time of their visit.) I can't imagine how confused they must have been - nothing would have made sense according tot the world's way of doing things.

And somehow, the world's way of doing things had gotten mixed up with the ways of the Israelites - so much so that rich people were considered to be special to God, no doubt holy.  By the same reasoning, the poor must be epic sinners or God would bless them with money.  So this Child King could not be the Messiah according to their thinking, He must be the child of some pretty horrible sinners (never ending whispers followed Him about how Mary got pregnant before she was married, thus the Pharisees would never lose their condescending attitude towards Jesus).

I have always wondered how the Pharisees could know Jesus had raised several folks from the dead and not recognize Someone with some pretty heavy credentials.  They couldn't deny the miracles - even the thugs they sent to arrest Him were thrown to their knees when Jesus answered their identification query with "I am"
And then He picks up the ear Peter chopped off and heals the guy - imagine it!  Blood spurting all over his tunic, one second screaming in pain, the next all healed up (I bet there wasn't even a scar!) - and still the guy roughly arrests Jesus!

I sit with open-mouthed amazement when I get to those parts in the Gospel.  How is it possible?

And then I look at those black heelmarks on my Christian walk.  How I so rarely recognize His hand while something is happening.  It's only when I have the distance of time and the Holy Spirit's ministering that I can make sense of what I see,  They didn't have the Holy Spirit leading, interpreting, guiding like I do.  And even with all that, I still miss the point so often in my life.  I truly depend on His mercies being new every morning. I draw great comfort in the fact that underneath are the everlasting Arms, and Romans 8:28 is a word I cling to.

And finally I connect the dots and realize that this is exactly why the Babe had to be born - and die for my sins, and the sins of the world.  Because we are so very dense when faced with circumstances not to our liking.  Because without the Holy Spirit living in us, leading and teaching us, opening our eyes, we would be without hope.

And hope is what that little Baby signified. "The hopes and fears of all the years."  They met in the little town of Bethlehem, one night long ago. And because of that, "whosoever will" may choose to actually meet the Creator of the universe, to be indwelt  by the Holy Spirit, and spend eternity in the presence of God.

Just think of it! What an Awesome God we serve!

Hungry for more of Him

I have been in excruciating pain the last 2 days.  There were times when the only thing I could do was to say His Name over and over - and I believe in the power of that Name.

The pain has finally left me - with the knowledge that it will come again.  Someday.  Prayerfully, not soon.

There is something about physical pain that is exhausting.  It finally left me about 1 am - I fell on my bed so exhausted.  I could do nothing more than turn out the light - and awoke 3 hours later to find I was on top of the bedcovers, not underneath them.  I had thought to only rest for a bit before actually getting into sleeping position.

And yet, if given the choice, I would gladly choose the physical over the mental.

I have dear friends who suffer from the mental part.  One has bi-polar disease, and is often tempted by the lie of sweet oblivion with suicide - but His ownership of her body and life prevent that false solution.  Another friend battled for years to surface after a lifetime of verbal and physical abuse - the verbal from both of her parents, the combined ferocity of both from her husband.  Another is fraught with an uneasy feeling as fall approaches, as SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder) causes her to struggle through the depths of winter.  She once descibed it as wearing a sack over your head.  You know it's there; other people tell you it's there; but there is nothing you can do about it.

And another friend who recently found he could fight the sack no longer, and he ended it himself.  The crush of guilt and sadness he left behind for those who loved him is an unimagineable horror.

I have seen their suffering, doubts, pain and sadness up close and personal.  They come often to my prayers - and I rejoice to see their victories when they come.  But I'll take my physical extremities any day - and thank God He has not called me to mental anguish.

God has had me "stumble onto" a life-changing book recently.  It is called "Sitting at the feet of Rabbi Jesus" by Ann Spangler and Lois Tverberg, both gentile.  They have studied the background of first century Judaism and place the words of Jesus in that setting - and a light turns on.

I have a great love for the Jewish people.  Having been blessed with a trip to Israel, it changed my life in a big way.  This book does the same.

To the observant Jew, God is everywhere.  Every moment of the day, from awakening to eating to working to sleeping has a blessing attached to it.  It makes Paul's admonition to pray without ceasing an interesting thought.  He may have been referring to this practice.

Seemingly a plethora of memorized prayers recited rote, it is nothing at all like that.  The prayers are memorized because they have seen and heard both mama and papa saying them from the time they can first remember.  But they are also taught that saying the blessings without being aware of Whom you are praying to is worse than useless; it is insult.

Each prayer begins with a reminder of Who He is:  "Baruch atah Adonai Eluheneu Melech ha'olam.." Blessed Art Thou, Lord God, King of the Universe... and they continue with something like "Who has caused grain to be grown on the Earth" to celebrate having food on their table.  The day begins with thanking the Creator for keeping their soul in their body for one more day, and continues with every opportunity.

I fear sometimes that Christianity has made us less aware of the Whom when we pray - the amazing privilege of praying to Someone Who bids us call Him "Papa" is sometimes, I fear, taken as license rather than privilege.  I pray I am never doing that.

