HEALED.....TO SERVE?

A couple of weeks ago, Deon preached a Sunday evening sermon based on Mark 1:29-31 that made me feel like he had been a "fly on the wall" at my house. In this passage, Jesus and his disciples go to the house of Simon and Andrew, where Jesus learns that Simon's mother-in-law is sick in bed with a fever. Jesus heals the woman of the fever, and she responds by immediately beginning to serve Christ and his followers. Why did Deon's sermon on this passage seem so extraordinarily personal to me?

Two days earlier, I had been sitting at the kitchen table talking with my sister and her husband, who were visiting from out of town. One minute, I was feeling great and enjoying the conversation. The next minute - WHAM - my head felt like it was going to explode, my vision grew blurry, and breakfast decided it was ready to "evacuate the premises." I spent the rest of that Friday either kneeling in front of the household porcelain idol or trying to lie absolutely motionless in bed - the day passed in a dark, painful blur. By Friday evening, my legs felt weak as water but the headache had subsided slightly and the world wasn't spinning as fast whenever I opened my eyes. I staggered into the kitchen thinking that I needed fluids and my neglected kids probably needed dinner. In the kitchen, I discovered my pastor's wife, Gaye, along with an assortment of kids - some of them mine, some of them hers, plus a few others. Oh, no! I thought, I forgot all about the kids' drama practice tonight! I pressed my palms against my throbbing head and tried to ignore my churning stomach. "Hey, you don't look so good!" Gaye laughed. She then assured me she had everything under control, that she would get everyone where they needed to be on time, and then ordered me back to bed. Later that night, as I sat curled in a ball in the bathroom floor, I prayed, God, You simply have to make me better. I can not be sick right now. Never mind Friday night drama practice - Saturday and Sunday were booked full of commitments and responsibilities that could not be ignored.

By Saturday morning, I felt MUCH better and managed to keep down some broth and black tea. By noon, although I still felt weak and tired, the headache and nausea were history. By mid-afternoon, I felt competent to tackle some of the responsibilities on my plate - drive E. back home to Dyersburg, fix a quick dinner, get the older guys to town for their drama performance. Amazingly, a bug that had incapacitated others in the community for the better part of a week only knocked me down for a little over 24 hours.

But did I respond with gratitude for God's gracious provision? Nooooooo. Saturday's obligations behind me, I crawled into bed with a mind full of whining and complaining thoughts. How come this Mom job doesn't allow any time off for sick leave?! Why can't I just call in sick and pamper myself a few days, until I feel ready to go back to work? Sunday morning, I was still full of self-pity and had a crabby, woe-is-me attitude. By Sunday evening, I really did feel pretty much up to 100%, physically, and I was beginning to tire of my negativity as well. . . . just in time for Deon's sermon.

I don't remember every point Deon made during his sermon that night, but, due to my recent intense affair with the toilet, a few things hit me like a two-by-four upside the head. Simon's mother-in-law was sick. Like her, we are all sick - not just sick, but dead in our sin. Christ went to this incapacitated woman and healed her. Likewise, He takes the initiative to seek us out, while we are yet unable to seek Him, and heals us, not simply of a physical fever, but of something much worse - our spiritual deadness. Christ not only healed Simon's mother-in-law of the fever, but He apparently also restored her to health and strength to the point that she was able to serve her Lord and his companions - He made her well, and He empowered her to work. Her response? She got up from her bed and began to wait on them. No feeling sorry for herself about her recent illness. No whining about needing a little more time off to pamper herself. No griping about having to serve someone else so soon after her infirmity. Her Lord healed her; she responded with the heart of a grateful servant.

Sometimes I forget that this Great Story is not all about me, my feelings, my preferences. God created me, redeemed me, sustains me . . . NOT so that I can serve myself, pursue my own goals, indulge my personal desires, but so that I can serve Him. Christ heals me; God, forgive me when I do not respond to your grace with the heart of a grateful servant.

* * * * *

Random Camille factoid: I am one of those people who spends an entire pregnancy throwing up. When most people get sick to their stomachs, they think "Maybe I have a flu bug" or "Have I eaten something bad?" Anytime I throw up, my first thought is always, "Is it possible that I am pregnant again?"

Here is a poem I wrote many, many years ago on one of those (too-frequent!) occasions when I was feeling absolutely overwhelmed by the demands and responsibilities of motherhood:

Who rocks the mommy?

Who soothes her with song

when the day has been full

and has lasted too long?

Who rocks the mommy,

softly kissing her head,

then whispers a prayer

and tucks her in bed?

To all you mommies out there - yours is a noble service. Press on.

ONE THING HAVE I DESIRED OF THE LORD...

