Bringing Faith to Life
Archive for March, 2017
Looking for Signs of New Life
2It’s that time of year again; trees a-flowering, flowers a-budding, buds a-popping, all giving way to the greening of leaves in canopies across the land.
Well, across the temperate land.
Here in Central Florida, everything stays green all year round. The palms, shrubs, and grasses wave happily in the constant breezes. Even cacti thrive in the sandy soil. What’s missing here is color, specifically, the diversity of color.
So, my green-thumbed husband ripped out all the scraggly (but green, to be sure) shrubs, replacing them with vibrantly colored flowers. What a happy difference! On St. Patrick’s day, he brought home “Paddy,” who wound merrily through a trellis that would allow her to climb up and along the bare side of our house.
Isn’t she lovely? Full of pastel pink flowers with stems intertwined, clambering up the wooden scaffolding?
But this is Paddy today. (My apologies to my friend Patty, in whose honor we named this beautiful new planting.)
She has dropped nearly all of her flowers. As I water her, and yes, whisper bits of encouragement, I search longingly for some new stems, new buds, or a bit of greening – just some signs of new life! But they are hard to find.
Paddy is suffering from transplant shock, my husband tells me. Common in plants that are uprooted and transported to new accommodations, they need time to get used to things and decide whether their new soil will be conducive to their needs. Life looks a bit bleak in the mean time.
Ironic, because given the size and plenty of the greenery here, I thought everything flourished. It seemed an everlasting spring. Apparently, I was wrong. The warm winter months which give way to warmer spring days are only the prelude to the hot, dry summer. If your roots don’t find good soil and plentiful water now, there’s not much hope for your future.
I guess that’s why the change of seasons are so important: a time to plant, a time to grow, a time to harvest, and a time to lay fallow. The seasons graciously allow us to send down our roots, grow up our stems, show forth our flowers and … and… and… to withdraw to gather our resources in times of hardship and prepare for the seasons that lay ahead.
Transplant shock, the product of our uprooting and the stark presentation of a new way of life, is jarring. Make no mistake: the buds on those trees which are now timidly unfurling and introducing themselves to new branches at new heights are the bravest of the brave. What courage it takes to strike out into the spring, come what may.
I am hoping Paddy will make it if I keep giving her some tender loving care. We have a certain camaraderie, she and I. Neither of us does transition very well, but our Maker knows this about us. We may not always show well in spring training; that’s our time to grow.
Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain
1Years ago, I drove past a home construction site where the foundation had been laid but the frame had yet to take shape. A small sign greeted everyone who came to the job site. It read: “Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.” ~ Psalm 127:1
I marveled at that bold expression of faith! What courage it took for that builder to proclaim his faith, on the job, everyday. What a privilege it must have been to work for someone who gave such thanks and demonstrated such humility.
I didn’t have that kind of courage. It felt much safer to keep things of faith inside the church building, so I looked around to learn how to do this God-thing right. The options were a bit overwhelming. Should I try to preach like a pastor? teach like a Sunday school teacher? facilitate like a study group leader? serve meals like the outreach leader? donate more to the budget like the finance leader? How did a Christian behave?
I was all in for the Kingdom, and I wanted to fully invest myself in building God’s house. Let’s beef up this church; it’s the Body of Christ here on earth after all. Better get busy! So I did what newbie’s do; I imitated others in search of the “me” I was supposed to be. Hey, I’ve got lots of gifts! I’ll be the whole house. Bring it on!
But the verse on that sign, Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain, really nagged at me. Whoever placed it probably attended worship regularly, read the Bible, put money in the offering plate and maybe even taught Sunday school, but I didn’t see that. What I saw was this profession of faith on public display at the job site. So, what’s God building in me? If God isn’t building my house, then whatever I am doing to spiff it up is completely in vain.
Talk about vanity, I had been looking around my church wondering which project I was supposed to be in charge of. No, Wendy, I’ve hired the job foreman and contracted for the skilled labor. You’re construction material, just like the rest of these whom I dearly love.
Okay then. Well, a quality house needs quality construction material. So, am I a brick? a cinder block? maybe a board, a joint, a slab of sheet rock, a pail of plaster? Perhaps paint, wall paper, a lighting fixture? Certainly not a roof truss! Maybe I’m cabinetry, an electrical outlet, a shingle or a shutter? Or I could even be sod or a landscape planting. None better than the other, all essential, each an expression of the builder’s careful craftsmanship.
Lately, I’ve been feeling a bit like a brick. Well, okay then, if I’m a brick, then I’ll be the best brick I can be. Not a bad thing, to be a brick in the house God is building: strong, steady, stable, keeping the crumbling to a minimum.
