Everything is Never Enough by Bobby Jamieson, A Book Review

 

What does it take to make you happy?

My chronological Bible reading of late brought me to Ecclesiastes where I discovered an irresistible urge to pause and linger for awhile.

Maybe the desire stemmed from my recent milestone birthday (70) with the need to reassess the meaning of my life. With more years behind me than before me, am I placing importance where importance should be?

What, according to the Preacher (Qohelet in Hebrew, pronounced, "Go yell it") is fundamental to happiness? 

Is it pleasures found in retirement?

Is it leaving a financial legacy to family?

Is it meaningful ministry?

The list could go on. 

I don't think I'm alone in pondering these questions along with Qohelet. I believe his ancient and existential quest for meaning hits a nerve in contemporary culture. 

No wonder--since God's Word, though written thousands of years ago, is timeless. 

In masterful philosophical, poetic language, Qohelet poses several questions that invite the reader to evaluate what is truly profitable in life. 

Author Jamieson focuses his camera lens on a three-story structure . . .

With Qohelet, the reader enters the ground level where the Preacher sets his heart to investigate what makes for wisdom and folly, and in doing so, discover what is truly profitable. In his all-consuming quest, he determines that all is hevel or vanity ("absurdity" as Jamieson notes).

Qohelet strikes "blow after blow to our sense of what's worth living for" (7). It's as if the world and all its possibilities offered one cheek and then the other.

In the midst of it all, we are left feeling totally out of control, even as we continue to grasp for an anchor, whether in pleasure, work, education, relationships, money, power, or position. To top it off, the reality and finality of death hunts us down while we work hard to ignore its vicious pursuit. 

Just when Qohelet has plunged us deep in despair, he leads us to the second level in his three-story structure. According to Jamieson, the Preacher now moves from observation to conclusion based on what he saw and experienced. He maintains that life is a gift sustained by God. Recognizing the multitude of good things God's given moves the reader from despair to delight. Qohelet has effectively invited us to a higher level which points to the Creator.

After spending the bulk of his time on the ground level and the second floor, Qohelet moves us to the third level in the structure. In compelling terms, he urges the reader to understand and embrace the Creator as the One who will also judge him. Yes, receive his gifts with gladness, but also obey him with reverence (xix). This is the whole duty of man, says Qohelet, backed by the wisdom and authority of the one Shepherd, God Himself (Eccl. 12:11). 

I left the book, both Ecclesiastes itself and Jamieson's treatise on Ecclesiastes, with my spiritual lens wiped clean. 

Once again, Qohelet and Jamieson reminded me of what's truly important: that God has set eternity in my heart, that He has gifted me eternal life through His Son, the Lord Jesus Christ, and that supreme happiness comes from enjoying Him in this life and the next while inviting others into relationship with Him, too.

~~

Check out Everything is Never Enough by Bobby Jamieson 

on Amazon.

 

An Odd Place in Time

 

(Baby feet family photo)

Ecclesiastes is an odd place to find Christmas.

Yet that’s where my chronological Bible reading took me this week.

This morning I turned the page to chapter three where Solomon’s familiar list reminds the reader that there is a time for everything.

Time. An earthly concept.

In chapters one and two, Solomon seems mentally stuck in time. And that very focus leads to despair.

Granted, we are bound to this earth by time, yet our hearts yearn for eternity.

Enter the God who placed that longing within us.

The God who always was ushered in time via creation, stepped into time via the cradle, and gave us eternal life via the cross.

He willingly entered the mess of the manger—our mess—to become Messiah (Savior) for us.

“Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent.” John 17:3

While we celebrate Christmas with family and friends, may we remember that the babe born in time and who died in time--indeed in the fullness of time, notes Paul in Galatians 4:4—is eternal and invites us into a forever relationship with Him.

This forever relationship begins in time but extends beyond the limits of this life into a place where time is no more. This eternal perspective brings meaning and purpose to this life and to the next as we love the Lord Jesus Christ and share Him with 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. 

Pain: A Sacred Trust

How does one put pain on paper? This sacred trust . . .

  My daughter and family left yesterday, and then it was quiet.

Except for the throbbing memories . . .