Corporate worship, I believe, should produce in those gathered to worship an attitude either of doxology or of repentance - or of both , as was the case a few weeks ago as I joined my brothers and sisters for the Sunday morning service at Grace.

I woke up that morning with many concerns pressing on my mind, so lay quietly in bed trying to organize my thoughts and lift them up in prayer. However, I quickly slipped into a defeatist mindset and cut my prayer time short. "God, there are just too many things for me to sort through right now. I feel overwhelmed. To keep things simple, I am going to bring just one request - just one - and I will not bring any other concerns or needs to You until this one thing has been taken care of...." I presented my one request, threw off the blankets, and plunged into the Sunday morning hustle of shower-dress-kid patrol-breakfast-lunch prep-go-go-go.

If you were going to ask God for one thing (at least one thing at a time), what would be first on your list? I could have asked God to give my young Sunday school students tender and receptive hearts as we studied the building of the Tabernacle and His coming to dwell among His people in the wilderness. Or I could have asked Him to provide healing for my friend Frances as she undergoes ongoing treatment for cancer. Or that He would bless, guide, and grow the new body of believers at Grace Community, or transform the heart of the president of Iran with the gospel of Christ, or use my children to serve His kingdom, . . . .

What did I pray for as I lay in bed that Sunday morning? "God, please grant that I may have one reliable vehicle." That's it. And then I resolved to not ask for anything else until that item had been taken care of. Obviously, I am NOT a spiritual giant! But then again, as one of our children has commented, our family strategy regarding vehicles seems to be to keep enough clunkers in the driveway so that at least one is minimally operational at any given time. So maybe my praying for a functional vehicle was actually akin to Moses's praying for deliverance from the pursuing Egyptians - either would appear to require a miracle. Hmmmm, speaking of Moses...

Fast forward through Sunday school to the morning worship service. Prelude, announcements, liturgy, prayer, a hymn, more prayer. Then, the Old Testament scripture reading - Exodus 33:12-23. Moses said to the Lord, "...You have said, 'I know you by name and you have found favor with me.' If I have found favor in your eyes, teach me your ways so I may know you and continue to find favor with you..." . . . The Lord replied, "My Presence will go with you, and I will give you rest." . . . Then Moses said, "Now show me your glory." . . .

Ouch. I was suddenly so ashamed of my petulant request earlier that morning. I wanted a working vehicle. Moses, on the other hand, wanted to know God, to find favor with Him, and to see His glory. Ironically, Moses's prayer was already underlined in my Bible, traces of past study and conviction. As we stood for the next hymn, I prayed, "God, please forgive my narrow vision. Forgive me for being so preoccupied with and overwhelmed by such small things. Forgive me for thinking that I can be satisfied with anything less than You."

Then, as if God were determined that I not miss the point, Billy's sermon was based on John 20:24-29 - you know, the passage where Thomas insists that he will not believe in the risen Lord unless he puts his own finger in the crucifixion wounds. The sermon title? "Experiential Religion." Billy emphasized that some of us tend to make demands on God, refusing to rest in His provision for us in Christ until He has done such-and-such to convince us. Thomas said, "Unless I see the nail marks in his hands..." Generations later, Thomas's sister Camille said, "Unless I see a well-maintained, late-model automobile..." Double ouch.

I love the way Billy wrapped up his sermon that morning. Billy pointed out that, once he encountered the living Lord, Thomas's demand for proof simply vanished. Christ encouraged Thomas to touch His scars, telling Thomas to "Stop doubting and believe." However, Scripture gives no indication that Thomas did indeed touch Christ's scars. Thomas no longer needed that token of proof, because now he was standing in the very presence of his resurrected Lord. His response? "My Lord and my God!"

I am amazed at the precision with which God confronts and addresses my sinful attitudes. I am amazed at the patience, grace, and tender forebearance He displays as He works to conform me to His Son. And, I am amazed at how God administers even painful discipline with a tinge of sweetness. What hymn did we sing that morning, as we considered first Moses, and then Thomas?

I know not why God's wondrous grace to me he has made known,

nor why, unworthy, Christ in love redeemed me for his own.

But "I know whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able

to keep that which I've committed unto him against that day."

So, what is the next thing on my list? One thing have I desired of the Lord.....Himself.

A DOG TALE

Boy, what a day! Yesterday was one of those special days when one vexation seemed to pile onto the heels of the next - you know, the kind of day that ends with "Okay, God, could you give me just a little clue what in the world is going on here?! Would it be alright for me to have a minute or two to catch my breath?!"

