A light in the hall

Photo: Light arises in the dark

“Nana, leave the door open a little bit.”

My little granddaughter always reminds me, when I have the joy of tucking her in bed, that part of the ritual is adjusting the door to her specifications. She doesn’t like darkness. Who does?

When the door is shut and light is blocked out the things we fear the most begin to stir under the bed. We hear them stretch and yawn in the closet. They slip out from behind the curtains. They tap against the window.

My husband, brilliant scientist that he is, reminded me this week that darkness has no power over light. You cannot aim darkness at light and see the light dim. There is no such thing as a flashdark.

The only way we can create total darkness is to intentionally block out every source of light.

I remember visiting the Lewis and Clark caverns when I was a child. Deep in the earth the guide turned off the lights to demonstrate real darkness. Even this was not total darkness since my dad had glow-in-the-dark hands on the watch on his wrist.

I hear people talk about how we need to be aware of dark times approaching, how we need to be aware of dark spirits where we least expect them, how we need to be aware of the lies and secrets hiding in the dark corners of our hearts. As they focus on these things I see fear stirring under the bed; I hear hopelessness yawning in the closet; I see despair slip out from behind the curtains; I sense paranoia tapping on the window.

Every Sunday we begin our service by having a child light a candle and say, “Jesus is the light of the world.” Every Sunday, because we need to be reminded not to shut out the light.

Psalm 112 tells us how to leave the door open enough to remind us that Abba Father never sleeps and keeps watch over us.

Blessed is the man who fears the Lord,

who greatly delights in his commandments!

 His offspring will be mighty in the land;

the generation of the upright will be blessed.

 Wealth and riches are in his house,

and his righteousness endures forever.

 Light dawns in the darkness for the upright;

he is gracious, merciful, and righteous.

 It is well with the man who deals generously and lends;

who conducts his affairs with justice.

 For the righteous will never be moved;

he will be remembered forever.

 He is not afraid of bad news;

his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord.

 His heart is steady; he will not be afraid,

until he looks in triumph on his adversaries.

 He has distributed freely; he has given to the poor;

his righteousness endures forever;

his horn is exalted in honor.

 The wicked man sees it and is angry;

he gnashes his teeth and melts away;

the desire of the wicked will perish!

Psalm 112

When we remain constantly aware of  Holy Spirit’s presence and the riches of  His goodness and faithfulness we can afford to be gracious, merciful and righteous.We give out of the overflow of our hearts.

We can be a source of light in the world.

Worship in the plum tree cathedral

Photo: Plum blossom

One thing have I asked of the Lord,

that will I seek after:

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord

all the days of my life,

to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord

and to inquire in his temple.

Psalm 27:4

Quit picking on Martha

Quit picking on Martha.

She changed. Give the girl some credit. Yes she was guilty of asking Jesus to nag her sister Mary to get off her butt and help her. At virtually every women’s retreat or conference we get to hear references to how Mary had chosen the better way, with the implication that practically minded people are less spiritual somehow.

I have a friend with a gift of service who becomes upset by referrals to Jesus’ apparent criticism of Martha. She says, “Well somebody’s got to get dinner on the table. It ain’t gonna get there by itself!”

It strikes me now that perhaps Jesus was not chiding Martha for fussing in the kitchen, but because she hadn’t asked him what he wanted. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate her contribution or that Jesus liked Mary’s personality more. I wonder if  his “Martha, Martha, tsk tsk” remark was because Martha’s contribution at that occasion was really about her priorities and not his. Maybe he had already eaten.

I did this. I made my hubby a “special gift” dinner of barbequed ribs — mostly because I had a craving for barbequed ribs. When I called him for dinner he said, “But I’m not eating.” I was kind of mad about that, with all the extra work involved and everything. This all-day recipe involved slow roasting the ribs on a rack over a certain liquid in the turkey roaster and then concocting a “secret” sauce (which was freely floating around the internet) and then finishing them on the barbeque.

He said, “I told you yesterday that I was fasting today. Didn’t you hear me?”

When I thought about it I sort of remembered him telling me, but I guess I wasn’t really paying attention.

Many times people have gone out of the way to do hospitality/entertaining right for us, but because of allergies and calorie restrictions we can’t eat the things they slaved over. I’ll never forget our first Christmas season after we were married. This was when we realized the combined social obligations to two extended families needed review. We were foolish enough to try to attend four turkey dinners within 24 hours. By the time we waddled in to Aunt Maude’s (the fourth engagement) jellied salad was extruding from our ears. Her hair was frizzed and waving in the air from guarding over a boiling pot of pyrogies when she expressed indignation that we barely touched her masterpiece trifle, not to mention that one of us (no names) had spilled punch on her freshly stripped and re-waxed rumpus room floor.

