Worship has no genre
It’s been an issue since time began: preferences and opinions. Isaac preferred the hunter in Easu and Rebekah leaned toward the homebody, Jacob. It’s not just about hunters and homebodies but harmonies! Yes, I brought up music but only because of church this morning. I will be the first to say I don’t care for most contemporary music! But I am also a musician and music speaks to the heart. Because I have this drive to worship, wherever I am, I find a church to worship on Sundays. Because of that heart need, we have found ourselves in some rather interesting situations, I mean churches. Regardless of where I am, I watch people and how they worship.
Today, the music started out with what I would call a bit of rock n roll. My eyes scanned the church and I saw more grey, white hair or heads without any hair, than I did younger heads with lots of hair and a variety of colors both natural and hairdresser helped!
What kept my eyes returning to the left side of the church was four older ladies. By older, I mean, older than me by probably two decades. One lady never stood up, the other two stood for awhile and then sat down. That wasn’t what I noticed- they had their hands lifted high, singing. The music changed, they kept singing. The young men in front of me were quite stoic compared to the other side of the aisle. Why the difference? I am not sure. It didn’t seem to matter that the music was loud, drums slightly loud compared to the other instruments and the singer sounded like he was singing in a barrel. What mattered was the heart came to worship. When the heart focuses, opinions, preferences and harmonies become secondary. Perhaps life has taught the heart that Jesus is more important than genre. Maybe the heart was more in tune to forgiveness than the pages in a hymnal or the words on PowerPoint.
It gave me much to think about this morning as we walked up to take communion. Many of the people were taking multiple communion and cups and taking them back to those who remained seated. Worship isn’t just about how you relate to God, but how you serve others. I drove away feeling blessed by the worship of ladies who didn’t seem to care they were singing 2026 contemporary: they just seemed to care they were singing to an amazing magnificent God!
Pout pout fish
If I told you I was reading a map you would conclude I was traveling, or my gps didn’t work. If I were reading a textbook, you may conclude I am in a class or studying for one. If I shared a Bible verse, you may surmise I was in church or Bible study. If I told you I was reading Pout, Pout fish, (for the millionth time) you would know I am with grandbabies. I almost have the book memorized. The three year old finishes the pages for me. Pout pout fish has a pout pout face and he spreads dreary wearies all over the place. He makes excuses why he can’t be happy. He is a downer, unhappy, grumpy and no one can make him smile. Then, someone kisses him! The unthinkable! Who wants to kiss a gloomy Gus, a sad Sally or a critical Carrie. (sorry to the nice Gus’s, Sally’s and Carrie’s). We usually avoid the grumpy, ornery, critical and unhappy hearts in the world. The challenges of life are enough without people to pop our hopes, squish our dreams and make us sad when we are around them!
But the kiss: that changes everything! Rather than a pout pout fish, suddenly he becomes a
“I’m a kiss-kiss fish, With a kiss-kiss face, and I spread cheerie- Cheerios all over the place.”
Oh, if only it were so easy to get people to change, or to change ourselves. Perhaps the answers are as simple as loving people to change their hearts!
Prayer meeting
As we climbed into the old truck I asked Jim when was the last time we were at that kind of a prayer meeting? Neither one of us could remember. Prayer meetings aren’t necessarily the first thing on the calendar each month. It’s where we go when pressed for answers and they are none. It’s where we turn when earthly answers don’t fit the questions.
What a moving time of praying out loud with others. We prayed for nothing, and for everything. For no one, yet for everyone. And, as life would have happen, someone’s cell phone went off. It’s those moments when you forget to turn off the ringer, that you can’t get into the purse or the pocket quick enough. We laughed: yes during a prayer meeting we laughed. Then we kept on praying.
If only God would have a ring tone that we would recognize as his call. If only it would break through the noise of our world and make us scramble for it. If only we would be seeking him and he rings us just to remind is he is listening
Not ready for the time to end.
“There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal”
I know it well. I have read this chapter, memorized most of the first part, spoke about it, sang about it thanks to the song “Turn, Turn, Turn”. Pete Seeger wrote it ironically the same year I was born but most of us remember the Byrds making it famous in 1965.
As much as the writer of Ecclesiastes 3 gives us the time to and times not to, he missed one. Saturday about 2:10 in the afternoon, I added another one.
Saturday was Truman’s celebration service. I had just finished playing the prelude and several hundred people were singing: a beautiful tribute to a man well loved. I had a chair set aside in the front, ironically right beside Trumans open fiddle case.
