Good Question.

The LORD said, “Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by.”

   Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. 

After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. 

And after the fire came a gentle whisper. When Elijah heard it, he pulled his cloak over his face and went out and stood at the mouth of the cave.

   

Then a voice said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

--1 Kings 19:11-13

It's the end of another year, and we assume another one is just around the corner. Most of us, over the last month or longer, have engaged in too much. 

Too much eating. 

Too much spending. 

Too much rushing about looking, buying-- returning.

We work and worry about so many things in our lives. We wonder if that guy in the next cubicle is after our job. We are sure the person that just whipped around us on the highway is out to get us-- it's all personal.

Elijah kind of had that going on, as well.

Jezebel, one Queen Bee, was out to get Elijah-- literally. Wanted him killed as quickly and horribly as possible. Elijah ran, fast and far, wound up in a cave. The Lord sent angels to care for him, strengthen him-- and still Elijah fretted and worried.

Finally, the LORD told Elijah: Be there or be square. I AM about to pass by.

Seems Elijah got Somebody's attention. Now if only God can get Elijah's attention.

Elijah is looking for the Creator of all that is. He is expecting an arrival like that of an earthly king, only more. An all-powerful wind perhaps. No, not God. An earthquake-- nope. Fire? Not there, either.

No, for Elijah, the God of the Universe arrives as a still, quiet whisper. One so small, so ordinary, that if Elijah had not been desiring it, looking for it-- he would have missed it altogether.

Christmas is nearly behind us. This celebration of an ordinary miracle of God-become-human, of the King arriving not with pomp and circumstance, but with the cry of new life; born not to a princess in a palace, but in a lowly cattle stall. Ushered in not by courtiers with brass horns, but by the soft sounds of the stable, a cacophony of moos and baas-- and an olfactory assault decidedly unfit for a king.

Children's author Hans Christian Anderson put it this way. "The whole world is a series of miracles, but we're so used to seeing them, we call them ordinary things."

This, friends, is how our God chooses to engage with the children he loves. And this is how he arrived to pass by when Elijah was deeply troubled. 

But here's the clinker. Here's where I am stopped in my tracks. 

God passes before Elijah, comes to him as a small voice designed not to terrorize, but to comfort, and then asks this question:

"Elijah, what are you doing-- here?"

And then he sends Elijah back, back from whence he came, reminding him that he does not go alone. Reminding him that God goes with him, just as he travelled before the Israelites in a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Always present. Always.

What are you doing-- here?

Have you thought about that lately? Are you in such a hurry to get there, that you are neglecting here? 

Or, as Mary Oliver puts it, "Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

Happy New Year. May 2012 find you peace-filled, seeking the Lord in the ordinary, finding beauty in the moment. 

Thanks for reading. Tell your friends : )

What if. . . ?

“‘For this is what the Sovereign LORD says: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them. ¹² As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness. .  .  . I will save my flock, and they will no longer be plundered. . . . I will make them and the places surrounding my hill a blessing. I will send down showers in season; there will be showers of blessing." (From Ezekiel 34)

I am sitting here in my cozy living room, watching fat, fluffy snowflakes doing their best imitation of dancing sugarplums, and wondering. What if?

What if the Lord is reminding us of his many blessings-- in the snowflakes?

Imagine-- too many blessings to even begin to count. Each one a little different from all the others. Together, more beautiful than we can imagine. Everywhere! And sticking to us, clinging like cat hair to a pair of dark pants. . . .

Ever taken a blessing for granted-- or failed to see a blessing for what it is? 

Ever looked at all the beauty before you, perfect reminders of God's provision-- and grumbled because you had to shovel the "blessings" out of the way to get on with what is so very, very important in your life?

Slow down for a minute.

Step outside. (All right, grab a coat if you must. Shoes-- definitely.)

Tip your head back, and look up. If you're in my neck of the woods-- watch the flakes dance and swirl, in rhythm and time to some unheard music, perhaps played on the lyre by unseen angels. 

Go ahead. (Forget what Lucy Van Pelt told Linus-- they're ripe.) 

