Driving home under an eyelash moon, the streets aglow with twinkling lights, I couldn't help but think about the reason for the season. Our church's candlelight service tonight was perfect.
To hear again the old old story, to realize anew that He came for all of us. To know that tiny Baby born - probably in June - came knowing that those tiny baby hands, so captivating, would one day be pierced by a nail, his feet also destroyed and crushed by a mallet driving metal into it. To have that wee tummy pierced by a spear. To be nailed, naked, to a piece of the wood He Himself created. And to be bled by that spear, as befits a Paschal lamb.
Knowingly, a Being so immense He filled the universe, pledged Himself to be forever held captive by a human body. Think of that. Never again will His spirit be free to fill all things with Himself. He will be walled in. Forever.
And the reason for this?
So that you and I will never be walled in by flames and darkness and suffering - our spirits will expand to fill a body that can walk through walls and will never ache or falter ever again.
It amazes me, over and over, that He loves us so - and chose us before He ever created the first man, knowing that that choice would cost Him everything.
It's hard to imagine myself making such a choice. Loving THAT much.
But He does.
And what great feat do we have to do to qualify for this greatest of all possible gifts?
One thing.
Say yes.
So, on this day we celebrate this choice becoming flesh and blood and marching inexorably to the cross, if you haven't said it yet, please accept this most magnificent of gifts ever given.
And all you have to do is:
Say yes.
Merry Christmas!
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Christmas and CI
It's a few weeks before Christmas, and I'm pondering.
I'm a big fan of Calvin Miller's - the Singer Trilogy and his other, weightier Christian treatises. In The Singer there are several poignant lines that, as a calligrapher who treasures a tight turn of a phrase, struck me deeply and got grafted into my notebook of quotes for just that reason. One of his lines in the Nativity portion is "every cradle hangs above an open grave."
Every person has an expiration date already settled, and when that date arrives, he will stand before his Maker, whether he believes there is one or not.
For those of us with CI (chronic illness) that is striking. CI often feels as tho it's a fatal thing. It lasts sooooo long, and takes so much away. At this time of year especially, it steals our energy and robs us of outings and get togethers, shopping and decorating.
But (I love that word) it can only steal what we allow it to steal. Many of the things we want to do are not necessary things. It cannot steal our joy. It cannot steal our relationship with the King of kings. It cannot steal our giving of love, or our support of others when they are feeling unsure, afraid, or alone.
Jesus learned obedience by the things He suffered.
The Word tells us this, to show us that Jesus knows what we are going thru, what it feels like to suffer in ways we will never have to endure.
He knows.
I find great comfort in that.
He knows what it feels like to grow up poor in material things, but rich in family. He knows what it means to walk alone when others walk in pairs. He knows what it means to feel helpless watching someone we love die - how He must have ached to watch Joseph pass away, when He had all the power there is at His fingertips, and His Father said, "No."
I read something tonight that mentioned there is a big difference between submission to suffering in Jesus and submission to suffering period . Submitting to suffering alone carries with it a bitterness, an aftertaste, if you will, that lingers in all of our words and attitudes. Submission to Jesus means we know that His hand was the One Who allowed this.
Joni Earickson Tada described suffering as "He uses what He hates to accomplish the things He loves."
Submission always means we soften our stiff necks; we bow them and bend our knees.
It's not fun.
But our modern world has forgotten what the early Christians knew well - that suffering has a reason, has merit, has the ability to teach in a way nothing else can, simply because it is His inescapable choice for us. When He chooses to allow something uncontrollable in our lives, it is always for our benefit.
Because the simple truth is, nothing in our lives, not a single second, is under our control. We have no control over our next breath, whether one hair turns white or gray, or whether we wake up in the morning.
What we do have control over is how we wake up in the morning.
We can praise Him for another day to love in His Name. We can be obedient to the best of our ability. And we can praise Him for all the gifts in our lives.
We can choose whether to be grateful or grumpy.
And in this Season of the Father's wholehearted giving of His only Son - knowing that He would not be received, that He would be stripped naked in front of the whole world, that He would taste spittle, be scourged, have His beard pulled out and His head crushed with thorns - and then after all that, He would be nailed to a cross made of the wood He Himself had created - I think I can manage some praise, some gratitude, some bowed neck and bended knee.
Because He did it for me.
And my paltry bit of chronic illness, carried with as much grace as I can manage each day, is what I do for Him.
I'm a big fan of Calvin Miller's - the Singer Trilogy and his other, weightier Christian treatises. In The Singer there are several poignant lines that, as a calligrapher who treasures a tight turn of a phrase, struck me deeply and got grafted into my notebook of quotes for just that reason. One of his lines in the Nativity portion is "every cradle hangs above an open grave."
Every person has an expiration date already settled, and when that date arrives, he will stand before his Maker, whether he believes there is one or not.
For those of us with CI (chronic illness) that is striking. CI often feels as tho it's a fatal thing. It lasts sooooo long, and takes so much away. At this time of year especially, it steals our energy and robs us of outings and get togethers, shopping and decorating.
But (I love that word) it can only steal what we allow it to steal. Many of the things we want to do are not necessary things. It cannot steal our joy. It cannot steal our relationship with the King of kings. It cannot steal our giving of love, or our support of others when they are feeling unsure, afraid, or alone.
Jesus learned obedience by the things He suffered.
The Word tells us this, to show us that Jesus knows what we are going thru, what it feels like to suffer in ways we will never have to endure.
He knows.
I find great comfort in that.
He knows what it feels like to grow up poor in material things, but rich in family. He knows what it means to walk alone when others walk in pairs. He knows what it means to feel helpless watching someone we love die - how He must have ached to watch Joseph pass away, when He had all the power there is at His fingertips, and His Father said, "No."
I read something tonight that mentioned there is a big difference between submission to suffering in Jesus and submission to suffering period . Submitting to suffering alone carries with it a bitterness, an aftertaste, if you will, that lingers in all of our words and attitudes. Submission to Jesus means we know that His hand was the One Who allowed this.
Joni Earickson Tada described suffering as "He uses what He hates to accomplish the things He loves."
Submission always means we soften our stiff necks; we bow them and bend our knees.
It's not fun.
But our modern world has forgotten what the early Christians knew well - that suffering has a reason, has merit, has the ability to teach in a way nothing else can, simply because it is His inescapable choice for us. When He chooses to allow something uncontrollable in our lives, it is always for our benefit.
Because the simple truth is, nothing in our lives, not a single second, is under our control. We have no control over our next breath, whether one hair turns white or gray, or whether we wake up in the morning.
What we do have control over is how we wake up in the morning.
