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The Book of Luke – 24 Days of Jesus, an Advent Experience

Advent, Angels, Art, Children, contentment, courage, daughters, family, hope, kindness, love, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, painting, praise, Prayer, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder, writing

It Matters to Me

Luke, Chapter 3 is evidence of the writer’s intellect, I decide. Luke, a physician explored and recorded the lineage of Jesus. It would be easy to avoid the 15 verses with challenging names, like skipping over the Book of Leviticus on yet another plan to read through the Bible.

But, it is relevant, this lineage, this record of ancestry.

All the relatives of Joseph and thereby Jesus, the Son of God.

“the son of Enos, the son of Seth, the son of Adam, the son of God.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭3:38‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It matters to me, the humanity of Jesus, the lining up of people, just like the people lined up before me.

Makes me reflect on our genetics and our similarities, the ones before me, making straight my way through the memories of their own ways.

“Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall become straight, and the rough places shall become level ways,”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭3:5‬ ‭ESV‬‬

My grandma made the best of paths she may have thought might be straight, she made it through the crooked places and leveled her life with scripture and determination, she always made a way.

I told my “Aunt Boo” that I felt my grandma with me and in me. I’ve sold hand-painted Christmas cards this year.

I remembered her carefully designing her velvety Christmas ornaments, covered in pieces and parts of old jewelry.

She used the long stick pins and carefully created elaborate pieces. I see her now.

She’s in the room they added on, the double bed filled up the room and there was space just wide enough for her beside it. She retreated to this place, I was invited in to sit quietly on the bed.

A dresser was covered with sectioned flat containers, sparkly, metallic, extravagant and antique. She stood for hours, her tiny frame steady, her hands working constantly. No words spoken and her mouth set just so, her tongue tipped up toward the curve of her lip, peeking through, she worked with her mouth “set just right”.

She was industrious. She placed the ornaments in big flat boxes and with her little memorandum pad, she loaded her car and she made her deliveries.

I am forever impacted by her choice to pursue something so joyful, to do something that was fully and completely her choice to do.

It matters to me, this characteristic of my grandmother in me.

I’ve been selling my art again.

Luke reminds us that everything is purposeful and everything matters.

In the first verses of Chapter 3, John begins to tell of a new concept, repentance and forgiveness of sins. Isaiah the prophet had written of John, a voice that would come from the wilderness. The same John who “jumped” in his mother, Elizabeth’s womb while in the room with Mary, pregnant with Jesus, this John would baptize many and baptize Jesus.

And Jesus heard his father, God say, “you are my son”.

“Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heavens were opened, and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form, like a dove; and a voice came from heaven, “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.””

‭‭Luke‬ ‭3:21-22‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It’s doubtful I’ll ever be a theologian, doubtful I’ll return to any further education.

Life and God are my teachers now.

Life, the enormity of it around me, exposure to wisdom, thoughts, experiences. God helps me see the relevance of Him in it all.

I’ve just finished reading an article I’ll read again and maybe more. The wisdom of a man over why his ancestry is significant, why clarity matters, why approaching things hidden or unexplored is something we all should do.

It is never too late.

Two gentlemen, both guys who are wise and caring and ones I respect, pointed me in the direction of this piece.

Bruce Springsteen

We are all individuals formed by those who made us. Our heredity is more than physical, it is experiential.

It is a brave choice to consider the weaving of our ways, to look at them and say, oh, I see now this horrible or wonderful thing, how it made me, me.

Some might wonder what these thoughts have to do with Christmas. I get that.

I don’t know why; but, I said a long series of “thank you, Gods” beside my bed today. It began and then just became a spontaneous building of more and more. God kept up the conversation, brought to memory all of my before to say hey, look at now!

This life I have, this life I know.

It is absolutely a life of hope. My lineage and my life experiences at one time convinced me it could never be so.

Like Luke details the way the 30 year old Jesus came to be, it is similar for you and me.

The breath of heaven that brought Jesus is the same breath of God that created you and me.

On purpose and with purpose that life causes us to sometimes lose. I told someone yesterday I wish I hadn’t returned to art so late in life.

