Bringing Faith to Life
Archive for November, 2012
Strength presents itself in the doing
312 years
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13
This scripture is on my mind because my daughter is “doing the talk” for the Fellowship of Christian athletes at her school today and this is ‘her’ verse. Not sure whether she chose it or it was chosen for her.
Anyway, this morning it’s mine. And I embark on my day with a mighty, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me…” and a voice a bit louder than a whisper says, “just not all at once.” And this gets right to the heart of the matter. There is so much to be done. So many things needed. So many in need. And in the morning I think, “Yes! A new day.” and I look at my to-do list, neatly categorized and boldly written in black pen. And I think, “Yes! I can do that and that and, oh, I really need to do that, too. And then this has been on the list a long time. I really should either do it or take it off the list.” You can see my problem.
I am trying to do all things through me who strengthens me. And I can beat myself up about this. Re-dedicate to be more organized. Cross off a few things to shorten the list. Pray more and see if a Mighty list appears, complete with a numbering system in the left hand column. Or…I can just get started.
Because that’s what occurred to me when I typed this verse. “Strengthens” is a verb in the present tense. Meaning, I need not wait to be strengthened before doing. It wouldn’t be wise for me to wait for the starting gun to sound. Because God’s strength will be there in the doing. During. Done deal. I just need to look for it there. I can count on this. Anticipate it, even. God won’t hide it; God’s not like that.
Though I must remember, after, to give thanks for the strength that was mine in the moment I was made able. Not to presume on it next time, but perhaps to feel a bit less anxious awaiting it’s arrival.
Which reminds me of this quote from Seth Godin’s blog yesterday:
“If we define anxiety as experiencing failure in advance, we can also understand its antonym, anticipation.”
Seth Godin
Anticipating God will be here, presently. God says so. So, what am I waiting for???
Ironing out the wrinkles
212 years
I know it’s old fashioned, but I iron. That’s not nearly as old fashioned as the linen napkins I just finished ironing. The Thanksgiving napkins. We’ll probably use them for Christmas, too. They’re special occasion napkins.
I realized as I was ironing that I love those linen napkins. They’re each monogrammed with a script “R” in one corner because they belonged to my paternal grandmother before they came to be mine. I couldn’t see this until I ironed them. And as I ironed I wondered about where these linens had been, who had used them before, on what family occasions, whose lips had been wiped on this very fabric? (Okay – the last is going a bit too far.) But there was history here in my hands. At first, stiff and crinkled and then supple and smoothed. It became important then to fold them with the “R” showing.
This became a devotional moment for me. The connection with my ancestors, yes, but also the smoothing. The act of seeing my effort, small though it was, take something uninviting and turn it into something welcomed. And isn’t it like God in these moments to share a little secret with us? Provide a little illumination that adds depth and meaning and value.
Those wrinkles, the product of washing and letting air dry, reminded me so of the messiness of my mind. (Now it occurs to me they are actually a bit like the convoluted gray matter itself – ah, the anatomist in me still lives!) How chaotic it is on the inside, firing one idea and then another, until they are so entangled that I can’t hope to capture them all. But here I was, taking time to do something that could wait, that could even go without doing, and it became a metaphor for the process that untangles and smooths.
I know from experience that if I wait just a bit and go about my chores and activities which don’t require a lot of figuring out, the firecrackers of thoughts will settle into their places, each connecting with the others into one big thought meant for the moment. Perhaps the whole day.
Key, for me, is clearing away the distracting chaos on the outside – which so temptingly calls to the chaos on the inside, “Come play. Come play. We will have fun.” – to honor the message in the moment. And perhaps to write it or share it. That’s fun.
Then I can go out and play.
Out of Order means It Doesn’t Work
012 years
by wlebolt
in Uncategorized
My husband said to me, “Here. I’m bringing you a gift.” And in his hand he held a dozen or so empty hangers he had pulled from his shirt rack.
“Thanks. You can just put them in the laundry bin,” I told him, “I’ll take it down when I go downstairs.”