The kids and I were busy at schoolwork yesterday morning when an unfamiliar silver SUV pulled up in front of the house. I opened the door to find a very distressed man, obviously struggling to control his emotions, cradling a tiny toy pinscher in his arms. "Lady, your dogs have just torn my dog up! I know it was your dogs, because I recognized that blue heeler that lives here." About the time the fellow finished this accusation, "my" three dogs trotted up onto the porch, gleefully incriminating themselves. The rat-sized dog in his arms looked from the new arrivals to me, as if to say, "Yep, those are the ones!" I ordered Nate to put our two dogs, Jessie and OB, in their pen immediately, and I assured my distraught neighbor that I would call the owner of the little blue dog at once to let him know what had happened as well. Then I spent the better part of ten minutes apologizing profusely, struggling to keep my own emotions in check, before I finally convinced my neighbor that I was as upset about the situation as himself and that we would do what we could to help with any vet bills. (Thankfully, the little lap dog didn't look too terribly injured - he was quite bright-eyed and animated the entire time he was following our conversation. Also, as upset as the owner was, he obviously didn't feel like he had to rush down the highway before having a lengthy discussion with me on the front porch.)

In order to communicate the emotional impact that yesterday's Vexation #1 had on my nerves and my mood, I'll have to give you a little background. Shortly after we first moved to the country 3+ years ago, someone dropped a mangy, starved, lab-mix dog off at our house. Of course, the kids pleaded to be able to feed it and nurse it back to health, and, being the pushover that I am, I agreed. With some TLC, Jessie turned out to be a beautiful, well-behaved, affectionate family pet. About the time Jessie's coat was finally filling in, someone dropped a wormy, ancient, immensely-pregnant beagle off at our house. The mercy pleading began all over again. This time, I stood firm: "We absolutely can not keep another dog!" However, since I am irrationally sympathetic with any creature that is PREGNANT, I did agree that we could care for the little beagle until she delivered her puppies; then, we would find homes for her and her offspring. Our first Christmas Eve in Obion County, the beagle birthed three adorable puppies. Within a matter of weeks, Jessie birthed 9 more of her own. Talk about dog overload! The short story is that at tremendous effort and inconvenience to ourselves, we did eventually find homes for everyone and ended up with only.....two dogs.

In my opinion, one dog is almost one dog too many. Two dogs are most certainly one dog too many. So how did we end up with two dogs? This part of the story needs a little more explanation. One of the beagle's puppies was an adorable roly-poly black male with a white bib and boots. Although he was a tub of lard, loose folds of skin draped over his sides and down his legs. When he sat down, a puddle of black fur slid down around his feet and behind. This little fellow looked like something from a Hallmark greeting card - cute, cute, cute! Now, it so happened that Steve took a particular liking to this delicious tidbit of dogdom, and soon started talking about the possibility of keeping "just this one" puppy. My initial response was, "Absolutely not!", but then things got a bit complicated in a weird kind of way.

My husband is one of the most gentle, patient, gracious men I know, and he tries to be considerate of my feelings and concerns. If I had insisted - "No more dogs!" - I am sure he would have consented to giving the puppy away without any fuss or regret. At the time of our great Puppy Fest, however, we were in the process of building the house we live in now....lots of decisions to be made, lots of things to be discussed, etc. ....and Steve was also in the process of a major career change. In the midst of these circumstances, an insensitive relative made the comment to Steve, "You don't ever make any decisions without checking things out with Camille first. What kind of man are you? You don't have to have her input on everything: just do whatever you want!" Although the comment wasn't true - Steve does indeed make LOTS of decisions without any input from me, many of which I would probably address differently - the bitter jab hurt. So, when Steve mentioned he really liked the little black puppy, I suppressed my internal opposition to the idea of keeping him and agreed. "You just do whatever you want, honey. You don't need my permission to keep that puppy." This puppy would be a living testimony to the fallacy of my relative's unkind remark. Incredibly, that tiny puppy with a mother who stood less than twelve inches tall, grew to over knee-high and now weighs close to 70 pounds. OB is a moose. And, although he has proven himself to be about as smart as a brick, he is extremely gentle and has a wonderful disposition. He is the kind of dog I can imagine someone taking to the hospital for pet-therapy with small children. (I should mention here that although OB is very docile towards people, he will lay into a raccoon or snake like the devil, and without a moment's hesitation.)

