Eating and Drinking.

And then it occurred to me:
Things in my culture/country/society/world that I find to be horrible....other people don't find horrible.

Do you ever sit back and go, "How can thinking, rational people believe this madness?!" and just shake your head, wondering whether they in fact are thinking and rational, but nevertheless being convinced again and again that the Bible is more right than ever when it says "In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God." (II Corinthians 4:4)

*Sigh.

This makes me sad, too.

It hit me the other night when Hubbs and I were at an engagement party for some really dear friends of ours. It was a sweet barn dance theme, so of course we went as a Cowboy and Indian (for every cowboy party needs and Indian, and where would cowboys be these days without Indians? Well, they most certainly wouldn't be in California, let's just say that. Thank you, Sacagawea.)

Eating and Drinking.

Anyway, and while we were there, having a great time of eating and drinking and dancing and enjoying a night of merriment and mirth the verse came to my mind, "For in the days before the flood people were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, up to the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing about what would happen until the flood came and took them all away." (Matthew 24:38-39)

Hmmm.

We are so happy our friends are getting married and approve of it wholeheartedly, but it did paint a contrasting picture in my mind. It's virtually impossible to look anywhere these days and not see the madness, which Hubbs and I had just been talking about it when we pulled up to the party. A party celebrating a soon-to-be-giving-in-marriage.

But the contrast was this: Hubbs and I HAD just been discussing the madness, but back before Noah----no one was discussing the madness as madness. Did you ever pick up on that?! The globe was about to be deluged due to their actions, their lifestyles, and they were not even aware that there was a problem. They were just eating and drinking and giving away in marriage. They didn't have an issue with the tone of the culture. They thought it was all good. They didn't think it was madness. They were unaware.

And my sinking feeling for our current times is that that's how people feel now.
The majority of the people in this culture LIKE what is going on. They think it's somehow a win for society. And so they don't think about it as madness. They eat and drink and give away in marriage.

Now, I am in no way shape or form saying that any of those things are bad. Those are some of the great joys of life here on this earth, and we as Christians should be doing them, as the Bible commands "Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." (I Corinthias 10:31). 

But that's the caveat that has gotten us into where we are, and it's what got people before Noah in their predicament:

The Glory of God. 
Well, a LACK of seeking the glory of God.

From the outside looking in, the engagement party the other night may have had a similar appearance to a worldly engagement party. But we were not celebrating the soon to be bride and groom, we were celebrating what God has done. We were praying blessing and fruitfulness and ministry over this couple.
They want their marriage to be different from the world. Not self-seeking, but joyfully self-sacrificing.


I have been reading in Proverbs a lot lately and if there is one key theme it's that doing things God's way is always best. To go about things in our own ways is to incur judgment upon ourselves.

And that's what I see; what Noah saw. People doing things their own way. Loving their lifestyles, celebrating those who do not follow the words of the Lord. 

Oh Wolfies. It's madness out there. But let us not be discouraged from eating and drinking and giving away in marriage.
Let's just do it for the glory of God, shall we?

Love you all.
Happy Wednesday.

What Once Was.

Do you ever get caught up in the "what once was" of life?
Maybe it's the impending Fall time (my favorite time of year), or maybe it's how I am amazed by how life just keeps ticking by with no relenting, or maybe it's the fact that I have found the old show Home Improvement on Youtube and have been watching that while I work on projects lately.
Whatever the culprit is, my mind has been in the throes of looking longingly into the rear view mirror and thinking, "Oh man....those were the good days."
It's the age-old thing to do, I know. As humans we are easily tempted to look backwards and think of "better times" and long for the "what once was" seasons of our life.

As I type this I am reminded of one day when I was a girl (and I even remember that I was in some pioneer-esque long skirt and a sweatshirt), it must have been October for the chill was in the air and the ground was already freezing cold, and I was making the first cake I ever made. I think it was from a box, so don't be too impressed. But for whatever reason (probably to throw the egg shells in the garbage pile outside), I put the cake in the oven and ran outside to dispose of the kitchen waste.
I ran outside barefoot (because that's what little country kids do), and I distinctly remember how icey solid cold the ground was. The wind was whipping my face and skirt, and off in the distance I could hear the gentle hum of a grain dryer. All the farmers had been working like ants to get the crops in and then when it comes out of the field they have to dry it.
And right then and there, with the far-off sound of a grain dryer, the chill in the air, and the cold hard ground beneath my feet, one of my favorite childhood memories was born. To this day the sound of those grain dryers is my favorite of all sounds.
So why then, almost two decades later, do I sit here today, a married woman, living hours away in a city, and pine for those days?