He looked at me in utter disbelief. “But then they will get all messed up!” (This man is 50 plus years old and he is serious.) I just stared, incredulous.
“They’ll be out of order,” he said.
I look to see him holding them neatly by their handles so that all the hooks are aligned. And, knowing his sense of order, I suddenly realize his cause for concern. If he tosses them in the bin, this will all fall apart. Someone (that would be me) will have to re-order them. But this is not really his concern. What he holds in his hands, ordered as it is, works. Out of order is out of the question.
I’m pondering this as I fold the rest of the shirts and I see, in my mind’s eye, the ‘Out of Order’ sign on the vending machine. To me that always meant: this machine doesn’t work, someone needs to come fix it. But now I am realizing that the ‘out of order’ sign means something much more simple. It means that the order of operation has been disrupted. Something has come out of line, causing this to malfunction.
Wow. What a description of sin: a misaligning of the intended order. God created us all lined up. A multi-color arrangement, many shapes and sizes, all with our handles oriented in the direction that hangs on the pole. When we were tossed down into the dirty clothes bin, of course, we got all messed up.
To someone like my husband, who incidentally will tell you he believes in God but won’t claim to know Christ, this is unthinkable, instinctively. No one in his right mind would take something perfectly ordered and disrupt it. It won’t work right. It will need a repair man, a service woman…oh, someone to come fix it.
Because of people like me, Christ came and, ever so carefully, turned all the hangers the right way.
It’s all in how they read it
012 years
“LITTLE PIG, LITTLE PIG, LET ME COME IN!”
There, did you read that in a big, deep voice? Reverend Miner says, “I hope so, or you’re not a very good storyteller.” Because you want the child to get the message: when danger comes knocking, don’t let it in. Isn’t it funny how children’s fiction speaks so much truth, in a voice that sounds very much like our own?
We are blessed at Floris with preachers who are good storytellers. Barbara Miner went on to share the stories of no shower but my family loves me anyway, of Timber the golden retriever who lives to be with Becky, of famous people who have undermined our national trust, of a groom and bride who sob with 100% joy. Way to tug at our heartstrings, Barbara.
But story, well told, does that. It engages us and then unleashes the “aha!” But, more than that, it stays with us in a way that lectures and exhortations and, well, regular preaching, doesn’t. I love hearing a good story on Sunday, don’t you? Partly because I’m still chewing on it on a Monday morning. I guess I am a “morning after” person.
Now, true disclosure, I take notes during worship. I’ve done it for years, through the tenure of a number of pastors at several churches. I hope the folks sitting near me don’t find it distracting. They notes are for my Monday. They are actually an act of worship for me. I come on Sunday expecting a gift, so I bring my pen. And I am never disappointed.
Oh, the notes I take don’t look very much like this blog, because everything looks different on Monday morning in the light cast by worship. But today I am feeling better about this because Barbara has reminded us that it’s not about the words, it’s about how you say them.
I need to go back and read some of those children’s stories we still have on our kids’ shelves. That’s what they tell you to do if you want to write your own story…read what you’re trying to write. And, as it happens, I am in the middle of trying to write a children’s story. It’s fictional, but the truth keeps getting in the way. Makes it hard to write, but I hope it will make it easier to read.
But, isn’t it like God to come to my rescue just as I am threatening to take myself too seriously? This morning, I am paging through gift catalogs on my kitchen counter – yes, that time is upon us – and open to a page of t-shirts with silly sayings. Somehow I gravitate to the page for scrabble players, I guess. One of the shirts reads:
“Let’s eat Grandma. Let’s eat, Grandma. Commas save lives.”For a storyteller the message may be all in how you say it, but when you write it down, punctuation is NOT optional. Commas save lives!
If you just chuckled, too, perhaps you are a worship service note-taker who finds God on a Monday morning, too. Take it from me, the accidental blogger, you can trust Him. Remember, it’s all in how they READ it.
