Be Our Guest.

To this day my favorite Disney movie is Beauty and the Beast.

I know, I know. I am twenty-something and still, when toodling around the house cleaning or cooking or something, every now and again I think, "I should have Beauty and the Beast on in the background."

So I do.

Oh boy, do I.

And while the first song ("Provincial Life") is really my favorite, I just can't really get over the Be Our Guest one. You all know that hospitality is like---BIG---to me, so I guess it goes without saying.
But, like all the other times: I will say it again. Hospitality is big to me.

I love being an overnight guest. I love having overnight guests. I think there is something special that happens when you wake up in the same house and eat breakfast in your jams with someone. There is a bond.

 

But being an overnight guest is different than having overnight guests. I know this because, honestly, I have been an overnight guest way more than I have had overnight guests (hopefully the tally will be evened out soon!).
Here are some snapshots (some you may remember) from some of my favorite times of being an overnight guest.

Since I am an overnight guest frequently due to the nature of my life, I have thought long and hard about this subject. Long and hard. I have been fortunate that the overwhelming majority of my overnight-guest-experiences have been wonderful. The Lord has blessed me with great peoples in my life and for that I am grateful. But sometimes I can't help but think: "But what if these were not good experiences?"

You know what I mean? In my opinion, things can go from good to bad in about a matter of three seconds. I have told you this in so many words in describing at length my feelings about bathrooms. Easy peasy, things can be good, and then they can go very south. But I haven't had too many of those experiences (praise the Lord).

Back to what I said though, being a house-guest is quite different than having house-guests. I mean, you are kind of at the mercy of your host and hostess. You eat what they give you, you stay where they tell you, you use what they provide. No matter how you cut it it is a sign of generosity and generosity is the be accepted thankfully and gracefully.

And as I was pondering this in my head, the thought occurred to me, "But what if I was a terrible house-guest?"

Ungrateful. Rude. Demanding. Critical.

What if I put up a fit? Or was like, "Oh sorry, I don't eat that...." as I look across a table that the hostess has so graciously set and put together?

I mean, can you imagine? Pride much? Looking at what they have done (that you don't deserve and didn't pay for) and basically saying, "Oh yeah, that's not good enough. You don't meet my standards..."

Yikes.

My mind ran to all kinds of places and scenarios about how terrible that would be and as I was ghastly horrified, I was reading in a different translation of the Bible. For whatever reason I picked up A New Living Translation, which is done in totally modern English. I was browsing through there the other morning and came upon Psalm 39.
The NLT put it into quite the little perspective for me.

"Hear my prayer, O Lord; listen to my cry! Don't sit back, unmindful of my tears. For I am your guest. I am a traveler passing through the earth, as all my fathers were." (very 12)

Do you see that??! I AM YOUR GUEST.
At first I thought, "How rude to say!" for I thought that it was implying, "I am your guest, wait on me, do my bidding. Go out of your way to please me."
But then. Then. I realized that that's not what it means at all. Because what happens when you are someone's guest?
YOU ARE AT THEIR MERCY.

Now tell me. When was the last time you rightfully judged your life and admitted, "God, I am at your mercy"?
Because you are.

We are his guest.
If our concept of the ordering of the world is right, we know that we are powerless apart from Christ. We cannot provide for ourselves. We cannot make things happen. We cannot save ourselves. We can't keep our own lives from harm.
We are at his mercy. Because we are his guest.

We eat what he gives us, we stay where he tells us to, we use what he provides, because all we have is what he has provided.

What a thought.

So then, because it begs the question: What kind of house-guest are you?

Do you look at your life and understand that it is all due to his generosity and his love (and love isn't all just flowers and hearts, it can be tough sometimes too)? What you have has come from the hand of God and that is to be treated reverently?

Or.....are you maybe in the other camp? Like the person refusing to eat what is placed before you? Because maybe it doesn't fit your standards? Or because it doesn't seem to be good enough for what you think you deserve?

The thing is, Wolfies, we don't deserve any of it. And we most certainly didn't pay for it. We are the beggars at his table, the lame ones he brought in off the street and chose to make his own.
He is not our guest, as if he is at our mercy to do as we bid. We are his guest. Don't get that role reversed, babies.