One of my thank yous this morning was that I am here and I have art and life and so much more.

I have hope.

Advent, the days before Christmas, these are the days to have hope.

It matters to me that my grandma chose hope, that she became independent in her pursuit of making beautiful things, that she was about my age when she began this thing that kept her captivated, made her feel significant, brought joy to so many.

It matters to me that I got to see what I didn’t understand as hope back then, but understand it now.

She prepared the way for me. I pray I’m preparing the way for my own daughter, my son and all the other children yet to come.

Luke, a Book about the life of Jesus. I’m no seminarian, I’m just sharing what he’s bringing to light …24 Days of Jesus, my Advent Experience.

Hope.

The Book of Luke – 24 Days of Jesus, an Advent Experience

Advent, Angels, bravery, confidence, Faith, family, memoir, mercy, Motherhood, sons, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

I mentioned I knew little of Advent before. I acted as if I did when my cousin gifted me with a package containing images to display, to mark each day.

Now, this year I can’t find the Advent activity and most likely won’t be going back to search through the attic.

Instead, I saw something going around on social media. I’ll read and reflect on a chapter of Luke for 24 days, a look at the life and death and resurrection of the baby that became my Savior.

December 2, I began:

Reading a chapter of the Book of Luke a day, 24 days, for Advent, a new way to honor the tradition, to truly connect with Christmas.

In the 1st chapter, Elizabeth and Zechariah, although old, realize they’ll be parents to John, the one who’ll make way for Jesus.

Elizabeth feels her baby move as soon as Mary, with child, enters the room. Mary is surprised, uncertain, but settles into the surprise of being chosen. It’s the beginning, the beautiful beginning. Everything must’ve felt uncertain, maybe even giddy.

A baby changes everything.

December 3, Luke 2:

The chapter covers a whole lot of life. I wish Luke had lingered longer in several places. I’d like to have known more about Jesus in the manger, about little boy Jesus in the temple, about Jesus being described by his father Joseph, about the way Mary’s face appeared, her emotion as she took it all in, as she listened and pondered.

Jesus Found at The Temple

I wish I could have been amongst the people.

I believe for miles around the angels’ song was heard, the one that followed their calming of the throng, assuring them not to be afraid, through a song.

“”Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭2:14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

One verse captivates me this year. Possibly because I will soon “go by grandma”.

It makes all of this divine story so human. After the angels announced the birth, they ascended back to heaven. The shepherds made way to see the baby and there must have been a commotion, a flurry of comments and conversation.

Like we are today, waiting room waiters, nursery window peering and chances to be invited in finally, oh, to see the baby!

I imagine there were questions of Joseph and a paparazzi like reaction. To be the first to see what had been spoken of, hoped for and possibly disbelieved…what a special occasion!

There he was, a baby born to a teenage virgin, the one God sent his angels to welcome into our world.

Mary, oblivious to the crowd, cradles her baby.

I love this part. the part every woman who has ever given birth knows.

I love the realization of the miraculous.

Mary swaddled Jesus and simply “pondered”. Luke includes no description of her expression, I imagine a serenity, a glow.

“But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart.”

‭‭Luke‬ ‭2:19‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Today, on this 2nd Day of Advent, I’m praying with “I will” rather than “help me”. I’m remembering Mary and her acceptance of what became her opportunity, the time she was chosen for.

I’ve decided to shift my mindset of “hope so” to deliberately so. It might be what I have been missing, might allow me to forgo regret over what I’ve not finished and replace it with resolve to carry it through.

That’s what Mary did.

She believed what God told her He would accomplish in her.

Luke may have left out their late night discussions, she and Joseph still so blown away by this pregnancy. Mary might have had some “hormonal” moments, fear, fatigue and even, dread.

She was human, she was uncertain.

But, I believe she decided to be deliberate.

Deliberate in her seeking

Deliberate in her surrender

Deliberate in her notice of God all along her journey

Deliberate in her quiet pondering

My prayer today.

Tell me what to say.

I want to be deliberate in all my ways.

