Oscar Hammerstein II said the hills were alive with the sound of music. Where I live, that music plays against verdant pastures and brilliantly green hillsides. Angus cow-calf pairs dot the scene like quarter notes on a musical score. Each cow has a calf at her side, and she paces her stride to match its own faltering steps.
The calves are so fresh and new that they shine like onyx in the morning sun, dark against the grass their mothers graze. There is a tenderness in it all, in the grass, in the animals – a moment set against the rush of time when nothing matters but the protection and nurturing of a young life.
I drive through this landscape every morning on my way to school. And in the late afternoon I return on the same road to see long shadows thrown across the pastures by the grazing cattle.
Yesterday it was warmer; the temperature had climbed into the high 60s, and the cows had turned their eyes away from the sun, their backs to the west. As I slowed to watch them, I wondered what there was of God out in that pasture. I knew there was something there, something He would say to me if I paused in my hurry home, and searched for His message.
The cow closest to the fence line along the road stood at an odd angle, sideways to the sunlight. Her shadow stretched wide across the grass, and several feet away lay her resting calf, tucked exactly within the edges of her cool shade, sheltered from the heat of the day.
She knew.
She knew exactly how to stand to shade her calf, and she stayed there until the glare of the sun had passed.
“He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 91:1 NIV).
Our God knows, too. He knows exactly what we need, and He is there to let us rest in the shadow of His comfort.
And if we still our hearts, we may even hear the music of His love around us.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Your Oxygen
On my return flight from Colorado this past holiday season, I listened to the familiar emergency survival instructions as the plane taxied out to the runway.
If the cabin lost pressure, the stewardess said, an oxygen mask would release from the overhead compartment directly above each passenger. Using a demonstration mask, she showed us how to slip the elastic band over the back of our heads, secure the mask over nose and mouth, and breathe normally.
Then she cautioned that in the event of such an emergency, we were to put on our own masks before we tried to help the person seated next to us – even if that person was a child.
At first, this seemed like a harsh statement, but it soon made sense. How could I help anyone else if I were about to lose consciousness myself?
This practical, life-saving advice applies to other areas of our lives, as well, yet too often we fail to consider its logic. Instead, we offer advice to our friends in difficult situations when we don’t have a solid grip on our own challenges. We try to give them answers, when we’re not even certain of the questions.
It all comes down to preparation. Are we prepared? Are we grounded in the Word of God? Do we know where our lifeline is – our emotional and spiritual oxygen mask – in case of depressurization?
Sadly, many of us don’t. We don’t spend time every day reading the promises and assurances of God. We don’t fill ourselves with the confidence of His faithfulness. Therefore, when the air gets thin, we start to panic. What good will we be to anyone else in that condition, much less to ourselves?
Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 19:19). Do you really love yourself in the way God wants you to, or do you ignore His grace and belittle yourself for not measuring up? Do you love yourself enough to get the spiritual nourishment you need?
Start today by opening God’s word and taking a deep breath of His life-giving wisdom. Be prepared so you’ll be able to help others near you who may be gasping for air.
If the cabin lost pressure, the stewardess said, an oxygen mask would release from the overhead compartment directly above each passenger. Using a demonstration mask, she showed us how to slip the elastic band over the back of our heads, secure the mask over nose and mouth, and breathe normally.
Then she cautioned that in the event of such an emergency, we were to put on our own masks before we tried to help the person seated next to us – even if that person was a child.
At first, this seemed like a harsh statement, but it soon made sense. How could I help anyone else if I were about to lose consciousness myself?
This practical, life-saving advice applies to other areas of our lives, as well, yet too often we fail to consider its logic. Instead, we offer advice to our friends in difficult situations when we don’t have a solid grip on our own challenges. We try to give them answers, when we’re not even certain of the questions.
It all comes down to preparation. Are we prepared? Are we grounded in the Word of God? Do we know where our lifeline is – our emotional and spiritual oxygen mask – in case of depressurization?
Sadly, many of us don’t. We don’t spend time every day reading the promises and assurances of God. We don’t fill ourselves with the confidence of His faithfulness. Therefore, when the air gets thin, we start to panic. What good will we be to anyone else in that condition, much less to ourselves?
Jesus said, “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Matt. 19:19). Do you really love yourself in the way God wants you to, or do you ignore His grace and belittle yourself for not measuring up? Do you love yourself enough to get the spiritual nourishment you need?
Start today by opening God’s word and taking a deep breath of His life-giving wisdom. Be prepared so you’ll be able to help others near you who may be gasping for air.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Window Watching
Elvis Presley once described television as a box with a window in it – a one-way window with people looking in but no one looking out.
He was right.