Of little heads held against my breast in parting
Of love notes left behind
Of wonder at a cicada chirp
Of yard sales and curbside finds
Of catching fireflies in the moonlight
Of roasting marshmallows around a campfire
Of splashing in Roanoke River
Of pink pigs and tutus
Of scriptural conversations around the table and in the car
Of bake-offs and beach trips
Of sandbox fun and tea parties
Of music and laughter
Of walks to the willow tree
Of stick figure people on the fridge
Of grace and ballet
Of tender hugs and sweet, sloppy kisses
Of juice skies and thoughtful questions
Of stories read and touches to the face in the darkness
Of lolli-pops and bubbles
Of water balloon fights and "homemade" volleyball
Of songs to the elderly
Of care packages to neighbors
Of pumpkin carving and Christmas tree stands
Of countless stroller rides around the block
Of rocking and reading
Of hurts and healing
Of biking and boating on Carvin's Cove
Of babies birthed, of ministry fruit, of fostering/adoption
Of remodeling/decorating the bathroom with Parisian theme (not knowing you'd be in France 12 years later)
Of prayers prayed through bittersweet tears

Thank You, Abba, for 12 years packed with preciousness. I know more good and godly gifts await from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow (James 1:17). Thank You for the forever gift of you, Abba.

Thank You that I can use this pain of separation, this sacred trust, to comfort others, too (2 Corinthians 1:3-5). Thank You that this pain, this sacred trust, deepens my appreciation for the sacrifice of Your Son to save me. And because of Your gift, I am compelled to share Him with others. This pain, this sacred trust, lifts my gaze to eternity--to my real home in heaven with You where no sad separations will take place for those who love You and are called according to Your purpose (Romans 8:28).

Keep my heart tender, Abba. Always moving in Your direction. Always bowed before Your throne. Always clinging to the Cross. Always rejoicing in God my Savior. Always leading others to You.

Then this pain, this sacred trust, will have served its purpose, now and for all eternity.

People I've Never Met

As a mom of missionaries, "Love the people God's called your children to serve," has been rolling around my brain the last few days.

I often pray for our missionary kids, but sometimes forget to pray for the people they serve. I seem to take it for granted that their calling will automatically enable them, enable me, to love the people.

Not necessarily. Especially when we've not yet met those people, as in the case of our second daughter and family who are preparing to leave to minister among an unreached people group in Africa.

This morning I took down a 2017 wall calendar detailing pictures of their survey trip to Africa. I'd looked at the Shutterfly calendar all year long and lifted up a quick prayer as I jotted weekly items down. Buy today I really looked at the calendar. With their departure looming ahead, I considered using the calendar more intentionally in my prayer time and perhaps with our ladies' prayer group.

Then it hit me. A well of unpleasant emotion I'd never quite experienced up to this point. Anger, grief that these people staring at me in the pictures, these people I'd never met were calling my precious children away. I recoiled at the emotion. Yet I knew I couldn't run from it. I had to deal with it.  That much I'd learned in 41 years of marriage to a professional counselor.

So here I am, dealing with it through writing out my thoughts and feelings as I gaze at the calendar pictures. Of pastors hungry to learn and share God's Word in their remote village settings. Of African women and children browsing crowded outdoor markets. Of my son-in-law sharing biblical principles to a group of pastors in a rustic church with dirt floors. Of my daughter smiling down at two kids hugging her legs.

I realize God is growing me to think, to pray, beyond the needs of my family to the needs of the people they're called to serve. A people He knows. Intimately knows and loves and longs to know and love Him in return. I must not horde the love He so graciously extended to me and my family. So many do not yet know, have not even heard His name once. Unfathomable.

So I come back full circle, knowing I must let my family go, once again, and knowing I desire them to go in God's will, each of us fulfilling Isaiah 6 in our own ways to the people He has called us to serve.

Yes, with all the emotion involved, knowing that even the unpleasant but very real emotions cannot overpower me or us if we keep our focus on our Savior and the people who need Him.

Ultimately, that is all that really matters. Yet I also know in the midst of this eternal task, our Father cares about us. He knows. He weeps with us . . . .

For our pain. For the pain of the people we serve.

Yet a better day is coming. A better country.

Our true Home where He longs for us all to join Him.

So we tell them.

For Love compells us to do so.