Luke, Chapter 2 ends with their son becoming their teacher. He takes off on his own, they panic until they find him in the temple.

He tells them why he’s there.

And he said to them, “Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?””

‭‭Luke‬ ‭2:48-49‬ ‭

Mary begins to learn a lesson, a human one again, one I’ve learned of late, the need to allow our children to individuate.

Again, she’s quiet.

And his mother treasured up all these things in her heart.

‭‭Luke‬ ‭2:51‬ ‭

It’s true, Lord. I learn when I get quiet. Help me to be deliberate in the quiet.

Not Stolen Joy

Abuse Survivor, Advent, bravery, Faith, grace, memoir, mercy, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder

More and more everyday, I’m shrugging off, tossing aside, assuredly changing my understanding of what my faith should mean, should be to me.

Believing joy might be for me.

You won’t understand unless you were raised with harsh reins and criticism meant to be corrective counseling that was more control and sometimes coercion.

I’m not accustomed to traditions like Advent and I had no clue until I began to seek to know, the meaning of so many beautiful traditions.

I’m realizing the church of my youth considered itself independent and non-denominational; but, what they taught me were lessons like you’ll never be as good or good enough or those people don’t love Jesus as much as we do otherwise they’d walk around like us, looking miserable and solemn and bent under their inventory of guilty sin.

I messed up the Advent tradition. I started yesterday instead of today.

It’s okay.

I’ll begin from the beginning again, I’ll glean from the glory of the story of the newborn Jesus, even more new and life changing things.

I shifted to a jog in the stretch of straight on the trail. I thought of my morning journal and my note to myself.

His joy remains in me.

This new comprehension of joy, it can’t be taken. I’ll know fullness in my relationship with God when I have joy no matter my circumstances or successes.

“You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭16:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Up ahead the birds are flying from tree to tree as if the trail is a river below them and they’re crossing to get to the forest. I get closer, they flutter away and then one, just one remains, as if to be sure I see. Bright red and healthy, sitting on a branch up high like a king.

A beautiful presence.

Yes, I see.

I finish with a song that allows me to go all the way back home, my version of a run, the rhythm of the song, the timing is right, I have no inclination not to go on.

I’m as light as I can be, the thought of struggling so very far removed.

The foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy. Audrey Assad

‘Cause you are, good to me, God.

And every time I hear the words about the foxes in the vineyard, I’m stronger than before, all those sly and conniving distractions and distractors …no more for me,

no more stolen joy.

Good to Me

A Sort of Shift

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I watched the sun take the sky from the evening, it was taking over the day.

It became less beautiful but captivating all the same.

My typical steps were interrupted

By morning today, it was an unavoidable display.

The clouds were thick and shaded grey, layered like a trifle in a pretty “get together” bowl.

I walked outside to watch the movement, a sort of shift towards the right and then I turned to look for more.

Up above the peak of the roof, I found it.

The crescent was shining, fuzzy from the gradient atmospheric filters.

I found it again.

My fascination with the sky, my willing and wistful on purpose bend towards deepness.

It is resurfacing, the blinders of circumstance and cynicism causing constant complaining,

They’re falling off, filtering my embrace again of my God.

Of his grace, His keeping me, helping me, being again, my rescue.

“I lift up my eyes to the hills.

From where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber. Behold, he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand. The sun shall not strike you by day, nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all evil; he will keep your life.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭121:1-7‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Writing prompted by the word “Deep” and thinking of a question my sister asked last week. She saw my gaze in an old photo I shared and wondered “whatcha thinkin ‘about?”

I answered, “Ain’t no tellin’.”

Linking up with others here: http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/11/29/fmf-link-up-deep/

Believing

Abuse Survivor, Advent, Christmas, contentment, courage, freedom, Stillness, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, wonder, writing

I smiled when I saw the few seconds of the scene, the little boy who didn’t believe and then

Believed again.

The child who was intrigued enough to board the big train and then challenged with whether he’d stay on board. “The Polar Express”, I love its many lessons story!

Satan has been using some things to silence my story. I can barely conjure up the magnificence of my hopeful plan of before. Circumstances and choices make disbelief make more sense than believing.

