If my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land. 2 Chronicles 7:14

When we were married my husband and I chose silver wedding bands with a slightly stylized cross as our symbols of our love for one another and our determination that Christ would be at the center of our marriage. When we built our house, one of our children gave us a plaque featuring the  Serenity Prayer,  another gave us a copy of the 23rd Psalm engraved on a mirror and one has given us a sculpted cross. My husband took a chainsaw to a tree stump one fall afternoon and at the end of the day a rough-hewn 5-foot cross stood on a gentle slope overlooking our backyard.

If Christian decoration were the way to heaven we’d be good to go.

But we know we are the people called by his name and that God didn’t call us to advertise or promote a multi-level marketing plan based on our faith. He didn’t call us to shop and seek more Christian stores and turn from here to there in search of new ways to advertise our relationship with Jesus.

No, he called us to humble ourselves, to pray and seek His face. The promise that follows that command is too wonderful to imagine. Even if He had not promised to heal our land, would we not be blessed beyond measure just to lay our egos and our agendas and our wants and desires before Him? How like our God to ask us to do these things that might be difficult initially, but, when completed, bring us such joy and peace.

I love the wedding band my husband never takes off. He replaced mine as an anniversary gift with a jeweled band but I wear the cross, too. Not as hype but as a private reminder to me of who I am and who we are. Humbly, His.

(Thanks to our adult Christian Education class who kicked this issue around for an session a few Sundays ago and gave me the idea to write this.)

To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams. 1 Sam. 15:22b (NIV)

I can tell you what the old me thought of that bit of dialogue between the prophet Samuel and King Saul. You’ve got to be kidding, Sam. God prefers simple obedience? Wait till He hears what I’m gonna do for Him!

I of course took the immediate meaning of the phrase out of context. To me, to obey anyone meant to give in, give up or give out, none of which I have ever been prone to do gracefully.  So what does it mean to say obedience is better than sacrifice?  In my winner-take-all playbook, “to obey” was already a huge sacrifice. How, therefore could it be better than a well-prepared, juicy, choice cut of … oh, wait a minute. Maybe I do have an idea why God would prefer the obedience of our actions to anything we can cook up to distract Him.

My parents had gotten a well-deserved weekend away from their kids. I was about eight, my sister five and my brother a newborn and I honestly don’t remember who they suckered into coming to our house to care for us that weekend. It wasn’t our regular babysitter; I couldn’t have gotten away with it if he’d been there.

Whoever it was, they didn’t know that the most of the trees in our Florida subdivision lot were soft woods. Many were fruit trees. My father, a transplant himself from the majestic forests of Oregon, called the laurels overgrown bushes.  And he also called them absolutely off limits for climbing. He maintained that we had a swing set, a sturdy elm and each other to climb on.  Sixty pounds of trunk shimmying tomboy did not bode well for the health of the kumquat tree. He had made that clear to me but it was never mentioned to the babysitter. Certainly not by me.

Not only did I climb the kumquat tree, the orange trees, the grapefruit trees and the laurels repeatedly throughout the two days our parents were gone, I attempted to build a fort in the limbs of the almost-majestic cedar in the front yard. A painful experience since the needles were sharp and the bark rough and also my carpentry skills weren’t up to the task. And I fell. Hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to tell the babysitter.

Back to obedience. Samuel told Saul obedience was better. Better for whom? It would have been better for Saul. God doesn’t ask us to do things just to make Himself feel good. Does he ask for a tithe because He needs your money? No, he wants your heart and your heart in the hand of God is better for you. Did he want Saul’s complete obedience in the matter before him because he wanted a bunch of  His enemies to die? No, God will accomplish his purposes–here it was to purge the land of a people committing heinous crimes–He wanted Saul to be obedient for the sake of Saul’s own good.

Here’s what happened in our house in 1963, and how I learned that obedience would have been much more acceptable that any sacrifice.  Mom and Dad came home to a good report from the babysitter, who still had no clue that my tree climbing was a full frontal school girl rebellion carried out under her nose for two days. After the sitter left, we settled in for the ritual Walt Disney Theater Sunday night show, and, after a rapt half hour in front of the television, all my little muscles, tendons and ligaments refused to move. I was so sore I could barely move. As Mom massaged my thighs, calves and biceps, I could not tell a lie.  No, I had not chopped down the cherry tree, but I had surely climbed the kumquat tree, as well as all its citrus cousins. As I experienced my first post-workout soreness Daddy told me the real reason he hadn’t wanted us in those trees. Their limbs couldn’t safely support us; Mom couldn’t climb up after us to help us for the same reason; the dumb laurels could have actually toppled over from our weight, throwing us into the street. And yes, the trees themselves were property that should be respected, but that was secondary.

As was God’s desire to rid the earth of the Amalekites. Without Saul’s compliance to the letter of God’s command to him, their contemptible practices went on for centuries after Saul’s reign. But that was secondary. God loved Saul and wanted his obedience. More than the sweetest fragrance of sacrifice, more than his explanations and excuses for why he didn’t do God’s will, God just wanted Saul’s obedience. And ours. For our own good.