We can praise Him for another day to love in His Name. We can be obedient to the best of our ability. And we can praise Him for all the gifts in our lives.
We can choose whether to be grateful or grumpy.
And in this Season of the Father's wholehearted giving of His only Son - knowing that He would not be received, that He would be stripped naked in front of the whole world, that He would taste spittle, be scourged, have His beard pulled out and His head crushed with thorns - and then after all that, He would be nailed to a cross made of the wood He Himself had created - I think I can manage some praise, some gratitude, some bowed neck and bended knee.
Because He did it for me.
And my paltry bit of chronic illness, carried with as much grace as I can manage each day, is what I do for Him.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
A 'Tale of Two Ladies'
Reading in Mark 5 and 6 today.
The story is familiar - especially to me, which I will explain later. I have been drawn to all the accounts in this as well as the other gospels. But in reading these chapters one after the other today, I noticed something I've never seen before.
The woman who suffered from "the issue of blood" had been afflicted 12 years - the same number of years the young girl had lived. who was to be raised from the dead.
That gave me chills. Numbers are important in the Word, and I was sure there was something connecting these two that I had not put together yet. This is no simple coincidence. God's Word is written by design, not some haphazard happening.
So I started meditating on these two stories to see what the Holy Spirit wanted to show me.
For as long as the little girl had been alive, this woman had been bleeding. All her money had been spent on doctors. The Word mentions no husband or family to nurture her in her isolating sickness. Was she a business woman? Women , as a rule, had no private funds. And in addition to having spent all her money, which must have been substantial to afford doctoring for 12 years, she had spent all that time being unclean. Being unclean meant that no one could touch her or enter her house without becoming unclean because of her. In addition, constant bleeding leaves you wobbly and weak from the blood loss.
I say this because I had periodic hemorrhages and severe pain for 21 years. The blood loss was bad enough. It was the pain I came to fear. I was the only under-age woman in my college with a doctor's script prescribing a shot of brandy every 3or4 hours when the pain began. And most likely, knowing what disorders create a medical profile like this (I;m an RN) it was not only isolating, but excruciatingly painful - and it sounds like it was from endometriosis. I especially noted the place where she says, "She felt in herself that she was healed." Power went out from Jesus, and blasted into her body, going directly to the place where the pain came from, and the bleeding stopped. Finally. After 12 years of agony. Did she have any warning when the pain/bleeding would hit? Endo is notorious for irregular cycles. I know from my own experiences, I never had a clue when it would hit me. I could be out to dinner with someone, or on a trip, didn't matter. by the end I was bleeding 3 weeks out of four. All of a sudden I would be curled up and trying to hold it together, or, if it was especially bad, I would be on my way to ER and would wind up spending the night at the hospital to get the pain under control. My last year of college I almost bled to death - I was in shock with blood going in each arm and when I moved on the guerney, a waterfall of blood splashed over to the ground. When I found this account of healing it touched my heart deeply. I knew this woman - well. It bolstered my faith enormously.
What I know for certain is, no matter how much pain she was in on this particular day, she was determined.
To enter a crowd and struggle, weak and shaky from blood loss, to catch up with this Man that folks said healed people, speaks of a finality of desperation. He could heal her. She knew it. All she had to do was touch the fringe of His garment. Can't you hear her, saying this over and over and over and over to keep herself going? "All I have to do is touch the the fringe. I just have to get close enough to touch it, that's all. Just a little closer...I can do this....just a little more..."
Meanwhile, Jairus, the head of the synagogue, had come and asked Jesus to heal his daughter; she was on the verge of death. It was urgent! He must have been screaming inside - "hurry UP!!! Just hurry UP!!"
They were moving right along when, suddenly, impossibly, it happened.
After struggling and hoping and fighting to get near, she touched Him.
KA-BLAM!!!
Power blasted thru her, a warm tingling of a fire that shot down her arm to THE spot she knew so very well. She felt in herself, it was over. And I'd be willing to bet you that Jesus replaced the blood she had lost in that moment also. The pain was gone. The bleeding had stopped. She felt energized, her spirits lifted, SHE WAS WHOLE!
Jesus stopped in His tracks. He turned.
And then He spoke."Who touched Me?"
His disciples shot Him a look of astonishment.
Then they looked at each other. It seemed like a million people surrounded them, pushing, jostling, bumping. "Who touched Me?" He's got to be kidding! EVERYBODY touched Him!
As for her, she knew she'd been caught in the act. She had stolen this healing. She, too, froze, trembling, knowing of a certainty, that if He could tell she'd stolen that power, then He could easily figure out it was her. The crowd had grown silent, curious. No one was moving.
He asked again, "Who touched Me?" Strong. Commanding. He was dead serious.
The synagogue ruler was there, staring. Tapping his foot. His daughter was dying! They had no time for this!
With her heart beating out of her chest, on trembling legs she tottered forward, eyes cast downward as the men began to part, allowing her access to the Healer. She fell to the ground in front of Him, and sobbed out her story. She expected rage, she expected Him to be indignant.
Instead, she got love.
"Your faith has saved you, My daughter, Go in peace."
And that was all.
No recriminations, no casting of stones, no sarcastic comments. Just the tenderly spoken words: "go in peace."
While all this was transpiring, Jairus was getting frantic. His need was urgent. His daughter was beyond sick. She was DYING for pete's sake! Dying! We need to hurry!
At that moment, one of his servants came to him and said, "Don't bother the Master anymore. She is dead.".
Dead.
The very word was fraught with heaviness. It was over. His only child, his light, his life, over.
He stumbled, put his hand to his face, turned to look at Jesus, dazed, his eyes filling with the pain of grief.
Jesus speared him with a glance. "Don't be afraid. Just believe"
And taking with Him the top three - Peter James and John - they proceed to his house .
I find this so intriguing.
With God's fingertip-control of time, the news of her death doesn't come until after he sees Jesus heal someone, right in front of him, close up and personal.That picture is fresh in his mind. He had just seen the miraculous power operating in Jesus.
And the key was faith. Trust. Belief.
But his daughter! She was dead they said. Dead.
Jairus is trying so hard. Trying to trust. Trying to believe.
Trying not to panic and crumple, wailing aloud, to the ground.
And all he can think is, my daughter! My daughter! My daughter!
As they arrive, they hear the loud groans and shrieks of pain from the professional mourners. Jesus says to them "she is not dead, she is sleeping."
Their "sorrow" turned to laughter and sarcasm. They were experts in dead. They knew what "dead" looked like. And they had seen dead lying in a bed in this house.