But just when I thought I had this brick-thing figured out, God showed me that He didn’t just make me a brick on the inside wall of his church. My brick faces outside, too. I’m meant to be construction material in all the things I am doing so that others who see, hear, read, or otherwise meet me might see the brick I am and come to know my Builder.
We of the family and lineage of God are all just building materials, sifted, stacked, cemented and nailed, into the house where the very Christ is our cornerstone. That builder’s got a blueprint.
I’m just a brick in that wall.
Words and how we use them
0Words, so useful, so plentiful, but oh, so dangerous, so deadly.
You, Sir, have given them to me as a gift. My life is but a word.
How will I use it?
- To build up, not to tear down
- To tell the story of what You’ve done in my life
- To greet and get to know
- To grow and to relate
- To spellbind and entertain
- To describe what’s beautiful
- To congratulate
- To comprehend
- To weave pattern and plot
- To reflect and discover
- To uphold what is good
- To defend what is admirable and right
- To expose what is disingenuous, hurtful or wrong
- To celebrate and thank
- To portray
Let it be.
You?
On Eagles Wings
0“It’s a fun run. We all have to do it,” Jaylin told me. “You should come.”
So I did come, not to run but to watch. Not just to watch but to help. On my arrival, they were breaking for lunch, so I set out along the course marked out, intending to pick up random discards: cups, juice pop wrappers, and other assorted trash. Wouldn’t want the kids to trip and fall.
As I walked, I also read the signs. Professionally printed on foam boards and stuck in the ground like political placards, personalized signs urged kids on in their running. Each sign had been purchased for $10 – this was a fundraising event. This elementary school, classified a Title I school, is in an impoverished neighborhood. These families didn’t have extra cash. Someone who loved these children paid for the privilege of encouraging them.
As I walked I read. As I read, I prayed. As I prayed, I shed tears. Oh, the love of these parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles. I wondered about each little one’s story. I spoke thanks into the spring breeze for these teachers and administrators who had purchased signs encouraging these kids.
And then out came the next batch of kids, full of energy and enthusiasm, cheering for themselves and their classes.
“Parents,” the teacher with the microphone said, “you can spread out anywhere on the course.”
Though not a parent to these children and yet with no volunteer position assigned, I seized the opportunity to head out onto the course – ALL the way to the fence, clear across the field, to the middle of the backstretch. I was alone there. Just me, the backstop, two big trees and the soccer field beyond the fence.
Then, here came the kids!
I clapped, shouted and whooped as they came by. Some smiled, some looked away, and some pretended not to notice. Next time around, I offered high fives: “High fives! Free high fives! A little extra energy…who needs a little extra energy!”
Now really here came the kids. They would re-route to slap me five, cut off classmates, even, to swing near. A few slowed to a walk to get a “re-charge.” I learned a few of their names. Plenty complained that their stomachs were hurting, it was hot, they were exhausted. Some of the walkers began jogging when they saw me. A few stayed wide and clear of traffic to get in as many laps as possible.
Some walked and read each sign. Looking for theirs. A teacher had stopped to take 
Alexandra’s picture next to hers – I’m sure to be able to share with the family – but now kids were asking, “Where is MY sign?” “Can you help me find my sign?”
I had counted about 75 signs, but there were hundreds of kids.
I was their sign… “You can do it!” “Look at you go!” “Way to keep up the pace!” Way to keep going!” “Whoa, you’ve run how many laps?!””I’m so proud of you!”
Free high fives, free energy, free encouragement. That’s all I had. Nothing for sale. Everything to give. Cost me nothing. And it filled me up.
Suddenly, one little first grader came ’round the bend. I held out my high-5 hand but instead she grabbed me around the middle and held me tight, for just a second, before jogging on.
Oh my. Filled to the very brim. What had I done to deserve this plenty?
I cajoled the last three girls to complete their last lap. One jogged, one walked, one made me wait saying she didn’t want to run…and then sprinted ahead of me shouting, “I bet I can beat you!!”
And so they did. So they all did.
I watched them enjoying their juice pops and meandered by. Not a soul noticed. Not a soul cared.
I looked again at those fund-raising signs, with names of these little ones printed in colorful ink, all in a row along the course they had run. They had run and not grown weary, walked and not grown faint.
but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint. ~ Isaiah 40:31
What had first looked like tombstones set in a row, now looked like runways set for take-off. Even the crazy guy, Rob, who advertised “best deals on cruises” by donating 10 bucks to the cause must have known what I now know, that Alta Vista Eagles are meant to soar.