Open your mouth. Taste and see that the Lord is good.

Are the flakes sticking? Take a walk. Watch and listen as your feet work their way through the snow.

Stop and make a perfect imprint of your boot. (Too bad this is the only time we see those patterns!)

Ready . . . set . . . lean back, a-l-l-l-l-l the way, till you land (carefully) in the center of a pristine patch of powder. 

You remember how. Arms and legs, all together now. A Christmas angel in the snow. And just like the flakes, each one is a wee bit different, each one a reflection of the creator.

Ezra Jack Keats wrote a book about this. A Snowy Day. Peter knew just what to do. Snuggle up with your favorite little one and read this book together.

Seasons change, time marches on. But stop and look around you. The beauty and bounty of the Lord never fades, for those with eyes to see.

Blessed Advent! Merry Christmas! Happy Holy Days! Amen?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CSVqHcdhXQ 

Love, Love, Love.

 “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

 Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” --Matthew 22:36-40

The (United) Methodist Church holds a General Conference every four years. Delegates elected by their respective conferences travel from around the world to praise God and be about the business of the church. In 2000, the General Conference was held here, in Cleveland, Ohio.

A pastor friend was given the privilege of chauffeuring Bishop Kulah, from Liberia, back and forth, from the airport, to the hotel, to meetings, etc.

At that time, many many people-- most, maybe-- believed that this was the year, now was the time when the conversation over homosexuality would come to a head, and there would be a schism in the United Methodist Church in this country-- over homosexuality.

So during these drives back and forth, my pastor friend had opportunity to speak with this Liberian bishop about this matter, whether or not the African church felt there would be a split in the church. His reply has stayed with me.

He said, in essence, that in Africa thousands of children are dying, because they have no clean water. Poverty is rampant, off-the-charts. Children are being killed in civil wars, dying of HIV acquired from their parents, a death sentence from birth-- borne out of innocence. As all these tragedies are happening, America is worrying about who is sleeping with whom.

He said perhaps the church needs to look at a bigger picture and expend its energies helping solve the issues of poverty, taking a stand against civil wars, offer greater health assistance and education to stave off the spread of HIV.

Bishop Kulah said perhaps Americans need to look at a bigger picture.

What is making God weep today? Are we weeping, as well? Are we seeing a bigger picture? 

Credit Problems

Shout for joy to the LORD, all the earth. 

 Worship the LORD with gladness; 

   come before him with joyful songs. 

 Enter his gates with thanksgiving 

   and his courts with praise; 

   give thanks to him and praise his name. 

For the LORD is good and his love endures forever; 

   his faithfulness continues through all generations. --Psalm 100

(This is not just another Thanksgiving blog. Don't worry.)

I belong to a faith community where this mantra is preached: "Don't thank me; thank God!" When I first became a part of this group, this was a BIG problem.

See, I have this reputation to uphold. I am known to some as "the incredible thanking woman." Show me a kindness, I will say thank you. It's that simple. Credit where credit is due.

But no. I would thank someone for a word of wisdom or kindness and the hand would shoot up for me to talk to. "Don't thank me; thank God!"

A mam holds the door open-- thank you. "Don't thank me; thank God!"

I sneeze; "Gesundheit!" Thank you. "Don't thank me; thank God!"

Seriously?!?

It's almost comical, this near-Pavlovian response to those two little words. 

Don't get me wrong. I love these people, and this group changed my life. For that-- and them-- I do thank God. Regularly and vocally, to any who will listen.

But I think this is unnecessary, and deprives us of the chance to step smack into the middle of a mess with a fellow pilgrim and grow-- together. Here's what I believe:

I thank God that I am a healthy woman, that I can still get out and walk every day. And I thank the people whose hands have made the shoes I take for granted, the warm coat with the furry collar that keeps me comfortable.

I thank God that I can wander the aisles of the local grocery store, overwhelmed by the choices I have. And I thank the farmers who have toiled where I choose not to, the laborers who harvest and process and deliver the food almost to my front door.