So what about dog #3 - the blue heeler? Blue (or Blue Dog, Jack-Jack, Dog, Hey You....he doesn't officially have a name at our house) showed up at our house almost a year ago. He hung out with our dogs for a couple of months before the UPS lady positively identified him for us as belonging to our neighbor Earl, who lives about a mile down the road. Earl came and picked him up promptly as soon as we called. "That dumb dog...he has a habit of just wandering off, and then can't seem to find his way back home! My wife will sure be glad to get him back - we thought maybe he'd gotten killed or something." Earl laughed as he loaded Blue into his pickup. Earl pulled out of the driveway and headed down the highway. Forty minutes later, Blue Dog was back on our porch. Obviously, he had NO PROBLEM finding his way home - he just preferred to think that his home was with us instead of with his other family. Thus began an exasperating game of Take the Blue Dog Home. Every time Steve left for an appointment, he would load Blue into the car and run him over to Earl's. We would start the stopwatch - 15 minutes was the average time it took Blue to trot his way back over. Several times, we called Earl to come pick Blue up, but we finally gave up when we saw the futility of the dog shuttle service. When we see Earl in town now, the joke is always, "Come on over and pick your dog up any time!"

And so, all our goodwill and noble sacrifice in the service of Dogdom was finally rewarded yesterday with, "Lady, your dogs have just torn my dog up!" I have to admit that I had wildly mixed emotions as I stood on the porch with my irate neighbor. My first thought was, "Alright, I'm ready to shoot all three of these mutts right now. Boys, bring me a gun!" My second thought was, "Good Lord, man, do you not realize that you are living in the country?! What kind of an idiot would turn a 4-pound dog loose outdoors in an area infested with coyotes, raccoons, and hawks? Never mind my dogs, mister - your little rodent dog is going to be coyote bait if you don't have any more sense than that!" Then I thought, "We'll just have to keep OB and Jessie always shut in the pen now, to keep them from harrassing this fellow's pooch." But that wouldn't do - "No, we can't keep the dogs locked up all day. We let the dogs out during the day to keep the raccoons and coyotes away from the chickens and the cat." (These reprobate mongrels actually do provide us a meaningful service.)

So, I spent much of yesterday stewing over the dog crisis. I was mad at OB and Jessie for being nefarious, cannibalistic criminals. I was mad at Blue Dog for NOT GOING HOME, and I was mad at Earl for not giving him a good reason to stay there. I was mad at my neighbor for behaving like a petowner from a California apartment complex and so endangering his own dog. I was mad at myself for not having absolute control over Jessie and OB, and for having ever agreed to more than one dog in the first place. I was mad at the thought of having to pay unanticipated vet bills when I don't even have grocery money for next week.

So how will this all work out? Looks like I'm going to have to quit being so passive and namby-pamby and take a more deliberate, active role in the pet situation around here. And that probably means I'm going to have to step into the familiar role of being the Mean Mom, a role I particularly loathe even though I understand it goes with the job. Looks like I'm going to have to "clean house" around here - the dog house, that is. And I haven't even mentioned yesterday's Vexation #2 yet, have I?!

What happened to October?

I woke up this morning and discovered that it is now November. Was that blur on the horizon October whizzing by? Since I haven't posted a single thing in an entire month, here's a quick update from my neck of the woods.

GRACE COMMUNITY CHURCH
I felt a faint butterfly tickle in my belly a few weeks ago. "Hmmmmm, is that the hiccup of a tiny new life?" I called my OB/GYN to schedule an appointment. Within a matter of days, I was sitting on the chilly exam table of a tiny room at the Women's Clinic.

"Exciting news!" the doctor beamed. "You're pregnant!"

"Really?" My mouth fell open in stunned disbelief. "You're kidding!"

The doctor laughed and nodded. "Absolutely positive!"

It took me a few minutes to process this startling bit of information. "I had no idea....I mean, I really didn't think....this can't be possible!" I fumbled for words while my doctor stood grinning like a monkey. "Well," I inhaled deeply, "Any idea of a due date?"

The doctor flashed an impish grin and pointed to a calendar hanging on the wall. "Next week!"

* * * * *

Okay, okay, everbody calm down! Truth be told, this forty-something-year-old is closer to dementia than to giving birth. The above illustration is simply to give you an idea of the remarkable development of a Reformed church plant in our area. Less than two months ago, God very suddenly drew together a community of believers committed to the authority of Scripture and to proclaiming the sovereignty of God and His salvation of His people by grace alone. Grace Community Church is currently meeting in an unused Jewish community center (doesn't God have a delightful sense of humor?); and, for many of us, we are still amazed by the working of God's providence in forming and building this new body. In mid-September, a small handful of saints gathered to discuss the possibility of forming a Reformed church plant in the Obion County area. In less than a week from that first meeting, we had secured a place to meet and were having our first worship service. (Did I mention how suddenly this all happened?) God has provided a strong core of about a dozen committed Christian men to oversee this fledgling church, including four ordained pastors. He has added new faces to our assembly each week, to the point that we are already outgrowing our present meeting space. Members are excited by the doctrines of grace, and are eager to read, study, and discuss Scripture together. We have been meeting now for six weeks, and are overjoyed and astounded at the work God is doing from week to week among us. Soli Deo Gloria!

