Believe in Christmas

Two gifts.

Two people.

Two responses.

Zacharias, a priest who entered the presence of the Lord on behalf of the people, did not believe God’s answer to prayer delivered through Gabriel. The gift of John—the one who would go before the Lord, a voice crying out in the wilderness, the one who pointed to the Lamb of God who would take away the sins of the world.

Zacharias did not trust the very God he served, even after asking God for a son in his old age.

“How can I know for certain?”

He was an old man with an immature faith.

On the other hand, Mary, a lowly maiden, found favor with God and believed Gabriel’s incredible announcement that she would bear the Gift--Jesus, the Son of God, the Savior of the world. She trusted God would do exactly as He said. She simply wondered how since she was a virgin.

“How will it happen?”

I find it fascinating that Mary didn’t consider the child might possibly come through Joseph at a later time after their marriage. Even before Gabriel provided conception details, she alludes to the event as though it will happen to her as a virgin (Luke 1:35). God will implant this holy Child by and through the power of the Holy Spirit and the Most High (the Trinity involved in this wondrous conception). In my mind, it took more faith to believe she, as a virgin, would miraculously conceive and bear the promised Messiah than for Zacharias to accept the answer to the prayer he’d already prayed and seen answered in a similar fashion hundreds of years prior for Abraham and Sarah. The precedent for God’s miracle of aging conceptions had been set. There was no precedent for what happened to Mary.

Yet, she believed in the miracle of Christmas with the ready response: “Behold, I am the bondslave of the Lord; be it done to me according to Your word” (Luke 1:38).

She was a young girl with a mature faith.

Gabriel added assurance to her already strong faith with his words, “Nothing will be impossible with God” (Luke 1:37).

For Zacharias, disbelief rendered him tongue tied, in this instance, by God’s sovereign design.

For Mary, belief loosened her tongue in praise. What results is the beautiful Magnificat that flows through history like a resounding musical testimony to the wonder and greatness of God her Savior, who exalts the humble and deflates the pompous.

Indeed, a mind filled with the wonder of Jesus quells the questions.

So, I’m challenged, even convicted, by how many times I’ve lapsed into a Zacharias response, even when God answers the very prayer I’ve been praying. “But, Lord, how can I know for certain?”

I want to be a gal after Mary’s heart with the ready response: “Behold, I am the bondslave of the Lord; be it done to me according to Your word.” I want my life to show that I believe in Christmas, that with God, all things are possible. I want to simply trust Him to do what He knows is best for me, whatever that might look like.

How about you?

Zacharias or Mary?

One leads to a tongue tied in disbelief, a stunted testimony.

The other leads to a tongue loosed in praise and testimony for all God has done.

Which do you choose?

 

Letters by a Modern Mystic by Frank Laubach

 You and you and you and I do experience fine fresh contact with God sometimes, and do carry out His will sometimes. One question now to be put to the test is this: Can we have that contact with God all the time? All the time awake, fall asleep in His arms, and awaken in His presence, can we attain that? Can we do His will all the time? Can we think His thoughts all the time? (19)

Seems a stretch, doesn't it? 

To many of Laubach's missionary coworkers and fellow believers in Jesus, the notion of intentionally and consistently focusing on God throughout the day also seemed far-fetched, beyond what one can expect while living in this world, in this human body. They insisted that the demands of daily life simply require too much mental energy to maintain such a focus. 

Yet in company with Brother Lawrence, Laubach launched out to conduct his own spiritual experiment.

What he discovered is that the mind actually can absorb two thoughts at a time, even while engaged in work and human relationships. The mind can think on God while talking to someone, while teaching, while writing, while working machinery, or conducting business. 

But like most worthwhile pursuits, intentional focus on God takes practice. 

Many failures, a few successes.

In time, ultimately forming a habit, one that ushered Laubach into a vastly new and fresh appreciation of and wonder at the person of God and how He shows up to speak to the listening soul.

Through creation. Through His Word. Through reflecting on Jesus Christ. 

And yes, through the unexpected faces and gestures of impoverished Moros children in the Philippines where Laubach served as a missionary in the 1930s. 