I am trying to incorporate some of those blessings of every second into my life.  Certainly the relief of pain is high on my list - but so is waking up one more day on earth, having a roof over my head, even having flannel sheets as the weather cools is a blessing I don't take lightly.

I hunger for more of Him.  I have since the day He first blasted His way into my life.  The difference between "before" and "after" in my life was immediately evident.  I asked Him then to take me into the depths with Him, a prayer He is continually answering - not thru any holiness on my part - far from it - but through His willingness to answer prayers.  And still the hunger for more remains.  I expect that hunger will not cease until we are face-to-face with a Being so Immense and Powerful that He created an untold number of galaxies and star factories and planets - and then stooped to Earth to tenderly Hand-create mankind from the dust of the very earth He had created.  We have no idea Whom we are dealing with.  The "Jesus meek and mild" doesn't exist.  He is a Powerful, Omniscient God Who clothed Himself with the dust of the Earth so we could understand what Love is - so we would have a familiar Face, so to speak, on which to base our knowledge of the Father.  But Who He is, like the place He has prepared for us, is so far beyond whatever we could think or imagine, is beyond out abilitlies to discern.

And so our Heavenly Papa sent His Son, to help us grasp that Love focuses on the Beloved.  Everything Jesus said and did was to show us what Love really is - how much our Papa loves us, how much Love costs, how much we have to learn about Loving.  To sit at the feet of the rabbi Yeshua is a privilege granted to each of us that bear His Name - and, speaking for myself, how rarely I do it.  My prayers seem too full of requests and too little of thanksgiving.  And when I consciously spend time in thanksgiving, as soon as I start there come crowding into my mind those who need prayer - and so the time, inch by inch, is swallowed in petition.

If you, too, are struggling with this, with this hunger that slips from your fingers when you try to cultivate it, join me in emulating the observant Jew and his acknowledgement of his Creator in everything he does.  Begin   your day with thanksgiving - and seek every opportunity to thank Him for your cup of tea, your favorite pet, your earthly beloved.

Blessed art Thou, Lord God, King of the Universe, Who has given to man the secret of technology and computers, to allow us to praise You and to bring us knowledge and delight.  Bless each one who stumbles on this blog today and draw them closer to You.

Amen.

What I learned from my cat...

I've been up all night again tonight.  After tossing and turning I finally got up to see how the new baby was doing  http://www.earthcam.com/usa/southcarolina/greenville/  Even she is trying to doze - her mom comes over and kissed her forehead every once in awhile, it's so cute to see them.  I never thought giraffes were that cute before - wow, was I wrong!

Last night was a horror.  The nausea and vomiting have come back with a vengeance - i spent the night close to the toilet, nauseated to the point of salivation but it wouldn't come up.

At one point I tried to lie down for a bit.

Now, if you've seen this blog before you know about Katrina (her pic at top)  She is a Wegie (pronounced Wee-gee) A Norwegian Forest Cat of large proportions - they run 20 to 25 lbs.  She is around 20,  I've had her since she was a kitten and she has never gotten past the idea that I wanted to kill her.  Her flight from Virginia was delayed and she stayed in Atlanta for almost 6 hrs before flying on to me in Nevada.  From the first, she avoided me.  Came out of the carrier and crawled under the bed - and stayed there for 3 months.  I knew she was eating because the food disappeared and the litter box had been used.

After she came out into the world, you could talk to her if you were sitting and she was  an inch beyond your farthest reach.  If you stood up, she was back under the bed.  I still can't catch her which makes vet visits a nightmare, and she despises grooming, so she gets mats and the groomer thinks I neglect her.  Of course, she sits perfectly still for the groomer, purrs  and cooperates so they don't believe me when I tell them that just trimming her nails is an ordeal because she hates to have her paws touched!

I would complain about her to God, and one day out of the blue He said to me, "She's just like you."

Whaaaaat?

He said" You too hold me at arms length, and are leery of sitting with me in the silence for even a little while.  When you have something I know is bad for you in your mouth you run away instead of listening to my prompting to come to me and deal with it.  She's just like you."

Well, that made me sit up and take notice.

The one thing that comforted me was that at least she follows me around from one room to another, and has to be in my presence throughout the day.  I surely hope that that is how my walk with Him goes.

Now back to Barf, the sequel:

I laid down on the bed on my left side, my left arm stretched out a little, palm up , fingers slightly cupped.  I was exhausted and nauseated and on top of everything else I had one of my nuclear strength headaches. I closed my eyes.

All of a sudden I felt the bed move.

Katrina had come up on the bed - and she curled up next to me, leaning against my cupped fingers.

And then, I felt her place her huge, soft  furry paw-that-she-hates-to-have-touched gently in the palm of my hand - and leave it there.

Then the tears came.

 Partly because that was exceptional behavior from my standoffish cat - but every once in awhile she will do something that will just melt my heart.

And also because I knew God was saying to me, "I love you.  I am right here, by your side - and I am using Katrina to show you some tenderness tonight."

And it was enough.

Under neath are the Everlasting Arms.

Selah