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?
Saturday, December 19, 2009
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
Saturday, October 24, 2009
When Enough is More Than Enough
“I’m exhausted,” a friend said, collapsing into a chair. She was considering cutting back on some of her activities.
“You can’t do everything,” I offered.
In no way was I preaching to her; I was simply repeating my own personal mantra: I can’t do it all.
The old anti-drug slogan, “Just say no!” is hard for me to apply to a worthy cause. My friend had the same problem. There are so many worthwhile activities that need our participation, not to mention all the work required to keep our homes up and running.
When my children were small, I read a wonderful little booklet titled, Tyranny of the Urgent. I learned that urgent tasks are not the same as important tasks. Urgent tasks may scream at me to be completed, but they are things that I wouldn’t mind having someone else do, like clean house, shampoo the carpet, or wash the car.
But important things are those that I would not let someone else do: read bedtime stories, make brownies for a family picnic, or care for a sick loved one.
The urgent can usually wait; the truly important cannot.
But what about all those important things outside my home that vie for my limited time? How do I choose?
Jesus told the parable of 10 young women who waited for a traditional wedding celebration to begin. They waited all night. Five were prepared with extra oil for their lamps, and five were not. When the call rang out at midnight, all ten got up, and the five without enough oil asked the others to share.
Jesus said the five with extra oil did not share with the others. Gently, but wisely, they said, “No.”
The point of the parable was to be prepared. But I believe the Lord was also trying to show us something about personal boundaries. Sometimes we have to say no rather than use up everything we have and then be caught short.
I believe that applies to our energy, time and emotional strength as well as oil.
Will the world come to a premature end if I don’t attend that workshop? Do I really need to serve on another committee? Will anyone care if my floor isn’t mopped today?
Psalm 16:5, 6 says, “Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; … The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; …”
That portion and those boundary lines denote limits for our blessing and for our good. Life without limits can be dangerous.
So what do we do as Christians who want to do the right thing? Do we give up all our charitable efforts?
Absolutely not.
Instead, we pray about the demands and requests on our time, and ask God what His priorities are for our lives.
After we know for certain, we “just say no” to everything else. The Bible tells us to speak the truth in love. That would include a gentle “no” without impatience or hatefulness.
And finally, we must not let guilt rob us of our rest. The Lord tells us, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt.11:28).
If you end up with an extra afternoon and “nothing” to do, spend some time outside enjoying the cooler weather and fall sunshine. Go for a walk, or just talk to the Lord, praising him for leading you in your decisions.
And be sure to thank him for helping you to “just say no.”
“You can’t do everything,” I offered.
In no way was I preaching to her; I was simply repeating my own personal mantra: I can’t do it all.
The old anti-drug slogan, “Just say no!” is hard for me to apply to a worthy cause. My friend had the same problem. There are so many worthwhile activities that need our participation, not to mention all the work required to keep our homes up and running.
When my children were small, I read a wonderful little booklet titled, Tyranny of the Urgent. I learned that urgent tasks are not the same as important tasks. Urgent tasks may scream at me to be completed, but they are things that I wouldn’t mind having someone else do, like clean house, shampoo the carpet, or wash the car.
But important things are those that I would not let someone else do: read bedtime stories, make brownies for a family picnic, or care for a sick loved one.
The urgent can usually wait; the truly important cannot.
But what about all those important things outside my home that vie for my limited time? How do I choose?
Jesus told the parable of 10 young women who waited for a traditional wedding celebration to begin. They waited all night. Five were prepared with extra oil for their lamps, and five were not. When the call rang out at midnight, all ten got up, and the five without enough oil asked the others to share.
Jesus said the five with extra oil did not share with the others. Gently, but wisely, they said, “No.”
The point of the parable was to be prepared. But I believe the Lord was also trying to show us something about personal boundaries. Sometimes we have to say no rather than use up everything we have and then be caught short.
I believe that applies to our energy, time and emotional strength as well as oil.
Will the world come to a premature end if I don’t attend that workshop? Do I really need to serve on another committee? Will anyone care if my floor isn’t mopped today?
Psalm 16:5, 6 says, “Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; … The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; …”
That portion and those boundary lines denote limits for our blessing and for our good. Life without limits can be dangerous.
So what do we do as Christians who want to do the right thing? Do we give up all our charitable efforts?
Absolutely not.
Instead, we pray about the demands and requests on our time, and ask God what His priorities are for our lives.
After we know for certain, we “just say no” to everything else. The Bible tells us to speak the truth in love. That would include a gentle “no” without impatience or hatefulness.
And finally, we must not let guilt rob us of our rest. The Lord tells us, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matt.11:28).
If you end up with an extra afternoon and “nothing” to do, spend some time outside enjoying the cooler weather and fall sunshine. Go for a walk, or just talk to the Lord, praising him for leading you in your decisions.
And be sure to thank him for helping you to “just say no.”