Maybe it is intrinsic in my familial nature. When I was a kid my mom got a series of books called "The Good Old Days" which were collections of stories that people sent in about their life during the Great Depression. Even then I was caught up in THEIR nostalgia, being regaled by their tales, but I knew instinctively even then that life definitely was simpler back in "those days."

Days that weren't even mine.

Or maybe I am just tired.

Do you ever get tired of all you feel you have to do? And I am not talking about the laundry list of chores we all have. 1930, 1990, or 2015, we all still have chores. No, no. But how about these new things we feel we have to do?
Like check our Facebook? Or someone's Instagram? Or read someone's blog?
Are we doing it so that if they ask "Oh hey, did you see my kid lost their tooth?" we don't have to come back at them with the only other possible response, "Oh no, sorry. I didn't go to a website to be informed about your life."

But I feel a sense of guilt if I don't keep up.

So I add it to the laundry list.

And I think that is what I am missing these days. I am missing the ability my life had in the 90's to use ignorance as an alibi. I am missing what seem to me to be "simpler times." Where there were not voices speaking to me from every single angle and every single device in my house.

Because truth be told, I typically don't like what I hear coming from those devices, either. I don't like how every issue is now public, or how every catastrophe is now everyone else's catastrophe, too, or how if I don't "like" someone's joy then they think I seriously don't like them anymore.

But I want to catch myself in this. Because I know I have a tendency to think back to the "good old days" and think of them as better, or somehow less sinful even.....

And so I have been contemplating this.

Human beings are sinners. We sin, because we are sinners. Not the other way around.
Every little itty bitty baby and every serial killer, if given a percentage of sinful, would read 100%. Our quota is all full.
But here is what I do know. Sin gives birth to more sin. One sin leads to another. That which you sow is that which you will reap.
So while we are full-up on our sinfulness, we absolutely can SIN MORE.
And maybe it doesn't matter, because it doesn't change the 100% and therefore the only two optional eternity residences, but I think that is what causes us to look back at "the good old days" and pine for them. We somehow feel like people were committing less sin back then.

And maybe they were. That's a hard thing to judge.

Or maybe the real truth of it is that our sin wasn't so public and so "liked" and so "followed" back then, so it seems like there was less and less of it.

For good or bad, that is what technology has done: It has made us aware of so much more stuff.

But the problem is, now that I am so much more aware of so many more people's sin (more and more), it has made me really skeptical.
And it has made me miss the past. And loathe the imagined future.
And to be honest, it has made me lose sight of RIGHT NOW. Which is why I want to go backwards. Because it seems better there ("less sinful"),  and the future terrifies me stupid.

Which, might I add, is exactly where the devil wants me.

In The Screwtape Letters C.S. Lewis talks about this:

"The humans live in time but our Enemy destines them to eternity. He therefore, I believe, wants them to attend chiefly to two things, to eternity itself, and to that point of time which they call the Present. For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity. Of the present moment, and of it only, humans have an experience analogous to the experience which our Enemy has of reality as a whole; in it alone freedom and actuality are offered them. He would therefore have them continually concerned either with eternity (which means being concerned with Him) or with the Present - either meditating on their eternal union with, or separation from, Himself, or else obeying the present voice of conscience, bearing the present cross, receiving the present grace, giving thanks for the present pleasure."

Today is what we have. Today is where the Lord wants to meet us. Today is where we can reach our world and feed our families and love our neighbors.
And just a thought: If you need to get off the internet to get back in touch with RIGHT NOW----then do it.

Love you, Wolfies.

Lukewarm.

The pilot light on our water heater keeps going out.

Now, I am not what I would call “high maintenance.” I might be a little particular, but high maintenance? I don’t think so. And I don’t think Hubbs thinks I am either (which at this point I think he is probably the only one that matters as he is the only one who has to live with me).  I don’t think I expect much.