The three of us have suffered a lot of separation anxiety over the last months though I think one of us would not admit to it. My daughter, my only biological contribution to the gene pool, left home for college two and a half years ago. Now she leaves from our small all-American town to Copenhagen for a semester of study abroad. We will drive her to the airport Saturday and we won’t see her again for 17 weeks.

She would not call it separation anxiety, but heaven knows she is wound up tight as my top guitar string. She’s long past ready to go and thinks if she had to go back to school here in Indiana this semester, she’d drop out. (Fat chance; she’s a fabulous student and loves campus life.) I believe her real point is that she is ready for a change. Very ready. But it doesn’t change the fact that she’s nervous. Not afraid, but nervous.

And so we’re having little spats. Last week, my husband was in China on business, leaving the college student and the mommy to share one kitchen and too much time. Yeah, a few flareups there. His jet lag upon returning caused him to be under-slept and over-wired; again, a few harsh words left everyone sulking for an otherwise delightful dinner out. Aaargh. If I am to be the emotional thermostat in our home, I have to say things are running a little hot around here.

We want her to walk those foreign avenues, drink up those exotic sights and smells, feel the texture of a culture so different from her own. But we are more aware of the physical, mental, emotional and spiritual dangers of  being away from home, simply because we are older and we’ve each walked on foreign soil ourselves. We’re glad she’ll be with a host family but we don’t know them. We’re glad she’s an independent person in so many ways but we are afraid she might not recognize when and how she needs to depend on someone else.

So we’re inquiring within: Within our church family for prayer and support, within our prayer groups for a place to compare parenting notes, within our friendships for a hand to hold, a shoulder to squeeze. We’ll inquire of each other within the sanctuary of our marriage. Are you okay? Did you talk to her? Should we Skype her tonight? Do you need to see her face? These are the ways we can answer the call to be “…joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. (Romans 12:11-13, NIV).

We will inquire at every moment with our daily walk. We may not know what to pray for her at any given moment, but we will pray. We may not know what challenges, losses and opportunities she is facing but we will ask God for his blessing on her young life and know that His is able and faithful.

Our hope rests in that same God who saved the Hewbrew nation from Pharoah, rescued Daniel from the lion’s den, saved us from our own sins and gives us hope that we’ll all go home one day.  “He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us again. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us. On him we have set our  that he will continue to deliver us.” 2 Corinthians 1:9-11

Having inquired, we will hope.

ARE YOU LOST FOR WORDS, BEYOND CONFUSION, DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU NEED? GOD KNOWS. SEND HIM AN ARROW PRAYER. HE HEARS – EXPECT AN ANSWER.

                                 

↑       ↑ HELP  ↑       ↑        

                                ↑       ↑ PLEASE  ↑       ↑     ↑              

                                   ↑              ↑                ↑       ↑  PLEASE, NO! ↑       ↑   

↑       ↑THANK YOU, JESUS  ↑       ↑

“…lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil…”

Early Monday AM–Our road has a dry forge. Where Retherford Road crosses Hanna’s Creek, a flat span of concrete crosses over with no side barriers.  This crossing is not elevated, so any time the creek runs over its banks it gushes across the concrete as well.   The overflow happens several times per year and in the spring of 2011, it’s just our little portion of the violent mid-Western weather system that has taken lives and so wrecked so much property.

The best way to go to the county seat in Liberty is to turn right at the end of  my drive and follow the road over the creek. Knowing it’s flooded, I turned left today,  settling for the  longer way into town.  It’s just simple common sense not to risk driving through such a potentially treacherous waterway.

And yet I felt the pull.  It’s shorter.  It’s quicker.  I’ve got tons of errands and to do.  Really, I could do it.

For one thing, I drive a large four-wheel drive truck.  (Don’t judge me.  I live in the country.) The truck is high enough that the cab could clear the water and heavy enough to maintain the traction.  If the water were much deeper than six inches I couldn’t do it.  In a car I couldn’t do it.  Common sense says not to do it. What is it in me that wants to do it anyway?

Contrary to my nature, I took the longer and safer route. You can put it down to maturity but I actually think I was “…lead not into temptation but delivered from evil.”  I prayed for that this morning and even lingered on the phrase, wondering what in my lovely world could be evil enough for me to ward off with prayer.  Maybe it was the creek. More likely it is the pride that makes me think the “Road Closed ” sign doesn’t apply to me.

Early Monday PM–In the interests of honest reporting I drove down to the creek after lunch.  I had talked to my engineering consultant (a.k.a. husband) and he agreed that I could make the six-inch depth I had described. But our conversation begged the question: Was it only six inches deep or deeper?

What follows is my gallery. You’ll see my rain boot swished with muddy water up to an easy six inches. I had only waded out as far as the current allowed me to stay on my feet. Beyond that I’d venture to say the water was closer to a foot deep as it passed over the little forge.

So in the morning, when I was simply ruminating over God’s possible protection from my own foolishness, I didn’t have a clue. My truck cannot make that forge with that much water and current.  My insurer probably wouldn’t cover that much stupid.  I never really know how far I am tucked under His mighty wing. But I know I’ll continue to pray that prayer.

Pray for those who think they are safer than they are.