* * * * *

EXTREME BIBLE DRILL

On Wednesday nights at Grace Community, I have the delight of working with eight (more this next week?!) very enthusiastic, wiggly 6-9-year-olds. Using Bibles loaned to us by First Presbyterian Church, Dyersburg, we have a kind of home-made Bible Drill every week, and are learning the books of the Bible, the location of key passages (ie., Where do you find the Ten Commandments?), and memory verses. In the short time that we've been meeting, we have learned the names and locations of the books of the Bible from Genesis to the Song of Solomon. A favorite study method with the class is reciting the names of the books as we take turns skipping rope. Last week, one of the young boys suggested we recite them while we did push-ups - I suppose that seemed a more manly approach to our study! Anyway, everyone sprawled in the floor and began doing push-ups. "Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, ...." For those of you who don't know, I am in my mid-40's, overweight, and have given birth to seven children. Yes, I DID do twenty-two push-ups on the hard linoleum, thank you very much, although I must admit that I was puffing pretty hard by the time I finally gasped out "...Song of Solomon!" By Thursday evening, my arms were so sore that I couldn't even lift them over my head. (Okay, Dalton, why don't we try jumping jacks next week?)

* * * * *

PAPAL BULLS, INDULGENCES, AND TRANSUBSTANTIATION...

(For complete lyrics, Google The Reformation Polka, by Paul Gebel.)

Brothers and sisters from Grace Community and FPC Dyersburg, along with a few neighbors from our rural community, joined us here at Kendallville for the annual Reformation Party this past Wednesday evening. About a hundred folks celebrated with fellowship, music, games, good food, and a bonfire that was probably visible from space. Some of my favorite highlights: the caramel apple eating contest (Oh, I'm sorry, were those caramel onions? Shame on you, Gaye Lynn!); watching Julie and Melissa compete in the banana race (Yes, ladies, we have this on video!); singing I'll Fly Away, with Mr. Ed and Billy playing guitars; and visiting with old friends and new friends while getting toasty around the fire. Several people thought the traditional singing of The Reformation Polka would've been more fun - more authentic? - if we'd had steins of German beer on hand. Maybe next year....

* * * * *

AND IN OTHER NEWS...

I am enjoying the mild weather we've had this past week. Monday's freeze has brought the color out in the trees around our hay-field yard, but the grass is still emerald green. Gorgeous contrast. Ben's beautiful Rhode Island Reds are giving us 15+ eggs a day now. Ben supplies the family egg demand, and sells or gifts away the rest. That's a nice chunk out of our grocery bill - thanks, Ben! Nate harvested his first deer of the season last Saturday ("Looks like meat's back on the menu!"), and is pleased to have a jumpstart on the trapping season with two prime coyote pelts in the deep freeze. Martha has successfully put a saddle on Little John - he was perfectly acquiescent and didn't protest an iota. I tell you, that horse is in love with his girl! Thomas seems to be pulling out of the moody teen thing, and has been a hard, cheerful, willing worker of late. He has such a fun personality and often has the entire family in stitches. He and his brothers fired a blackpowder, Civil War-era replica pistol this afternoon, and now he wants to try out the blackpowder rifle - the ghost of Daniel Boone walks! Helen has been busy in her room all afternoon working on Christmas presents for her siblings (I think Martha has been teaching her how to knit.) She and Martha have also been practicing cosmetology on one another - we've seen some wild hairdos over the past couple of days! Reuben, Emily, and Dennis are plugging their way through fall semester classes at UTM, and we are counting down the weeks until winter break with them. Reuben is sacked out on the couch at present, catching up on some much-needed sleep....guess that means he studies really hard during the week, right?! Well, I've been officially notified that my husband and children are in danger of starving to death any minute, so I'd better post and head to the kitchen. Hope I'll be back before another month slips by!

LIBERTY

It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. - Galatians 5:1

I recently had a mini-epiphany of sorts related to the doctrine of Christian liberty which I desire earnestly to communicate, but which I am fairly certain I shall muddle so badly as to sound like a most blasphemous libertine. A little personal background will be necessary to understand why this fresh revelation of grace struck my mind as so revolutionary, so outrageous.