I once spent a couple of hours of a family weekend “trapped” in the kitchen churning out squares and goodies, while everyone else played games, because I was taught that this was what was required of a good hostess (even though I couldn’t eat ANY of it and rather resented having to do it all by myself). Most of it was hardly touched because people don’t indulge in sweets like they used to. I felt unappreciated –and they said they missed me at the Trivial Pursuit table. A bowl of peanuts was really all they wanted .

So often we do things to try to honour God because someone has told us this is the proper way to do it, this is how worship is done, but we forget to listen and pay attention to what HE wants. Sometimes he doesn’t want a big worship music/dance/drama production with sets and full orchestra. If  He doesn’t intervene when the lead singer gets laryngitis or the power goes out half-way through we get upset and say, “But Lord, why didn’t you answer our prayers for help? All this was to glorify you!” And he says, “Oh, really?”

Sometimes he merely wants us to sit down quietly beside him and listen –and pass the peanuts.

But here’s the thing; Martha DID learn to listen. In John 11, where we are told the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, this phrase stood out to me: “Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and  Lazarus.”

Martha. Martha and her sister, not Mary and her sister.

And the following conversation gives a big clue about faith and the working of miracles:

“If only you had been here, Lord,” said Martha, “my brother would never have died. And I know that, even now, God will give you whatever you ask from him.”

 “Your brother will rise again,” Jesus replied to her.

 “I know,” said Martha, “that he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day.”

 “I myself am the resurrection and the life,” Jesus told her. “The man who believes in me will live even though he dies, and anyone who is alive and believes in me will never die at all. Can you believe that?”

 “Yes, Lord,” replied Martha. “I do believe that you are Christ, the Son of God, the one who was to come into the world.”

It was Martha who had the insight that Jesus was the Christ. She listened.  She learned.  She changed.

People talk about Peter’s great revelation when he made a similar statement and he ended up with a huge cathedral in the middle of Rome with his name on it because of that moment.

What did Martha get? She got to see Jesus do what Jesus does, raise our dead hopes and show us what true life in him is all about.

Give the girl some credit.

Faith: it’s a good thing.

The Cowboy Trail

Photo: On the Cowboy Trail in cattle country, Alberta

I grew up in cattle country. How a country western/gospel music culture ever churned out an artsy-fartsy opera singer I’ll never know, but I can still sing country if I want to. This picture reminds me of the old song we sang around the campfire.

He owns the cattle on a thousand hills
The wealth in every mine,
He owns the rivers and the rocks and rills,
The sun and stars that shine,
Wonderful riches more than tongue can tell
He is my Father so they’re mine as well
He owns the cattle on a thousand hills
I know that He will care for me.

I’m still thinking about adoption and being loved and provided for by my heavenly Abba/Daddy. When He adopted me I became a full heir with access to all the riches of my Father’s kingdom. He’s still teaching me to use the gifts he has given responsibly, so that I might be an asset to my Father’s business, but I’m not a homeless street kid anymore.

God is good.

Come away

Photo: Flowering almond

 

My beloved spoke, and said to me:

“Rise up, my love, my fair one,

And come away.

 For lo, the winter is past,

The rain is over and gone.

 The flowers appear on the earth;

The time of singing has come”

 

Song of Solomon 2:10-12

As a mother

Photo: Preciousbaby's  foot charis

Mother’s Day can be horribly painful for some people.

I held more than one sobbing child in the big rocking chair during the darkest nights of their little lives. More than once I heard, “Why doesn’t my mommy love me?”

As a foster parent my own heart was torn up by the pain of little ones whose mothers chose alcohol or drugs over their kids, and with one exception all of the 24 children who arrived on our doorstep were there because their mothers’ own pain left them with nothing left to give. In the midst of drowning fear and emptiness they forgot their kids. It was hard to forgive them sometimes, but I realized that a person can’t give what they have never received, and these moms needed to be loved themselves.

God understands that too.

“Can a woman forget her nursing child,

    that she should have no compassion on the son of her womb?

Even these may forget,

    yet I will not forget you. (Isaiah 49:15)

None of us were parented perfectly. Even the most outstanding mother in the world has moments when her own deficits get in the way. That’s when Abba–Daddy-Father God, our Mother, can fill in. The Bible speaks of his gentle nurturing motherliness –something beyond gender.