It just didn’t feel right. I have carried that fiddle, put it in the backseat of my car along with a walker, after I got Truman in the front many times. I have watched the fidddle being held on the front row and then magically Truman would start playing during a song! Seeing the fiddle lie quiet, added a new verse to Ecc. 3. “A time to fiddle and a time to refrain from fiddling.” Everything within me cried out, I am not ready for this time to end.
Unfortunately we don’t have an option when God decides the “time to” or “time to refrain”.
All of us have a fiddle in the case that will someday be still. What Truman did was keep playing until his hands couldn’t anymore. Even then, the fiddle was in the corner waiting for one of us to come in and pick it up to fill in the music that was missing.
Many people put their fiddle in the case and quit. The excuses are many and the reasons are feeble. Somewhere I heard the phrase, “an excuse is the skin of a reason stuffed with a lie.” There is no excuse for not living while time gives you life. Our humanity likes to decide the “time to” and the “time not to.” It allows us to be lazy with our faith and our love for others.
I sat the entire celebration service listening to the violin case talk to my heart. I know it was God, disguised as a violin but it worked. There will be a time I can’t play or sing but while I have breath, while my hands can move, I will play. As long as there is someone to listen, I will make music. I spent time with Truman enough to know that he believed playing and singing move the heart, but he also knew that listening moves the soul. Time is precious: waste it wisely!
Grandma didn’t tell me the truth!
I always thought my grandma, Eva Campbell, could do no wrong. Of course I didn’t mean she was perfect, but just about. I have learned lately that my Grandma didn’t tell me a lot of things she should have. She taught me to knit, crochet, make scones, be honest, kill snakes (aka garden hoses), prune and trim in her garden and memorize scripture. She loved people, listened to us kids and let us have cookies even though we both knew mom said no cookies before lunch. She lived to be almost 98 and although she has been gone since 2000, the blatant omissions are big and growing every day. Since there are so many, I will only share ten. Ten is a biblical number and grandma was all about the Bible.
- Cookies don’t ruin your appetite. Might ruin your self control but not the appetite.
- Sitting quietly on the deck doesn’t calm a child. It might have calmed grandma but it made me slightly irritable. I tried it on my granddaughter and she had the same reaction I did except she shook her head no. We would have never told grandma no.
- Cake pans with magnets somehow were ok in the 60’s, but they don’t work as well entertaining children on long trips. We, however, were enamored! We were also dorks.
- Money doesn’t grow on trees. At Christmas the walnuts hanging on her tiny christmas tree, had money in them. We haven’t had such luck buying walnuts with anything more than walnuts in the shell.
- My brothers still pick on me. No one picked on me when grandma was around. I kind of miss grandma’s interference.
- Grandma lived on our farm. We were blessed. Grandma never explained how some kids didn’t have someone to conduct a funeral for the stray cat or the fish we didn’t really want, that died. She was always there and always ready to perform, try to resuscitate or hide the evidence if nothing could be done.
- Fast forward a few decades, grandma spent alot of time at our house, even had her own bedroom, because that was the only way my kids would know her. We drug her to T- ballgames, and concerts. She never told me how important it was to her heart, to watch “little me’s”, my kids grow up. As she watched my kids, she relived us kids growing up all over again. She didn’t tell me how hard it was for her to know she would never see them grow much older than the tender years.
- Grandma never let me know how hurt she was when I didn’t come visit. Her comment was always, come when you can. My can, should have been more often.
- Grandma never told me how much she prayed for me. Oh I know she prayed for me, but now that I have grandbabies, I know it was never a math equation, but a daily vigil.
- The biggest thing grandma never told me is how much her heart changed when I was born. I find myself rocking a grandchild to sleep or holding them while they are sleeping, and my heart explodes. Grandma never told me how much love changed when grandkids showed up on earth.
Dead Sea
I have never been to its shores. I haven’t looked down from the heights and seen people floating. I haven’t experienced the smell nor touched my toes in its densely mineral filled waters. Yet, I can relate!
According to Google the Dead Sea is a “landlocked salt lake in Asia, bordered by Jordan, Israel, and the West Bank, famous for being the lowest point on Earth’s land surface (over 400m below sea level). Its extremely high salt and mineral content (around 10 times saltier than the ocean) makes it impossible for most life to survive, hence the name, but allows people to float effortlessly.” (Google)
Yet even with the “dead” definition in its name there are some great qualities. It is extra rich in minerals such as magnesium, calcium, potassium, and bromine. Because of these benefits, it isn’t simply useless or for our entertainment as we float aimlessly, it helps skin issues such as psoriasis, eczema, relieves joint pain from arthritis, and reduces stress.