I have been aware since childhood of the very sad state into which we humans are born: the natural depravity which touches and stains all our motives and actions, our rebellious and idolatrous hearts, our utter inability (apart from the intervening work of Christ) to do anything meriting the approval or favor of a righteous and holy God. All that said, I was also, from an early age, a very good child. I worked diligently at my schoolwork and excelled academically. I kept my room immaculately clean, and performed household chores with inordinate attention to detail. I was a hard worker and a passionate rule-keeper. Although I indulged in my share of sinful behavior - selfish desires, disrespectful attitudes, childish tantrums, outbursts of anger, etc. - I did earnestly desire to be a good Christian person, to behave in such a way as to bring honor to my parents and to God. I was sincerely grieved, even as a child, at the sin which seemed to spring up in my heart around every corner.

I also understood that - in spite of my very good behavior -anything "that does not come from faith is sin." (Romans 14:23) And, that faith itself was a gift of God. I remember an old King James translation of Proverbs 21:4b - ...even the plowing of the wicked is sin. I understood that, apart from faith, every seemingly trivial thing I did could be counted as sin and wickedness. But, praise God, I grew to understand that through the regenerating work of the Holy Spirit, I could at last indeed do good! I was free! Before salvation, I could only choose what opposed God, because I did not live by faith. After salvation, I could finally choose to do what truly pleased God.

That revelation should have been cause for tremendous rejoicing, but an odd thing happened. Before salvation, I worked very hard to maintain a righteousness that would hopefully satisfy God and my parents. After salvation, it seemed all the more important for me to maintain an even greater righteousness than I had endeavored to maintain before. Now, I had more power - the Holy Spirit himself! Now, I had more freedom - a will made truly free by regeneration. Now, I had more incentive - pleasing a God who had already demonstrated His immense love for me. So began anew the pursuit of being the perfect daughter, the perfect student, then the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect teacher...

In recent months, I have faced situations where I have felt absolutely paralyzed to act on insanely trivial issues. God, I want to do what is right. I want to please you. I would struggle to know what was the right thing to do, but once over that hurdle, doubted that I could even trust myself. God, I'm unsure of my motives in this situation. I found myself overanalyzing every decision, making spiritual mountains out of dirt molehills.

Then the epiphany: I realized that while I had the freedom to do good and right, I did NOT have the freedom to do the wrong thing, to make mistakes, to make bad decisions, to be less than perfect. Sure, I was free to not sin, but I was not free to not not sin. To put it plainly, I was not free at all. I had turned my freedom in Christ into a suffocating prison cell, a crippling bondage.

I John 3:1 says - How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! Those are not the words of someone whose approval is based on performance, on being "good." Those are the words of an eternally secure son, a son confident of his Father's love . . . a son who is free to do what is good and right, and who is also free to err, to make bad decisions, and to fail. A slave has no permanent place in the family, but a son belongs to it forever. So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed. - John 8:36


Sisters, do you know what this means? I AM FREE! I AM FREE! Now, if that thought doesn't shake you in your boots, I don't think you truly realize the implications of freedom! But we will have to save that conversation for another time.

- In the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith (NOT WORKS) from first to last, just as it is written: "The righteous shall live by faith." - Romans 1:17 (emphasis added)

GODDESS

I am the sun, and everything revolves around me.
- Teresa, Queen of the Solar Sisters

Have you ever met a goddess? I have. Actually, I used to be one. Sometimes even now, in a moment of nostalgia, I climb back onto my marble pedestal and imagine the glowing adoration of throngs of worshippers. Maybe you've worshipped at my temple. Or, maybe you are a goddess, too, and have a temple of your own! But wait: let me tell you how I discovered my own divinity. Maybe my story will help you discover yours.

Sitting at the kitchen table, skillfully crafting a pair of pants for my husband, I regarded my situation with contentment and a certain degree of smug self-satisfaction. After sending Steve off to the university with a shower of affectionate kisses and a lovingly-prepared lunch, I had spent the early morning hours setting my temple in order. I mean, cleaning our apartment. The bathroom was fresh and sparkling, the carpets vacuumed, and all of the laundry washed, folded, and put away. I even had to admire the order and cleanliness of my kitchen cabinets as I fixed lunch for myself and my two darling toddlers.

After lunch, these intelligent and talented temple servants . . . uh, children . . . entertained me with their songs and games, and I condescended to bless them with a story or two. Early in the afternoon, they retired cheerfully and quietly to their monastic cell to rest and contemplate the beauty of the life I had provided them. I had at least an hour now to devote to constructing priestly garments for my husband. So there I sat, sewing and smugly contemplating the kingdom around me, a kingdom which I ruled and directed like a queen among the gods.

Then came the incident of the welt pocket. What is a welt pocket? Look at the back of a pair of men's pants - say, a pair of khaki Dockers. A welt pocket is not a patch pocket, like on the seat of a pair of jeans, but a sort of hidden pocket which opens to the inside at a narrow slit in the fabric.