Revel.

Remember my Robins?

Eggs hatch.

And then the babies need to be fed.

Pretty horses outside my window.

Fuschias. My favorite.

Basil and Tarragon.

Tiny tiny tiny and perfect.

Last night was kind of magical. It was one of those evenings where, if you live in the country and on a gravel road (like I do), you are familiar with, but not because it happens so often but because it is so rare and you therefore remember it vividly.
For starters, there was no wind. Now, I live in the middle of a wind farm, so not having any wind happens almost never. A number of years ago they put up something like 268 of those huge wind turbines in an 8 mile radius of my house because when it comes to wind energy, my backyard is like Saudi Arabia.
So there was no wind and this almost never happens.

But when it does....

Magic.

I say that because there is a quality the stillness adds that seems other worldly.
As I said, I live on a gravel road. And what do gravel roads produce? Anybody?

Dust.

Which usually flies away on the breeze as quickly as the speeding car produced the tan colored cloud.
But when there is no wind....it just hangs there. Almost like fog. And it either floats or stands completely still. Sometimes a very slight breeze will come and will make it dance and twirl the way a full skirt of organza would on a little girl moving in circles.

So last night was that night; a night when the dust hangs onto the air.

Last night was also a night of dark clouds. Surprisingly it never rained, but the inky tone to the sky made the green of the forests and fields look like velvet, so dark it was, lit only by the setting sun which gave it's most lovely light display in the north sky (very strange), the only direction in which clouds did not cover.

It can't help but put you in a mood. It can't help but mesmerize you, take your breath away a bit and make you know that words are not needed. You just revel.

Yesterday afternoon I had a lovely little visit at work from a very dear friend and two of her babies. What a fabulous surprise! It brightened up my whole day and after they had gone I continued to smile and be thankful. Thankful for them, thankful for surprises, thankful for someone taking the time to say hi, thankful that they care, thankful that I am blessed to have really good people in my life.

I sat there at work being reminded of a few days ago when I was over at their house visiting for a bit and, my friend, being the proficient gardener and cultivator of all kinds of wild plants and growing things that she is, showed me around her yards a bit. And we talked and walked awhile, grabbing this herb and that edible weed and that flowering shrub, rubbing them together in our hands to release their oils and breathe in deep of their brilliant and pungent fragrances.

We do this sort of thing often (basically every time I am over) and were joking that the people who drive by her house and see us doing this frequently are probably like, "What's wrong with those women? Why are they always smelling those plants....?"

And we laughed. Because laughter is good among friends.

In thinking about all those delightful growing things we were partaking of, I can never help but be amazed that while they all are green in color and they all spring up from the dirt, they are about as different as a Moped from a Mercedez.

So last night then, in the magical stillness, I had to go over the another friends' house to pick up some books and paintbrushes and homemade bread.
How great is that?! To have friends that I can get books and paintbrushes and homemade bread from?!
In much the same way, what did we do before I left? Walked around her (also beautiful) yard, looking at lovely flowers and growing plants and smelling leaves of all kinds.

And as I was there with her, being reminded of my other friend as well, as we were doing a very similar activity, I was a little overwhelmed, if I admit it. I was overwhelmed by the fact that God orchestrates both.
Really blessed friendships and really spectacular foliage.

I think of the beauty of nights like last night, the vast vast vast array of plants alone, and know that anything less than praising God for being who he is and creating such excellencies has to be some sort of heresy.

How can it be denied? That God is good and creative and wants to be involved in every infinitesimal aspect of our lives I feel is never more evident then when you look at a flower in a rock garden, not any bigger than a penny, yet still so full of color and life and design, is there any other appropriate response than "Amen"?

And yet.

For all the beauty of these gardens, for all the most intricate engineering of them, for the beauty of nights where the dust hangs in the air, I was reminded that creation is not the crown of creation.

We are.

Humans.

Living, breathing, moving.

Praying, weeping, mourning, rejoicing.

Whatever the state.

Walking around gardens on still nights.

Surprising friends at work just to say hi.

Loaning out paintbrushes and books.

Calling to say hi.

God is most glorified in us.