There have been “Dead Sea” moments in my life. For even though the Dead Sea has great qualities, because of the salt content, it cannot support life.
I have been in the Dead Sea moments, wondering what good could ever come of the lowest time in my life, where nothing seems to live, where I can’t swim but I can’t drown. I feel lower than I have ever felt, not in depression but not dancing in the streets. Yet, just like the good in the Dead Sea has, I hold the moments in my hand that the Mount Sinai’s can’t give. There is something about looking up when you feel you can’t go any lower and seeing hope. On top of Mt Sinai, the only way to go is down.
The Dead Sea moments of my heart is where I taste and see God is good. I find within the Dead Sea places, the richness of the moment, like the richness in the minerals the lowest place on earth possesses. God lets me experience the Dead Sea moments just as he does the mountains tops. If I only see what I think is the negative, I will miss the richness of his touch, and the tenderness of his leading. My spiritual arthritis can find fault with the smell, the floating or the unknown, or I can feel the healing, while I rest suspended and held securely by a God who is always one step ahead of where we will be.
Valentine Memory
There are times as I get older that the past seems to fade into a deep abyss and I cannot remember. Then, there are days like today, Valentine’s Day, that some memories I cannot forget. It was usually prompted by the teacher sending a note home in our folder, reminding our parents of the Valentine party. I always hoped my mother would be a “room parent” that day so I wouldn’t have to ride the bus home. But either way, we got out of an afternoon of school but with it came to Valentine gift exchange. I would go in the closet and find the shoe boxes our mother always saved. If there wasn’t a shoebox, we had to make one. I was always a bit embarrassed as that meant we didn’t have new shoes. Then we got out the constructn paper and laid it all out on the table. We cut pieces of paper and glued them to the box making sure we had a slit on the top of the box for the cards to go in. We made sure it was big enough as some kids in class taped suckers or candy to their valentine so we needed the slit to be big enough. Of all the things in life that would make me worry, at the age of a fourth graders was who to give what Valentine to whom. My mother bought us kids a box of an assortment of Valentines. Girls weren’t a problem. “ Be Mine”, “You have my heart”, or other sayings that a fourth grader would think was mushy were okay for a girls but the boys? That threw me under the struggle bus. I didn’t want to be unkind, but I didn’t want to lie. “Be my Valentine”, or “I kove you”, wasn’t the one to give to the boy who smelled, or always kicked me under the chair. Stressed, because of love! Well, perhaps stressed because of a day to have to express love that perhaps we didn’t feel. The teacher made sure we understood that everyone should be given a valentine. Such a predicament for a fourth grader.
Today, my approach to Valentine’s Day is a bit different. Rather than give valentines I have learned to be a Valentine. Love with feet, moves the heart. Love in action, however, sometimes doesn’t fit the slits we have made in our box. The candy sweethearts that we used to enjoy chewing on, now would say different things rather than, “be mine”, “cutie pie”, “true love” or “kiss me”. If I were to put words on the little sweet candies today, they would say, “ I will listen”, “I care”, “let me walk with you” or “I will love you even if.”
Now, past the fourth rader self, I am willing to give Valentine’s to the ones who don’t have one to put in my box, ones who smell a bit or their eyes are red from crying. I have learned the art of giving love that meets needs, and yes, it is an art to be learned.
So this little walk down memory lane may be different than your walk, but it reminds me that love, in words give us hope and changes the moment. Love, in action, is hope, and changes the world for a lifetime.
Ad Hoc?
It was just a word, well, actually it was two words. I read it on a document I was supposed to agree with. I had no idea what it meant. I had a couple options. Just send a note back and say fine. But, that phrase, those two words might change the meaning of what I thought I knew.
Many years ago, about 48 to be exact, I used a word that I thought sounded important. It was important all right, but it wasn’t what I thought.
I pondered the situation for a few minutes then googled the meaning. After I read the meaning, I sent a note back saying I agreed. It was much easier to agree with something I knew what it meant.
Words, they open up worlds of color or they embarrass us. It all depends on our pride or rather our willingness to admit we don’t know the meaning.