Blinders have been placed on my eyes and my heart seems a little muffled to the miraculous now.

I’ve noticed I’m no longer noticing like before.

Restore my ability to see you, Lord.

I wrote it down, I believe God loves it when I pray this way,

He knows it’s really me.

Restore the woman filled with wonder, filled with hope, filled with ideas and the idea that possibly it could be.

Set my feet back to following and my footfall a happy little bounce with intention.

This Lord, is my request.

Like the little boy who believed, help my unbelief. The child almost yanked from the top of the perilously traveling train, show me the same.

The same joy that comes from believing, the same confirmation that the seemingly crazy trip’s worth traveling.

To arrive back at the place of wonder and to find a treasure like the bell he thought he’d lost in his pocket.

Yes, show me that believing makes all the difference!

Be my conductor, Heavenly Father.

Get me back to the safest destination, the place of believing!

“And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord.””

‭‭Luke‬ ‭1:45‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Yes, I believe!

Christmas, Still Seeking

Christmas, courage, Faith, grace, Peace, praise, Stillness, Uncategorized, wonder

May we never lose our wonder.

“And he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found him, bring me word, that I too may come and worship him.”

‭‭Matthew‬ ‭2:8‬ ‭ESV‬‬

If you try, you can imagine yourself a wise man or perhaps, the wife of one of them or maybe a child, hearing the whispers of your mother, where has father gone…something about a miracle, a baby who would be a Savior?

They heard of a baby about to be born. A young man, a pregnant young woman traveling across the vast and empty country side.

No place to lie, no place to rest. They settled on a barn knowing they couldn’t go on for very much more.

I’m not much of a historian, the scene and situation not really relatable.

But the feeling of heaviness round the bottom of my belly and the pressure of being unable to go on, of my walk being a waddle and my fatigue being a sort of settled endurance, a requirement, go on.

Only getting through as long as I continued to go on.

I think of the wise men, intrigued in a way as a challenge, they learned to believe when logic made no difference at all.

The wise men who sought him, I kinda relate to their need to continue on.

Just now I read a little saying…

Wise men still seek him.

And I paused to think how true, how so very true like a familiar old song.

I added magnolia leaves to my tree, reminiscent of nature next to glory.

Glorious blue, natural coppers and twine. Reminds me of heaven meeting earth. Earth changed by its brilliance.

It is so.

Christmas, a time to think of a baby born to give us heaven and of our soiled souls, earthly tainted lives.

Yet, we seek Him.

We long for Him.

We glance towards the winter black sky dotted randomly bright white and maybe think of the traveling couple, the shepherds, the wise men.

We’re seeking.

We seek Him.

May we never ever lose the wonder of seeking, of seeking to know Him more.

The gloriously miraculous wonder of Jesus.

Level Places of One

bravery, courage, Faith, grief, mercy, Prayer, rest, Stillness, suicide loss, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

Few chances come anymore to feel as if others are one.

Last week we had to bring in more chairs. People I had not seen in a good while and some who I had spoken to by phone but never met all arrived around the same time.

One person I had never encountered walked in bravely.

Alone, she entered a room full of strangers and found a seat cornered between two others at the corner of the table.

One other arrived a little late and I was happy he made it, told one of the regulars he’ll most likely “saunter” in.

This one elderly man, a father grieving his daughter, seated close to me smiled as if he and I shared an inside joke and whispered that was a good description of him.

I consider us friends.

The sauntering and kind gentleman called later to comment on the meeting, concerned over some of the new people, wondering if he can be available to them.

I told him I appreciate the way he helps guide the discussion and the way he’s both truthful even if hard to hear, his words as well as compassion and concern.

He thanked me.

I told him that the diversity in the stories that night, the circumstances that led to suicides and the contributing factors as well as starkly contrasting personal struggles and family make ups were evident.

But, not evidenced in any of the faces of the listeners, the words offered in comfort, comparison or even explanations possible.

It’s level ground, it’s like a mercy table, one meeting I am a part of that sees past differences and looks at the one thing.

The one thing of suicide.