So enraptured was Laubach by the richness of God's daily presence that he journaled his experiment and shared it in book form. This tiny book is one to ponder over and return to often for encouragement to press into the reality of God moment by moment. Laubach includes practical tips in the appendix on ways to "win the game with minutes" as he phrases it. 

Whether humming a hymn while fixing supper, meditating on a scripture while we drive, praying for those we pass as we take a walk, glimpsing a picture of Jesus on the wall, or whispering to God about every daily detail, we can grow in our awareness and fellowship with the God who created us, redeemed us through His Son, and delights in spending time with us.  

Check out Letters by a Modern Mystic on Amazon. 

Peace Be With You

 

David Pyatt, Free Images

The mural in the room catches my eye. Actually, it’s difficult not to see the picture since the image is splayed across the wall of this first-grade Sunday school room where I happen to teach creative writing to kids on Mondays.

With arms raised, hair whipping about His face, Jesus stands in the boat, fearful followers gripping the ledge, peering over the side at the turbulent waves. Written on the side of the boat is U.S.S. PEACE.

If you know the biblical story, you know what happens—Jesus, the Creator of the wind and waves, says, “Peace, be still!” Noted years ago by one of my college professors, a more literal translation from the Greek is, “Shut up!”  

And, of course, the elements obeyed.

I wish it were that simple with my students, especially the young teens, who are testing me on many levels. Yet when I walk into that classroom and see that mural, I smile, for the same Creator God who spoke that dreadful day still speaks to calm turbulent storms.

In hearts.

In a teacher who needs courage to face kids.

In kids who need courage to face their fears.

And there are many due to broken homes, identity confusion, cultural lies they embrace and act out.

Darkness swells and swirls around them.

In them.

But as I start the class with prayer, I point to the mural and remind these troubled teens, many of whom do not come from Christian homes, that Jesus can provide peace in the chaos.

Whatever the dark storm.

With the amen, heads lift, and eyes glimmer, just a spark . . . of hope.

That’s what Jesus does when He stands in a boat and commands creation into stunned silence.

He shares a similar sentiment when entering the room where the disciples huddle in fear after the resurrection. In his gospel account, within the same chapter, John notes Jesus’ greeting on three separate occasions. “Peace be with you” (John, chapter 20). How they needed to hear those comforting words in the midst of their fear and confusion.

How we need to hear those words in the midst of our fear and confusion.

Jesus, our Creator and Resurrected Savior, gives peace.

When He walks into our heart’s room, He says, “Peace be with you.” Sometimes, when fears are large and faith is small, He shouts, “Peace, be still!”

Calm and courage flood the heart. Perfect Love has entered the room and where Love is, fear cannot flourish. Only peace.

Oh, my we allow the peace of Christ to rule in our hearts, no matter the chaotic conditions. How He longs to settle down within our hearts, settle us down as we invite Him to make Himself at home.

The Power of Seasonal Stories

September is such a lovely time of year, I pondered during my morning Abba Walk. Easy to say on this day of VA sunshine and cooler breeze gently sweeping my hair from my face.

Mama used to say September was a sad time of year. I suspect that was because the season brought memories of loved ones who’d died.

Interesting how one season can generate positive feelings for one person but negative feelings for another.

I wonder if that’s not often the case with our seasons of life. Sunshine during childhood days for one might be rain for another. Or likely for most of us, a combination of weather. All of us can point to events, whether during childhood, teen years, young adulthood, or even more recently, where the emotional imprint runs deep in our minds and hearts. If and when we share these memories with someone else, our faces alert the listener to the imprint. We don’t have to alert our faces. The memory does that for us. Eyes sparkle, skin glows when we recount happy moments. We may even lean forward, reinforce excitement with hand gestures. On the other hand, brow furrows, mouth sags when we recount sad or troubling moments. Our shoulders droop, body may slump in the chair. The mere mention of the stormy event whips us into defeat.

This is the power of story. Our own or others. Life is made up of seasons which in turn produce stories.

It’s not really so much about the happy, the sad, the tragic, or anything in-between. What’s fundamental is what we do with those seasonal stories. Therein lies the power of redemption.