Maybe you are a walking dictionary, but I am not. Perhaps you know what the word lypophrenia, petrichor or ad hoc mean. I didn’t!
Jesus expects us to know his word. He expects our obedience but like the Ethiopian said in Acts, “how can I know unless someone tells me.”
In our culture our pride keeps us from admitting we have NO clue. Jesus wants our heart to be willing to accept honestly, that there are times we have no clue and like the Ethiopian in Acts 8, we need someone to explain to us its meaning.
We need to be an Ethiopian, willing to admit we are clueless and we need to be a Phillip, willing to take the time to explain. Sometimes even knowing what a word means, still needs someone putting the word into action the word to change our life.
I now what ad hoc means. And I have learned, sadness that is unexplainable is Lyprophrenia and the fresh air after a rain is the word petrichor! I am not sure how I will work them into a conversation, but now I know!
Compassion, Credit Cards, and making yourself at home
It bothered me then, and it still does. Several years ago, in a Women’s Bible Study, someone brought up a prayer request. We prayed about it. After all, that is what you are supposed to do. It’s almost like a “get out of jail” card. We pray, and that’s the end of the journey.
It bothered me all night and well into the next day. I was playing a concert, and before I went into the church. I made a phone call. I called the woman who had shared the request. The original call, thus prompting the prayer request, came from a friend of hers who found herself in a pickle and needed some help.
I like pickles. In fact, when I was a kid, they called me “Gigi Pickle.” This isn’t a sweet, dill, or any other kind of pickle; this was someone who needed something. Something that involved more than people hundreds of miles away praying, then going about their lives. I told my friend, let’s get her out of the pickle jar. Fly her to Minnesota, and she can stay with us. Yes, I did ask Jim. We both felt, which I attribute to the Holy Spirit, that God was calling us to do something.
But often doing something has a cost! I did the unthinkable. I gave this friend my credit card number and said, “Fly her up to Minnesota.” Within 48 hours, we had met a new friend, and God somehow arranged the numbers, and the credit card didn’t blink. In the next few months, we came to love and cherish this pickle jar blessing.
I learned something, actually, I learned a lot from my uncomfortable 24 hours of the Holy Spirit prodding my heart. Prayer is a good way to talk to God, but often it means doing something. God could have magically gotten her out of the pickle jar, but he used “us” as the tongs. Being used as tongs might change your life. It certainly changed ours. Compassion teaches us about the deep part of our hearts that are snuggled under blankets and how selfish we can be. Compassion often is used as a noun rather than a verb. Compassion needs wheels and must be moving. Compassion puts me in the situation and asks, “What would I want someone to do for me?”
Today it’s that “blessing we helped get out of the pickle jar’s” birthday. Tomorrow I will take her shopping. She is blossoming, out of the pickle jar and in cold Minnesota, and has a ministry in her apartment nearby.
Don’t just pray, be willing to be one of the many “tongs” that Jesus will use to bless others. You may get pickle juice on you, but it’s living out the Bible verse, “Do unto others as you would want them to do to you.”
And if you know Miss Francis, wish her a happy birthday!!!
Who do I guard?
Proverbs 4:23 “Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
This verse has always challenged me. How do I guard? With what do I gather to guard with? Do I guard alone or gather me a regiment?
I know how to guard things. We lock up, put a fence around, security cameras and “ do not touch “ signs. But the heart, how do I guard my heart?
Back when the kids played upwards basketball, two boys I taught in school were playing on a court near where I sat. I turned so I could watch them. Someone explained what guarding in basketball was. Their interpretation was quite interesting. They were friends, but now on different teams. Their coaches must have instilled in them, watch them every second. Don’t let them out of your arms length. Put your hands up and look them in the eyes. I am sure that’s what the coaches said, probably not meant to be taken literally. The amusing part of the moment, was that the basketball was down on the other side of the court. The game was going on without them. But, they were doing just what the coaches said, with each other, on the end of the court where nothing was happening. Eyes locked, arms up, chasing each other, totally meaningless because the basketball and the action was taking place somewhere else.
We laughed! They didn’t get it! It was several minutes before the ball and the others came back down to their end. They were oblivious!
Sometimes I am just like a first grader. guessing how to guard my heart. Jesus explained it, but somehow I think it’s an outward game being played. I go through motions, gestures and antics, thinking I am guarding my heart. Meanwhile, inside my heart, the game is being played a different way. There are things I need to put into practice outwardly to guard my heart. Choose where to go, choose the people who speak into my heart and choose what my eyes see. But then there are times when the heart seems to be playing different game. I find that I am at the other end of the court going through some odd motions that I think look like what Jesus said. Maybe I make it too complicated. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and strength. Could it really be as simple as that?
