Mud Pies and Straw Castles

With hands stained orange from Georgia clay, I clasped rich soil.  The sweet ground most always was tough at first. But my sand bucket, shovel, old serving spoon, and outside spigot meant no problem. Adding water to a little well dug in the earth, I knelt and plunged heart and hands into the mix.

Dirty knees did not matter, much less little hands, bare feet, and nails all grimy due to digging and designing. I could not have cared less of summer heat then. Besides, I was shaded by dense wood that I thought reached the sky.

Taking curved fingers, I reached, scooped, held, turned, and shaped til the softened earth became round. I then flattened into little pies that made me proud and happy.

It was hard work for a young girl who found escape and childhood dreams in a backyard filled with great shade, climbing trees, pine straw, footpaths, and sounds of nature and neighbors near. It was deliverance from summer boredom. It was discovery. I felt I owned that yard of Georgia soil.

It was really my father's dirt, not mine. And yet, it did belong to me, for my dad always told me that what belonged to him and my mother was also mine.  And my delight in our land brought great joy to Daddy and Mama. They would watch from open windows and enjoy my imagination and their quiet.

My imagination never seemed to tire. When dusk settled in over Georgia sky, I heard my name and knew to leave my outdoor world and go to the spigot and wash. Later, a cast-iron tub, ivory soap, inside water, and prissy pajamas removed leftover play and welcomed my nights to paper dolls, books, and more pretend. Before I went to bed, Daddy would sometimes have to dig splinters from beneath my tender fingers that had used pine straw for imaginary walls in imaginary homes. I fell asleep with thoughts of old ground and new plans for the soil and make-believe world I so loved.

The soil never changed.  It was old ground that was always waiting on me. Even if I returned to it today and searched my childhood home, that old dirt would still be there. The earthy smell would remain as it did in the 1960's. I could probably find the same spigot, take a little water, get on hands and knees, and dig my childhood well and make mud pies and feel the red clay soften and conform to my desire.

And if I returned to my childhood yard and made mud pies again or built a straw house, I would most likely look around and ask the proverbial question, "Where did time go?"  At my new age of fifty-one, it is a question I ask often.  Wondering how years can fade so fast is the one not-so-soothing thought that, as my grandma used to say, reminds us most "things never stay the same." Things are always changing.

Now, at this point in my life, my questions of time are changing. Accepting the uncontrollable, my thoughts now veer from "Where has time gone?" to "What has time done?" "How has it changed me?" "What has experience done to my person, my walk with God, my relationships, my life?" "Am I a better person?" "Have I made my dirt conformable to the hands of my Digger-of-Wells?" "Is God really my Potter?"

"Do I let Him change my dirt to His desire?" "Who has designed my plans and my dreams?" "Are they His?" "Or am I still busy with my own mud pies and straw castles?"

It's a hard thing to leave your own life alone, to give all you have to Jesus. From an early age, we're used to making do and making up as we go along. We're taught the importance of potential. Of dreams. Of purpose. Of lending ear to self. Of living up to ideal best. Of setting sail to the world's winds. We are told by educators that we are the masters of our destinies.

For a Christian, the worldly philosophy of mastering one's own destiny brings conflict to the soul.  That conflict can even be war between the flesh and the spirit, as we strive against humanism and voices that plead for the salvation of personal choice over letting go and surrendering to God.  Perhaps the natural inner conflict of letting go of our own lives is one reason the Apostle Paul wrote 1 Corinthians 13:11-12.

"When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known."

As a child, Paul said he spent his time in childish things: his own imaginings, desires, designs, childlike behavior, talk, and dreams. But, when he became a man, a Spirit-filled, Christian man, Paul said he gave them all up for a greater cause. The greatest cause.

Paul did something that few of us accomplish as thoroughly as he did. He surrendered completely. He totally relinquished everything to Jesus Christ, the Savior, our Redeemer, our Rock, our Deliverer, the Lord of all. His life was absolutely centered in His Savior.  Paul's only cause and his reason for living was Jesus. Christ was the Apostle's motivation for planning, for dreaming, for loving, and for losing.

Holding nothing back, he solidly proclaimed, "For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain" (Philippians 1:21).

I like to envision this mighty warrior of God as he penned that bold truth about self death to the Philippians from his prison cell in Rome. As I try to grasp this great statesman of faith, I remember another proclamation of Paul's pen:

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you (2 Corinthians 4:8-9).