If we believe in a sovereign God, and I do, who according to the psalmist has created us in His image and has His hand on us from conception (Psalm 139), then events in our lives take on meaning and purpose. While I didn’t choose to be born in a missionary family or experience the death of my older brother when I was four years old, I have learned over the years to lean into both of those dynamics with all the particular nuances presented in both--the good, the bad, and the ugly, as they say.

Aware that according to the Bible I live in a fallen world, and I’m one who contributes to that fallenness by virtue of my inherent sin nature, I find it much easier to accept the ramifications of a fallen world (Psalm 51:5; Genesis 8:21; Ephesians 2:1-3). Because God gives sunshine and rain to all His creation, I can live in light of Job’s words after tragedy struck: “Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?” (Job 2:10, NIV). Any outpouring of God’s goodness, on the just and unjust alike, flows from His mercy and grace (Matthew 5:45).

I don’t know about you, but that puts seasonal stories into perspective for me.

Creator God loves me. Loves you. He created us for relationship with Him and with others.

However, rebellion against Him stemming from man’s original choice to sin in the Garden separated us from Him, broke our relationship with Him and marred all other relationships (Genesis 3:1-24). Thus, sin, sorrow, sickness, death, all things tragic, entered the human landscape, with no hope of remedy apart from God’s intervention. Though, sadly, we prideful humans have tried to restore that relationship through our own fallen, broken efforts. Thus, the plethora of belief systems generated by the angel of light, Satan, the great deceiver and latched onto by our sinful hearts. In essence, all false belief systems boil down to good works, which according to Scripture is nothing but filthy rags in God’s eyes (Isaiah 64:6; Romans 3:9-20). Only He, the Perfect One, the One who created us in His image could restore what was lost (Colossians 1:20; 2 Corinthians 5:17).

So, in His mercy and grace and longing to reestablish relationship with us, the ones on whom He set His love, He devised a plan to restore us to relationship with Him and with each other. That plan involved the entire Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—each playing a part to call us back Home to His great heart (2 Corinthians 5:19).

Redemption involved sacrifice, because agape, God’s love, equals sacrifice (John 3:16). The Father gave the Son to be the Savior of the world. The Holy Spirit ignites faith in our hearts to believe and receive His great gift of salvation (1 John 4:14; John 16:8-11; 1 Peter 1:2-9). He then makes us into a new creation in Christ and goes to work reshaping us into the image of His dear Son (Romans 8:29). This will take a lifetime and will be fully realized when we finally see Him face to face (1 John 3:2).

Only in relationship with God through Christ can we fully appreciate, and yes, redeem our seasonal stories. Prayerfully, the good stories call us to marvel in God’s gracious gifts and take note of what He wants to say to us through them. The sad, yes, tragic, stories call us to remember we live in a fallen world, of which we contribute, but that in the vast fallenness, God longs to redeem that season’s story for use in His glorious, larger Kingdom story. Perhaps to comfort others with the comfort which He has given us (2 Corinthians 1:3-5). Perhaps to bring us running into His arms, relying on Him again, which is the only, truly safe place to be, regardless of what season we live through. Perhaps the specific season is for a reason known only to Him. So, we choose to trust in the foundational, anchor truth: He loves us and in the mystery of His workings, only takes us through the weather that is ultimately best for us.

When brought to the Cross and empowered by the Resurrection (new life in Christ). every story can ultimately, will ultimately, blossom into spring.

The Other Side of Stillness

 

My Abba Walk took me to the quiet places, where surrounded by an abundance of towering green, all was peace and rest. Nothing, no one, could touch me here, save God alone. No cultural chaos, calamity, short-tempered person, or stressful daily detail could hamper the soothing stillness where the only sounds were birdsong and rustling leaves. 

God speaks in the quiet places, and I longed to hear Him as I meditated on the scripture I'd read that morning. 

I sat on a stone ledge to soak up the sun and pour my heart out to Jesus. I paused to listen and in the gap, He broke into my thoughts: "I speak in the suffering places, too, if you have ears to hear."