And I thank the woman who asks me, "Paper or plastic?" Because without these willing hands, where would we be?

I thank God that I have a roof over my head, that I have a space to come home to every night. And I thank my children when they come over to help me maintain the yard or get the Christmas stuff down out of the loft in the garage.

I thank God that I live in a country that is safe from the ravages of war. And I thank the soldiers who have fought to keep it that way.

I thank God for bringing people into my life who have opened my eyes to how good I have it. And I thank those whose lives might be filled with challenges, for allowing me to walk alongside them in their grief and pain.

Oh, sure, I know. If we look, we see that all thanks point to God. Every thing points to the Creator. I know this. You know I know this.

But as Ron Hutchrcaft put it this morning, why wait to give a bouquet until the one receiving it can no longer smell its sweetness?

You never know.

You never know when that one word, that smile or looking someone in the eye and sharing a brief moment may be a complete game-changer. Responding in grace and patience instead of anger, offering a compliment or yes-- a word of thanks just might be the moment when a world-weary traveller first glimpses Jesus. 

I thank God for the gift of words. And I thank God for this medium to share the words he gives me. And I thank you for reading them. I pray they serve to brighten your day, even just for a few moments.

And I thank you for being Jesus to another. 

To my American friends: Happy Thanksgiving. May your table be filled with joy and laughter, with the very love of Christ himself. And may you walk away from that table filled to overflowing with the grace of the Lord, whose love endures forever and ever.

And to the rest of my friends, wherever you are-- I thank God for you. And I thank you for being Jesus in my life. 

Dry, dry bones

 God said to me, "Son of man, can these bones live?"

    I said, "Master God, only you know that."

 He said to me, "Prophesy over these bones: 'Dry bones, listen to the Message of God!' I'll breathe my life into you and you'll live. Then I'll lead you straight back to your land and you'll realize that I am God. I've said it and I'll do it." -- Ezekiel 37, The Message

What is it about this time of year? Everything points toward death. 

The skies lose their summer brightness and dim towards grey. 

The trees drop their leaves, like so many dirty socks strewn across Mother Nature's carpet. 

Shuffling through them calls up Peterson's image of the dry bones, how they rustled as the Lord brought them together and attached them with sinew, covered them with skin and breathed life into them once again.

Isn't that the whole point?

Each year we watch this happen. The leaves change, the winds turn chill. The colors of fall give way to November drear, and then the snows begin. The cold blankets of winter, lovely to look at from inside our warm, cozy houses-- but if you venture out, be prepared.

But before we know it, the snows melt, creating rivulets of life. The first signs of life appear, green tips of crocus peeking up through the snow. Birds return from their winter exodus. Squirrels get all squirrelly as they chase each other round and round the oak behind my neighbor's house.

Life goes on. 

So why do we, as Christians, fail so often to look beyond our circumstance and remind ourselves that life goes on? 

A friend's diagnosis is terminal. Despair sets in. Eternal focus is lost. Why is that?

Don't get me wrong. I am not here to get all happy dappy and remind you that it's all right-- Jesus is waiting to welcome you home! (That's true, and that's important-- but sometimes, that promise is unhelpful. Ask the poor woman I unleashed on two days after Rich died and she "comforted" me by reminding me he was with Jesus now.)

But here, this place! God has placed us in such a wonder-filled creation, surrounded us with so many amazing fellow travellers-- how can we not miss it-- miss them-- as our days draw to a close? Our family, our dear friends, all those who shaped us into who we have become (in a good way), all integral parts of our journey through this space and time.

And when the diagnosis is our own, then what?

I met a wonderful person who has stared death in the face for over 40 years and asks these same questions. How do we live here, now, fully engaged, when Death is rapping its gnarled knuckles on our doorpost?

Look around you.

Behold, our God is making all things new again. 

So it will be with each of us.

Our bodies, worn out in this life, made new, resurrected and restored.

Just as each spring, fresh life is breathed into Creation.