God in the tag cloud
2What’s in a title? a name? a tag? A lot, I expect. It’s what we read first, in capital letters, and then decide whether we want to enter in. The funny thing is, the title is usually the last thing I give my posts or my articles. Because I’m really not quite sure what they will be about when I start them. It unearths itself in the process.
Yesterday’s post “When do we get around to doing what can be done anytime?” started out as “If we can call on God anytime, when will get around to Him?” I thought the whole refer-to-God-in-the-title thing was a bit off-putting. I mean, who wants to be bombarded with stuff chastising you for not doing what you’re “supposed to”? (Where DOES this question mark go?) If you’re on the fence about God, you’re definitely gonna hit the “delete” on that.
So I changed the title, in order to invite people in. But I tagged it “God” along with a bunch of other things. Tags invite people in, too. People who are looking for writing about a particular topic can search by tags. “Want to read what other people are writing about ____? Click here.” So it’s a covert sort of evangelism, I guess. If you’re already seeking God, you might recognize Him here.
But I’m wondering whether it’s a cop-out on my part. I mean, am I doing God a disservice by not saying, right up front, this blog is about God in my physical life? I’m considering this as I get ready to post with the new title, while scrolling through the “tags most used” cloud in my blog’s dashboard. The words are there, some smaller, some larger based on how many times I have used them. And there, floating in the middle of perhaps a hundred different tags of all sizes is one, very large, blue word: GOD.
I chuckled out loud then, right in the middle of the Starbucks. ‘God’ is by far the most used tag in my posts. Even when I don’t put Him in the title He is there; I have written Him in. Simply by tapping those three keys, in that order, time after time, GOD has emerged in the cloud.
So I guess I haven’t tucked Him away after all. Even when I don’t call Him by name He is there, among us. Here, where 2 or 3 are gathered. Or at least He is there, in my midst and my mind as I tap out my ponderings. Those three keys, in that order, time after time. Not randomly, but regularly.
I do think titles are important, though. That’s how we know what to call things, how to refer to them, how we connect with them. They do serve as an invitation and they get our attention. Kind of like when someone calls our name. We’re told that our Shepherd will call us by name. I’m not so sure He will use my first or my last name. I’d like to think I would just get a tap that says, “mine,” in a voice I recognize as His.
And not like those crazy gulls from Finding Nemo…”mine. mine. mine. mine.” Or, maybe so. You can find God in most any script, can’t you?
When do we get around to doing what can be done anytime?
212 years
by wlebolt
in Uncategorized
“When can you call on God?” we asked the young people in our confirmation class.
There was silence, and then a hesitant, “Anytime. He’s always there.”
“Yes!” my co-teacher said enthusiastically, “He’s an anytime, anywhere God.”
Other people might celebrate where this class discussion ended. And so might I, if this were a class of young children, but with a group of 8th graders, this response left me concerned. Yes, it was the “right” answer, the one she’d been taught in Sunday school, even the one that scripture offers, “I am with you always to the end of the age.” What had me worried was …when do we get around to doing what can be done anytime?
I know I respond best to deadlines and urgency. I belly up to the project that looms largest, the problem that screams loudest, or the news just in. The things that sit quietly – the ones that can be done anytime – tend to scroll down in my inbox. They can wait until I have more time or more energy. Often, they just get forgotten.
I wonder if this will be so for these young people and the God that is available to them 24-7. In their world where everything comes at them fast and demands an immediate answer, I worry that the God who is “there whenever we need Him” may be relegated to the “get to later” category. Then, when they are faced with a crisis, a real need, a tragedy – the stuff that intercedes in all our lives – will they recognize the God who is there with them?
God hasn’t set a deadline for us. He seems to tell us, come to Me in your own time. But I would so like these young people to invite Him in ahead of time, before they “need” Him. Into the deadlines and the urgency and the breaking news. Self-sufficiency is a good thing, but it shouldn’t be a lonely thing. God powered self-sufficiency…now that sounds like a dynamic conversation.
How do we move God from anytime to first thing?
Thanksgiving, a non-denominational holiday!