Stop for a moment and think about the other apostles. Jesus takes "His guys" and goes off to perform some kind of miracle, and he always takes Peter, James and John. He does, I'm sure, tell them what happened afterwards, but it seems none of the rest of the guys ever get a turn.
Especially Judas.
Is this one of the things that so poisoned his heart that he grabs his chance to betray with both hands?
Just a thought.
So Jesus takes mama, papa, and the three and goes into the house. He tells them again not to be afraid, and to believe. Then He walks over to her bed.
We are not told what it was that she died from. Most diseases aside from snakebite take a long time to kill. Perhaps measles. Mumps. Chicken pox or polio, diptheria, meningitis - there were so many things that killed in their time, as in ours.
There are few things that kill quickly. So she probably hadn't eaten in awhile, probably ran a high fever, tossed and turned and perhaps her hair was still flayed all over the place.
Jesus is looking tenderly at the child His Father placed in this family, He smoothed back some hair from her face, and gently said to her "Talitha Koumi" Little girl, I say to thee arise."
She starts to blink her eyes. Her parents gasp. All eyes are on the face of their little girl.
Her color changes. Blue lips and white face becomes pink lips and rosy cheeks. She sits up and her family is struck dumb, frozen in place with wonder.
Peter James and John are flies on the wall - they are stunned and have let fly a few gasps themselves. Wow. Jesus really does have power. Unimagineable power. And they begin to ask themselves, for the 100th time, "Who is this Guy??"
Into the moment of silence Jesus says, dryly, "Soooooooo one of you guys want to feed her?"
I love His wit. It's like when He raised Lazarus. Everyone was stunned into silence and here is a bound Lazarus hobbling out of the tomb and Jesus says"ummmm you want to untie him and let him go?"
Chaos! Bedlam!
Parents rushing to her, calling for servants - "She's alive. Alive!! Get her some food, some water! Hurry! She's well! She is well!!"
The Word doesn't describe this moment. But in my heart, I know that Papa fell to his knees before Jesus, overcome with gratitude and wonder and the solace a parent's heart experiences when his worst fear has, in fact, come to bear - and then - simply undone.
And looking into the eyes of Jesus, I see such joy, such delight in conquering that last enemy, the one that will someday be placed under His feet.
Two women. One grown, one not so grown.
Two lives. One little girl, seemingly lost already and in a hopeless state. The other was a grown woman, alive, and yet everything that made life life had been lost, inch by inch, who faced only a hopeless gray expanse of time until it was all, finally, over.
And what was it that bound these two apparently unrelated miracles together?
I finally saw it.
There wasn't just one person raised from the dead that day.
There were two.
The story is familiar - especially to me, which I will explain later. I have been drawn to all the accounts in this as well as the other gospels. But in reading these chapters one after the other today, I noticed something I've never seen before.
The woman who suffered from "the issue of blood" had been afflicted 12 years - the same number of years the young girl had lived. who was to be raised from the dead.
That gave me chills. Numbers are important in the Word, and I was sure there was something connecting these two that I had not put together yet. This is no simple coincidence. God's Word is written by design, not some haphazard happening.
So I started meditating on these two stories to see what the Holy Spirit wanted to show me.
For as long as the little girl had been alive, this woman had been bleeding. All her money had been spent on doctors. The Word mentions no husband or family to nurture her in her isolating sickness. Was she a business woman? Women , as a rule, had no private funds. And in addition to having spent all her money, which must have been substantial to afford doctoring for 12 years, she had spent all that time being unclean. Being unclean meant that no one could touch her or enter her house without becoming unclean because of her. In addition, constant bleeding leaves you wobbly and weak from the blood loss.
I say this because I had periodic hemorrhages and severe pain for 21 years. The blood loss was bad enough. It was the pain I came to fear. I was the only under-age woman in my college with a doctor's script prescribing a shot of brandy every 3or4 hours when the pain began. And most likely, knowing what disorders create a medical profile like this (I;m an RN) it was not only isolating, but excruciatingly painful - and it sounds like it was from endometriosis. I especially noted the place where she says, "She felt in herself that she was healed." Power went out from Jesus, and blasted into her body, going directly to the place where the pain came from, and the bleeding stopped. Finally. After 12 years of agony. Did she have any warning when the pain/bleeding would hit? Endo is notorious for irregular cycles. I know from my own experiences, I never had a clue when it would hit me. I could be out to dinner with someone, or on a trip, didn't matter. by the end I was bleeding 3 weeks out of four. All of a sudden I would be curled up and trying to hold it together, or, if it was especially bad, I would be on my way to ER and would wind up spending the night at the hospital to get the pain under control. My last year of college I almost bled to death - I was in shock with blood going in each arm and when I moved on the guerney, a waterfall of blood splashed over to the ground. When I found this account of healing it touched my heart deeply. I knew this woman - well. It bolstered my faith enormously.
What I know for certain is, no matter how much pain she was in on this particular day, she was determined.
To enter a crowd and struggle, weak and shaky from blood loss, to catch up with this Man that folks said healed people, speaks of a finality of desperation. He could heal her. She knew it. All she had to do was touch the fringe of His garment. Can't you hear her, saying this over and over and over and over to keep herself going? "All I have to do is touch the the fringe. I just have to get close enough to touch it, that's all. Just a little closer...I can do this....just a little more..."
Meanwhile, Jairus, the head of the synagogue, had come and asked Jesus to heal his daughter; she was on the verge of death. It was urgent! He must have been screaming inside - "hurry UP!!! Just hurry UP!!"
They were moving right along when, suddenly, impossibly, it happened.
After struggling and hoping and fighting to get near, she touched Him.
KA-BLAM!!!
Power blasted thru her, a warm tingling of a fire that shot down her arm to THE spot she knew so very well. She felt in herself, it was over. And I'd be willing to bet you that Jesus replaced the blood she had lost in that moment also. The pain was gone. The bleeding had stopped. She felt energized, her spirits lifted, SHE WAS WHOLE!
Jesus stopped in His tracks. He turned.
And then He spoke."Who touched Me?"
His disciples shot Him a look of astonishment.
Then they looked at each other. It seemed like a million people surrounded them, pushing, jostling, bumping. "Who touched Me?" He's got to be kidding! EVERYBODY touched Him!
As for her, she knew she'd been caught in the act. She had stolen this healing. She, too, froze, trembling, knowing of a certainty, that if He could tell she'd stolen that power, then He could easily figure out it was her. The crowd had grown silent, curious. No one was moving.
He asked again, "Who touched Me?" Strong. Commanding. He was dead serious.
The synagogue ruler was there, staring. Tapping his foot. His daughter was dying! They had no time for this!