And the funny thing is, if we look, we can see it happening all the time. As our days grow shorter and the snow flies, halfway around the world Down Under, it is coming on summer. 

How about that. 

“Where, O death, is your victory? 
   Where, O death, is your sting?”

--1 Corinthians 15:55

Make mine a double. . . .

"Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, 

   for his compassions never fail. 

They are new every morning; 

   great is your faithfulness." --Lamentations 3:22-23 

Tuesday morning, I experienced a double sunrise. I remember experiencing this once, maybe twice when I was growing up, but had forgotten how much fun it is.

I left my home-away-from-home quite early, around 6:45, headed towards Sugarcreek and a retreat for pastors. (I thought I had ‘em fooled, that I am not really one—but God clued somebody in. I am so grateful. This day, this place has been nothing short of amazing. But I digress.)

I headed out across the open Amish countryside, a little nervous but mostly just looking forward. Sherwood (my car) and I wandered up hills and down, watched patches of fog settle, then lift over open fields. Cattle quietly ruminating, an occasional horse waking early, frisking a bit to shake off the chill of the early morning. Beautiful stuff.

As I turned off Route 89 onto US 30, there it was: the sun, rising lazily out of its sleep, shaking off the cloak of darkness-- a vivid orange ball of fire against the grey sky where dawn meets the night before. It seemed to quiver in anticipation of the day ahead, filled with potential. Truly, for me, a God-moment of splendor and glory.

And at the same time, off to the south was a perfect cross, where contrails from two jet planes intersected. I have always had a keen eye to spot these signs of God’s presence, but it had been a long time since I had noticed one. This one was—special. It stood, unmoving and unmoved, not breaking apart as contrails are wont to do, but remaining neatly cruciform against the morning sky. It followed me (or I followed it) for a good half hour before it finally dissolved into the day.

But while I followed the cross, something unusual happened. The sun apparently got tired and went back to bed, because there it was again, rising lazily out of its sleep, shaking off slumber like a wet dog shakes after a bath. This time it seemed determined. No more hitting snooze. It was time to rise and shine.

Have you figured it out, how I got this double sunrise? I did not realize, I guess, that there are hills around Wooster. After one leaves the flat pastureland along 89, there are hills.

So after I watched the sun climb once, over the flatlands, I watched it do a double-take and rise a second time, sneaking out from behind the hills.

Amazing.

Scripture tells us the Son will rise again. Sure enough. This morning I was witness to God’s testimony of life. 

Leave me alone with my leaves. . . .

 “No eye has seen, 

   no ear has heard, 

no mind has conceived 

   what God has prepared for those who love him”

1 Corinthians 2:9

I took my Fall Walk this afternoon. 

You might know the one: The one when you forget, for a time, that you are a grownup and you are supposed to behave like one.  

The one where the neighbors, if they see you, wonder what you are up to and whether or not you are going to mess up their carefully-raked piles of leaves on the tree lawn.

I absolutely love shuffling through the fallen leaves. I have a friend who, when we eat salad with croutons, his eyes twinkle and he giggles as those croutons crunch so loudly neither one of us can hear anything outside our own heads. It's the same with a good Fall Walk.

Have you noticed? Leaves are not just leaves. They aren't just different colors; they have different levels of crunch.

Sycamores are the best. There is a huge sycamore up the street. Those giant, rusty-brown leaves, big as my hand, by their very size seem to pack extra shuffle value. They crackle and crunch as I make my way through them, dragging my feet without lifting them off the sidewalk. (It's the same walk Peter uses to make tracks in A Snowy Day by Ezra Jack Keats.) 

Love those sycamore leaves. Especially in someone else's yard.

And then there are the oak leaves, a composter's nightmare. I do believe, if you put a pile of oak leaves in the compost bin, when you come back in two months you will still have-- a pile of oak leaves. They simply do not decompose.

But they crunch! The corn flakes of autumn, they also get soggy fast when it rains. G-r-r-r-eat.

Maples, lindens, ash-- these leaves seem to stay soft. They're gorgeous, bringing their yellow and red to the sidewalk art show. But their shuffle power is-- limited. 