One of many things I do not fully understand.

One thing I do not know.

And so I’m one with them only in my presence, one only because I am there and I’m one because neither do I understand.

I’m one with this group I lead, this group of solemn yet, steady and supportive encouragers.

“Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing.”

‭‭1 Thessalonians‬ ‭5:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

The man who sauntered in closed in prayer after asking permission.

In the pause of his, I presume thinking, two ladies added their supplication. I considered being the third and all my heart could come up with was “Thank you, God for bringing these people to my life.”

I knew God would understand what I meant. I was afraid they would not.

I sat silent and I listened as the gentle man closed out his prayer for the others around the table.

Bringing the support group for those bereaved by suicide, “a club no one wants to be a member of” to a close.

Today, I’m linking up with others here, prompted by the word “One”.

One

If you or someone you know has experienced suicide loss, our group meets monthly. You can find other groups in your area by searching afsp.org.

Tomorrow is International Survivors Day. Across the country people will gather to talk, listen, be one with one another.

Info on this can be found here:

International Survivor Day

I am thankful God brought these people to me. They’ve grown me, taught me that silence is good, that I don’t always have to give my insight and that we are all one in God’s eyes, all of us humans down here.

Grace and Calling or No

Abuse Survivor, bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, doubt, Faith, fear, grace, memoir, mercy, obedience, praise, Prayer, Redemption, rest, surrender, Teaching, Uncategorized, writing

I couldn’t guess if I tried how many bloggers are out there with words floating all about.

Occasional assertions like a “calling” to write or an unwavering assurance or this I must do. I must write.

Like so many other things, we’ve a sense of celebrity to it, we read what the successful ones publish, we lean in and listen, we get enthused with the possibilities or we slink away when the reality of luck and timing and perseverance cause us to crash.

I heard today that about 85% of people have ideas, believe their life contains a story that could be a book.

Yesterday, I came home from church and I read the words of Paul. I considered writing only momentarily. I rested instead and considered giving up my blog, print all of my favorite posts first and stack the stack of stories atop my desk and eventually pack away in a drawer.

But, here I am. I’ve returned.

I changed my tagline because someone skilled in blog traffic and “search speak” assessed my site last week.

Why not, I thought and then like an optimistic student hoping for a B, I was deflated, my report came back with the number 72, a D!

I added grace to my tagline, really just shuffled the letters in the line. Least I could do, the only thing I understand how to do.

I’m learning. I need to be open to the shifts, the sways, the steady steps forward. I need to grow.

Yesterday, about the time it is now, I sat alone at home with the dog at my feet.

The sun was warming the edge of the sofa and my Bible on the arm.

Today was different. 4:30 in the afternoon and it was dark and grey.

Raining, cold.

A writing task abandoned, I felt so little like a writer. Feels unlikely, this thing I thought I might do. So, I’m pushing back.

I tidied up my space, let the next tutorial pause a quarter way in.

Two sheets of lined legal pad are filled with potentially captivating titles, subtitles, notes and asterisks.

I put it away and stopped and thought again, you’ll soon be 60, you’ve been talking about this and refusing to give it up since almost three years ago.

I’ve got notes from church yesterday rewritten twice in three places today.

Most likely I’ll be writing them again.

It’s not trying harder. It’s surrender.

Share your story, yes.

Who you were and who you are.

But, mostly notice and follow what the Holy Spirit shows and tells you.

There is something in me that is greater than me.

I didn’t nap yesterday, I read Romans 8 instead.

I have no idea if a book is in me. I thought I surely knew before.

But, I never surrendered the outcome, the beginning nor the end.

I never asked God directly.

I never, in fact even asked at all.

God, is it your will that I write?

A book?

A book that I already gave a title, named and numbered the chapters, and planned the dedication?

I’m asking now.

And I’m not trying as hard.

I promise.

I surrender my words either stacked up in sheets or bound together in a book, my name across the bottom.

I pray you will help me, God, teach me to be content either way.

“Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.”