With her heart beating out of her chest, on trembling legs she tottered forward, eyes cast downward as the men began to part, allowing her access to the Healer. She fell to the ground in front of Him, and sobbed out her story. She expected rage, she expected Him to be indignant.
Instead, she got love.
"Your faith has saved you, My daughter, Go in peace."
And that was all.
No recriminations, no casting of stones, no sarcastic comments. Just the tenderly spoken words: "go in peace."
While all this was transpiring, Jairus was getting frantic. His need was urgent. His daughter was beyond sick. She was DYING for pete's sake! Dying! We need to hurry!
At that moment, one of his servants came to him and said, "Don't bother the Master anymore. She is dead.".
Dead.
The very word was fraught with heaviness. It was over. His only child, his light, his life, over.
He stumbled, put his hand to his face, turned to look at Jesus, dazed, his eyes filling with the pain of grief.
Jesus speared him with a glance. "Don't be afraid. Just believe"
And taking with Him the top three - Peter James and John - they proceed to his house .
I find this so intriguing.
With God's fingertip-control of time, the news of her death doesn't come until after he sees Jesus heal someone, right in front of him, close up and personal.That picture is fresh in his mind. He had just seen the miraculous power operating in Jesus.
And the key was faith. Trust. Belief.
But his daughter! She was dead they said. Dead.
Jairus is trying so hard. Trying to trust. Trying to believe.
Trying not to panic and crumple, wailing aloud, to the ground.
And all he can think is, my daughter! My daughter! My daughter!
As they arrive, they hear the loud groans and shrieks of pain from the professional mourners. Jesus says to them "she is not dead, she is sleeping."
Their "sorrow" turned to laughter and sarcasm. They were experts in dead. They knew what "dead" looked like. And they had seen dead lying in a bed in this house.
Stop for a moment and think about the other apostles. Jesus takes "His guys" and goes off to perform some kind of miracle, and he always takes Peter, James and John. He does, I'm sure, tell them what happened afterwards, but it seems none of the rest of the guys ever get a turn.
Especially Judas.
Is this one of the things that so poisoned his heart that he grabs his chance to betray with both hands?
Just a thought.
So Jesus takes mama, papa, and the three and goes into the house. He tells them again not to be afraid, and to believe. Then He walks over to her bed.
We are not told what it was that she died from. Most diseases aside from snakebite take a long time to kill. Perhaps measles. Mumps. Chicken pox or polio, diptheria, meningitis - there were so many things that killed in their time, as in ours.
There are few things that kill quickly. So she probably hadn't eaten in awhile, probably ran a high fever, tossed and turned and perhaps her hair was still flayed all over the place.
Jesus is looking tenderly at the child His Father placed in this family, He smoothed back some hair from her face, and gently said to her "Talitha Koumi" Little girl, I say to thee arise."
She starts to blink her eyes. Her parents gasp. All eyes are on the face of their little girl.
Her color changes. Blue lips and white face becomes pink lips and rosy cheeks. She sits up and her family is struck dumb, frozen in place with wonder.
Peter James and John are flies on the wall - they are stunned and have let fly a few gasps themselves. Wow. Jesus really does have power. Unimagineable power. And they begin to ask themselves, for the 100th time, "Who is this Guy??"
Into the moment of silence Jesus says, dryly, "Soooooooo one of you guys want to feed her?"
I love His wit. It's like when He raised Lazarus. Everyone was stunned into silence and here is a bound Lazarus hobbling out of the tomb and Jesus says"ummmm you want to untie him and let him go?"
Chaos! Bedlam!
Parents rushing to her, calling for servants - "She's alive. Alive!! Get her some food, some water! Hurry! She's well! She is well!!"
The Word doesn't describe this moment. But in my heart, I know that Papa fell to his knees before Jesus, overcome with gratitude and wonder and the solace a parent's heart experiences when his worst fear has, in fact, come to bear - and then - simply undone.
And looking into the eyes of Jesus, I see such joy, such delight in conquering that last enemy, the one that will someday be placed under His feet.
Two women. One grown, one not so grown.
Two lives. One little girl, seemingly lost already and in a hopeless state. The other was a grown woman, alive, and yet everything that made life life had been lost, inch by inch, who faced only a hopeless gray expanse of time until it was all, finally, over.
And what was it that bound these two apparently unrelated miracles together?
I finally saw it.
There wasn't just one person raised from the dead that day.
There were two.
Monday, October 27, 2014
Heartbreak Hill
Leah and Rachel Genesis 29 and 30 and a little at the end of chapter 35
I have been reading in the Word about Leah and Rachel.
This time through I find my heart aching for Leah.
From the time Jacob arrives at his uncle Laban's house, he has eyes for Rachel and only Rachel. About Leah, the Word says only that she had "weak eyes" - which according to the scholars most likely meant a very pale blue. Beautiful Rachel outshines her in a moment - and comes across as vain, spoiled, and mercenary. Jacob probably never even looked at Leah except as "Rachel's sister".
I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Rachel found out about her father's plan to marry off Leah first. I bet they had to tie her up somewhere to keep her from stomping in and claiming Jacob for her own!
The Word doesn't say it, but I think Leah has a crush on him from the moment she first sees him - but she knows she doesn't have a chance. Laban, ever scheming, surely noticed - and I'll bet you that is where his little plan hatched - seeing Leah watching Jacob dolefully, watching her blush every time Jacob came around or spoke to her.
How must she have felt to be a substituted bride - knowing that Jacob thought he was holding Rachel in his arms, whispering words of love and tenderness that she knew she would never hear again - and she surely knew that her father's little trick would explode when Jacob awakened to find her in his arms and not his lovely Rachel. I think she felt this was the only way she'd ever be married to him - or anyone else. Still, the embarassment and hurt she suffered - being rejected with anger in the morning, Jacob's sullen acceptance of "her week", his unbridled anticipation of, finally, having Rachel as his wife - must have been food for gossip for a while after the wedding.
Especially since one week later Leah was unceremoniously booted out so Rachel could marry her husband. I would not be surprised to find Rachel's "week" lasted much longer than a Leah's hasty, enforced week.
And so the pattern was set.
We see from the Word that Jacob chose to live with Rachel and visit the others when their day came. We can glean how Leah felt about it when her son finds some mandrakes in the field where he is working. Rachel comes and asks, with a "please", to have the mandrakes ( thought to be an aphrodisiac), hoping this will give her a child. Leah responds with "Is it not enough that you have stolen my husband? Now you want my son's mandrakes too!"
Rachel responds that ok, ok, you can have Jacob tonite for the mandrakes - and Leah hotfoots it out to tell Jacob (you can almost hear the glee in her voice) "You must come in to me, for I have hired you with my son's mandrakes!"