Different leaves, different gifts. Just like people.

Today was a beautiful day for a Fall Walk. 

Even in this season when Creation seems to be dying back, when the chill winds of winter lurk just around the corner and the promise of snow hangs in the air, still God brings us so many ways to celebrate him. 

Color and crunch. Whispers and watercolors. Absolute perfection.

Feast for eye and ear. 

(Go on. You know you want to. I won't tell anyone. And if you want to mess up my leaf piles-- wait for me!)

Beacon in the City

“You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven." --Matthew 5:14, 16

There it stands. God's Holy Oil Can. Right there on University Circle. It used to be Epworth-Euclid, now it's University Circle United Methodist Church. And its copper-green spire stands atop the church for all to see as they find their way through the hustle and bustle of city life. 

Church historians and lovers of architecture will immediately see its resemblance to Mont Saint-Michel, a beautiful cathedral built atop-- or into-- an island. Its spire cannot be hidden; it rises high above its surroundings. So, too, does University Circle UMC's green oil can.

It's a landmark. Coming across the city, everyone recognizes it, tells their friends to watch for the oilcan church and you're almost there.

The Cleveland Clinic grows up around it, and still the spire rises like a beacon above the landscape.

Pretty amazing, actually.

But what is more amazing is the light shining inside this place. 

There are plenty of churches in Cleveland. 

Some would even say there are too many churches. 

Some would say that if a church's membership is declining, if it can't pay its bills-- well, then maybe it's time to close the doors.

But some people maybe should check with God first.

Aging, shrinking congregations. Beautiful-- yet needy-- buildings. Urban flight. 

Sounds like a recipe for disaster, if you're a church. 

But our God, who brings life to spots where we might least expect to find life, has a better idea.

And in this church that has served as a beacon offering hope and light to the city for many, many years, is born a new mission, a fresh dream.

People who love God and love each other have come together to shine God's light in the dark. They come bearing life and love, smiles and sharing, reaching out to a diverse community in desperate need of a promise.

Really, they are just doing what a church is supposed to do. Love God, love each other. Affirm one another as children of the Almighty.

Look around you. How is your church doing? For that matter, how are you doing? Is your light shining? Are you offering the love of Christ to the world?

Or are you just hoping maybe someone else will "take care of them" for you?

Let your light shine. It might be as simple as offering a smile, or holding a door open for someone with their hands full. 

Life is short. What are you waiting for???

If not you, who?

If not now-- when?

Look! Up in the sky! It's--

The heavens declare the glory of God; 

   the skies proclaim the work of his hands. 

Day after day they pour forth speech; 

   night after night they display knowledge. 

Psalm 19:1-2

It's been a grey and cloudy fall. Seems like it's just one rainy day after another, with periods of dry greyness in between. Every once in awhile the sun sneaks through for a little while, but mostly-- grey, grey, grey.

I have nothing against cloudy days-- but William Cowper reminds us that variety is the spice of life that gives it all its flavor. And day after day after day of grey after grey after grey weighs heavy on the soul. My mood begins to match the skies.

And as my mood sinks, I realize, my eyes drop. My steps slow, my tail drags-- and before you know it, I am blogging about how tiresome the weather has become.

As usual, it becomes soooo easy to forget. 

Even in the patterns of the clouds, there is beauty, and hope-- and promise. As they blow and shift, reshape and reconnoiter, that cute little bunny rabbit begins to morph into something new . . . something bigger . . . something with-- a trunk! 

Answers to prayers yet unspoken. Promises laid out right there, before our very eyes -- if we but have the eyes to see and ears to hear. And a heart that trusts that God is not yet finished, with our day, with our lives, with all of Creation.

Finding God in the majesty of a Grand Canyon or a brilliant sunrise? That's easy. How could "random" possibly account for such magnificence? Finding God in my granddaughter's giggle? Piece of cake. Such pure joy can only come from the Almighty who loves us so, who takes such delight in creating each one of us to look a little like Mommy, a little like Daddy-- and fully in the image of God.