I have one of those windows in my living room, and another very similar window on my desk. In fact, I have many windows on my desk via a computer system of the same name that allows me to see more than one place at one time.
However, I prefer the window above my desk through which I can see a portion of the living world where greening hills cradle a glassy pond, and still-gold cottonwoods flame up from the valley floor like torches.
Sometimes I sit for long uninterrupted moments taking in the view, exploring from a distance the sheer rocky brow of a neighboring hillside, or the rippling breath of dawn as it brushes across the pond lighting the water and waking geese and ducks and egrets. It’s the constancy of life that draws my gaze outside, and it calms me during otherwise tedious hours of chasing black words across the white window of my computer screen. And it calms me immeasurably more than whatever happens to be on the television in the other room.
But the window that gives something in return, even more than the pastoral setting of our surroundings, is God’s word. When I look into that window I find out who I am and where I’m going. I see the one who loves me like no other can; I see a pathway ahead that, should I choose it, will take me into God’s very presence. And I find deeper peace than even the most beautiful of earthly settings can offer.
Not everyone has a breath-taking view out a picture window. Many do, yet they rarely take the time to drink it in. But everyone can get a copy of the Bible today, whether in print or online. This year, regardless of your situation, make the choice to look through the window of God’s word to find your way. Unlike the people on television, He is there looking back at you, waiting for you to join Him.
He was right.
I have one of those windows in my living room, and another very similar window on my desk. In fact, I have many windows on my desk via a computer system of the same name that allows me to see more than one place at one time.
However, I prefer the window above my desk through which I can see a portion of the living world where greening hills cradle a glassy pond, and still-gold cottonwoods flame up from the valley floor like torches.
Sometimes I sit for long uninterrupted moments taking in the view, exploring from a distance the sheer rocky brow of a neighboring hillside, or the rippling breath of dawn as it brushes across the pond lighting the water and waking geese and ducks and egrets. It’s the constancy of life that draws my gaze outside, and it calms me during otherwise tedious hours of chasing black words across the white window of my computer screen. And it calms me immeasurably more than whatever happens to be on the television in the other room.
But the window that gives something in return, even more than the pastoral setting of our surroundings, is God’s word. When I look into that window I find out who I am and where I’m going. I see the one who loves me like no other can; I see a pathway ahead that, should I choose it, will take me into God’s very presence. And I find deeper peace than even the most beautiful of earthly settings can offer.
Not everyone has a breath-taking view out a picture window. Many do, yet they rarely take the time to drink it in. But everyone can get a copy of the Bible today, whether in print or online. This year, regardless of your situation, make the choice to look through the window of God’s word to find your way. Unlike the people on television, He is there looking back at you, waiting for you to join Him.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
The Perfect Christmas Gift
If you were God, how would you introduce yourself to your creation?
I’d be 27 years old, a perfect size 8 with flawless complexion, no white hair and an IQ of 145.
I would not show up as a baby, completely helpless and totally dependent upon two people who arrived in town after all the motel rooms were taken and had to sleep in a lean-to. Or a cave.
Good thing I’m not God.
But why a baby?
It’s simple, really. God wanted to become a human, and there is only one way to become a human and that is to be born.
Humans can’t get away from sin. It’s an inherited trait – in the blood, so to speak. God chose to become a human so he could stop the endless cycle by paying man’s long-overdue sin account himself.
So He played by the rules and was born. But he bypassed the blood-born pathogen of sin through birth by a virgin – the virgin who conceived through the seed of God, not sin-filled man. The embryo she carried developed its own blood system, as do all human embryos, and since the mother’s blood does not mix with her baby’s, the baby inherited no sin.
A perfect human.
This god-man lived a sinless life, so when he was killed, his sin-less blood was undeserving of death, and in the eyes of God, that blood paid the penalty of sin and washed away mankind’s debt.
A perfect sacrifice.
Only God could come up with a plan like that.
But He didn’t just pay and run. He conquered death and lived again to walk beside us in our own life-living.
So, you see, Christmas is really all about sacrifice. Maybe that’s why red and green are such prominent seasonal colors: the blood-red ribbons that flow from our evergreen boughs remind of us the Perfect Life that gives the rest of us eternal, ever-life.
If we accept the gift.
And who could refuse a gift like that?
I’d be 27 years old, a perfect size 8 with flawless complexion, no white hair and an IQ of 145.
I would not show up as a baby, completely helpless and totally dependent upon two people who arrived in town after all the motel rooms were taken and had to sleep in a lean-to. Or a cave.
Good thing I’m not God.
But why a baby?
It’s simple, really. God wanted to become a human, and there is only one way to become a human and that is to be born.
Humans can’t get away from sin. It’s an inherited trait – in the blood, so to speak. God chose to become a human so he could stop the endless cycle by paying man’s long-overdue sin account himself.