Stunned, my heart lurched. Certainly, the thought of suffering was not a new one. I'd experienced Jesus before in noisy, confusing affliction. Well-fought for closer relationship with Jesus with much grappling but always the richer for it. 

But suffering was not what I wanted to be reminded of on this fine day. "No, Lord, I don't want to hear that today," I agonized. "It's too much of an intrusion on this peaceful place. You don't understand. Nothing's supposed to touch me here in the quiet places with You, not even the thought of suffering. How could you wound me so with these words?"

On the way home, I lingered at my Gethsemane tree to embrace the sacrifice of struggle and ultimately surrender. My peaceful place returned, for it really isn't a geographical location at all but a place deep in the heart. 

Yet the physical trek provides opportunity for a focused heart, a ready heart. Still, the next day I hesitated to take my Abba Walk. I felt offended, shocked even by the Lord's message the day before. Another call to surrender. Once done, I set out, for I cherish the calming influence of creation which frees me from daily distractions that pester like needy children tugging on my pant leg. 

A couple days later, I awoke with a sense of foreboding, which even my walk and talk with Jesus did not alleviate. Returning home, I emailed three women who responded with prayer and encouragement. The nebulous feeling largely lifted. Then turning to Psalms (my go-to book when troubling emotions surface), I came to 3:3: "Oh Lord, You are a shield around me. My glory, and the lifter of my head." Peace replaced panic as God's Word nourished and reassured my soul. 

Another couple days passed. When we Skyped with our missionary granddaughter (Rebekah), we learned she'd experienced a moto accident. Cycle fell over on her. She got back on, caught her foot, and cycle dragged her through the dirt lot before Dad could stop it. Leg abrasion and injured foot. Sore and unsure if broken. 

A few days later, I, too, experienced a motor accident. While driving through a green light, a car ran a red light and slammed into the driver's side back bumper, causing my car to spin. Glasses flew off, I screamed, and then came to a stop in the intersection. Pain ripped through my chest. Dazed, I inched the clinking car across the road and parked in the GettyMart lot. 

I opened the door for air. A couple pumping gas immediately approached me. She on her phone, he asking diagnostic questions. They'd witnessed the whole thing. Thankfully. 

The man went for my husband, Chuck (at home in a teletherapy session which he'd just concluded). They arrived at the scene, along with a neighbor, whom I'd only met days earlier. In kindness, she offered to help. 

The owner of the garden supply store across the street also rushed over. She was a nurse, walked me through deep breathing and assessment of injuries. Chest in great deal of pain. EMT/ambulance arrived and police (gave her report). Jeff (a believer according to Chuck's later report) treated me with such care and compassion as did Marcus, his younger partner on call. Transport to hospital where the PA ordered testing and ultimately diagnosed an upper chest contusion. Rest, ice, compress, elevate on Day one, followed by rest and heat thereafter as needed. At home, we called our herbalist who prescribed additional supplements to support self-healing.

Now to get strength back and renewed courage to get behind the wheel again (Joshua 1:9) when I'm physically able. 

The foreboding? Perhaps God's way of preparing me with prayer and scripture. Such peace knowing He is my shield. Yes! For the event could've been so much worse, as was true for Rebekah. In her case, a later x-ray showed no broken bones. 

The Lord is indeed a shield around us. How many times He'd spared me, us, from accidents, either at the hands of others or due to our own negligence. On this day, in the mystery of His workings, He chose not to. And in truth, while I still wouldn't choose suffering, neither would I trade the richer experience with Him in the midst of the suffering. Nor the opportunity to witness of His love to others He pulls around in a crisis that I may never have met otherwise. Not to mention the beauty of the Body of Christ at work ministering to one of its own. 

Yes, the Lord does speak in the stillness and on the other side of stillness, for those with ears to hear. 

The One Great Love

Years ago, the Holy Spirit captivated my heart with the thought that the Lord is my relentless Lover, intent on a deeply personal and profound relationship with me rather than merely adherence to a set of rules, a message so easily internalized when growing up in the Christian fundamentalist community (Matt.11:28-30). I knew God had more for me in relationship with Him than I had experienced up to that point, but I was still blocked by much from the past. 