But how do we do at finding God in the everyday?

When was the last time you turned off the radio, the TV and the computer (and the phone!) and simply sat with the silence?

One evening this week, during a break in class I wandered outside. It was silent and still-- except for the crickets chirruping greetings to one another across the grass, slower as the seasons cool. 

And the fountain gurgling quietly, enjoying its last moments before winter comes and it is silenced until spring.

And the marching band, percussion cadences and laughter spilling out across the football field and into the darkness, bearing the exuberant joy of goofy teenagers in its wake.

And my own measured breathing, in and out, puffs of steam hanging on the night air ever so briefly. The sound of my heart, faithfully pumping away unnoticed.

And then the drive home . . . and the aurora borealis, mysterious and ephemeral, like neon chiffon scarves, lifting, lowering-- unveiling.

Behind every created thing lies the Creator.

"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me." John's gospel.

Look up. God is there, behind the clouds. Within the clouds.

Lift up your face. Trust. Believe.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ij71LWwPt-w

What's in that Happy Meal, anyway?

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,  for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God." --Matthew 5:3-9

By now I am guessing you have heard The Big News about Happy Meals. Parents who are upset (dare I say angry?) about McDonald's and their cheap toys tucked innocently into their unhealthy kids' meals. Now, moms can choose, instead, a toy-free meal, and a small donation goes to a children's charity.

There was an ad on TV for these social conscious Happy Meals that showed children looking in the bottom of their Happy Meal box for the toy, practically sticking it on their faces as they looked, and the voice says something like, "Now there's Hope at the bottom of every Happy Meal box!"

Kinda makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, doesn't it?

But seriously. I have a friend who has had myriad health problems, just one thing after another. She has had these times of discouragement, and has said, "I feel like I have lost my little friend Hope." She was really downtrodden.

One evening, she called me, all excited. She told me all about the commercial, about the kids digging in the bottom of the box, and said, "There's Hope in a Happy Meal! There's Hope in a Happy Meal!" We laughed, we cried-- you know how women get. It was one of those moments.

Fast-forward several days. I am going to her house and taking her lunch. She says she wants a burger, fries and a strawberry milk shake. 

In a moment of sheer brilliance, without saying anything to her, I pull into McDonald's and order a hamburger Happy Meal-- with a strawberry milk shake.

"Is that for a little boy or a little girl?" I about burst out laughing when I said a little girl. And the milk shake had whipped cream-- and a cherry!

When I showed up at her door, and she saw the box, it was a half-laugh, half-cry kind of thing. We went inside, and she went straight for the bottom of the box. And there it was: The Toy.

The toy du jour was this little gumball machine where you push the bottom and all the little plastic gumballs pop around like popcorn. Again and again, she pressed the bottom; again and again, the gumballs jumped-- and her face relaxed into laughter. All the pain and anxiety from a hard day of chemo melted away like ice cream on a hot summer day. 

And in the bottom of the box-- right there, next to the toy-- guess what she found?

Hope. 

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Our perfect Hope, our one Redeemer.

Making the Grade

‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ --Matthew 25:37-40

Even though I have finished my degree, I find myself back in the classroom for one more class, and also on the other end of the grading pen, marking assignments for the very first class every incoming seminary student is required to take. It's called Foundations of Bible Study. It is designed to teach us how to approach Scripture, and it is a very tough class. Trial by fire.

It's tough to mark, as well, because part of the object of this and other classes is to encourage students to revisit the Bible with fresh eyes while not driving a stake through the heart of our faith, how to set aside (as best as we are able) the many comforting things we know about Scripture and try to listen for a fresh word from the Lord.

That's what it's about, isn't it? Listening for God's word in our lives?

As a student, one of the hardest parts in this class is accepting that sometimes we get it wrong. We say too little-- or we say too much. We do too little-- or we do too much. 

And then along comes heidi with her fat green pencil and reminds the student what the directions were for the assignment, the "shalls" and the "shall nots."

Let the sputtering begin. 