So He played by the rules and was born. But he bypassed the blood-born pathogen of sin through birth by a virgin – the virgin who conceived through the seed of God, not sin-filled man. The embryo she carried developed its own blood system, as do all human embryos, and since the mother’s blood does not mix with her baby’s, the baby inherited no sin.
A perfect human.
This god-man lived a sinless life, so when he was killed, his sin-less blood was undeserving of death, and in the eyes of God, that blood paid the penalty of sin and washed away mankind’s debt.
A perfect sacrifice.
Only God could come up with a plan like that.
But He didn’t just pay and run. He conquered death and lived again to walk beside us in our own life-living.
So, you see, Christmas is really all about sacrifice. Maybe that’s why red and green are such prominent seasonal colors: the blood-red ribbons that flow from our evergreen boughs remind of us the Perfect Life that gives the rest of us eternal, ever-life.
If we accept the gift.
And who could refuse a gift like that?
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Unanswered prayer
Have you ever prayed for something so long that when it finally showed up you didn’t believe it?
Zechariah did. He was a Jewish priest in 1st-century Judea who prayed for years that he and his wife Elizabeth would have a child.
This man knew the miraculous stories of barren women giving birth to such giants of the faith as Isaac and Samuel. But they had lived decades earlier, not in the modern times of the Roman Empire, and so far, no tiny fingers had ever grasped his own.
Maybe he just quit praying. Or quit believing. Or maybe he figured that God’s answer was “no.”
And maybe that had something to do with his reaction when an angel stepped up and took his breath away with news that Elizabeth was going to have a baby boy.
I wonder what I would say to an angel like that – if I could get the words out. If I didn’t pass out. Hopefully I wouldn’t say what Zechariah said: “How can I be sure of this?” (Luke 1:18 NIV)
Hopefully the sudden and inexplicable appearance of an unusual figure telling me about something no one knew but God would, in itself, make a believer out of me.
But for whatever reason, Zechariah doubted, and because of that doubt he ended up speechless.
A few months later the same angel told a teenage girl that she would bear the Messiah for whom Israel waited. This girl Mary said what the more experienced and well-versed priest should have said: “OK. I am the Lord’s servant.”
Young Mary had a question, yes, but it wasn’t one of faith, it was a point of understanding. She knew how children were conceived and she knew she was still a virgin. And when the angel explained, Mary said, “OK.”
I want to be like Mary. I want to say, “OK, God,” when He sends an unbelievable event my way. I don’t want to recite every reasonable obstacle to my faith and say, “I don’t know about this, God.”
I want to say, “I’m your servant, Lord. Whatever you say.”
But the truth is, I’m more often like Zechariah – knowing God’s faithfulness and still wondering how He will do the impossible. And that’s why I’m encouraged by God’s choice of this man, the man whose first spoken words after months of silence were praise to a faithful God.
Yes, he knew the history of his people; yes, he had grown weary in his faith. But God had not given up on him, and He knew that Zechariah was the one to teach this child of “the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins” (Luke 1:77 NIV).
God gives all of us opportunities to say, “yes,” whether sooner or later. What will your choice be this Christmas season?
What will you say?
Zechariah did. He was a Jewish priest in 1st-century Judea who prayed for years that he and his wife Elizabeth would have a child.
This man knew the miraculous stories of barren women giving birth to such giants of the faith as Isaac and Samuel. But they had lived decades earlier, not in the modern times of the Roman Empire, and so far, no tiny fingers had ever grasped his own.
Maybe he just quit praying. Or quit believing. Or maybe he figured that God’s answer was “no.”
And maybe that had something to do with his reaction when an angel stepped up and took his breath away with news that Elizabeth was going to have a baby boy.
I wonder what I would say to an angel like that – if I could get the words out. If I didn’t pass out. Hopefully I wouldn’t say what Zechariah said: “How can I be sure of this?” (Luke 1:18 NIV)
Hopefully the sudden and inexplicable appearance of an unusual figure telling me about something no one knew but God would, in itself, make a believer out of me.
But for whatever reason, Zechariah doubted, and because of that doubt he ended up speechless.
A few months later the same angel told a teenage girl that she would bear the Messiah for whom Israel waited. This girl Mary said what the more experienced and well-versed priest should have said: “OK. I am the Lord’s servant.”
Young Mary had a question, yes, but it wasn’t one of faith, it was a point of understanding. She knew how children were conceived and she knew she was still a virgin. And when the angel explained, Mary said, “OK.”
I want to be like Mary. I want to say, “OK, God,” when He sends an unbelievable event my way. I don’t want to recite every reasonable obstacle to my faith and say, “I don’t know about this, God.”