The dash- live your dash well!
It’s my birthday. I won’t say my age, but it’s a slight bit over 30. It’s hard to imagine I am turning 31, when all three of my children will be older than their mother! As a kid, our birthdays were never a big event; in fact, I don’t think I had a birthday party until I was well into my adult years. We did, however, get to choose our own cake. Mine was chocolate with white fluffy frosting between the two round layers, with chocolate drizzled on top. My birthday has been amid interesting events. Being stalled in Kansas, knowing no one, breaking my foot on my birthday, being sick, seeing friends, my father passing, and the year I turned the same age that my father was when he died was sobering. Why should this year be any different? I spent the morning caressing the arm of a dear friend, and praying before I left, thanking God for the 41 years I have been honored to be a friend, and asking God to take him home. If God allows him to leave this earth today, the 27th of January, that would be a wonderful gift, albeit not without a few tears.
The dash. We see it everywhere in the cemetery. The name, the year they were born, the dash, and the year they died. The dash. Such a short little line, and yet it contains so much. What we do with our dash, the many birthdays we celebrate in this world, cannot be understood by simply looking at the dash.
I held my friend’s hand today, knowing what was in 41 years of his dash. I know in my 31 (I am not 31 if you need me to tell the truth) years of “dashing”, God has done so many things, and if God wills, I will have a few more before the date is entered, ending my dashing.
Jesus lived 33 years. In his dash, Peter describes how Jesus lived.
“how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power, and how Jesus went around doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, because God was with Him.” Acts10:38We know more about the “doing good” and the “dashing”. Healed the blind, raised the dead, made the lame to walk, the deaf to hear, and cast out demons. Jesus turned water into wine, fish and bread into a buffet, and made a simple statement that turned a mob who came to kill a woman, into quietly dispersing. Jesus taught a bunch of men to listen and see beyond the obvious, look before they leapt, or in Peter’s case, look before he drew his sword, and turned a bunch of back-wood hicks into orators.
We don’t know much about the 30 years before, but we do know about the three years of dashing, and it’s quite the rap sheet.
How do I dash well? How do I take advantage of every moment, every breath, every opportunity to live so my dash has value, shares my faith, and makes a difference in someone else’s life?
I might have, perhaps, been slightly hyperventilating over this birthday number. It’s not a magical number, and it doesn’t end in a 0 or a 5, but it reminded me that I am getting older. Have I made a difference? What else can I do to be effective? Retirement, I don’t want to be retired, I want to be moving, and to do so, I have to be reshod, or retreaded? But I also don’t want to be busy, frantic to feel I have been effective, and to rate my dash on my earthly focus. That seems to be a problem with us, humanity. We need to see success, or at least positivity, now. Eternity is where I will truly understand better how effective my dash was. Now is the only time I have to be intentional and fruitful. Just one day at a time. Just one prayer at a time. Just spending time with one another at a time. Just one meal with a friend. Just one supper delivered to people whose life is in chaos. Just one donation to a worthy cause. Just one… Just one thing at a time. I don’t mean to use the word merely as a label, as if it were insignificant.Back in the day, Michael Jordon and Nike made famous the quote, “Just do it.” Instead of making excuses why I can’t, I need to “just do it,” Just do something. Jesus looked and saw and did. He went about doing good. He went out of his way to do good. He saw the teary eyes and did good. He heard the stomachs growling and did good. He listened to the crowd, and rather than react, he just went about doing good.
I look at the cards I got in the mail, see the birthday notices online and in texts, and I smile. I smile because so many of them are relationships, because I did something, and God turned it into something good. Paul reminds me not to get caught up in getting tired of “just doing it” because he knows we get caught up in not seeing our “dashing” from heaven’s eyes.
Galatians 6:9 “And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.“I won’t have chocolate cake tonight, the tradition, but I will enjoy family, have a great supper, and laugh. After all, when we talk about someone’s living in their “dash”, often that’s what we remember. The times we enjoyed together, ate meals, and laughed. My challenge is to keep living, keep “dashing” so that my testimony outlasts my life, however long God has determined for me.