The visual of Christ riding out of heaven on a white horse with me and all saints following Him on mounts was one I held fast to my heart (Rev.19:11-16). It smacked of fairy tales come true. My Prince. The Prince, Faithful and True, the Word of God, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. Such a majestic, powerful, penetrating, and yes, sobering scene. Of settling the score for all time. Of love. Of adventure. 

The stuff of stories, all of which emanate from the One Grand Love Story.

From God Himself.

Sometime during that period, I read a novel by Robin Jones Gunn which profiled a verse her grandfather had shared with her as a teen—Zephaniah 3:17: “The LORD your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you but will rejoice over you with singing” (NIV). Certainly, a prophetic glimpse in reference to Israel but also a heart reality for the believer in Christ who is resting in the arms of Love. A Love which quiets, comforts, reassures, motivates, exults. A Scripture that placed me deeper into mutual affection with the living God.

 

Still, that intentional awareness came in spurts. But God in His faithful wooing continued working to deepen my appreciation for His love. Out of dark places, the Holy Spirit led me on a scriptural quest to restructure my concept of the Father’s love. This “seeking His face” (Ps.27:8) resulted in further healing.

 

Yet, I was so busy writing and speaking to other women that God’s personal message to me got “packaged” for others but lost under layers of service for Him rather than enjoyed with Him on a regular basis.

Quiet places of contemplation before Him, yes, but perhaps too quickly turned into the next devotional, article, speech, or book. For someone else. 

 

Nevertheless, in all fairness to God’s faithfulness, even the process of writing laid groundwork for God’s deeper work still to come in my heart. Praise Him—He uses all things! Even when we’re not looking. In fact, sometimes it’s only in the looking back that we can see how.

 

This grace gift of Love from the Father of lights deepened further when the Holy Spirit led me to study Song of Solomon with focus not on earthly marriage but on my marriage to Christ, of all things. This rich poetic immersion into marital intimacy was not the place (the book) where I expected to discover so much of Jesus’ profound and intimate love for me as my Bridegroom. But I did. Since then I have returned to that beautiful book often, especially when I sense I’m drifting from His arms, at least in my awareness; for in reality, He is always holding me, even when I am unaware of it.

 

So, you can imagine my joy when another book came on my radar recently which reinforces my love journey with Christ.

 

FREE: Rescued from Shame-based Religion, Released into the Life-giving Love of Jesus by J. Kevin Butcher reaffirms so much of what I’ve been thinking for some time. That the God who is a real Person deeply loves and delights in me and wants to be with me in a mutually satisfying love relationship, not out of duty, shame, and fear, but out of freeing love. This “abiding in His love” (John, chapter 15) forgives, heals, protects, empowers, motivates toward holy living, and frees us to dwell in His life-giving embrace all the way Home and invite others to come along with us. 

While Butcher acknowledges that spiritual disciplines such as Bible reading/study and prayer, to name two, are crucial to Christian growth, he insists that these are meant to flow out of love for Jesus, not obligation nor mere formulaic plan. The Scripture is fleshed out in relationship with Jesus and in the healing community of His Body.

 

A Dallas Theological Seminary grad, former pastor, and now founder and director of Rooted Ministries, Butcher encourages pastors and their families, having emerged from a past of “just do it” Christianity himself.

 

While I disagree with a couple minor doctrinal issues in FREE, I don’t find that these detract from the rich meaty premise of the book. I recommend FREE to any Christ-follower who longs to live in the freedom God’s love provides and model that freedom to others. View on Amazon.

 

 

Stories That Ask for More

 

 Have you ever asked yourself why you read?

            Maybe you love a good mystery simply for the delicious spine-tingling suspense, or a horror story for the sheer terror the villain evokes. Perhaps you enjoy a love story that makes you feel all warm inside. You might be a reader whose strong intellect craves material that makes you think or reason through a situation.

            I dare say, most of us read first and foremost for enjoyment or to glean information. Only students read because they have to in order to pass the test or write the paper.

            Yes, reading is one of the supreme pleasures of life. You avid readers understand this.

            On the other side of the coin, as a writer of both fiction and nonfiction, I often ponder where my responsibility begins and ends with readers. Yes, I want to produce a story that keeps the reader turning pages. Yet, as a Christian writer who serves the King of Kings, is that where my job ends?