I want to say, “I’m your servant, Lord. Whatever you say.”
But the truth is, I’m more often like Zechariah – knowing God’s faithfulness and still wondering how He will do the impossible. And that’s why I’m encouraged by God’s choice of this man, the man whose first spoken words after months of silence were praise to a faithful God.
Yes, he knew the history of his people; yes, he had grown weary in his faith. But God had not given up on him, and He knew that Zechariah was the one to teach this child of “the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins” (Luke 1:77 NIV).
God gives all of us opportunities to say, “yes,” whether sooner or later. What will your choice be this Christmas season?
What will you say?
Saturday, November 21, 2009
No second-hand days
I love a good bargain. And I love finding surprises in unexpected places like thrift stores and garage sales. Those discoveries make me feel like the Proverbs 31 woman who brings her treasures from afar.
But when I looked out the window above my desk this morning, I realized that God isn’t always that thrifty. Sure, I saw the same old cottonwoods glittering in their autumn gold, and the ridge tops wore their familiar oak silhouette, but the day itself was unique.
“A brand new day,” I thought. “God has done it again; He’s given us a brand new, never-been-used-before morning.”
There are no second-hand days with God.
If the Creator'd had only one day to give us, I believe He would have. I base that judgment upon how He’s handled other valuable gifts, particularly His son.
God has one perfect son, Jesus, and He gave Him for our imperfect lives. Do we even begin to understand the depth of that giving?
Not only do we have brand new lives because of Jesus, we have a sparkling, new hope because of Him.
And we have never-been-used-before mornings for which to praise Him, every single day.
Now there’s something to be thankful for.
But when I looked out the window above my desk this morning, I realized that God isn’t always that thrifty. Sure, I saw the same old cottonwoods glittering in their autumn gold, and the ridge tops wore their familiar oak silhouette, but the day itself was unique.
“A brand new day,” I thought. “God has done it again; He’s given us a brand new, never-been-used-before morning.”
There are no second-hand days with God.
If the Creator'd had only one day to give us, I believe He would have. I base that judgment upon how He’s handled other valuable gifts, particularly His son.
God has one perfect son, Jesus, and He gave Him for our imperfect lives. Do we even begin to understand the depth of that giving?
Not only do we have brand new lives because of Jesus, we have a sparkling, new hope because of Him.
And we have never-been-used-before mornings for which to praise Him, every single day.
Now there’s something to be thankful for.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Veterans of a different battle
After two days of excruciating pain and two more of mind-numbing drugs, I learned several things.
1. It is not wise to ignore new, inexplicable pain – it’s trying to tell you something.
2. I can walk and work more slowly and the world will not fall off its axis.
3. Breakfast in bed is not all it’s cracked up to be.
4. And if that bed is “in the depths,” God is still there (Psalm 139:8b).
As I wrote in my last posting, many of us do more than we should, and need to cut back.
But more recently I learned that everything can be cut back, and life does not come to an end.
Sickness was not part of my plan last week, but as hour after hour stacked up more and more unfinished tasks and beautifully orchestrated expectations, I was forced to let go of each and every one, lie back in the arms of the Lord, and let Him carry me.
I found, again, that He is there. And I remembered that He is a veteran of pain.
As we look this week to our military veterans who have offered and often laid down their lives for our freedom, let us also consider the silent suffering by those of whom we may not be aware. They, too, are veterans – veterans of knowing that God is there, even when they don’t understand the why’s of their situations.
I have heard the dear mother of one such sufferer say with deep conviction, “O our God … We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon You” (II Chronicles 20:12b).
Indeed, Lord. Our eyes are upon You
1. It is not wise to ignore new, inexplicable pain – it’s trying to tell you something.
2. I can walk and work more slowly and the world will not fall off its axis.
3. Breakfast in bed is not all it’s cracked up to be.
4. And if that bed is “in the depths,” God is still there (Psalm 139:8b).
As I wrote in my last posting, many of us do more than we should, and need to cut back.
But more recently I learned that everything can be cut back, and life does not come to an end.
Sickness was not part of my plan last week, but as hour after hour stacked up more and more unfinished tasks and beautifully orchestrated expectations, I was forced to let go of each and every one, lie back in the arms of the Lord, and let Him carry me.
I found, again, that He is there. And I remembered that He is a veteran of pain.
As we look this week to our military veterans who have offered and often laid down their lives for our freedom, let us also consider the silent suffering by those of whom we may not be aware. They, too, are veterans – veterans of knowing that God is there, even when they don’t understand the why’s of their situations.
I have heard the dear mother of one such sufferer say with deep conviction, “O our God … We do not know what to do, but our eyes are upon You” (II Chronicles 20:12b).
Indeed, Lord. Our eyes are upon You
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