But I don’t want to be in this room- the honesty of a child
Normally, I don’t laugh in church. Today, I couldn’t help it! During worship, a boy and his mom entered church near us. What we don’t know, was what happened before they walked through the door. What we did know was his face showed he wasn’t happy. His facial expressions, were followed by his body language. He did not want to come into the worship center. His mom moved him into a row, in front of where the rest of the family was sitting. It was then, we began to giggle. He loudly proclaimed to his mom, “but I don’t want to be in this room.” I smothered a laugh. Several around me, couldn’t hide the giggles either. Eventually, his mom moved him out of the row, along side the aisle and headed for the back of the church. As he walked by our row, his face was adorably darling and ornery at the same time. His mom handled the 40 pound attitude with elegance.
There was no mistaking by his face what was in his heart.
As we, grow up, we learn to fake it! We smile and say we are fine. We look people in the eye and politely say what they want to hear, not what’s in our heart. We learn it, somewhere between forty pounds and adulthood! Give me little Marcus anytime and his honesty. Because truthfully there are many days I don’t want to be where I am either! I just wouldn’t look as cute as him spouting off my true feelings. Yet, God wants us to be real and honest.
Matthew 5:8
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God”
So if I think about it, the little fit Marcus threw, was refreshing to God because it came from a pure heart. I pretend that I “want to be in the room”, while my heart is far from where I am. God loves the honesty of a child. I pray that I becomes more like Marcus with my faith: living life with a pure heart. And maybe someday I can be just as cute!
Verbs- action!
“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in me will also do the works that I do;” John 14:12
I have never been good at English. I did enjoy Mrs. Olson and her attempts to teach me. I enjoyed diagramming sentences. I think the reason was primarily because I knew the difference between a noun and a verb. A noun is a person place or thing. A verb means action.
As a Christian, I should do what Jesus did. Jesus specialized in verbs! Verbs are the life blood of the soul.
That means, my life should have verbs in my faith walk. After all, its called a faith walk, not a faith sit. That leads me to take a look at my bio in comparison to Jesus bio. Am I living verbs? Am I reasoning, teaching, forgiving, loving, silencing storms, feeding, listening, walking, drawing in the sand, and serving? Of course Jesus did a few other dramatic verbs like healing, and raising the dead,but the bigger question is, do my verbs match the verbs of Jesus? I just wish I could figure out how to fish like Jesus. Worms are rather expensive!!!!
Cold Fire
We were anticipating a warmer Tennessee. We must have brought the cold air with us. In our villa is a very large fireplace: a beautiful fireplace. We almost giggled with anticipation. Then the abrupt realization: it was useless. It was a light behind some metal looking logs! The granddaughter named it appropriately, a cold fire! It was pretty, it gave off light and it slightly resembled fire, but the cold air was coming down the chimney removing any anticipation of there being anything more than a “cold fire”.
Looks are deceiving! That has been a part of life as long as I can remember. Often, I tend to stay at the scene of the deception and argue with myself or perhaps try to understand the oxymoronic situation. It looks, but it’s not. It resembles but it’s the opposite. What basic need it could have provided, cannot be met. Many times I see cold fires. People who pretend, but don’t even pretend well. What they want to be, they can’t. What they lead others to think they are, is not the truth, and often has no chance of being even close enough to truth to pretend it could be.
Luke 8:17 “For there is nothing hidden that will not be disclosed, and nothing concealed that will not be known or brought out into the open.”
If I were to rephrase the verse “Eventually, fake’s will be found out !”
It didn’t take us long to realize we were not going to sit by the fire and warm up! It didn’t take us long to realize Tennessee wasn’t any happier than we were with the cold snap. But what the “cold fire” made me aware of, is being real! Being who I was created to be and not try to be someone else, something else or be discontented with by perception of myself. It was a reminder to be me. And it was also a reminder to being all our warm clothes when we come to Tennessee!
Less is More
Less is more. In case you didn’t know you had the desire to know this tidbit of into, according to Google, here is what you wanted to know. “We all know this saying, first popularized by minimalist architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, which has been transformed into a platitude by advertisers, TV shows, and even corporate America as it right-sizes people out of their livelihoods (“We’ll have to learn to do more with less around here.””
So, what does that mean to me? Less is more, which means a 500-piece puzzle is more satisfying! My love for puzzles started 26 years ago when I didn’t feel well for a long time, and doing puzzles was about my limit. Sit in the chair, pick up a piece, get frustrated, put the piece down, pick up another piece, etc. But now, I have discovered that less is more satisfying, more enjoyable, and has more puzzles to do rather than sit and look at the random 45 pieces that seem to NOT fit, yet somehow, in the end, after another 6 weeks, they fit.