But I do expect hot water.

In America, that is.

When I have been in more remote places or countries of the world, the thought doesn’t even cross my mind to be upset that they don’t have hot water. It’s just not what life is like there.

But life has hot water in my house.

Well it did, until about three weeks ago.

Ok, that’s not entirely true.

Three weeks ago the pilot light went out, so Hubbs was a champ and went down and re-started it. But 15 minutes later it was out again. And so he lit it again. And again. And again. We called the property manager (we rent our house) and he said, “We don’t handle pilot lights. You will have to handle that.”

But we were handling it. We were re-handling it every 15 minutes. And that didn’t seem to be helping.

We left the next day for the weekend and figured it would have to be taken care of when we got back. So we came home (to just cold water), re-lit the pilot light and called the property manager again. He gave us a 1-800 number to try………which turns out to be a number where they tell you how to troubleshoot the pilot light issues.

It was not a 1-800 number for a plumber or an electrician.

So Hubbs, because he is awesome, did everything that could be done to a hot water heater that is not our own.

And now the pilot light stays on…………..for about an hour.

So now we have lukewarm water.

Hubbs and I are church shopping this summer. Which, for the Believer, is probably one of the worst church-related experiences that you have to go through. Finding a community to call “home,” to call yours, to see a group of people each week that you know are relatively on the same page as you. Not having it takes a toll on you.

Well it does on me.

But I didn’t realize it did until one day, back in 5 Month City, we were at a service somewhere and it was just very REVERENT. Now, the church that we went to weekly down there was fine, but we were really at it because we were only going to be there for 5 months. You know what I mean? Like, if we were going to have been there longer we wouldn’t have settled so quickly on one. But we just wanted to pick one right away and get plugged in since we only had little time.

But anyway, we were at a special service for something and it was incredibly reverent. Very “churchy,” if you will. Not like some of those new churches where you could walk in, look around, and go, “So, uh….what do you do here? What’s this building for?” because it doesn’t resemble anything like a church. No, it was definitely a place where you know, “Ah yes, you worship God here!”

And it was in that reverent moment that something inside of me clicked and I told Hubbs, “After tonight I feel like I have not been to a church service in…..um……a year and a half.”

Because a year and a half before that is when I met Hubbs. And when I started traveling every weekend to see him. And therefore lost my current church home.

So yes. We are church shopping here. And it has taken a toll.

And, it’s made me feel like I have lost something in my relationship with the Lord. Some closeness maybe. Some intensity. Some heat.

Honestly. I feel rather lukewarm.

Like the water coming from my tap.

And let me tell you a thing or two about lukewarm water. It’s awful. You put your hand in it and your body doesn’t register anything. Much like not being able to tell what sort of thing happens in a church building, I could just as easily say, “Is my hand in water?! Huh. I can’t tell….” Because there is no temperature difference than the air. 

It’s not hot.

It’s not cold.

It’s just there.

It doesn’t clean as well.

It doesn’t cool as well.

It is just there. Being water. And being little else.

It all makes perfect sense then, when John says in Revelation to the church at Laodicea, “So, because you are lukewarm---neither hot nor cold---I am about to spit you out of my mouth.”

Exactly. Lukewarm water is gross. Because it doesn’t accomplish anything that it is capable of doing.

But I can’t entirely blame not having a church.

I can blame me.

In addition to not having a church home, I have not prioritized devotions. I have not prayed on my face. I have not been in a Bible study. I have not sought out fellowship of other godly women.

The lukewarm-ness is my own issue.

And now that I know how useless lukewarm water is, I don’t want to be a representation of that in any way, shape, or form.

And how about you? Am I alone in this? Or have you maybe let things go? Let the heat die away?

I am praying for you, Wolfies. Praying that we all would be either hot or cold. None of this middle-of-the-road garbage.

Trivial.

I had some trivial post to send your way last week. But then I couldn't get my trivial pictures to post like I wanted them to.
It was a witty blog, with me having realizations that I somehow am not what I thought I was. And maybe someday I will post it.
Because I write about trivial things sometimes.

