Sunday, January 29, 2012

(What? You mean ME?)

"and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life." (Neatly proof-texted from Deuteronomy 30:20)


Someone today, as I shared where God seems to be currently steering my life, remarked, "I am happy you can rejoice, because God is leading you!"


Before I go any further-- if you find sarcasm offensive, stop reading. Now. See you next month.


God does not "lead" me.


God tried that. It never really worked all that well. I am such a bull-headed, headstrong fool of a child.


No. God does not lead me.


God stands behind me, quietly whispers where he would like me to go, what he would like me to do. I brush him aside, wave him off like a pesky mosquito.


God stands on the tarmac, waving those brilliant orange lights, trying to get my attention, gesturing towards the open runway-- and I am standing with my head down, straining to read the fine print on my baggage claim.


God arranges for seventy-six trombones, a full percussion section, cheerleaders with flags and pompons-- and I am digging in the bottom of my purse for ear plugs. Too loud!


It seems, so often, I just don't get it. 


But God keeps offering it. 


Child, over here! Jeremiah 29:11-13. Jeremiah 29:11-13! I mean that. i really do have a plan, and it is so much better than you can imagine. Ask. Seek. Find. Stop knocking-- just come inside.


I am waiting. Let me show you-- a little more. 


This week, me and God are like Thelma and Louise. (They used bad grammar, too. Don't bother correcting the editor.) Yep, Thelma and Louise. Only this time, it is all about life.


God is in the driver's seat, and I am strapped in next to him. These eyes are as big as saucers.


Gently he is revving the engine. (Are you ready, child? Ready for the unknown?)


Oh, God-- are you sure this is where you want me? 


Really sure?


(Child-- trust. me. Jeremiah 29:11.)


>Gulp<


Can I have another swig of Living Water? Another reminder? How much you loved me, poured out your life, for me


And still, I avert my eyes, I study my plans. They come up so short when laid next to yours.


Okay, God. Let's go. Let's do this thing, this new, exciting, totally unanticipated-- plan.


That first step is a doozie. . . .




"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart."

Monday, January 9, 2012

You never know.

"But the eyes of the LORD are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in his unfailing love."  --Psalm 33:18

This is a story about God. 

I know, I know. All my blogs go that direction. This one-- is a story about a God who peers straight into our hearts and into our lives and does amazing things. 

My friend Beth has had a rough week. In very (very) short order, her husband Jim has been diagnosed with leukemia. It's a particularly pernicious variety, and treatment needs to begin-- yesterday. No time, really, for much debate or conversation-- just trust that these doctors know what they are doing, pray that God's hand is clearly visible in it all.

Today, Beth headed to the hospital. Jim was to have surgery to install the port for the upcoming chemotherapy, just as soon as an operating room became available. Meanwhile, half an hour away, Beth's friends were in chapel, praying . For her, for Jim.

First answered prayer: Jim is "next in line" and an OR opens up. (Yeah, I am sure it was "just a coincidence" of Timing. You go with that. Keep reading.)

At noon, we gather for choir practice. Beth is conspicuously absent, her sunshine and smile, her silly comments. We gather and read through a chorus that sings of God's healing power, of how wide, how deep-- how strong and mighty is the healing touch of God. 

We all know, we are singing to Beth in our hearts.

Choir goes as planned, and at the end our director suggests we sing this chorus again-- because he needs to. (We all do.) Just as we begin, I get a text from Beth: "I love my choir!"

That did it.

As we started singing, I dialed her number, put the phone on "speaker" and held it up. We were going to sing our love right back to Beth, let her know she was in our hearts.

Hardest sing we ever did. But we did it. 

When we finished, I rang off my phone and was surprised to see a voicemail from Beth: "Heidi, I saw you called, but I pushed a wrong button and hung up by mistake. Call me back; I'm right here."

In the inimitable words of Beetle Bailey-- *&^%^#!!

Our singing-- gone. Our love letter to this girl and her man-- undelivered. Crud. I sat there, stunned and determined not to say anything to the choir. 

But wait-- there's more!

 I was pretty darned crestfallen. Felt a bit like someone had doused Cyrano with a bucket of ice water. Finally, I texted Beth and told her what we had tried to do, shared the nature of the lyrics.

She replied back in short order.

When she "hit a wrong button," the call rolled to her voicemail. 

Our love song, our testimony to God's perfect healing and love, had landed in her mailbox, to be listened to again and again, to be shared with Jim when he was rested enough, to tell of the love of Christ for each of us and in each of us.

* * * * *

Say what you like. Tell me it's all just the normal way cell phone carriers work.

You will not convince me. 

You never, ever know what God will choose or who God will use to communicate his deep, unwavering, unconditional love for us. 

For each of us. Even you, and even me. Just ask Beth.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

One last stocking stuffer

"Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." 
--Jeremiah 29:12-13

A few days ago, I was sitting here minding my own business. It had been a fairly typical day, reading, writing, catching up with Facebook friends. Time in prayer. 

The house was fully bedecked still in its Christmas attire. Across the beam between the dining and living rooms, I always hang a series of small cross-stitched ornaments I have made over the years, each a remembrance of a pet or someone who has passed through our lives and moved on. Our foreign exchange student Jorge, for instance.

In the center of these ornaments hangs a white satin stocking, less than six inches tall, cuffed on the top with lace, a felt poinsettia adding a dash of color. It was a gift years upon years ago, from a friend.

But what matters is what is inside this white satin stocking:

"It wasn't that anyone had really been forgotten; no children had been slighted or made unhappy, and no adult had been left unremembered. 
The presents had all been distributed and all the stockings were beautifully filled . . . all, that is, except one. One stocking that had never been hung up. It was the stocking intended for the Child of Bethlehem. Of all the people belonging at that Christmas fireside, only he had been left out of the festivities. This did not seem quite right, in as much as it was his birthday that was being celebrated.

"Since then, the little white stocking has been hung in a special place in our home. On Christmas Eve, after our special dinner, we gather in the living room. During this time, we reach into the stocking and pass out the papers that were placed there the year before-- the prayer for patience, the wish for a more civil tongue. Each person then writes a new gift for Jesus to be placed in the stocking." (E. J. Pinyur)

Out of habit, we hung this little sock every year. I would take the paper out, read it, sigh and tuck it back in. Fear of commitment? Perhaps.

Anyway, I am sitting here, minding my own business, when I see the white stocking float gently to the floor. Of all the things hanging up there, as I am sitting reflecting on the day, the week-- okay, as I am whining at God as usual-- this stocking grabs my attention.

And as I am again reading the words inside, I get it. I whine about what God is supposed to be doing for me, but when was the last time I stopped and really made a genuine offering of my whole self-- to God?

Smack. Good one, God. Nice smack upside the head. I can be so slow to get it.

What gift will you bring? What offering have you made to the Child this year? Gold, frankincense, myrrh-- all wonderful gifts for a King of this world. But for the Messiah?

How about your heart?