‭‭Philippians‬ ‭4:11‬ ‭ESV‬‬

It occurred to me yesterday what a joy my blog is to me. I thought of the feeling when thoughts become words just descriptively fine and I’ve cherished the kind words in comments.

I thought of how sweet it’s been realizing thus far it has been all me.

I paused with the idea of what might be. What might be bolder, sweeter, truer when it’s not just me; but, the power, the power of the Holy Spirit in and through me.

Coming through my words, surrendered for his purpose.

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.”

‭‭Romans‬ ‭8:28‬ ‭ESV‬‬

I’m curious and excited now, surrendered to his purpose.

We shall see.

Requirements and Resistance

bravery, confidence, Faith, fear, grace, obedience, Peace, Prayer, Teaching, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability

img_1539

Last Sunday, I said to myself, I miss the reverence of church.

I wasn’t looking for justification to just stay home.

Because the pieces and experiences I miss are not the popular way…are not really the way of our world now, the “world world” or it seems sometimes to me, the “Faith world”.

I’ve been conflicted, in a season of bending while longing to belong again.

 

There is a trend, my friend, a preacher’s daughter and I agreed.

People are not going to church.

We know it’s not good.

For us or for them.

This friend whose daddy has long passed, this friend who I rarely hear her call her daddy “daddy”, always calls him “Reverend Harper”.

I’m smiling, I see her reverence for him, her daddy and her Heavenly Father.

This morning I feel burdened because I feel so different.

Like thorns among the roses wet with rain, I’m particular in my picking of the right words to say.

I read a thread of replies on Twitter prompted by a young woman’s boasting of leaving the F***ing church of her childhood.

The church that held the memory of her favorite song back then, “They’ll know We are Christians by our Love”.

Several comments followed in agreement with her over her courage to leave the church that she felt never truly loved others, maybe encouraged judgment and hate.

I know that church, I’ve been there amongst the fear promoters and the stone throwers.

I rejected it too.

But, I’m burdened because I don’t think it’s good to use obscenities in the same sentences with God, or love for that matter.

To say so here feels bold, bold in that belief.

We can love boldly and be obedient boldly, I think this is the key.

I am bending, I am less resistant to other than what I’ve always known.

Requirements, though, I still need them.

Need them firmly spoken to me, answers when I ask for the way.

He led me here today.

“Joyful are people of integrity, who follow the instructions of the Lord. Joyful are those who obey his laws and search for him with all their hearts.

They do not compromise with evil, and they walk only in his paths.

You have charged us to keep your commandments carefully.

Oh, that my actions would consistently reflect your decrees!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭119:1-5‬ ‭NLT‬‬

 

I went to church last week.

I heard a gentle nudging saying, No, you need to go, you need to go for YOU.

And I thought on the way over about the loud music, how I missed the quiet days when the children never made a sound and when people weren’t sitting down with their latte cups

When you could hear the hushing sounds of mamas and the clink of the coins and dropping of dollars, tiny noises during the offertory hymn.

An atmosphere that made listening easy, pleasant, required little of me.

I thought of all of this and sat down next to my pretty girl who offered a vanilla latte and then, the lights, the loud welcome of the band, the crescendo.

Seconds before and as clear, clear as a bell, I thought.

What you resist most is what you need most.

And I was different from that moment, the way I took it in, accepted you might say.

I sang, I opened my heart and I sang, softly.

This season of un-belonging, of conflicted resistance, is changing, slowly shifting.

I still believe in requirements. I still need them to know and grow.

I’ll ask God to show me what I need, to point out my resistance, to enlarge my heart to be more willing and open, to grow.

Let go.

IMG_1546

“Open my eyes to see the wonderful truths in your instructions. I am only a foreigner in the land. Don’t hide your commands from me!”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭119:18-19‬ ‭NLT‬‬

Linking up for FMF, prompted by the word “burden” which means a particularly heavy load. I went over the 5 minutes, it took longer than that to lighten my load!

http://fiveminutefriday.com/2018/11/08/fmf-link-up-burden/

Lord, help my words to honor you, not confuse others about You and help me to grow in this season, so that they will know You because of my love. Because of mercy, Amen

Jesus, I Believe

bravery, confidence, contentment, courage, Faith, fear, Peace, praise, Prayer, Trust, Uncategorized, Vulnerability, waiting, wonder

Craziest thing ever!  My boot camp instructor told me I needed to get right!