Sunday, October 11, 2009
What Rocks Your World
It started with an antique tea canister in the kitchen and the tinny tune it played as it rattled back and forth.
Why was it moving?
Soon, other canisters joined in the song, then the cupboard doors, the framed pictures on a shelf, and a deep rumbling beneath my feet. Earthquake.
Within 20 minutes, two smaller temblors struck, shaking our hilltop home, reminding me that this world is on shaky footing at best. However, the hands that hold it are steady as a rock.
“The Lord is my rock,” wrote the Psalmist. “Who is the Rock, except our God?” (Psalm 18:2,31b).
It’s difficult to picture a rock as comforting, but frequently scripture uses the metaphor to help us understand a spiritual principle.
Isaiah wrote of “the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land” (Isaiah 32:2b) I can’t help but envision a treeless plain with no refuge in sight – until a weary soul stumbles upon a rock big enough to offer shade from a blazing sun or shelter from a blistering windstorm.
Again, the Psalmist wrote, “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I” (Psalm 61:2b) That is exactly what I need when I am in need – something, Someone bigger than myself.
When Moses asked to see the glory of God, the Almighty said to him, “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by (Ex. 33:21,22).
That’s where I want to be – a place near God where I can stand on a rock while He hides me with His hand. How grateful I am that He is that close, that He is the shade that protects me from the heat of oppression and the wind of torment.
Jesus is the Rock of my salvation. He is the sure foundation upon which I base my trust, my life, my hope. Whether earthquake or soul-quaking news, when my world is rocked, thank God He is the Rock that is higher than I.
Why was it moving?
Soon, other canisters joined in the song, then the cupboard doors, the framed pictures on a shelf, and a deep rumbling beneath my feet. Earthquake.
Within 20 minutes, two smaller temblors struck, shaking our hilltop home, reminding me that this world is on shaky footing at best. However, the hands that hold it are steady as a rock.
“The Lord is my rock,” wrote the Psalmist. “Who is the Rock, except our God?” (Psalm 18:2,31b).
It’s difficult to picture a rock as comforting, but frequently scripture uses the metaphor to help us understand a spiritual principle.
Isaiah wrote of “the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land” (Isaiah 32:2b) I can’t help but envision a treeless plain with no refuge in sight – until a weary soul stumbles upon a rock big enough to offer shade from a blazing sun or shelter from a blistering windstorm.
Again, the Psalmist wrote, “Lead me to the rock that is higher than I” (Psalm 61:2b) That is exactly what I need when I am in need – something, Someone bigger than myself.
When Moses asked to see the glory of God, the Almighty said to him, “There is a place near me where you may stand on a rock. When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by (Ex. 33:21,22).
That’s where I want to be – a place near God where I can stand on a rock while He hides me with His hand. How grateful I am that He is that close, that He is the shade that protects me from the heat of oppression and the wind of torment.
Jesus is the Rock of my salvation. He is the sure foundation upon which I base my trust, my life, my hope. Whether earthquake or soul-quaking news, when my world is rocked, thank God He is the Rock that is higher than I.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Walking in the Light
When my husband and I were first married, we had a two-in-one flashlight. It was equipped with the standard high-beam light that shone from one end like most models, but it also had a softer, more radiant light that spread from a second bulb along the top.
One evening I took the flashlight outside for a trek to the barn. The standard beam lit the path ahead, punching through the dark toward my destination. I switched to the second light and it illuminated my steps and the area right around me, spreading into the shadows on either side. But I couldn’t have both lights on at the same time; I had to choose one or the other.
As I walked, the Psalmist’s prayer came to mind: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105). Suddenly, I understood the metaphor. God’s wisdom shows me the path ahead as well as the ground beneath my feet. But unlike my hand-held flashlight that required an either-or choice, His word sheds the light of understanding in both ways at the same time. His word is indeed a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.
The Psalmist also wrote, “You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light” (Psalm 18:28).
And that’s exactly what I need in life – a never-failing power source that faithfully shows me the way to go and how to get there. The Lord’s light cuts through my darkness, and the lamp of His love envelops me with the comfort of His presence.
One evening I took the flashlight outside for a trek to the barn. The standard beam lit the path ahead, punching through the dark toward my destination. I switched to the second light and it illuminated my steps and the area right around me, spreading into the shadows on either side. But I couldn’t have both lights on at the same time; I had to choose one or the other.
As I walked, the Psalmist’s prayer came to mind: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path” (Psalm 119:105). Suddenly, I understood the metaphor. God’s wisdom shows me the path ahead as well as the ground beneath my feet. But unlike my hand-held flashlight that required an either-or choice, His word sheds the light of understanding in both ways at the same time. His word is indeed a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.
The Psalmist also wrote, “You, O Lord, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light” (Psalm 18:28).
And that’s exactly what I need in life – a never-failing power source that faithfully shows me the way to go and how to get there. The Lord’s light cuts through my darkness, and the lamp of His love envelops me with the comfort of His presence.
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