Her forlorn hope to be first in Jacob's heart is reflected in the names she gives her children - and God informs us of her comments on their names. The one that gets me is when she says "Oh, now my husband will dwell with me!"
Alas, her fertility made no difference to Jacob. Even tho, in the Middle East, a barren woman was a disgrace, Jacob steadfastly clung to her. The only time we even see Jacob being upset with Rachel is when she demands that he give her a child or she will die. Finally, Jacob rebukes her, "Am I in the place of God?"
I'm sure Leah never missed an opportunity to rub it in, either. "Nanner nanner's" surely flew freely with every child the fertile Leah bore. Here, finally, was a way to outshine Rachel (not that it mattered to Jacob.)
Then the maid-swapping began - each trying to outdo the other in child-creating. I wonder if the maids smirked behind Rachel's back - it doesn't seem like Rachel would be a kind, undemanding mistress.
30 years later, when they are going to leave Laban and go back to Israel, Rachel's greediness shows up again: knowing that the family idols indicate the heir of all her father's possessions, and that a woman would not take priority over Laban's sons, she simply steals them.
Laban's sons already felt cheated by Jacob. I wonder if one of them discovered their absence - and immediately connected it with Jacob's absence.
So Laban chases after Jacob. He demands the idols back. Jacob, unjustly accused, robustly denies everything. So sure of his company was he, that he said (my translation) " Go ahead and look! go ahead! and if you find them, the person they are with will die."
Jacob had no idea he was cursing his beloved.
When Laban came to Rachel's tent, she sat on a camel saddle underneath which she had hidden the idols.
From everyone but God.
She must have been pregnant with her 2nd son by this time, and yet she gave Laban the excuse that her monthly "way of women" was upon her, making her unclean, and everything she sat on unclean. He looked at everything around her, but did not require her to stand.
I bet you she thought, once again, she had her way. She had insured her sons' inheritance.
Dying in childbirth is always a horribly painful, long, drawn out death. I can't imagine in those days if they even had anything that would ease the pain of labor.
Jacob must have been beside himself, unaware that he, himself, had cursed her with death. Everything he valued was lying before him, slipping away. His precious Rachel.
So Jacob, smitten to the last, transfers his obsession with Rachel to her sons.
I find it intriguing that it is Leah that lies beside him in the grave. Rachel is buried somewhere by an unmarked trail on the side of the road.
Yet Jacob never realizes that perhaps, just perhaps, Leah was God's choice of a mate for him, not the self-centered Rachel. There is no record of him ever saying anything even considerate to Leah, let alone loving. I wonder if he even moved in with Leah after Rachel's death. From Scripture it appears he spent the rest of his life mourning the death of a woman who seems to have valued Jacob only to "one up" her sister who, after all, married him first. She was always the pretty one, and saw Jacob as hers. No doubt she had been valued and petted by her father as the one who would reap him a fortune in dowry to the highest bidder. Jacob was ensnared at first sight, besotted and entranced.
The only love glimpsed comes from the rejected Leah - who had a heart full of it.
It is so sad to me that Jacob never realized it. How loving his life could have been.
But like so many of us that follow the Lord, he chose what glittered, not what counted. And never once is he noted as having prayed about God's will for his partner in life.
Sadly, like many of us today, he simply never asked.
I have been reading in the Word about Leah and Rachel.
This time through I find my heart aching for Leah.
From the time Jacob arrives at his uncle Laban's house, he has eyes for Rachel and only Rachel. About Leah, the Word says only that she had "weak eyes" - which according to the scholars most likely meant a very pale blue. Beautiful Rachel outshines her in a moment - and comes across as vain, spoiled, and mercenary. Jacob probably never even looked at Leah except as "Rachel's sister".
I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Rachel found out about her father's plan to marry off Leah first. I bet they had to tie her up somewhere to keep her from stomping in and claiming Jacob for her own!
The Word doesn't say it, but I think Leah has a crush on him from the moment she first sees him - but she knows she doesn't have a chance. Laban, ever scheming, surely noticed - and I'll bet you that is where his little plan hatched - seeing Leah watching Jacob dolefully, watching her blush every time Jacob came around or spoke to her.
How must she have felt to be a substituted bride - knowing that Jacob thought he was holding Rachel in his arms, whispering words of love and tenderness that she knew she would never hear again - and she surely knew that her father's little trick would explode when Jacob awakened to find her in his arms and not his lovely Rachel. I think she felt this was the only way she'd ever be married to him - or anyone else. Still, the embarassment and hurt she suffered - being rejected with anger in the morning, Jacob's sullen acceptance of "her week", his unbridled anticipation of, finally, having Rachel as his wife - must have been food for gossip for a while after the wedding.
Especially since one week later Leah was unceremoniously booted out so Rachel could marry her husband. I would not be surprised to find Rachel's "week" lasted much longer than a Leah's hasty, enforced week.
And so the pattern was set.
We see from the Word that Jacob chose to live with Rachel and visit the others when their day came. We can glean how Leah felt about it when her son finds some mandrakes in the field where he is working. Rachel comes and asks, with a "please", to have the mandrakes ( thought to be an aphrodisiac), hoping this will give her a child. Leah responds with "Is it not enough that you have stolen my husband? Now you want my son's mandrakes too!"
Rachel responds that ok, ok, you can have Jacob tonite for the mandrakes - and Leah hotfoots it out to tell Jacob (you can almost hear the glee in her voice) "You must come in to me, for I have hired you with my son's mandrakes!"
Her forlorn hope to be first in Jacob's heart is reflected in the names she gives her children - and God informs us of her comments on their names. The one that gets me is when she says "Oh, now my husband will dwell with me!"
Alas, her fertility made no difference to Jacob. Even tho, in the Middle East, a barren woman was a disgrace, Jacob steadfastly clung to her. The only time we even see Jacob being upset with Rachel is when she demands that he give her a child or she will die. Finally, Jacob rebukes her, "Am I in the place of God?"
I'm sure Leah never missed an opportunity to rub it in, either. "Nanner nanner's" surely flew freely with every child the fertile Leah bore. Here, finally, was a way to outshine Rachel (not that it mattered to Jacob.)
Then the maid-swapping began - each trying to outdo the other in child-creating. I wonder if the maids smirked behind Rachel's back - it doesn't seem like Rachel would be a kind, undemanding mistress.
Rachel, who had been most likely favored and spoiled since her birth as "the pretty one" had to have been sooo frustrated. She always got her way. Now, pouting and demanding and throwing a fit were of no avail. Perhaps Jacob's rebuke is taken to heart - or maybe she thought, "Well, nothing else has worked - I might as well pray..." because next we hear of her actually speaking to God, as the Word says "And God hearkened to Rachel and opened her womb." (my paraphrase) It's the only place we see her praying.