What does it take for death of self? I believe there is much individuality in the answer. We all have our own particulars that God sees - those things that are spoken between Abba Father and us.  But, regardless of the details, dying to self so that we can live in Christ is a process of pain and denial, one that requires God-supplied grace.

As the heat of summer 2010 burns its way into my real, now world, I yearn for God-supplied grace. I need denial. I need surrender. I need death. I want to forget about my "straw castles" and "mud pies" and let my Potter and Master Carpenter take my hands, my feet, my eyes, my ears, my lips, my world and form and shape them for His glory.

His holy hands are never far away.  They are always reaching, touching the depths of our hearts and far corners of our souls. They find things we didn't know before. His hands crush, dig, and make a well in our souls that only He can fill.  He pours water, works, and shapes. And though it may not all seem pleasant now, God's handiwork promises a forever bright future. And, here is how we know that truth:

"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" (Jeremiah 29:11).

Let's live that promise today! Take it personally!  It is yours!  Though the Potter's hands may challenge the world's view of living, and though at times we may feel pain, his hands will never harm. His hands are always for our good, and we can and must rejoice in that fact!!!

Seeking death and life in Jesus,

Hot Coffee

"Our Saviour kneels down and gazes upon the darkest acts of our lives. But rather than recoil in horror, he reaches out in kindness and says, 'I can clean that if you want.' And from the basin of his grace, he scoops a palm full of mercy and washes our sin."

Max Lucado 

I grasped the smooth ivory handle, picked up the cup, and placed it to my chapped lips that craved comfort from a cold, damp, windy night.  Feeling the not-warm mug press against my mouth, I sipped, then, wanted to spit.  It was lukewarm, which didn't meet my great expectations.   

Needing to catch the attention of our waitress, Jeff and I looked her way and politely motioned to her.  "I'm sorry, but my coffee isn't hot."  She sweetly apologized and returned minutes later with another cup and plenty, even more than I could drink, of fresh, steaming decaf.  Seeing the waves rise from my mug, I was relieved, and ready to move ahead and share some lovely moments with my love.

Lukewarm coffee would have diminished our date.  It was a late rainy Monday night, and my husband and I had just attended a beautiful revival service.  We wanted to share our souls and bask in the afterglow of God's blessings.  A quiet booth in a warm cafe with cups of coffee seemed the perfect capstone.  Lukewarm coffee just wouldn't have got it done. 

Lukewarm is perfect for a baby's bath, but not for coffee.  It makes it stale and steals it pretty aroma.  And, it makes a clear statement of "I am not the best" and "I could be hours old."

For coffee lovers, a cup of hot brew summons the senses.  The sight of steam dancing over a cup is alone bliss.  The coming warmth is calming.  The idea of the approaching flavor prepares the taste buds for unreserved, heartfelt sipping.  Which is why you do not see signs advertising "Cool Coffee Served," or "Fresh Roasted Lukewarm Java." 

But cool coffee helps me understand, . . .  to inhale and drink in, . . .

the God-breathed analogy in Revelation that rivets me to its text and shakes me to my soles.

“I know your works, that you are neither cold nor hot. I could wish you were cold or hot. So then, because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will vomit you out of My mouth" (Revelation 3:15-16, NKJV).

The Lord cares about our passion for Him.  He takes it personally and checks it with His own sovereign thermometer.  He tries our savor to taste and see if we're a worthy drink offering.  Our temperature reading measures the worth of our worship.

God desires we are red-hot, on-fire, passionate worshipers and disciples.  He had even rather find us cold than lukewarm. 

Why would God rather we be cold than room temp? 

If we are cold, we know it.  We shiver in our sin.  We see uncovered goosebumps climb our barren arms.  And we sense the approaching agony of a frost-bitten heart.  We know our desperate need to find a warm place by God's flame.  We envy those fellow saints who pass us, doing their Father's business, while bundled in fleecy wools and cozy leathers.

If we are lukewarm, however, we do not feel.  We are not concerned.  We are not moved.  The fire we see in others does nothing to our need.  Their godly coverings do not make us jealous.  We do not desire to find a fire and warm our flesh.

"Lukewarm" means lacking enthusiasm or conviction; to be indifferent; unconcerned; uninterested; apathetic; Laodicean.*

Laodicea was one of the seven churches Christ addressed in the book of Revelation.  They believed they had no spiritual need.  They did not see their need for covering.  Christ therefore counseled them, "buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see" (Revelation 3:18, NIV).    

