Sewing

      I do not like to sew. Something about it just does not seem to be compatible with how I was created. Machines break down. Threads snarl. Fabric ends up with holes where holes were never meant to be. Pieces slip and slide. The finished product is sometimes hardly fit to wear.

    I will do almost anything to avoid sewing. There are times I have even resorted to cleaning just to keep from picking up the scissors. Ask my family. That says something. My procrastination skills take on the worst form in this ability to invent other things to do. Doubtless, you, too, have things you dread doing.

    How is my heart when it comes to sin? Is sin something that I hate? Will I do anything to avoid it? When I am faced with a temptation to gossip, do I find something pleasant to say instead? How willing am I to put effort into avoiding the things the world offers me? Would I consider deleting my favorite app in order to save my relationship with God? Will I pick up my Bible and read to avoid the fears the Devil tries to feed me? These are the questions I have been asking myself.

    We have the ability to find excuses to avoid things we dislike. Let us be sure that our hate for sin is what it should be. Don't let yourself be fooled into thinking that it looks nice for a time. Any type of sacrifice we are called on to make is not some silly request that we can easily refuse. Walking in a path that leads near temptation is not something to shrug off. These are matters of life and death, Heaven or Hell. May our eyes be ever open to the terribleness of the things the Devil offers us, and may our hearts turn ever upward, following the path down which our Savior gently calls us to walk.

I am a Warrior

     Someone sent me a song that starts out "I am a warrior in an army that will never know defeat." The phrase stopped me in my tracks. It was too incredible of a thought to fully comprehend. My King is the leader of the greatest army ever to exist. Not because He has such great soldiers, but because His own might, power, and majesty are beyond any other that have ever been or will be. Psalm 95:3 says "For the LORD is a great God, and a great King above all gods."
    There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can defeat Him. This thought made me feel so warm and comforted. Why do I ever flirt with the world and the things it offers? Why do I ever risk my membership in such an army to taste of an offended attitude or critical spirit? 
    Some of us love to win. Imagine knowing that you were going to win every game you played. You could confidently hold all the worst cards in your hand, yet know you would come out on top every time. That's how great our King is! It doesn't matter what happens in the world around us, what personal disasters we face, what pain and turmoil ensue. His love, His power will always win in the end. 
    Let us not entirely underestimate the enemy, however. He is watching with great cunning for any weakness we may show. One of his favorite tactics is fear. If he can make us fear losing, if he can make us fear pain, he knows he may not have won the war, but be at least halfway to defeating one soldier. Our only hope lies in drawing nearer, ever nearer to our King. One of our greatest weapons is to sing triumphant songs of victory in the face of fear. 
    We are all warriors. We don't know what twists and turns the battles here on earth will take, but we do have a hope everlasting and an Almighty King. Let each one of us face tomorrow with smiles on our faces and joy in our hearts, for has He not promised? "One man of you shall chase a thousand: for the LORD your God, he it is that fighteth for you, as he hath promised you."
    I want to keep the thought ever in my heart that the army I am part of, the King in whose service I am, shall never know defeat. I am not just any warrior, I am His warrior.

I am sorry to say I know almost nothing of the song I mentioned, not even who wrote it. If anyone else has details, feel free to contact me or leave the information in the comment section below.

Backing Up

    I hate being wrong. I would love to live in a perfect little world where I never had to back up and admit my mistakes. For some reason, it's always easier to shift into "drive" than "reverse."
    Take, for example, a history class where two fifth grade girls were convinced the history book was talking about plants and animals that thrived in their state. I was very dubious. This was world history, after all, and it was talking about countries on the other side of the globe. Nonetheless, after school let out I performed a few Google searches and discovered much to my dismay that they were correct.  

    I didn't want to admit it. I wanted to just move on to the next day's lesson and conveniently sweep my newly gained knowledge under the carpet. The feeling that I needed to make it right with them and admit my mistake didn't leave. It was by God's grace alone that I found the humility to stand in front of my class and tell them I was wrong.