I was in the process of constructing just such a pocket in the back of the pants I was making - not an easy task, but I was being very patient and careful and attentive to my sewing instructions. All of my concentration and effort finally produced - TA DA! - a huge, ragged, gaping hole. A wolverine could've produced a neater opening. The pants were completely ruined, and I was suddenly transformed from a sublime goddess to a raving demon. I had tried so hard! I had followed the directions so precisely!

As I wrestled with which course to take next - crying or cursing - I suddenly became aware of hysterical laughter coming frm the room overhead. Not the playful laughter of innocent children, but the insane hysteria of a sinner, or two, who has defied a diety. Muttering angrily to myself - Only a god or a magician could make welt pockets! - I wadded up the unfinished slacks, threw them across the table, and bolted for the stairs.

With one child in diapers and another in frequently damp training pants, I bought Desitin diaper rash ointment in the 14-ounce economy tube. If you don't know, Desitin is made from some kind of fish oil extract, and reeks of . . . well, of oily fish. It is also very thick and greasy, like the stuff used on tractor axles. I think the only two things that can cut through Desitin are pee and gasoline. Reaching the top of the stairs, I opened the bedroom door to find NOT two quietly resting cherubs, but two squealing banshees. Emily and Reuben had completely coated themselves with Desitin. Every inch of exposed skin was painted with the opaque white goo - a whole 14-ounce tube of it. The front of their dresser had also been painted. And the back of the door. And an area of the carpet. My pristine temple had been defiled!!!

Nearly choking in rage and frustration, I dragged the shreiking offenders to the bathroom, stripped them bare, and plopped them into the tub. Several severe scrubbings later, they were finally free of the goo, but not the odor of fish oil. Then I tackled the challenge of cleaning their room. After a tremendous amount of effort and sweat, I at last headed downstairs with an armload of stinky, sticky laundry, my penitent darlings trailing behind.

Our washer and dryer were in a closet opening off the kitchen. Brushing past my sewing fiasco, I pulled open the bi-fold doors and stuffed the offending laundry into the washing machine. Well, at least I'd gotten the worst of that mess cleaned up before Steve came home. Maybe I could salvage the rest of the afternoon.

Or maybe not. As I turned to leave the churning washer, I bumped a gallon jug of liquid bleach that was sitting on top of the dryer. Do you know what happens when you drop a full gallon of Clorox from a height of three feet onto a concrete slab floor? Something more amazing than you could possibly imagine. That jug exploded like a bomb. Clorox flew everywhere . . . all over the laundry closet, all over the kitchen, all over my two stunned onlookers, all over me. As the fumes began to burn my nose and eyes, I took the only reasonable course of action left at this point. I sat down on the bleach-splattered floor and sobbed. My wide-eyed children timidly came closer, wrapped themselves around me, and began sobbing, too.

Life did eventually return to some relative degree of sanity at our house, but I was left with a very difficult question: Why had the events of the day so devestated me? Instead of calmly handling each crisis as it arose, as a goddess would no doubt have done, I had quickly plummeted from frustration to anger to despair. What was up with that?

A good bit of honest, painful self-examination eventually revealed the horrible truth: I was guilty of idolatry, and my idol was me. I was a wonderful wife and the mother of two beautiful, obedient children. Selah. I was industrious and clever and thrifty and made fine garments for my husband. Selah. I kept a spotless, well-run house. Amen, and amen! My delight and my joy, my rest and my satisfaction, my adoration were all based on and reserved for the great god Me.

As on so many occasions before and since, I found myself prostrate before the cross. Oh, God, I have turned from worshipping you and have followed after other gods. The worst of it is, I have worshipped myself and the work of my own hands. Have mercy . . . have mercy!

God is a jealous God, but He is also good. He is faithful to expose and root out even the sins to which our own eyes are sometimes blinded. And, He is gracous to forgive and quick to restore His faltering children. Jehovah is the all-powerful, ever-sufficient God of the sewing machine, God of babies and baby creams, God of hearth and home. I cannot stand - nor can any other would-be deity - I cannot stand above Him. And, I don't sew welt pockets.

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

THE HORSE THINKS HE'S A CHILD

Little John popped into our world in the wee hours of the morning one Thursday last June. From the moment he wobbled up onto his gangly little legs, he was Martha's Baby. Not long after sunrise that spring day, he lay flaked out flat on his side in the barn lot, snoozing soundly with his head resting in Martha's lap while his mother Tulip grazed nearby. From that very first day, Martha's world was all about loving and enjoying Little John - Little John's world was all about loving and enjoying Martha. Whenever Martha would feed and brush Tulip, Little John would follow at his adopted mother's heels, sticking close as a shadow. If he saw Martha out in the yard, he would whinny for her to join him in the pasture. Then, he would stand forlornly at the gate and neigh with displeasure whenever she left the barn lot to head back to the house. It was not unusual on a warm summer afternoon to find those two - Martha and Little John - soaking up the sunshine, lying side-by-side in the soft green grass of the pasture.