Jesus wanted to give the Laodiceans a new beginnning and fresh vision.  He wanted them to have their own personal revelation of Him.  He pleaded and said, "Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest, and repent. Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with him, and he with me" (3:19-20).

Christ wanted the Laodiceans to be close to Him.  To sit down with Him and dine.  To have an intimate meal with Him and know Him.  To know He loved them. 

Jesus wants the same for me and you.

He wants us to see.  He wants us to have personal need awareness.  He wants to give us His gold in exchange for our perceived wealth.  He wants us to experience the pain of spiritual blindness, so we can realize the poverty of self-life. 

Jesus wants us to be honest with ourselves and encounter His word, which is Christ Himself.  He desires that we know Him, not just serve Him, and not just know of Him.   

Do you know Him?  Do you dine with Him?  Do you sit down with Him?  Do you gaze at His beauty as He sits across the table?  Do you let His eyes slice your darkness? 

My coffee was lukewarm that chilly, Monday night.  It was not acceptable to me.  It's lackluster presence could have dulled the beauty of a blessed evening. 

I had to confess my need.  I had to bring the problem to the server, so she could fix it for me.  It wouldn't have been right to do it myself.  It wasn't my place. 

Jesus wants to be your server and fix things for you.  Do you taste the bitter water of indifference?  Are you struggling to choke down staleness? 

Let Jesus fix things for you.  Call Him to your table and tell Him your need.  Give Him your lukewarm chalice.  Jesus' own hands will take your cup, bring you a new, clean, empty vessel, and pour into it warmth, healing, life, and love.  You will not be disappointed.  You will no longer live alone from worldy wealth.  You will not want your old cup back.

Do not be afraid to let it go.  Do not be afraid to give up you lukewarm drink.  Do not be afraid of His transformational presence at your table.  Do not fear His humble hands. 

Great expectations wait to warm your soul.

Because He First Loved Us,

        





*Definitinon is from www.thefreedictionary.com.

Running Risks

Last week was filled with days of dappled clouds; some of them poured rain with profuse drops.  The coincidental cool air created perfect moments for curling on the sofa with a fleecy throw, a cup of Earl Grey, a passionate devotional, and ears to hear water drizzle and God's voice whisper.

A lone, misty afternoon in the center of the week gave me that opportunity.  I thought I would use the clammy weather and quiet time to read, pray, and ponder.

Before I could make a nest on my sofa, my plans changed.  Faint squeals broke through my God thoughts.  I peered through the blinds of my backdoor.  Four little feet were running up the walk.  Four little eyes were fixed on their goal, looking for their mimi to help them over their final hurdle.

When I opened the door, Olivia, my three year old granddaughter was drifting behind her twenty-one month old sister, Ella.  Olivia was running.  Ella was racing.

I have never seen a baby hyperventilate, but I thought Ella just might provide my first opportunity.  I could hear and see her breathing.  Her vast brown eyes on her sweet, small face were looking up and straight into me.  Her thin, brown pigtails were bouncing.  Her tiny baby teeth were shining.  Her rosy cheeks showed baby bliss.

Ella's passion bubbled over.  Yet, she was running too quickly, and stumbled, and fell.  Her tiny, less than two-year old legs could not support her massive zeal.

Before I could move out the door to pick her up, Ella had picked herself up, rushed, and jumped into my arms.

She had no bumps, no scratches, no bruises.  Only smiles and hugs and kisses and an innocent, loving look that poured purely into my soul and melted my grandmother heart.

That passion of my brave little granddaughter has now become my personal desire of imitation.  Her quick little steps convict me of soul neglect and remind me of the joy of the One Who always waits for me. 

God waits.  Jehovah-Shammah, The Lord is There, anticipates my running to Him.  He longs for my unreserved rush into His always open arms. 

And, I should, in kind, anticipate the arms of my Father God and race toward Him, undaunted, with whole attention, gazing upward and inward into His holy countenance.  My soul should long for His embrace with uncontainable excitement and leaping faith that does not care about the dangers of the hard ground beneath my feet.  The risks of bumps, bruises, scratches, and skins should mean much less to me than missing my Father's arms.