    Another experience comes to mind. It was a Wednesday morning, time for school devotions. As sometimes happens, the "Devotion Man" didn't show up. While we teachers tried to decide what to do, a thought stole into my heart: "You should just tell your conversion experience to the students." Oh, no, that wasn't going to happen! The Voice was persistent, but so was I. I managed to quell it, at least for a moment. 

    I don't remember what we ended up doing for devotions, but I do remember the conversation I had with my co-teachers afterwards. Two of them had felt the same gentle nudge, but none of us had been willing to follow the direction we were given. Later, at a school C.E., we all got up and volunteered our experiences, telling the students that we were sorry for not listening to God as we ought, and that we wanted to strive to live faithfully.

    Were either of these instances enjoyable? Decidedly not. Neither were the rest of the times I've had to back up and admit I was in the wrong, and there have been plenty. 

    There are a few things I've noticed throughout these times of humbling myself. One is that I believe a willingness to go back makes me stronger and more willing next time I'm asked to do something. Another is that if I never had to reverse, I'm quite sure the amount of pride I would possess would make me positively unbearable to be around. 

    The last thing I've realized is that backing up rarely is as terrible as I work it up to be in my mind. People are forgiving, especially when being told they were right. It's OK to admit I was too vehement. There's nothing wrong in owning up to making a mistake. 

    I've decided it's not fun or easy, but I'd rather wear out my reverse than get stuck in drive and risk running over other people and drowning out the quiet voice of the Spirit. Have I reached perfection backing up? No. I don't suppose it will ever be easy for me. Yet the peace of mind that comes from knowing I have been obedient is certainly worth the pain it causes the flesh. 

    If you find yourself needing to back up, just know you aren't alone. Many others have stood in the same shoes. Take courage. Backing up is a skill we all need to learn, and this time it doesn't take a good eye or a steady hand. This time it only takes humility and a sincere desire to please our Savior. 

I Believe in You

     We were walking in from recess, leaving the battleground of the softball diamond behind us. As teachers are wont to do, I listened in with interest to the conversation of a couple students walking a few feet away.

    "Next time," said Lamar, "I'm gonna hit it to the volleyball court." 

    Verle looked at him with a challenging air. "OK, do it then."

    I wondered where the conversation would turn. I've heard far too many such responses result in boys bragging of doing the impossible or else start running each other down. To my surprise, Lamar answered humbly.

    "Well, I'll try," he said.

    Verle's answer was simple and pure: "I believe in you," he responded.

    If only we found ourselves being that supportive! Do we lift up those around us as they share their fondest hopes and dreams, or do we drown out their flickers of inspiration with the cold waters of skepticism and healthy doses of pessimism?

    Imagine the possibilities if we give others our confidence! Envision the hope and courage we can spread if you and I tell others we believe in them. Try it. Give someone else room to grow. Lift someone up. Grant them confidence.

   Have a good week. I believe in you!

Gate Beautiful

    Oh, so you would like to hear my story? I'm glad to share it with anyone who asks. I guess I'll just start at the beginning. 

    I'd lain by Gate Beautiful for years. I had seen the seasons come and go, little girls blossom into young ladies, and fathers turn gray. I recognized the many faces that visited the gate every day, and I looked with interest at any new ones.

    Do you see the man over there, the priest with the blue robe bordered by tassels? My presence always made him a bit uncomfortable. I could tell. He avoided the place by the wall where I half sat, half  lay.     The jolly little wife of the tax collector near the market? Now she always greeted me as though I were a real person, not scum that had escaped from my rightful place in the dank alleys of starvation. Not a popular woman because of her husband's occupation, but a good heart.  

    Over to my left, the young man there, he keeps sheep. I know he doesn't get paid much, but he often used to toss me a coin as he passed before the miracle happened.