Actually, that sort of pierced my heart to read that line. It made me wonder how often I act like that - using prayer as a last and final result? Too often, I fear. Lord, please cause my heart to seek You FIRST in my need!
30 years later, when they are going to leave Laban and go back to Israel, Rachel's greediness shows up again: knowing that the family idols indicate the heir of all her father's possessions, and that a woman would not take priority over Laban's sons, she simply steals them.
Laban's sons already felt cheated by Jacob. I wonder if one of them discovered their absence - and immediately connected it with Jacob's absence.
So Laban chases after Jacob. He demands the idols back. Jacob, unjustly accused, robustly denies everything. So sure of his company was he, that he said (my translation) " Go ahead and look! go ahead! and if you find them, the person they are with will die."
Jacob had no idea he was cursing his beloved.
When Laban came to Rachel's tent, she sat on a camel saddle underneath which she had hidden the idols.
From everyone but God.
She must have been pregnant with her 2nd son by this time, and yet she gave Laban the excuse that her monthly "way of women" was upon her, making her unclean, and everything she sat on unclean. He looked at everything around her, but did not require her to stand.
I bet you she thought, once again, she had her way. She had insured her sons' inheritance.
Dying in childbirth is always a horribly painful, long, drawn out death. I can't imagine in those days if they even had anything that would ease the pain of labor.
Jacob must have been beside himself, unaware that he, himself, had cursed her with death. Everything he valued was lying before him, slipping away. His precious Rachel.
So Jacob, smitten to the last, transfers his obsession with Rachel to her sons.
I find it intriguing that it is Leah that lies beside him in the grave. Rachel is buried somewhere by an unmarked trail on the side of the road.
Yet Jacob never realizes that perhaps, just perhaps, Leah was God's choice of a mate for him, not the self-centered Rachel. There is no record of him ever saying anything even considerate to Leah, let alone loving. I wonder if he even moved in with Leah after Rachel's death. From Scripture it appears he spent the rest of his life mourning the death of a woman who seems to have valued Jacob only to "one up" her sister who, after all, married him first. She was always the pretty one, and saw Jacob as hers. No doubt she had been valued and petted by her father as the one who would reap him a fortune in dowry to the highest bidder. Jacob was ensnared at first sight, besotted and entranced.
The only love glimpsed comes from the rejected Leah - who had a heart full of it.
It is so sad to me that Jacob never realized it. How loving his life could have been.
But like so many of us that follow the Lord, he chose what glittered, not what counted. And never once is he noted as having prayed about God's will for his partner in life.
Sadly, like many of us today, he simply never asked.
Tuesday, October 21, 2014
Paying it Forward
A friend of mine told me about a great day she had.
She'd found a bargain at a fast food place and went back for an ice cream cone. The young man taking her order was on his 2nd day of work and had never used the ice cream machine. She told his supervisor that she didn't care what it looked like and for him to go ahead and do it.
He did.
Presenting her with a lopsided cone, his supervisor asked her, "is this ok?"
"Yes! Great job! Perfect!"
And as she turned to walk away, she passed an older man, standing back from the menu, and in an undertone for her ears only, he said, "Good job."
She walked away thinking how good God is.
And she was right.
"So shines a good deed in a dark and weary world."
--Willy Wonka
She'd found a bargain at a fast food place and went back for an ice cream cone. The young man taking her order was on his 2nd day of work and had never used the ice cream machine. She told his supervisor that she didn't care what it looked like and for him to go ahead and do it.
He did.
Presenting her with a lopsided cone, his supervisor asked her, "is this ok?"
"Yes! Great job! Perfect!"
And as she turned to walk away, she passed an older man, standing back from the menu, and in an undertone for her ears only, he said, "Good job."
She walked away thinking how good God is.
And she was right.
"So shines a good deed in a dark and weary world."
--Willy Wonka
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
One day at a time...
When I started the title for this I mis-spelled "day" and instead wrote "dy ---"
And it reminded me of one of my favorite quotes. When speaking of the difficult things in life, Amy Carmichael wrote, " See in it a chance to die". As in dying to self.
For those of you who don't know, Amy Carmichael was a Brit, a missionary to India for over 50 years. Her work focused on rescuing little girls, and later, little boys also, from being sexual slaves in the Hindu temples, where their bodies were used in the "worship" demanded by their gods. Little girls were worth less than nothing, except as temple prostitutes or, as they were known, priestesses, from the youngest age they could be acquired, to their death.
Parents of these "worthless girls" nonetheless found places to sell them, as a "priestess" in a temple or a personal sexual slave, in which they were married at the age of 3 or even younger, it didn't matter. In the temples, the girls were given the best of everything - gold nose rings, necklaces and bracelets, silken clothing, softly pillowed "beds", exotic spices, candies and pastries etc etc. Miss Carmichael was horrified when she learned of their captivities, and began to find ways to retrieve/rescue them, soon necessitating the building of an orphanage. Since nothing was known of their origins or birthdays, they had, instead of a birthday, a "coming day" - the day they arrived at the shelter - to celebrate, and many chose to remain when grown to help with the increasing amount of children arriving. To all, Amy was known as "Amma" the word for "mother" in the native language.
Miss Carmichael wrote some of the best poetry I've ever read. She was totally sold out to Jesus.
And she was no stranger to suffering.
When she had been in India for 30 years they had acquired a new property. She hastened to inspect it and traveled with 2 of the children-grown-serving women and arrived at dusk. Approaching the front door, no one noticed in the half light that a pit had been built by the front door and covered, as the foundation needed strengthening. As the light faded, Amma approached the front door and fell into the deep pit, injuring her back and legs in a way that could not be remedied, and spent the rest of her life mostly bed bound. On occasion she could sit up in a pillowed chair, but not often. A sheer netting hung over her windows and door to the outside patio. Each morning she wrote a small note to the children - turning their thoughts to joy, or obedience, or steadfastness in the all-important relationship with Jesus.
Sometimes the pain would get beyond her capabilities to endure, and the Word would be her refuge, from which would come the daily lessons or a poem, collected into small books by the women workers at the home, named Dohnavur. Many are available now as devotionals - Rose From Briars, The Edges of His Ways, A Candle in the Darkness among others. Elisabeth Elliot wrote a book about her after traveling to Dohnavur. Amma delighted so in the little ones and rejoiced to see them grow in Jesus. I highly recommend her books and the biography - and there is also a collection of her poetry.