Create for me a pure heart, O God! Renew a right spirit within me! Psalm 51:10

For my first devotion of 2012, I humbly beseech You to comfort those who are in mental darkness, especially those suffering with so much anguish that suicide seems like the only way out.  My prayer is for those who cannot bear to see the wreckage of their past.  My prayer is for your grace in the gap as the fog clears but before the full restoration of hope and a future comes into view. My prayer is for a restoration of spirit.

 My prayer is that if anyone needs a hand to hold, they will reach out and find us, your Church, reaching for them.  (Celebrate Recovery, 6 PM Thursdays.  Come and be restored. www.collegecorner.org for details.  Or go to www.celebraterecovery.org for meetings in your area.)

Come meet the God of restoration and abundance.  Far beyond mere survival, God is in the business of restoration.  He has restored to me all the things that were broken in my life. For early, painful, broken relationships, he gave me a marriage of genuine love and mutual respect.  For barren, selfish, brittle singleness, He granted not only the birth of a healthy child, but He also gave me the gift of three beautiful step-children and their children.

I pray for restoration, for renewal, for recovery and for life, O God.

He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise for our God. Many people will learn of this and be amazed; they will trust the LORD. Psalm 40:3, Common English Bible

The choir at College Corner United Methodist Church is on a roll. We were 15 strong at 10 p.m. Christmas Eve, singing two rousing cantata-style songs from “Wasn’t that a Great Day (When Christ the Lord was Born)” before exiting the choir loft to join our families in the pews. The candle light service was gentle and sweet and worth every minute of lost sleep!

New worship and song books are on order and we have so much to look forward to!

Thanks for taking the leap with me. These last few months since dear Joanne left us have been a little rushed and breathless but here, two weeks before Christmas morning finds us singing in our loft behind the holy altar, I am filled with awe and gratitude at your grace.

Of course, we have a long way to go, but what a good time getting there! To hear Charlie’s baritone laugh, Frank’s teasing  and to see three generations of Johnson women praising God together is pure joy. To have Peg, Linda, Sue and Charlene’s eyes radiating joy and cheer as they lift their voices to celebrate Christ’s birth is to enjoy the sense of heaven brought to earth. We have three school-age singers…bliss!

We always remember Pat’s wry comment when we sing and pray it’s always true: “Somewhere between my mouth and God’s ear I just pray a miracle occurs.” I truly believe it does and I’m truly grateful for the willingness of the servant choir to participate in that miracle.

In His service, Sing! 

Tracy

 

 

 

I can remember her leaving at every age. The tiny child who clung to my leg as I took her to pre-school. The confident kindergartner. The bus-rider, the carpool passenger,  and finally, the driver, always in a hurry, so careful not to be late. (Lord, control her accelerator foot.)

Junior Year

Packed for School - Junior Year

Now she drives off in her own car and she’ll turn 21 years of age a few weeks after I see her next. She’s beginning her 16th year of formal schooling. She’s tired but she’s going for it again. I am tremendously proud of her.

Just as Jesus beat it to the temple as soon as He was able, to sit with the learned and powerful men of His time, students the world over are turning their minds to knowledge and wisdom, experience and new ways of thought and thinking. They will get more than they bargain for and less than they will need. I trust the mind that inquires: It’s the world that answers glibly or selfishly that I do not trust.

So I pray her on her way, defying the Devil to overcome her spiritual common sense.  She has tasted and seen what is good, she has lived in a home where Jesus sits at the table and she is well-equipped for her life journey. But still, it is the awesome power of God’s love alone that allows me to let her go emotionally as well as physically.

Dear God, Grant that she’ll grab every minute, experience, meeting, impression and idea, taste and treasure it and grow in the love of Christ all her days. Especially her school days. I pray in the name of Jesus, my Savior and Teacher.

Most Protestant church-goers know the song, “I Come to the Garden Alone” with its graceful tune and simple metaphor. The hymn makes it easy to imagine standing with Jesus by the vined trellis, having Him whisper to us. Best of all, the invitation comes with for a morning meeting, that glorious time when flower faces still hold their morning dew level against the rising sun.

Needs Jesus

Before bud removal

I’ll go back to the garden again and again. I’ve been made bold by God’s promises to adopt me and I speak to the Creator of the universe as a brother. In my practicality I must be removing the spent blossom from the vines as we speak. They feel wetly decayed in my fingertips, truly dead. I can already see the bud that will become the next blossom and the nugget that will become the next bud. I will return to this work daily because that removal, the act of ridding the decay in order to produce more fruit, becomes a hunger and a passion.

We want to know God so we can write our lives with hunger and passion; otherwise, we simply long for meaning, knowing there is no point to unholy habits of mind and “little” things that keep us out of Christ’s presence. To remove the wasted flower and to remain attached to the true Vine who is Jesus, is to taste and see the soul feast for which the world hungers. Come to this garden again and again so that you may know Christ by walking with Him. Then you can write what you know with words or, better still, with your life.

Dear Father,
You could have created the world in black and white, without texture, depth or beauty for our senses. Yet you gave us this world. Let us be as passionate in loving one another as you were passionate in creating this world in which we can do so. Amen

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