"But-- but-- how can you take off points for saying too much? I have never lost points for saying too much." The best writing always has a good editor, someone who can remind you when it is time to stop. (Oh, that we should have Someone whispering in our ear when we have said too much.)

"But-- but-- right here-- see? They did it this way in the Study Guide! See? See?" Mmmm. . . . Life shows us plenty of bad examples to follow. Yet we are expected to make the right choices. 

Think how things might be different if Eve hadn't listened to the serpent.

Moses might have dwelt in the Promised Land if he had trusted fully in God's plan-- and listened.

And those Israelites. God gave them a list of do's and don'ts, and before Moses could review for the test-- Golden Calf. Revelry, ribaldry and ruin.

But I digress. 

It seems we want a checklist, so we will know exactly how we are doing, whether we are making good marks or not.

And when we are young, we need those close guidelines. It's the first assignment. You need rules. A short leash. 

But soon, there is a better way. Soon, the leash will be let out a bit. 

Soon, the grade will (should) diminish in value and the desire for true knowledge and learning and transformation will (should) step to the fore.

Jesus reminded his disciples (including us) that he did not come to abolish the Law, but as the fulfillment of it. In his life, Jesus showed us what living under the Law looks like.

It really does not look like an exercise in "do just exactly this for this answer and this grade." It's not that simple.

It looks more like, "How can my life reflect God's love in this world? God has given me so much, loved me so fully-- how can I share that love with everyone in my world?"

It may be with a pair of shoes or a hot meal. It may be a listening ear or a shoulder to rest against. 

Sometimes, far more than we admit, less is more. Silence speaks volumes of the love of Christ. And in the quiet, we hear it, softly whispered deep in our soul.

Well done, good and faithful servant. 

You have lived by the Law-- not as a checklist, but as a way of being. You have loved as I first loved you. 

And you did it-- just because. Not just to check something off the list for a grade.

Jesus loves me-- this I know. And to others this I show. Love them, feed them, clothe them, too. This is what the Lord would do.

Love is a two-way street

Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.” When he had placed his hands on them, he went on from there. --Matthew 19:14-15

This is one of those "everybody's favorite" verses. We learn it in Sunday school, and the grandmother du jour reminds us each that we have a special place at the feet of Jesus, because Jesus loves the little children.

But I think there is a part of this relationship we might be missing. 

Jesus stayed with the children and he placed his hands on them. Ever wonder if somehow Jesus didn't maybe draw a wee bit of love and energy right back from those children? If maybe his "children's moment" energized him to continue on with his ministry?

I know it works for me. The children in my life remind me that all is well in the created order, that God is well pleased.

My grandson is 2-1/2. Their back door has blinds that go nearly to the bottom of the window.

But when Garrett sees my legs on the porch, he knows who it is. And when he gave me my name-- my very own grandmotherly name of "Mima Mars"-- well, he danced, and my heart sang.

His sister Allison is still young, less than a year old. But as she watches her brother and giggles at his playing peek-a-boo with her, how can one not draw fresh life from this???

And then there is their cousin Avery, born within months of my husband's death. Truly, truly an affirmation that life is to go on.

When I show up at her door, she smiles and lifts her arms. Her mother says, "Yeah, when Grandma shows up, Avery kinda forgets I'm around." (Not true-- but it sounds good.)

Sometimes when I am holding Avery, she will lay her head against my shoulder and relax in my embrace. In those perfect moments, the whole world slips away and it is just me and Avery, and I realize, I am not sure who is lovin' on whom. 

And I realize that this is how we are to be with God:

So relaxed in God's embrace that everything else disappears. And I truly believe God gains as much joy, as much peace and pleasure from holding us, as we do being held by God.

Mutual admiration society. 

Turn your eyes upon Jesus; look up in his wonderful face. And the things of this world will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.

Perfect Parent. 

Perfect children, fallen yet beloved-- and perfectly created. 

Perfect, perfect Love. 

"If we love one another, God lives in us, and his love is perfected in us." --1John 4:12