He was saving up, hoping to marry, but he still shared what he had. 

    Oh, and there's the spice merchant up ahead. He was always liberal with his giving. I know the Jewish people didn't approve of him, for he was not one of them, but sometimes he would even bring me a honey cake his wife had made. A good cook she is!

    No, it wasn't pleasant, my life as a man lame from my mother's womb, but here in these bustling streets I learned to be content with my lot in life. There were days I wanted to cry in frustration, yes, but deep inside I knew that surely the God of old had not forgotten me, just as He never forgot Abraham or Isaac. 

    I remember it like yesterday. It was hot, the dry time of year, and the dust made little clouds around the sandals of the two men approaching the gate. I thought perhaps they were Galileans. Maybe fishermen, but I couldn't be sure. Though to judge by their swarthy faces and strong shoulders they certainly spent much time outdoors.

    There was something in their faces that set them apart from the rest of the noisy crowd. I saw there the same light that shone in the face of the tax collector's wife and the young shepherd. Somehow I felt sure that they would be willing to share a coin with a lame man.

    I raised my voice and called to them as they approached. I was used to begging. I'd done it for years, but still it was humbling to rely on the goodwill of others for one's daily bread.  I lowered my eyes and held out cupped hands, just like this, waiting for the thud of a cool silver coin. 

    Instead one of them spoke. "Look upon us," he said.

    Startled, I raised my eyes until I was looking fully into his.

    "We have no money," he said.

    I felt so confused. Why, then, had he stopped before me?  

    "But I have something greater," he continued. "By the power of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, get up and walk!"

    I had heard the name before. A Holy Man, some, I heard, called Him the Messiah. I hesitated. I had never walked a day in my life. Even if some miracle occurred and I was given strength, I wouldn't know how!

    Then, as I paused, the man reached down his hands and grasped mine. Firmly, they raised me to my feet. Then my hands dropped to my sides and I was standing. Standing all alone, with no brace, no support, no crutch or cane or aid of any sort! I felt something course through my body. I felt alive like I had never been before.

     In moments I was walking! How? How did the mere name of Jesus possess so much power that I, crippled since before my birth, could learn to walk? 

    I have learned much since that day beside the gate. I've learned of the things that one must believe to have eyes that are kind. I've learned how the soul of a man can be bothered by a thing he doesn't understand in someone else, and how he tries to avoid those things. I've learned of a power that can do much more than heal the lame.

    Do you lie at the gate called Beautiful? No? Do you feel that you are lame? There are many ways to be lame, you know.

    I was lame on my feet. My legs would not hold me. But I have seen men and women who are lame in their souls. One can see it in their eyes. Hurts that they are carrying. Fears that haunt them. Grudges that need forgiving.

    The priest, the one in the blue robe, he is lame I can tell, but I don't think he knows it. I can hardly understand the love that healed me, yet one thing I know: It is there for you, too. 

    If you find yourself lying by the gate of Bethany, look up. He is waiting, with out-stretched hands to help you stand. He is not hampered by how lame you are. Take His hand. If you manage to rise, but worry you will not know how to walk, do not fear, He will stay beside you. 

    Yes, I'm glad to share my story. I only fear how few take advantage of His name.  You are going now? Remember what I've told you, don't fear what He asks... the sacrifices are worth the joy of being healed.

    God bless you, my friend. 