Little John grew over the summer . . . a LOT. If he spotted Martha from far across a field, he would raise his head and bugle like a trumpet, then come charging full blast to join her. He transformed from a dainty foal, tripping across the pasture on spindly legs, to a two-hundred pound cannon ball that flew like a rocket, then to a four-hundred pound locomotive with thundering hooves. "God, I hope the brakes work!" Always, Little John would pull up short right next to Martha, blowing with excitement as he pranced around her. Everything about him seemed to bubble, "Oh, Martha, I am SO GLAD to see you!! Aren't you SO GLAD to see me, too?!!"

Fortunately, weight and age have calmed his enthusiasm a little . . . or maybe the big boy is just becoming more mature with the onset of adolescence. He still charges across the field when Martha calls him up for dinner and a good brushing, but now he has the good manners to slow to a trot well before any danger of trampling the tiny queen of his heart. However, I still don't think Little John has realized that he and Martha are not actually blood kin . . . that he has four legs while she only has two, that although they seem to communicate splendidly, their speech sounds very different. One sultry day a few weeks ago, Martha had Little John in the barn and was brushing his copper coat to a shine while he munched sweet feed. Apparently, the heat and a good meal made Little John feel in need of a rest, so he flopped down in the dust at Martha's feet. She simply continued brushing. Little John, delighted with the attention, rolled over for a nice, scratchy tummy rub. After Martha finished brushing his belly and cleaned out his conveniently-extended hooves, Little John rolled back to a sitting position, heaved himself up onto his feet, and shook, snorting with contentment. Little John has no consciousness of the important lessons and hard work that await him in the months and years ahead, as he makes the transformation from an adored child to a well-disciplined riding horse. But, he does know that he loves Martha, and that she loves him. I'm confident that knowledge will make his lessons less onerous to him.

What about me? Well beyond the carefree days of youth, I find life full of difficult lessons - lessons in patience, in trust, in sacrifice, in contentment, in repentance. Sometimes these lessons are frustrating, sometimes exhausting, sometimes heart-breaking, sometimes very painful. Often I don't understand the purpose of these lessons, as I'm sure Little John won't understand the reason for hard metal in his mouth when he first tastes a bit. But, like Little John, I do have one unshakable assurance: I know that the One who orchestrates the events of my life loves me. I am created for His pleasure, an object of His delight. Revelation 4:13 proclaims, "Thou art worthy, O lord, to receive glory and honor and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created." Philippians 2:13 tells me, "...it is God who works in (me), both to will and to work for his good pleasure." Again, in Psalm 147:11, "...the Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him, in those who hope in his steadfast love." I need desperately to remember this truth, especially when faced with difficult, confusing, or painful circumstances.

C.S. Lewis writes in his book The Problem of Pain: "Man is not the center (of things). God does not exist for the sake of man. Man does not exist for his own sake. 'Thou has created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.' (Rev. 4:11) We were made not primarily that we may love God - though we were made for that too - but that God may love us, that we may become objects in which the Divine love may rest 'well pleased.' . . . What we would here and now call our 'happiness' is not the end God chiefly has in view: but when we are such as He can love without impediment, we shall in fact be happy."

One day soon, Martha and Little John will race across fields together as one beautiful, fluid unit - Martha, leaning forward with delight in the saddle, Little John stretching his powerful legs as his golden tail streams out behind him. One day, I will stand before my Father in Glory, fully conformed to the image of my brother Christ - no residue of sin in my will or my being to impede the delight and enjoyment my King and I have in each other.

* * * * *

I sat in the backyard shelling peas, enjoying the shade of an enormous oak tree. "Li-i-ittle John! Li-i-ittle John!" Martha's voice rang out from her perch atop the fence next to the barn. Immediately, a drumroll of hoofbeats echoed from the far end of the valley, accompanied by an excited whinny. Looking up, I saw Little John racing the wind to his beloved. His muscles rippled under a coat that shone like glass, and his blond mane and tail fluttered like banners as he ran. I smiled. If I understood horse-talk like Martha does, I'm certain I'd have heard these words: "Martha! Martha! I'm coming as fast as I can! Aren't you SO HAPPY to see me?!! I am SO VERY HAPPY to see you!!"