012 years
by wlebolt
in Uncategorized
Frankly, I have been surprised and pleased by the good humor of people this week. I have been to the grocery store several times, the bank, the coffee shop, run errands, and all of it’s been peaceful, fun, even collegial. People are chatting while waiting in lines. Waiting patiently, even while you bag up your 17 items in the 15 or less aisle. Everybody is in such a good mood. I think it must be Thanksgiving.
And why am I so surprised? I hate to admit it, but I think it’s because, on the inside, I am fast-forwarding to the days before Christmas. No, not thinking about Christmas lists, just making the parallel: the shopping, the crowds, the cool weather, the traffic, the lines. In the midst, I am leaping ahead. When I come back to the present, I am surprised.
There everyone is, wishing a Happy Thanksgiving. Everyone. You can wish it to a whole line at Starbucks and they’ll all smile and wish it back. You can smile and wish it at a total stranger walking around the block and he’ll wish it back. You can wish it to the people of every race and color who are tellers at the bank and they’ll wish it back.
Happy Thanksgiving is safe to say…to everyone. Because it’s non-denominational. You don’t have to worry if you’re offending. Everyone can give thanks, in one way or another, for something or other. And wishing happiness, well, it’s a given, when are grateful.
I just wish, somehow, we could make the Christmas season as peaceful. I suspect thanksgiving is a good place to start.
When will God say breathe?
0My recent excursion into the MRI tunnel still has me recalling the voice ‘from the outside’ saying..
“Hold your breath…” whhhiiiirrrrrrr, ratatatatatata…
“Breathe.”
Oh, it felt good to let go of that breath.
While I was waiting, I was totally focused on one thing: taking my next breath. Being the rule-following type, it did not occur to me to cheat or sneak in a breath while she wasn’t looking. I was gonna do it or die trying.
But this did bring to mind days gone past, (I’ve written a bit about it here) when we had a competition on the swim team for how far we could swim underwater. This was supposed to inspire us (pardon the pun) to push ourselves in training. To hold our breath a bit longer, because breathing slowed you down. The one who took the fewest breaths usually made it to the finish line first.
Well, there is a trick to this one of the older swimmers showed us. If you hyperventilate first, that is, if you take a lot of quick, shallow breaths, you can “blow off” carbon dioxide and trick your body into keeping quiet about that old breathing thing. Later, as a physiologist I learned and then taught students that this practice actually fools your brain’s internal breathing centers into thinking you don’t have to breathe yet. This is a bit of a dangerous practice. However, once you pass out, your body comes to your rescue and makes you breathe.
But today this has me wondering whether this isn’t often my approach to life. To hyperventilate, gasping the full volume of air because I can hold my breath longer. Does the force of my life silence my body’s signal to breathe? Is finishing first really worth it?
Our enemy is not format but following along
212 years
by wlebolt
in Sermon Response
Yesterday I attended what’s known at Floris church as the “11:00 service.” It’s the more traditional service, with more traditional hymns, more traditional liturgy. You get it. However, it is held in a sanctuary that holds 800 or more people that is equipped with large screens, sound booth and video capability. In other words, it’s traditional in a contemporary sort of way.
I don’t normally attend this service. I usually come at 9:15. To what’s known as the “contemporary service.” They have a band and play Christian popular music interspersed with the liturgy, children’s singing, prayer, offering, sermon – the usual stuff. The big screens seem totally normal there, with sound checks and the rest. I see the words on the screen, have heard the songs and can sing along with the tunes. Something in me already knows them.
But yesterday I felt the tug of discomfort, because I was reading/singing a traditional hymn from the large screen and I didn’t know the tune, exactly, or the pacing or the pitches. And so, I followed along. This bothered me. Worship shouldn’t feel like following along.
This made me think of a comment my daughter made when she came to worship with me in this sanctuary after growing up in worship in another one. One where they didn’t have screens and where the hymns were in hymnals where we read the music and the words and, best we could, raised our voices in praise. She said to me, “Mom, singing the hymns from the hymn book, that’s where I learned to read music.”