But then the unthinkable happened.
And looking back I am so glad I had not posted that blog.
It would have been, really, so-----trivial.
Worthless.

It wouldn't have helped anyone's soul at that point.

See, we lost one of our dear ones. One of my very best friends had to say goodbye to a sister. Nobody saw it coming.
It stopped me in my tracks.
Made everything else, (blog posts especially)-----all very trivial.

I left immediately when I got the news. Immediately after I could see through swollen, bleary, teary eyes, that is.
It was a sorrow like I have never seen or felt before. One that comes from depths you didn't even know you had.
But it was a sorrow for us. The ones who are still here. The ones who still have what we call "today."
Our dear one is with Jesus now; so we do not sorrow for her. We sorrow for us. Which is both a pain and a glory. For "we do not grieve like the world grieves" (I Thess. 4:13), which is our sure and abiding hope, a true and present glory, all the while living in the land of grief's shadow (Psalm 23) and having to deal with the consequences of Adam's sin (Romans 5:12) in all it's indelible sorrow.
Our pain and our hope, it seems, are cut out of the same cloth.
Never so more clearly seen than in situations like this.

And, it's the kind of situation where you want to go and be eloquent. You want to speak words that are a balm, like oil on a wound. You want to offer something that heals, something that comforts. To know what Jesus would say in a time like this. Speak some kind of hope into the situation.
But instead you go and all that stumbles out is, "I don't know what to say......."

And it's the kind of situation where you want to go and be strong for them, so they know they don't have to be. You want to be a fortress for them for a while.
But then you get there and you don't feel strong at all and all you can do is climb onto the bed and weep right along with them. And you feel like the tables turned, and they are comforting you more than you are comforting them.


Grief.
Stricken.

And all your desires to go and somehow make it a little more bearable seem a little more trivial.
 


So, because while I am on this earth I am still very much "me,"  in a very "me" way I asked what I can do. Is there anything tangible I can do to help.....something.

"Yeah, you could make me a counter top for our kitchen island."

Even for this project girl that I am that was not what I was expecting.

But yes, yes you dear sweet mother. I would do anything for you. And I will most definitely build you a counter top.

I love this Sweet Mother. I always have. I have known her basically my whole life. She is one of those women who is GENTLE. I remember when I was a kid, when some of her young children were getting out of hand she would never yell. She would never fly off the handle. She would get down on her knees, down to their level, and she would whisper. In the midst of their tantrums or misbehavings or what-have-yous, she would whisper. And it was a miracle: They would always quiet down.
Gentleness.

So yes, Sweet Mother, anything at all you want.

And so we did. Hubbs and I and some of my best friends. We set to work immediately. Working as if we had been given an order by the king.

Sweet mother wanted it, and we would have done anything to give it to her.


In the midst of our measurements and power tools, every once in a while one of us would just break down. And they would stop the sanding. Stop the staining.
And we would pray. And we would cry. And we would pray for them.

Pray because, all of the sudden, what a week before had maybe been viewed by them as a trivial chore (building an island) was now, to us, not trivial in the least.

See, Wolfies, it's not the WHAT you are doing, but it's the WHO are you doing it for that brings purpose or meaning or urgency to something.

I think in life so often we want to do the big things. We want to fly in and save the day. Be that strong person, or that eloquent person. And maybe the Lord has granted that to some of you, to be those things.
But maybe some of you are like me.
Your words stumble out, and you wish you could heal but all that comes, you feel, are your shortcomings. You are so aware that only Jesus can heal and if there ever was a cracked vessel, it was you.
You see yourself and your efforts to save the world and be good and save yourself and help others and you see really how it's all so inadequate.
You are now so aware that you don't have power in you to do that.

Which is probably exactly where we all need to be.

I realized in the midst of all this that maybe I see all my shortcomings because I am looking to me. 
I see all that cracks because my eyes are on the vessel.

I know what I want to do in that situation---be the eloquent and strong one---but maybe that's not what HE wants me to do.

Maybe it's important for someone to go and say what I said: "I don't know what to say."
And maybe it's good for someone just to crawl into bed and cry right along with them.
Even if it all feels so much more trivial than you wanted it to.