I mention all this because "See in it a chance to die" has become so important in my own life. Her poetry and devotionals have been life-savers for me at times. And they have definitely guided my steps and helped turn me in the right direction in difficult times. I believe Amazon has a collection of her books for Kindle that are free downloads.
These last few weeks have been difficult ones for me. The smallest things have become difficult to impossible to accomplish. The amount of energy I awaken with has taken a huge downturn, and the headaches have increased both in frequency and strength. I barely manage my daily read in the Word - and that is the most important part of my day. My nephew is living with us right now, and my sister in law will soon be leaving for Israel for a month of service. Please pray for me that I will have the strength for cooking and chores while she is away - not to arrive home until thanksgiving day.
I praise God for the dishwasher!
In the mist of all this, there is plentiful room for pondering "See in it a way to die", which is centrally placed in a Scripture quilt of my favorite verses. It comes, of course, from the example of Jesus, Who died not only for us, but to Himself - any desires or dreams had to be placed aside for the Father's will, as well. His sacrifice was not only physical. Day by day, He died to Self, that never-satisfied voracious appetite we have to live an easy life, happy and pain free, and, of course, utterly selfish.
Each day presents us with multiple options to temptation - put off some duty required of you, something as simple as taking the largest cookie, or as intricate as stretching the budget at someone else's expense, for something that is totally unnecessary but lusted after.
Right now I am simply trying to keep my groans to myself, which I have discovered are full of self pity and self aggrandizing. It is an astonishingly easy pit to fall into! And I am surrounded by people that deeply care about me, quick to react with sympathy - a deadly situation for someone on the verge of self-pity, which is at the center of all such impulses.
Now, I am not saying that we should live hermit-like lives, never speaking, bravely soldiering on alone, separating oneself from those around us. When someone asks how I am who truly wants an honest answer, I give them one. Most people want an answer of "fine" - and if so, I give it to them. But I avail myself of those I know will intercede, and who understand that this life is God's desire for me.
Recognizing God's hand in suffering is a difficult thing, and offers many chances to die to oneself - which I have a difficult time doing, by the way. There is something within me that will learn no other way but to be ill- and learning to walk His way is the desire of my heart. This illness, when I truly look at it, is an exceedingly small price to pay for closeness to the Creator of the Universe, to be infilled by His Spirit, and to be cleansed from sin by His Son. And He not only gave me all that, but when I remember to submit myself whole-heartedly, which I am ashamed to say does not happen daily, when I do give it to Him, He unhesitatingly helps to carry it.
The Awesome God I serve has never failed me.
So, I hope, placed next to "Jesus never fails" , enshrined in my heart are the words, "See in it a chance to die."
One day at a time.
Thank you, Amy.
And it reminded me of one of my favorite quotes. When speaking of the difficult things in life, Amy Carmichael wrote, " See in it a chance to die". As in dying to self.
For those of you who don't know, Amy Carmichael was a Brit, a missionary to India for over 50 years. Her work focused on rescuing little girls, and later, little boys also, from being sexual slaves in the Hindu temples, where their bodies were used in the "worship" demanded by their gods. Little girls were worth less than nothing, except as temple prostitutes or, as they were known, priestesses, from the youngest age they could be acquired, to their death.
Parents of these "worthless girls" nonetheless found places to sell them, as a "priestess" in a temple or a personal sexual slave, in which they were married at the age of 3 or even younger, it didn't matter. In the temples, the girls were given the best of everything - gold nose rings, necklaces and bracelets, silken clothing, softly pillowed "beds", exotic spices, candies and pastries etc etc. Miss Carmichael was horrified when she learned of their captivities, and began to find ways to retrieve/rescue them, soon necessitating the building of an orphanage. Since nothing was known of their origins or birthdays, they had, instead of a birthday, a "coming day" - the day they arrived at the shelter - to celebrate, and many chose to remain when grown to help with the increasing amount of children arriving. To all, Amy was known as "Amma" the word for "mother" in the native language.
Miss Carmichael wrote some of the best poetry I've ever read. She was totally sold out to Jesus.
And she was no stranger to suffering.
When she had been in India for 30 years they had acquired a new property. She hastened to inspect it and traveled with 2 of the children-grown-serving women and arrived at dusk. Approaching the front door, no one noticed in the half light that a pit had been built by the front door and covered, as the foundation needed strengthening. As the light faded, Amma approached the front door and fell into the deep pit, injuring her back and legs in a way that could not be remedied, and spent the rest of her life mostly bed bound. On occasion she could sit up in a pillowed chair, but not often. A sheer netting hung over her windows and door to the outside patio. Each morning she wrote a small note to the children - turning their thoughts to joy, or obedience, or steadfastness in the all-important relationship with Jesus.
Sometimes the pain would get beyond her capabilities to endure, and the Word would be her refuge, from which would come the daily lessons or a poem, collected into small books by the women workers at the home, named Dohnavur. Many are available now as devotionals - Rose From Briars, The Edges of His Ways, A Candle in the Darkness among others. Elisabeth Elliot wrote a book about her after traveling to Dohnavur. Amma delighted so in the little ones and rejoiced to see them grow in Jesus. I highly recommend her books and the biography - and there is also a collection of her poetry.
I mention all this because "See in it a chance to die" has become so important in my own life. Her poetry and devotionals have been life-savers for me at times. And they have definitely guided my steps and helped turn me in the right direction in difficult times. I believe Amazon has a collection of her books for Kindle that are free downloads.
These last few weeks have been difficult ones for me. The smallest things have become difficult to impossible to accomplish. The amount of energy I awaken with has taken a huge downturn, and the headaches have increased both in frequency and strength. I barely manage my daily read in the Word - and that is the most important part of my day. My nephew is living with us right now, and my sister in law will soon be leaving for Israel for a month of service. Please pray for me that I will have the strength for cooking and chores while she is away - not to arrive home until thanksgiving day.
I praise God for the dishwasher!
In the mist of all this, there is plentiful room for pondering "See in it a way to die", which is centrally placed in a Scripture quilt of my favorite verses. It comes, of course, from the example of Jesus, Who died not only for us, but to Himself - any desires or dreams had to be placed aside for the Father's will, as well. His sacrifice was not only physical. Day by day, He died to Self, that never-satisfied voracious appetite we have to live an easy life, happy and pain free, and, of course, utterly selfish.
Each day presents us with multiple options to temptation - put off some duty required of you, something as simple as taking the largest cookie, or as intricate as stretching the budget at someone else's expense, for something that is totally unnecessary but lusted after.