For thus says the Lord:

“Behold, I will extend peace to her like a river,

    and the glory of the nations like an overflowing stream;

and you shall nurse, you shall be carried upon her hip,

    and bounced upon her knees.

As one whom his mother comforts,

    so I will comfort you;

    you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.

You shall see, and your heart shall rejoice;

     your bones shall flourish like the grass;

and the hand of the Lord shall be known to his servants,

    and he shall show his indignation against his enemies. (Isaiah 66: 12-14)

More than a foster parent he adopts us and makes us full heirs. This is why I love adoption. It is a picture of being chosen and of lives redeemed by a perfect parent –without age limit.

Sometimes he also uses someone else with skin on to be an agent of this grace.

Paul wrote: For we never came with words of flattery, as you know, nor with a pretext for greed— God is witness.   Nor did we seek glory from people, whether from you or from others, though we could have made demands as apostles of Christ. But we were gentle among you, like a nursing mother taking care of her own children. So, being affectionately desirous of you, we were ready to share with you not only the gospel of God but also our own selves, because you had become very dear to us.  (1 Thessalonians 23: 5-8)

A few years ago I wrote a hymn for Mother’s Day recognizing God as a mother and thanking him for all the “mothers” –biological, fostering, adopting, step-parenting, hosting, caring and mentoring (regardless of gender) he has put in our lives who have nurtured us in some way.

As a Mother

As a mother, on whose bosom,

rests a child in total trust,

so, oh Lord, You love and comfort

‘til our earth-bound fears are hushed.

As a mother guides and teaches

little children to obey

so, oh Lord, you firmly tell us,

“Listen child to what I say.”

As a mother waits with weeping

for a child who’s gone astray,

so, oh Lord, You wait with longing

‘til we find our homeward way.

As a mother who rejoices

when her child says, “I love you,”

so, oh Lord, Your heart rejoices

when we sing, “We love You too.”

We, your children, come before You

to give honour and to praise.

Thank you for the precious “mothers”

who have shown Your loving ways.

Help us, Lord, to love and nurture

those entrusted to our care,

‘til as one united family

we will live together there.

(suggested tune setting: The Welsh folksong, “Suo-Gan” )

God is good.

Can we talk?

Photo: under the May tree in my garden

 Don’t worry over anything whatever; tell God every detail of your needs in earnest and thankful prayer, and the peace of God which transcends human understanding, will keep constant guard over your hearts and minds as they rest in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:6

Hearts open wide

Photo: bleeding hearts in my garden

Yesterday, in the wee hours, I was rushed to the hospital with a medical crisis. The hospital staff was wonderful and within minutes an I.V. dripped relief into my arm. I won’t deny that I was in a lot of pain -excruciating pain. I was moaning and writhing and praying but I wasn’t afraid. I knew what caused the pain. I had experienced this scenario before and since capable people moved quickly to help and I knew we wouldn’t be hit with a big medical  bill (oh God, thank you for Canadian healthcare!) I could patiently (or semi-patiently) endure.

By evening I was home and still a little stoned on morphine, but doing quite all right. I debated about whether I really needed to swallow the pain meds I was given before I went to bed, but I decided it wouldn’t hurt to get some sleep, so I did.

When I awoke I had a horrendous headache, my hands and face and throat were swollen and I felt like I couldn’t get enough oxygen.

I was afraid.

It’s one thing to trust and patiently endure pain when you are fairly certain of a positive outcome eventually. It’s another when you have no idea what’s happening. This is not the time to introduce yourself to God or to re-new acquaintances. This is a moment when all you can do is squeeze out a “HELP!!” kind of prayer.

Obviously I’m OK now. I’m sitting here listening to Fernando Ortega, drinking Earl Grey tea, and posting a photo I took this afternoon of some of some bleeding heart flowers by my window. Their hearts open wide to sing his praise. God is good.

And if I had been sitting in heaven drinking tea with Jesus instead, he would still be good. My heart opens wide to sing his praise. Allelu.

Let us who are afraid find refuge in Christ and redemption assured in His name.

By day and by night we delight in His love and forever His words will remain.

Sing allelu, we rejoice in Your love Most High…

Fernando Ortega sings “Allelu” from The Odes Project -from the oldest collection of  hymns of the early church set to new music:

Radiant Hope

Photos: Sunflowers on Eager Hill

May the God of hope fill you with joy and peace in your faith, that by the power of the Holy Spirit, your whole life and outlook may be radiant with hope. Romans 15:13