            I don’t think so. Personally, I feel compelled through my writings to build awareness and move to action. In the course of the reading, I want the reader to identify with a scripture, an insight, a character, or a situation in a way that invites change, either small or great. I also want to write words that heal hurting hearts.

            I read. A lot. In order to write effectively, one must read voraciously.

            In my book travels, I’ve read some works, even Christian books, that amount to little more than entertainment. I’m left with nothing to grapple with that stimulates personal growth. These are often books that do well, even hit the bestseller’s list. I wager a guess it’s because they require so little of the reader.

            May I challenge you—both readers and writers alike?

            Get on your face before God and ask Him to guide you in your choice of reading material. Refuse to settle for fluff, for books that merely entertain without moving you toward a decision or out of your comfort zone and toward action. Two such novels in my recent reading history are Scared and Priceless by Tom Davis, founder of Children’s HopeChest. Not only are these works great fiction, but they detail the plight of African orphans and trafficked victims. Highly recommended, by the way!

            God loves books. If He didn’t, He wouldn’t have authored the Bible. Since His desire is to transform us into the image of Christ, He wants us to choose reading material (and write words) that requires something of us, that asks for more than a fluttery heart or a good time or even gained knowledge. He delights in words that bring life and healing.

            So should we.

 

 

 

Mary Had a Little Lamb

 

Photo by Kat Jayne from Pexels

I remember her in black, though offhand, this memory may do her an injustice. Though dark her clothing, her countenance shone kindness, gentleness. Life.

This was Miss Mary. Long time supporter and encourager of the children’s ministry God led my Daddy into as a young man.

         

At her call to come in, Daddy and I stepped over the threshold into her kitchen. Her back turned, Miss Mary bustled about, readying refreshments. A tea kettle spewed steam. A random assortment of dishes lined the counter. Over the sink, vines trailed a sunny window. Cats, so many cats, curled in and out of her stocking clad legs. Somehow, she managed not to step on them with the thick heels of her black shoes. The laced ones worn by older women in the 1960s. A bun loosely twisted at the back of her head appeared as a cotton puff. Wisps of white stuck out here and there. 

When she pivoted with tray in hand, she smiled, and with a nudge of her head, directed us to follow her into the living room, cats and kittens on her heels. What a strange mix of scent—the spice of pumpkin pie with the strong odor of cat. Made me wince. Yet, her storybook house and demeanor held such fascination, I was caught in their spell.

We moved into the adjacent room, shadowed by drawn blinds with only a flicker of sunlight creeping through an open slat. She set the wooden tray on the antique coffee table. Formality otherwise cast aside, for we were frequent visitors, Daddy and I settled on the sofa, a burgundy velvet with wooden trim, richly oiled, but whose seat was anything but comfortable. I inwardly yelped when I shifted, and a spring dug into my bottom. Still, I reveled in the intrigue of the room as I nibbled on my pie, Daddy and Miss Mary chatting to the backdrop of a ticking clock. I loved making ministry calls with my Daddy, especially when he did all the talking and I could simply enjoy the ambience each visit presented.

However, on occasion, Miss Mary would pause, focus on me with twinkling eyes, and ask a question. Like grownups do who are trying to draw out a shy child. Which I certainly was around adults. I’d burrow into Daddy, and he would pat my knee. Words froze on my tongue. Still, Miss Mary, like most adults, would smile and laugh, and pass off my reticence with some reassuring excuse.

Yes! Back to my pie in peace.

Then, as if seeking to win me over, Miss Mary sprang something on me, something I’m guessing she knew I couldn’t resist.

“I have a little lamb,” she said, smoothing a hand over her lap, signaling several cats to hop aboard.

My eyebrows shot up, and I scooted to the edge of the sofa.

“That’s right.” She glimmered at me with cocked head. “And I sure need help feeding him. Sadly, his mother died. He’s so little, he still needs to take a bottle. Would you like to give him his bottle?”

Would I! I’d never fed a lamb before. Would I do it right? Would he eat for me? But here was Miss Mary inviting me to feed her little lamb, so she must trust me, at least enough.