Right now I am simply trying to keep my groans to myself, which I have discovered are full of self pity and self aggrandizing. It is an astonishingly easy pit to fall into! And I am surrounded by people that deeply care about me, quick to react with sympathy - a deadly situation for someone on the verge of self-pity, which is at the center of all such impulses.
Now, I am not saying that we should live hermit-like lives, never speaking, bravely soldiering on alone, separating oneself from those around us. When someone asks how I am who truly wants an honest answer, I give them one. Most people want an answer of "fine" - and if so, I give it to them. But I avail myself of those I know will intercede, and who understand that this life is God's desire for me.
Recognizing God's hand in suffering is a difficult thing, and offers many chances to die to oneself - which I have a difficult time doing, by the way. There is something within me that will learn no other way but to be ill- and learning to walk His way is the desire of my heart. This illness, when I truly look at it, is an exceedingly small price to pay for closeness to the Creator of the Universe, to be infilled by His Spirit, and to be cleansed from sin by His Son. And He not only gave me all that, but when I remember to submit myself whole-heartedly, which I am ashamed to say does not happen daily, when I do give it to Him, He unhesitatingly helps to carry it.
The Awesome God I serve has never failed me.
So, I hope, placed next to "Jesus never fails" , enshrined in my heart are the words, "See in it a chance to die."
One day at a time.
Thank you, Amy.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Amazing Grace
My daily reads these days are in IIChronicles.
One verse talked about the Holy Spirit coming upon someone to share a word from the Lord.
It literally says, The Holy Spirit "clothed Himself" with that person.
I got chills.
I realized that when the the Lord brought me to Himself, and the Holy Spirit came to live in my heart, that He "clothed Himself" with me.
That is how He works in us" to will and to do of His good pleasure" - none of it is from my vast amount of (non-existent) holiness - it is all from Him "clothing Himself" with me. When I give Him control and "walk in the Spirit" I can do so only because the Holy Spirit is literally my core. I am His garment, so to speak, the form He is taking at this instant.
Wow.
On my worst days of illness, when nothing is going right and all I feel is sicker than I felt yesterday, when the pain blooms and it seems like each minute lasts for hours, He is still there, encountering the pain with me, enduring it with me, and sometimes, conquering it with me. Anything that happens to me in this body happens to Him also. And when I clear my pipes of all the garbage, and let Him pour through me, it is none other than the Living water that spurts out of me in blessing. It is alive with His Life.
As am I.
I'm having to relearn "In quietness and in confidence is your strength."
Because I'm in a season of murmuring. I wish I could be quiet!
I had the other half of my root canal two days ago, and two other cavities filled.
I got 9 shots of novocaine - and still it hurt. But any more and I would overdose..
4 hours in the dental chair. Livid, multicolored bruises in my mouth and gums. Swollen cheek. Headache.
I've been a puddle on the floor with just my eyes bugging out the last 2 days.
And yet - our God is always faithful. While I was waiting for my ride (I don't drive on D days) it gave me time to sketch the courtyard her office is in, something I've wanted to do for 8 years! I didn't finish the stonework, which is good cuz the perspective is way way off, but still...
Sketching/painting is one of those things that revitalize me, like a deep breath in the snow, where just breathing invigorates you. I haven't added color yet - and one of the reasons I love the courtyard is the multicolored stone pavement. so I'm debating whether to add it or not, cuz the pavement is what I messed up.
In spite of my puling milksop of a heart, the Holy Spirit gave me time to do something that I love - sketching the courtyard. He even moved the heart of the receptionist to bring one of the chairs from the waiting room to the outside location where I was standing so I had something to sit on while I sketched.
What a perfect example of amazing grace! In spite of all my murmuring and kvetching and complaining, my King deigned to make sure I had comfortable seating to do something that brought me joy. Living deep in my heart, He knew exactly what I needed to get through the ordeal of dental work and not lose the whole day to self pity and let the pain win.
I pray that the tender heart He showed me that day will, one day at a time, become my heart, worthy to be made a cloak of the Holy Spirit, and a dispenser of amazing grace myself, to those in my life who need it.
One verse talked about the Holy Spirit coming upon someone to share a word from the Lord.
It literally says, The Holy Spirit "clothed Himself" with that person.
I got chills.
I realized that when the the Lord brought me to Himself, and the Holy Spirit came to live in my heart, that He "clothed Himself" with me.
That is how He works in us" to will and to do of His good pleasure" - none of it is from my vast amount of (non-existent) holiness - it is all from Him "clothing Himself" with me. When I give Him control and "walk in the Spirit" I can do so only because the Holy Spirit is literally my core. I am His garment, so to speak, the form He is taking at this instant.
Wow.
On my worst days of illness, when nothing is going right and all I feel is sicker than I felt yesterday, when the pain blooms and it seems like each minute lasts for hours, He is still there, encountering the pain with me, enduring it with me, and sometimes, conquering it with me. Anything that happens to me in this body happens to Him also. And when I clear my pipes of all the garbage, and let Him pour through me, it is none other than the Living water that spurts out of me in blessing. It is alive with His Life.
As am I.
I'm having to relearn "In quietness and in confidence is your strength."
Because I'm in a season of murmuring. I wish I could be quiet!
I had the other half of my root canal two days ago, and two other cavities filled.
I got 9 shots of novocaine - and still it hurt. But any more and I would overdose..
4 hours in the dental chair. Livid, multicolored bruises in my mouth and gums. Swollen cheek. Headache.
I've been a puddle on the floor with just my eyes bugging out the last 2 days.
And yet - our God is always faithful. While I was waiting for my ride (I don't drive on D days) it gave me time to sketch the courtyard her office is in, something I've wanted to do for 8 years! I didn't finish the stonework, which is good cuz the perspective is way way off, but still...
Sketching/painting is one of those things that revitalize me, like a deep breath in the snow, where just breathing invigorates you. I haven't added color yet - and one of the reasons I love the courtyard is the multicolored stone pavement. so I'm debating whether to add it or not, cuz the pavement is what I messed up.
In spite of my puling milksop of a heart, the Holy Spirit gave me time to do something that I love - sketching the courtyard. He even moved the heart of the receptionist to bring one of the chairs from the waiting room to the outside location where I was standing so I had something to sit on while I sketched.
What a perfect example of amazing grace! In spite of all my murmuring and kvetching and complaining, my King deigned to make sure I had comfortable seating to do something that brought me joy. Living deep in my heart, He knew exactly what I needed to get through the ordeal of dental work and not lose the whole day to self pity and let the pain win.
I pray that the tender heart He showed me that day will, one day at a time, become my heart, worthy to be made a cloak of the Holy Spirit, and a dispenser of amazing grace myself, to those in my life who need it.
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