Because maybe all our things that we do FOR the Lord and FOR the people he has put in our paths aren't so trivial after all. Be them as in-eloquent and un-strong as they were.
Maybe Sweetest Mother needed a project done more than she needed my words.
Maybe the Lord needed me to build something so both of us would find healing around it, both in the building and receiving processes.

If there is anything I know, I know this: The Lord's plans are not ours, and his ways are not our ways.

As humans we want to take eloquent roads, the strong roads.

But he took the humble road. The silent road before accusations. The road that was broken for us, so that we, we cracked vessels would some day be made whole again. He took the road that wept with his mourning friends, and the road that has taken him to build and prepare places in Heaven for those of us whom he has called unto his name.

His ways are not our ways. But his ways are higher, because they are taking us along the same road he walked.
And nothing about that is trivial.

Common Grace.

Up until that point I had never understood what everyone was talking about when they said, “Yeah, I was there at such and such a place and blah blah blah happened and I just FELT VERY SMALL.”

Never.

Never in my life have I ever felt like that.

From those same blah blah blah situations they would talk about I would usually come away feeling like I was on top of the world. Or very important to God. Or like I was making a difference.

And I suppose all of that was true then. Maybe I was in a really good spot in life.

I AM very important to God (you all are).

Maybe I was making a difference (Oh, Lord, I pray so).

But I have never felt small.

I have walked the streets of almost every major European city and felt like all eyes were on me. 

Not small.

I have stood beside oceans and seas, both calm and tumultuous, and heard God whisper in that obvious expanse. God, who created that, was talking to me. So, I didn’t feel very small.

I have been on stages of all sizes, but never felt small.

I have made sales that were thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars. No small potatoes.

But then one night when I was least expecting it….driving through the middle of nowhere, watching a sunset like most sunsets in this lovely State, seeing the fields and forests laid out before me, all amber colored in the long shadows, I felt very small.

It had been a tumultuous couple of weeks, making me wonder a million times what the world was possibly coming to and where in the world all of it was going to lead, and as I sat there in the moving car, watching creation in all of its resplendent glory arrayed before me, I was overwhelmed by the goodness of God.

Such grace. Fields and fields of corn and wheat just doing their thing. Unaffected by politics, no care and concern for the thoughts of the masses. They just grow.

A farmer puts a seed in the ground, and God makes it grow. 

Grace.

Or think about that sunset. Just shimmering away for me to awe at.

Grace.

Or so much bounty in my refrigerator.

Grace.

And the more I thought about how the world is going mad and God is still so good; so good to continue to send rain to grow the plants, so good to continue to produce incredible sunsets, so good to make the air smell all wonderful and summery, so good for Him to still be so big and so in charge. Big enough to handle everything. Big enough to see the world’s condition and deal with it.

Without forgetting to make one single sunset.

He is so big.

And I am so small.

And that night I knew it.

He is not affected by our comings and goings. We do not change his character and his statutes. 

He is eternal. We are temporal. He causes the plants to grow. We do not. Matthew 5:45 says, “He causes the sun to rise on the wicked and the good, and make the rain fall on the upright and the wrongdoers alike.”

Wherever you stand on this line of wicked or good, upright or a wrongdoer, he still extends to you so much common grace. Not because of anything you have done or will ever do. But just because HE IS GRACIOUS.

Because He still causes all of our plants to grow. No matter what shape the world is in right now.

I mean, for example.

When I was in 5 Month City I took some seeds and some dirt and some egg cartons.

 And I put the seeds in the dirt in the egg cartons. One week later, I had little plants.

Then we moved to the Homeland and I put my even bigger little plants in buckets.

And now I have big plants.

That give me yellow beans.

And will soon produce tomatoes.

Why? Because God is still so very good and so very gracious, even though I am still so very small.

See, in the Christian world, everything is different. Being small doesn’t mean insignificant, unimportant, or with no influencing power. Being small is a relative term; the Lord is simply so big. We have no other option but to be small.

And that’s good news. Because it doesn’t change who you are, and it doesn’t change who he is, it just gives you proper perspective.

So think on his bigness and his common grace to us all this morning. And bless the name of the Lord for being still so good to you.

Even though we are all still so very small.