God's open arms must mean more to me than the bruising language of another who had rather I just "work" for Jesus than sit as His feet.  His waiting presence must mean more to me than the scratchy experience of being misunderstood by those who see my God-moments as a waste of time.  God's courts must mean more to me than the jabbing voices within my own fleshly self that mourn for more television and extra personal pampering, and God's receiving of me must mean more to me than ideas of others who think I overspiritualize life and frown on my desire that God see me as His pure lover.

As Ella ran up the merciless, ashen pavement, I am quite sure she knew she could fall.  She is a smart little lamb.  Her senses are very keen.  Her mocha eyes miss little.  Yet, her mimi's arms were worth the risks to her. 

My Father's arms of love are worth all possible risks.  Risks must lose every persuasion on my soul.  I must bow my being, every fiber of me, before the God of the universe, my God, the Lover of my life, and allow His light to permeate my self-consciousness and fill me with God-consciousness. 

Let's let go of our risks. . . .

Let go of all risks. Grasp courage.  Allow God's glory to diminish any thoughts of painful reaching for His love.  Embrace the gritty texture of danger and run boldly and fearlessly on the coarse concrete ground below.  Clasp in your heart contented dreams of leaping into your Father's arms.

Grasping, Clasping, Running, Leaping,   

"My lover spoke and said to me, "Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me" (Song of Solomon 2:10, NIV).

DENYING CHOCOLATE

"Pain is God's megaphone."

C. S. Lewis

Its lovely, luscious look was expected. Its frothy cream topping anticipated. So silky, so covered with toasty pecans. So bound by its beautiful, baked crust of white flour and real butter, elevated to rapturous delight by a dash of sweet and a heaping of more nuts.

Two fillings in said dish lured one to place hand on the convenient spoon, scoop, and heap onto one's plate, making scarcely sure not to cross the line of self-reproach. One filling held soft cream cheese, fresh whipped cream, and my delight, confectioner's sugar.

And the other filling. My dreamed-of confection. My irresistible beloved. My epicurean addiction shared with my dear late father, who so too loved its taste. My material nightmare!

Contained in the layer just above a divine crust was a silky, creamy dessert all its own. One that turned said dish from a delightful creation of comfort to a heavenly chocolate concoction. And the glassy, dark filling was too much for resistance.

I beheld. I desired. I succumbed. I rebelled. I resisted wise words spoken only days before.

"Its most likely chocolate," his kind voice almost dreaded the bidding. We had thoroughly discussed. He had questioned. I willingly, yet timidly complied. He thought. Examined. Thought. And gave his professional, always faithful, medical opinion.

"You may just have to give it up. It's probably the source of your migraines. Chocolate can even cause headaches days after you eat it, so you might want to stay away from it and see if they go away."

"OK." I obliged. With much respect. Much grief. And much internal conflict.

Chocolate has been my known adversary for quite some time. I have ignored its stings and arrows for its rich flavor and momentary bliss for years. I have passed opportunity for greater health for the seemingly sinful pleasure of sweet, dark, "fruit" that slowly softens in my mouth.

Insomnia, palpitations, irritability, misery have most often followed my yielding. The migraines now seem God's great megaphone shouting, "Do NOT eat! Do NOT touch!"

Yet, even after my dear doctor's emphatic words, my historical symptomatic responses, and what concerned me as providential Voice, I was still complicit with my enemy, when, on Sunday, we had a beautiful meal after church, and I was, at the end of the serving line, met by forbidden fruit.

I ate with guilt. I left with guilt. I dealt with guilt. Denied reality. Said to self, "It may not be chocolate causing your headaches, Andrea. It's only a chance. Probably just a coincidence. They'll most likely just go away."

And at 5:00 a.m. Tuesday morning my hard head was throbbing, begging my stillness and room's darkness. Most concerned, my dear husband made his way to our little cottage kitchen and brought me cola in a clear glass and medicine in his gentle hand. I thanked him for such lovingkindness that is his dear way, and slooowly lay down and oh, so carefully turned on my side, hoping to sleep and awake relieved.

On arising, I realized improvement and thanked my Jeff once again. Then, when all was quiet, alone with God, faced my stubborn denial and thanked God for his patient grace that loves me so completely and understands my frame. Who waits with His wisdom to shape my life to His desired form. Who has this day given fresh truth and new desire. A soul determination to hear God's voice, to listen, to apply His word! To e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g!

God knows our downsitting, our uprising, our distant thoughts, our hearts, our lungs, our ears, our heads, our hands, our bellies, our emotions, our hurts, our ills, our stubborn ways, our failures, our successes, our slippery dreams. Even knows our whys and hows!