I looked up at Daddy. He nodded his head, a signal to go for it.

Beaming, I followed Miss Mary out to the barn where she gathered up the little lamb into her arms. “Sit down on the ground.” She motioned to a soft grassy spot. I obeyed, and she lowered the lamb into my outstretched arms. A milk bottle followed. The lamb instinctively lunged for the nibble and started sucking. The power in that suckling infant overwhelmed me at first, but I held fast to the tiny creature. I felt at peace. For those few moments, the world stilled, and the only creatures who existed were that little lamb and me. Years later, I experienced a similar phenomenon with my own suckling infant girls, so vulnerable, so dependent on me for nourishment. I don’t remember ever feeding Miss Mary’s little lamb after that day, but the memory remains of a kind lady who loved her animals, my Daddy, me, and a host of other children in Johnson County. One orphaned child she took in and raised as her own, though she was a single woman.

Undergirding her life was her love for Jesus, presented more in action than in words. Her kindness and gentleness for all creatures showed me the Good Shepherd who also became the Lamb of God who took away the sin of the world, my sin, and welcomed this little lamb into His everlasting arms.  

                   

Your Favorite Prayer Posture

 

         Prayer postures. Been thinking more about that lately.

When I reflect on my childhood, I can visualize Mama faithfully kneeling by her bed after breakfast, door ajar. I now wonder if she left the door open in hopes that I would see and model her prayer life.

Daddy, on the other hand, prayed in solitude, either in his home office or I suspect on the long morning walks he routinely took around our mountain. I chuckle now, but I sometimes wonder if he was talking to the Lord in the bathroom at times. For Daddy, prayer truly was a continual conversation with Jesus.

Bible characters prayed in a variety of ways, too. I think of Abraham who enjoyed such a rich friendship with God that he walked and talked with the pre-incarnate Christ (Genesis, chapter 18). Consider Daniel who in Jewish fashion, prayed three times a day while kneeling before an open window which faced his beloved Jerusalem (Daniel 6:10). And David, shepherd boy turned king, who wrote and gifted us beautiful, meaningful poetic prayers and praises, many of which I suspect he penned with back braced against an olive tree while gazing at God’s creation (see the Psalms). Later, Jesus models a lifestyle of prayer with frequent trips to the mountains for alone time with His Father (i.e. Luke 6:12). At Lazarus’ tomb, He lifts His eyes toward heaven and talks with His Father in the hearing of the mourners (John 11:41-42). Paul writes that he bows his knees to the Father of the Lord Jesus Christ (Ephesians 3:14). To Timothy, he exhorts all men to pray, lifting holy hands (1 Timothy 2:8).

Prayer posture is not the emphasis of Scripture, however. Heart posture is. Clean hands and a pure heart are prerequisites to engaging God in the holy of holies, which was made possible through Christ’s atoning work on the cross (Psalm 24:3-4; 1 John 2:2). Praise the Lord for that torn veil that provides 24/7 access into the very throne room of God (Hebrews 10:20).

Prayer posture can vary according to individual preferences. If I come with respect, awe, and wonder before God, I may do so with any posture.

At times, I like to kneel and gaze up through the window at the sky. In my mind’s eye, I’m kneeling at Jesus’ feet, holding His hand as I look into His gentle, reassuring eyes. At other times, I like to write out my prayers and praises in my journal. One of my favorite prayer postures is talking to Jesus while walking or jumping on the rebounder which, yep, faces the window. I wonder if Enoch who enjoyed such intimate fellowship with God also liked to literally walk and talk with Him, and one day just kept right on walking into heaven. Sometimes, I stand in front of the window, raise my arms in prayer and praise to my Father. On rare occasion, I lie prostrate on the floor, arms outstretched, but not that often, since I don’t like the way the carpet smells or the kink I get in my neck. Hey, that’s just me.  😊 Sometimes, I sit down at the piano and pour my heart out to Him through music. Still other times I type out email prayers to encourage others. And I join in corporate prayer with other ladies (that’s you gals!). So many possibilities!