So in 11:00 worship I wondered about this. When we read from our screens are we simply following along? How will we learn to read… the music. My daughter learned to hear what she saw. Associate sounds with notes on a page. Tap rhythms and understand phrasing from symbols on that page. And then she could hear it for herself, even when she didn’t see it. She could even create it.
Somehow, when you mix genres, try to overlay the contemporary atop the traditional, there is a disconnect. I’m not sure we’re even aware of it. Because we don’t know when something we’re meant to feel, meant to experience or meant to learn isn’t there. Until someone else looks with fresh eyes and an old-soul perspective and says so.
This has me pondering:
- hard copy or e-book
- in person or online
- tangible or imagined
- turn the page or swipe the screen
- annotate or click and type
I’m having this debate with myself while considering where I learned to create my “music” which, for me, is my words. Surely it was in the margins of a page, where I scribbled a thought or a response or an idea. Where I interacted with imaginary people, historical characters and pundits of my own age. We had a conversation and they never knew it. But I did. And little did I know, this conversation was changing me.
Today, when I read an e-book I am excited (sort of) when I come across a passage that has been highlighted 184 times. Aha, my community agrees this is a “good” one. But then I start wondering, should I highlight? Or is there something wrong with me if I didn’t choose to highlight this. Or, worst of all, what’s wrong with people that they highlighted that!?
Oh, we are getting additional information via this new digital format. People are reading. And they’re thinking. And they’re speaking up in broader and broader forums. But are they creating something new and valuable in the conversation? Or are they just following along.
Because what I know from my daughter is: in worship she discovered a creative place for herself. Something she could take with her and apply elsewhere in her life, something of beauty and wisdom and growth and community. Something that others now receive and give thanks for.
And isn’t this what worship should be? A place we engage the Almighty, and He, us. And in the interaction we are changed. We become the composers of our very own music, authors of our very own story, painters of our very own masterpiece. We learn how to interpret the signs of our life and play them beautifully.
I am convinced it’s in all of us. It was in me, when I never even knew it. And I have all those great authors to thank for it. People who didn’t just keep their thoughts to themselves but shared them.
Of course, now we have got ‘word processors’ that can write as fast we think and networks that can share our thoughts infinitely faster. I admit I like that. A contemporary approach to the traditional. Has possibilities.
Giving the leftovers to God
012 years
I’ve always had a bit of trouble with this story told in both Matthew and Mark’s gospels of a Canaanite woman who pleads with Jesus for help to save her demon-possessed daughter and ends up begging for even the crumbs from His table. (Matthew 15:22-28)
A Canaanite woman from that vicinity came to him, crying out, “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on me! My daughter is demon-possessed and suffering terribly.” 23 Jesus did not answer a word. So his disciples came to him and urged him, “Send her away, for she keeps crying out after us.”
He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of Israel.”
The woman came and knelt before him. “Lord, help me!” she said.
He replied, “It is not right to take the children’s bread and toss it to the dogs.”
“Yes it is, Lord,” she said. “Even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table.”
Then Jesus said to her, “Woman, you have great faith! Your request is granted.” And her daughter was healed at that moment.
Today I am thinking about how many times this is exactly what I offer my Lord. The crumbs from my table. The leftovers when I’m done with my meal, done with my work, done with my day.
This morning I woke early. I had heard there was a meteor shower that could be viewed before sunrise and the skies would be clear. I stepped out into the cold and the dark of the morning and looked upon the most lovely of twinkling lights. Constellations in every direction. Darkness interrupted by pinpoints of glistening magnificence. Not a meteor to be found, but I stood in awe, surveying the broad expanse of the masterpiece displayed on the canvas of the pre-dawn sky. Every light perfect. Clarity that defies any human light, any human sound, any human thought.
And the words of songs and hymns, of prayers and psalms sprung from …from where? I’m not sure. They were an impromptu offering. I was praising a God who provided this wonder every morning, first thing. Before He attended to anything else. God’s first fruits, just for me, just now.
And here am I, offering Him the crumbs.