He made our genetic code! Yes, your double helix was put together with meticulous thought and care by the Master Designer Himself. And dear friend, God chose to make us all with imperfections and weaknesses.

Does that seem strange to you? Such a wonderful, loving, perfect Heavenly Father creating his vessels with flaws, with shortcomings, with compromising qualities, with weak fragments, with questionable strengths, with damaging desires, with eyes that need lens, with ears that need aids, with bodies that grow tired, with minds that forget, and wills that faint?

What appears odd to me or you was perfect sense to the Apostle Paul. The mightiest warrior for Christ suffered agony. He was persecuted. Experienced hunger, pain, frailty, affliction, confusion, prison, beatings. All for Christ. And his great, faithful walk with God brought many heavenly visions. Unspeakable spiritual revelations.

Then, God permitted an unnamed "thorn" to torment him. It was a fleshly battle. Painful. The Greek word Paul uses to describe the experience means "to rap with the fist." An over and over ache. Increasing pain. And the exact what of the blow does not really matter. But the why does.

Paul sought relief. "My grace is all you need," God spoke. "My power works best in weakness." And Paul, whose life was not his own, whose life was lived in Christ alone, when hearing God's voice, knowing pain would remain, said, "I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me."

Hurt, pain, denial, limitations, heartache, illness. Whether great, small, or so-so, all teach and prove. God chooses to use our frailties for His glory when we let Him. NO DOUBT, there are times of deliverance and healing. Such miracles bring glory to God and may at any moment be part of His plan.

But, one way or another, God allows our physical or emotional pain to reveal Himself in our lives. Pain is a trumpet resounding in our ears. An awakening. An alarm. A cry. A siren of sorts. A voice, whether softly spoken in background noise, shouted above every other sound, or fixed with perfect, personal decibel.

And above all, it is for our good. Remember Romans 8:28? Using Greek meanings, we might paraphrase, "When we clearly see, we understand that all individual things, and the whole of our lives, work together, as an entire process, for our benefit, to each one of you who loves God and is, with God's intention, called by Him to show His glory."

Knowing His good is at work, we are ready to listen, to look, to yield even what seems to us a minor problem. We are set on a direct path to find God's glory for our lives. With spiritual ears set to hear, with volume turned-up, we are on the edge of our seats, our hearts waiting for His truth to speak. Our souls ready to bear God's intention, our hearts longing to glory, as Paul did, in the cross of Christ.

If by some means denying chocolate can bring Him more glory in my life, then let it be so done! I have, says my dear husband and my doctors, a habit of not taking care of self as I ought. Perhaps the Lord has, in His love, spoken with His megaphone. "Do you finally get it?" Do you really understand the importance of being a good steward of your body? Can you now clearly see how hearing my voice is for your good? Even if it means sacrificing small things? Do you still despise the small things? Do you see my love even here? Andrea, do you know I love you in all things?"

"Yes, Lord, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. . . . And, oh, dear Father, I love you so, because you first loved me."

Scripture references are from 2 Corinthians 12.

Quoted scripture is from the NLT.

Greek information is from e-sword.

Tomorrow, Jeff is scheduled for a biopsy, but we won't know results for one week, perhaps two because we will be out-of-town next week and Jeff's doctor will be gone the week following that. We are trying to arrange a phone call with his doctor to avoid the agony of the unknown. If it is not possible, then, with the Psalmist, may the Lord help us to say, "I wait for you, O LORD; you will answer, O Lord my God" (38:15).

Thank you for your continued prayers and words of encouragement. God's is so good, so faithful, and His grace truly sufficient. And I have no doubt that your prayers are holding us up as we wait.
I would like to pray for each one of you today. May the Lord, Jesus Christ, in the fullness of His grace, meet all your needs.
Oh, dear Lord, bless my precious friends at each turn in their lives. I ask, heavenly Father, for your guidance for them in all things. You hold each one in the palm of your hand. And, oh, how you care for them! Oh, how you love each one!

You know their names. You know their anxieties. You know their cares. You know their fears. You see their plans. You know their dreams. And your eye is always aware of their every move and each cry of their hearts.

Thank you, Father, for the inspiring lives they live for you. Bless them abundantly for their love and compassion for others. And, in all things, Lord, may they know you and see your moving in every part of their lives.

And I pray each one will feel your presence near in a special way.

In Jesus Name, Amen.