Perhaps you’ve read this or a version of this: The story is told of a man who placed a chair by his sick bed. Day after day, he imagined Jesus sitting in that chair while the two of them talked together. One person who didn’t know of his practice thought he was talking out of his head (think Hannah in the O.T. whose mouth moved in prayer but with no sound. Eli thought she was drunk!). One day, the man’s caregiver approached his bedside. The man’s body still lay in the bed, but his head rested in the chair. He was dead. But oh, so very alive in Jesus, as he possibly laid his head in Jesus’ lap, then was safely ushered to heaven.

Yes, indeed, so many ways to pray.

What’s one of your favorite prayer postures?

How does this posture help you sense the reality of God’s presence?

Share your thoughts in the comment box below to encourage others.

 

 

 

A New Year. A New View.

 A new year. A new view.  

Literally. 

Since I handed over my office to hubby when he came home to work in April, I moved my makeshift office to our living room, then more recently to an upstairs guestroom. On New Year's Eve, I decided to move my portable office to our bedroom. Now my card table with laptop, writing and teaching materials, sits in front of a window facing our back woods. 

Already I've witnessed squirrels at play, a beautiful display of fireworks, a coyote ambling through on his way to who knows where, Woody Woodpecker and his smaller cousins, plus a host of other bird varieties, and a rainbow. I thought I'd feel a bit cloistered in my new location. Not yet, anyway. Not with such an amazing view. 

That simple switch reminds me that my view, my perspective, on life will be what I choose to make it in this new year. 

Many say they are relieved to close the curtain on 2020 with all its trials and chaos, that perhaps things will be different, take a decided turn for the better. 

Maybe. "Hope springs eternal," Alexander Pope once wrote. 

Yet, in reality, I don't anticipate things getting better, not culturally anyway. But that needn't influence my internal view. I like to call it an eternal view. 

It's exciting as a believer in Christ to realize that God's timetable is playing out. That we are closer than ever to Jesus' return. 

"Come, Lord Jesus, come!"

Today would be great.

Still, I know there are so many yet to enter into God's mercy, grace, and eternal life provided through Jesus Christ.

So, I pray for God's help as I share Him with those I encounter daily. That He would turn their hearts toward Home. 

As I return to 1 Corinthians for my personal study and time with Jesus, I'm reminded that "'no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him,' but God has revealed it to us by his Spirit" (1 Cor. 2:9-10 NIV).

Thank You, God, for revealing Your wisdom of the gospel through Your Spirit to hearts who have received You.

My heart is one of them. And while I don't know every nuance of what You have prepared for Your people, for me, I know what You have revealed through Your Word.

And it is overwhelmingly good stuff! Even now before heaven.

According to Ephesians, chapter one, we're already positionally seated in the heavenlies with You, chosen, holy, forgiven, the praise of Your glory, given peace, lavished upon by the riches of Your grace (I love this one), sealed by Your Spirit until we see You face to face and live forever in Your presence. 

Your presence . . . 

It is enough just knowing I will finally be with You in person. Whatever bells and whistles heaven provides otherwise is do-da in light of seeing You at last. 

I love you, Lord, and even now in my imagination, I see myself kneeling at Your feet, Your hand in mine, kissing Your hand, thanking You for saving me, bringing me safely Home. Then you lift my head, cup my face in Your hands, and with the beam of Your smile brighter than anything I've ever experienced, You lift me up, and I stand as a joint-heir with You. Without you saying anything, I know this is true. Your confidence surges through me in that moment . . . 

"You are my glory, and the lifter of my head," David reminds me in Psalm 3:3.

"I am my Beloved's and he is mine," as Chuck and I have delved deeply into since early September with our methodical, rich and sweet time in the Song of Solomon. How that love letter from God has nourished our couple relationship and our individual relationships with Jesus. What a precious poetic call to slow down, take time and care with these vital relationships. 

So, yes, the view out my window is fun, even spectacular at times, but it can't compare to what God in Christ has accomplished in my heart and the plan He has for my future with Him. 

This God-given view creates hope that does indeed spring eternal! For me, and all who take hold of life in Christ, that eternal view will make 2021 worth living.