What a privilege it is to witness them take flight.
Reach
0How can I reach you?
with my message
with my resources
with my help
My, my, my.
Close the gap.
Come near me.
Near enough to touch.
Hands
High fives
Hugs
You have reached me
and I, you.
We
Where do I Fit in the Body of Believers?
0If the church is the body of Christ, what part would you be?
All the good parts are spoken for, right? You’re late to the game so you get to choose from the left overs. Head – gone. Heart – gone. Right hand, left hand – they’re taken. Even the smelly feet got scooped up. After all, those things can take you places.
Er, just what am I looking for here? Something that will work for me? Something I can really put to good use? Or… am I looking for a good fit? A part that suits me, that feels right, that I can snuggle into and make into a home.
Sounds more like a nest than a body, that does. Perhaps the question isn’t what part would I be, but what part would be me?
Daunting. When I drew a figure of a body, it looked more like the tracing at a crime scene. Indistinct body parts, not much you can identify. But wouldn’t you know it, that silhouette of a man turned and started running. Running off the page. And here I am, watching him go.
Trying to get him all proportioned, I drew him with circles for hands and circles for feet. Pretty tough to run that way. Pretty hard to reach that way. Hey man, you need some fingers! some toes! maybe a thumb or two. Good for gripping, holding… There I am again, thinking about me.
Lord, what do you need?
I thought you’d never ask. Here you are.
The Testimony of Our Senses
2You created and it was good. Very good. You said so yourself.
So how come right now it can feel bad? Very bad. You didn’t warn us about this. Have you changed your mind? Are you going back on your word? Were you just kidding?
I look of the hint of the sunrise, the glow of the clouds, overseeing two ducks urging themselves toward the shore and the cover of the steady reeds. The water is still, so still I can see the arrow of their wake. Good, so very good.
The darkened surface speaks to the heavens. See your clouds, your tints, and the proud shadows of overflying waterfowl? See your beauty in me? it seems to say. Even the jet trail of the early morning flight is reflected here.
I look up to see the straight white line of the jet trail dissecting the grey-blue of the sky, but where is it drawn on my pond palette? on my earthly representation of heavenly perfection? 
Wait. I think I see it. It’s not a straight line at all, but an oscillating serpent in white, wiggling along the surface. I can see it clearly, reflected on the stilled water of the early morning, waiting patiently to come to life. The sheet of pond is not a perfect reflection after all. Unseen perturbations give themselves away.
How could I doubt your perfection? What you have created is good, very good.
Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. ~ 1 Cor 13:12
Along the way
0I’m walking to yoga class. It’s not far, maybe half a mile. I’ve left enough time. No rush.
Coming ’round the bend, a car slows and the driver peers out the window. I know her from yoga class. She’s offering me a ride, which I decline. She continues along her way and I along mine.
Ahead of me, I see another classmate exiting her house and striding along the sidewalk. See? Another walker, plenty of time… but she is quickly pulling away, must not have seen me, must be in a hurry, may be in a mood.
Oh but…Look up at the cotton white clouds that decorate Carolina blue skies. There, the egret stands in the tall shore grasses. Sweet lily pads wave at me as I cross the bridge, a ruddy duck floats among them. Is that a heron just flying overhead? Of course, there are those noisy black ravens, cawing, cawing and oh my, the squawk, the shudder, the screech of those hilarious Sandhill Cranes, always in two’s. Keep away from our nest!
I arrive at yoga, find a spot and settle in on my mat. After class I thank my neighbor who had offered the ride. “I like to walk,” I tell her, hoping she’s not offended.
“Oh, I like to walk, too,” she says. “Three times everyday. We do our 10,000 steps.”
Is this what walking is now? To be quantified, measured, and recorded? Have we squeezed out all the juice and found the pulp sour but good for us? Oh, if we could only see ourselves, see in ourselves, to see for ourselves all the signs and wonders and magnificent gifts at our very door step.
Oh, the places we’d go if we realized the places we are.
What did God mean when He spoke me?
0What right have I to be here on this earth?
Here,
taking up space,
demanding time,
using resources.
What right have I to demand that things be done my way?
according to my plan,
within my specifications,
according to my schedule.
I have no right to these. Not any claim on these.
Any more than you or you or you or you.
Nevertheless, I am here.
I’m meant for something.
Meant to be someone.
Maybe I’m just meant.
What if, when God spoke me into existence, the one who I am today is exactly what He meant, exactly what He had in mind, and exactly as He hoped?
Wouldn’t that be something?!