Last night I was grouchy and told her so. I dragged myself to boot camp, told the trainer  I’m here and I know I’ll feel better afterward, so, yeah I’m here, that’s all.

If I moved I’d feel better, if I left the house I’d be less worried. My workout was intentional, I was not there for fun and games, I just wanted her to know.  Not in the mood for conversation, there to unravel my day, let my blood up its flow, let go the things needed to let go.

She responded with her usual firm motivationally cocky type retort, not allowing me to be pouty and then firmly added, “Get right with God!”

And it was odd because we don’t talk about Jesus at boot camp, she and the others if I’m honest only vaguely know of my faith, only vaguely know I believe.

So, I took it as important, her reply so important for me to hear, to adhere. I was tired of waiting for things to happen in my life; beginning to believe some things will never change and some breakthroughs have gone another direction, not coming through for me anymore.  Work stuff, work worries.

Before I even read from two different perspectives about Martha, I was wondering already this morning about how and whether I believe. Do I believe for others; but, not for me?

Like Martha, maybe,  the sister of Mary and of Lazarus. It occurs to me now,  she must’ve been the middle child, the one who kept an eye out for discord, the one who anticipated family drama, the one who got all concerned and withdrawn when there seemed to an issue. She was perpetually on the edge of coming unhinged.

But, she didn’t see it, I don’t believe. She saw herself as the keeper of control, she was one who believed in Jesus yet made it her role to be on guard against trouble, to be prepared when it came.

Jesus compared her to her sister, Mary.

He’d come to visit them and Martha was busy cleaning, preparing, ready to put on a show. She was frustrated when he noticed Mary. He told her to notice too. Mary sat in silence, she waited unworried, just wanted to be with Jesus, somehow knew nothing more was expected.  Her lack of activity, of anxiety, of frantic expectation, led Jesus to tell Martha, I’m sorry to tell you but her choice is “the better”.

I imagine Martha knew her patterns, like me, sporadic in her change, but determined to let them go.

Slowly breaking the habit of questioning everything and keeping in control.

Some time passed after Jesus sat with them in their home and they beckoned him to return, this time to perform a miracle, their brother was dead.

They believed through Jesus he could live.

Do you believe this? Jesus    John 11:26

When Martha settled into the unlikelihood her brother would be revived, she answered Jesus’ question with a yes that was sort of a but or an even though…I guess, still.

I imagine her demeanor was calm, her resignation confirming her fear that became acceptance. He would be healed and he would live, her brother would see heaven.

Belief is sometimes just acceptance and with acceptance, there is always a hint of sullen. Acceptance isn’t usually accompanied by joy;  just an okay but I really hoped it could be better.  It’s a settling for less than we believed and I believe it’s because of what we believe about ourselves.

I wonder if Martha remembered the time she spent sweeping up the kitchen instead of sitting beside her sister and Jesus. If, because of her cleaning compulsions and her less than enthusiastic worship, she had no right to believe in miracles.

 Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.  But even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you.”  John 11:21-22

Jesus had other ideas.

Ideas to reveal His Father’s glory.  He kept no record of the ways she viewed herself as wrong.

I do this sometimes, sell myself short on God’s glory and greatness.  I decide in comparison to others, I’m not quite so worthy.  Like Martha, I believe in good for others, not so much for me.

And I surely believe in heaven but sometimes not so much at all, do I believe in now.

Intention, felt wrong when I wrote it, like a word that didn’t belong with the others: rest and attentiveness.

But, the day is almost done and intention has finished the sentence, is the conclusion to this morning’s story.

Believing with the intention of trusting.

Now I see.  Now I’m right in my thinking.

 Jesus responded, “Didn’t I tell you that you would see God’s glory if you believe?”  John 11: 40 NLT

 

Right with you…God.

 Father, thank you for hearing me.   John 11:41 NLT

Jesus, I believe.