It goes back to when I was a kid. We didn’t have a TV, but we did have puzzles. I mean, to be honest, I think there were 8 pieces, they were heavy cardboard, and they were pretty quickly satisfied that we “finished the puzzle.”
So, I am done with the 1000-piece puzzles. I mean, I will accept them and put them on my shelf, but I will get teary-eyed and emotional if I see the top of the box says “500-piece puzzle” and the words “BIG PIECES” beside it.
How do I spiritualize this great bit of learning? Perhaps a cup of cold water in his name. Walking along the road to Emmaus with total strangers, rather than running a marathon. Finding contentment in the quiet night when the storm blows, so the internet is static, and the rain is coming in torrential downpours. Finding satisfaction in having a bowl of cereal for supper, and not a five-course meal. Sorry, for those of you who eat cereal for supper anyway! Less is more when I am content to be less of me and more of Jesus. Less of what I think is the “right thing”, and more of listening to another angle on the solution. Less is more when I just listen, with my eyes wide open and my mouth shut tight. Less is more, when God is in the more and I am in the less.
I’m a Hoarder!
I am a hoarder! There I said it. If confession is good for the soul, then I am good. But it’s not stuff that I filled myself up to the gills with yesterday, although I was tempted. In the normal definition of hoarder”, I was at Hobby Lobby and Target, when they put 90% off on Christmas stuff! A hoarder would have filled the cart with nonsense just because it was so cheap. I resisted- I only bought ten boxes of Christmas lights, which we do need. We have an urchin in our house who lives in the Christmas box and kills the lights that worked when we took them off the tree, but when we get them out the following year are totally dead! I resisted the urge to buy things I didn’t need, so that’s not what I hoard.
I hoard opportunities! Opportunities where God shows up, and hands me the desires of my heart, that make my soul sing. The hoarding that God allowed this week were moments of pure joy. Pure joy in knowing he is in control, the ball in the court is the right one for the game and my prayers left the room. My prayers most of the time leave the room but seem to boomerang to Peru. Yesterday, they came back to my heart and were what I needed, have longed for and filled my cup. Years ago, I would have grabbed more stuff to fill my cart, my cup, because my boomerang prayers were not coming back to me. Maybe it’s growing up, maybe it’s understanding God better, but I resisted more stuff to replace the empty hole. I waited for God to fill my cart and not just because something was available, grab it and make it work! I am hoarding the “this is going to be good” moment not even really knowing what it will be but hoarding the “knowing” that God pulled a few strings and moved a few pens that will give me joy that no shopping cart full of 90% off junk ever could. Okay, it’s not all junk at Target and Hobby Lobby, but compared to the promises of God, they fail miserably. Because eventually those ten boxes of “new” lights, will quit working. I am so grateful Gods promises never do!!!
What I have I give thee…
Acts: that is my chosen book for the year. I don’t necessarily read the Bible through in a year, I choose a book of the a Bible, and intentionally peruse, meditate slowly, chew it up, think about it and let it ruminate in my heart. Today I read Peter and John in Acts 3. In verse 6 Peter says, “Silver and gold I do not have but what I have I give you.”
So often we open our wallets before we open our hearts. It’s perhaps easier to give money than our time, our energy, or our emotion’s. I don’t know what’s it’s like to beg. I have no reference on having to sit, totally at the mercy of others, and beg for my daily needs. A begger, appropriately perhaps, thinks they need money. I drive by them on the corner in the city. What Peter said was a refocus on the backstory. Jesus did that all the time: sounds like Peter caught on!
Basically he said, “what you need is to be healed not be helped.”
How often do we look beyond the first thing we see, the begging, to the heart. It takes more time to see the heart. It’s sometimes harder to handle the heart than open the billfold. I look around and try to focus on what people need that is what I have. I have a home, open it to others. I have time: go drive a friend to appointments. I have musical ability: go teach kids to play ukuleles. I have an ear: I can listen. It’s not always about what I have, but what I have, is the name of Jesus and that opens up Pandora’s box! Jesus will give me the wisdom to know, that what he has given me as my gifts, is what others need! Silver and gold have I none- but I have the name of Jesus which has changed me and it’s what I can use to make a difference in others lives
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