Changes

     As I was pondering allegories, wishing for a new one to read to my class, I had an epiphany. Not a single allegory I could think of allowed the main character to remain in his or her native home. Some are sent on a long journey to a distant land, others are given the care of a castle, or sent off to fight a battle, but none are allowed to remain in environments they are used to.
    I believe it is safe to say that for most of us in relatively comfortable situations, change is not something we look forward to. We dread the idea of being uprooted from familiar places and dropped into the midst of some unknown land. Being someone that has moved several times in my life, I feel I can claim at least some level of authority on the matter.
    There is, I decided after some thought, a very good reason allegories all follow the same pattern. When we become transformed through the blood of Christ, we aren't allowed to stay in one place. The things that our humanness clings to as familiar are left behind as we move on to a new place. 
    Our journey, though, does not end there, though we sometimes wish it did! Instead, God has a way of asking us again and again to move on to different places. Some of these moves may be physical- a move to a different congregation, accepting a new job opportunity, or a term in a foreign mission. Others are moves in our hearts that perhaps are not so very obvious to anyone but God. Maybe He's asking us to draw closer and rely on Him when our tendency is to fear. Perhaps He is gently asking us to move beyond a hurt from our past that is holding us back. It may be for someone His request is simply to move a beloved pair of shoes from the closet to the garbage!
    There are so many ways in which God requires us to leave the place to which we've become accustomed! It's not easy. We sometimes cry many tears. Some days we may just feel like fighting His gentle, beckoning call. Yet to draw nearer Him, there is only one way, and that is the way of change.
    The mere mention of change is enough to make me cringe. Are the changes easy? No. Do they feel disastrous? Sometimes. Will they be worth it? Always. Clinging to His hand, you and I can walk our allegorical paths and know that each step of the journey is one step nearer Him. 
    

Mystery Stories

     It must have started with Boxcar Children and Bobbsey Twins. Somewhere along the way I got introduced to Encyclopedia Brown, and I was hooked. For years, I wasn't that interested in something that wasn't a mystery. Soon it was Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, and The Three Investigators. At last I ended up with Sherlock Holmes, Hercule Poirot, and Jane Marple.  Today, I read an occasional mystery story, but I am equally happy to satisfy myself solving the mysteries one finds in an occasional escape room. 
    One thing I have learned throughout my long education of mysteries is that things are almost never what they seem.  I discover suddenly on chapter eighteen that a main character simply can't be trusted. Stone walls are never solid, and many times contain secret chambers behind them. The famous painting being guarded day and night turns out to be a clever forgery hung there by some devious guard working with a thieving gang. 

    I always find myself breathing a sigh of relief as one by one the mysteries are unmasked and truth is set free. Such a relief it is to finally see the complete and honest picture when the hoaxes are all ripped away! 

    Although the façade we find in stories seem futile, we don't have so much of an aversion to them in real life. I've noticed it starts in third or fourth grade. Suddenly it is no longer socially acceptable to like your teacher. We start to worry about what brand of shoes are the best. Those that struggle in sports or in their schoolwork do their best to hide behind cutting up, a no-care attitude, or loud bluster.

    As we grow older, it extends to other areas. We find ourselves trying to mask things that we think other people won't like about us. Desperate to fit into what we think is the mold, we cover up our real feelings. We hide the fact that we had fun hanging out with someone that's not in the popular group. Our houses must be in perfect order before we can invite company lest someone realize that we actually don't have everything under control.

    Of course I'd like to encourage everyone to drop the mask, slide out from behind the perceived safety of a façade and grasp the courage to be the real you, but that's not the thought that impressed me today. My heart turns to the perceptions we have of our Heavenly Father. Sometimes we imagine He somehow is wearing a mask just like we do. We began to suspect that He is just pretending to care about us. There are days we imagine Him leaving us to fend for ourselves, and tossing us only a few leftover blessings if He thinks of it.

    But He is Truth! His love for each one of is not a hoax. It is real and living. His care for us extends to every little detail. The hard things that come to us are not proof that our Father has left us alone. His heart is still with us, His hand still reaching for ours. His Truth will never change. There are no hoaxes, no facades, no masks.

   The greatest mystery, as far as I can tell, is how He is able to love us just as we are, with all our faults and failures. How He is able to see past our feeble efforts at masking our inadequacies and love us for exactly who we are. Someday I look forward to discovering the answer in the glorious home He is preparing for us all where Truth will stand eternal. Will you meet me there?