We are the ones Christ made in his image (Colossians 1).

We are the ones with souls that will live through eternity.

And these times we spent in these gardens, looking at this flower here, and smelling that herb there, what were we doing? Connecting. Building relationships. Sharing in the glory of God's goodness. Doing what we were created to do: be in relationship with others, for God is three in one; it is not good for us to be alone (Genesis 2:18).

For not only is God so good that he has given us flowers and plants that produce food to nourish our bodies and herbs that make things taste even more sublime, but he has, in a sense, given us to each other. He has given us people to live life with and share things with.

Like quiet nights, and times of weeping. Paintbrushes and rejoicing.

And isn't it all really kind of miraculous?

Roses and relationships alike.

All come from His hand.

Because he is so good to us.

So today, think about it.

Whether it's the beauty of June that jogs your memory of it or something else entirely, recognize the fact that not only, if you have entrusted your life to Christ as Savior, has God given you himself (and that would have been enough), but that he has then gone and given you people and companions to walk this life with. People to revel in Christ with. People to walk these days with, and then to worship God in eternity with. You have never beheld a mere mortal, Wolfies. You have never known nor will you ever know a more excellent creation than those people God has given you.
What a good God we have.

Defends.

May is my favorite.

~~~
I have played piano for a long time, some of you may know.
And while I don't do it nearly as often as I should, or not by any stretch of the imagination nearly as often as I used to---well----actually----that's exactly the problem.
So then the other day when a situation happened that made me feel like a terrible human being and subsequently had me feeling a little overwhelmed, as I sat down to play the piano (Claude Debussy to be exact) to try to figure things out, to my chagrin it didn't solve any problems.
No.
Rather, I was just made very aware of how I don't play piano all that well anymore. And I don't do Debussy justice anymore.
Because, like I said, I don't play often.
And all of the sudden all that skill, all those 13 some plus years of weekly lessons, all those hours and hours practicing for all of those competitions mean virtually nothing and I feel like I have nothing to show for it.

Yes, I realize that is not entirely true.
But that's how it feels.
It feels like my skills are terribly ruined.

Since I was then in really no mood to be at the piano (because remember, I was going there for some semblance of comfort, not to be reminded of my own startling inabilities I am all too familiar with), I went and continued in my devotions, which that day found me in a place I more often than not am not in: the New Testament.
But for whatever reason I was in I John. A good little book, I have known this for years, but admittedly it's not one I frequent.
And since I can't give you the book's outline from memory, I was walking through it's sentences and phrases and truths rather slowly that morning, wanting to grasp what maybe I have missed before or taken for granted.

Isn't the Holy Spirit really good? Making it so that I can be reading a book I have read numerous times and all of the sudden I can see it differently? All of the sudden the Holy Spirit connects His words to my current life.
What a good God.

Because there in I John is this little bitty verse that says, "But if anyone does sin, we have one who speaks to the Father in our defense--Jesus Christ, the Righteous One" (I John 2:1b)

As I sat there, struck with those words, all I could think was, "But I don't think I am much that's worth defending." After all, hadn't I just had a morning of feeling like a terrible person and hadn't I been made aware that I am squandering years and years of practice and honing of skill, and wasn't I even more acutely aware of a less than perky attitude that was then residing in my heart?

So what, I wondered, could really be worth defending? Why does he, this great God who cares enough to speak directly to me, want to defend me? Of all people? Surely there are better candidates.

Francis Schaeffer refers to human beings as "Glorious Ruins." Created in the image of God, we are more glorious than we could ever imagine. Yet, having fallen, we are more ruined than we might ever comprehend.

Kind of like my piano playing skills these days, I thought.
Glorious Ruins.

Listen, Claude Debussy is up there with the best of them; his works are masterpieces. They deserve someone to do them justice.
Not someone like me with ruined fingers.

But that's when it hit me. That's why he defends me. Because I am the ruined one. I am his gloriously {ruined} masterpiece (Eph 2:10) and he, like any artist who would still defend his vandalized work of art, making his correct claim that he can fix it, restore it, put it back to the way it was supposed to be, defends me before the Holy Father

Whoa.
He thinks I am worth defending.
He, the Righteous One.
Me, the Ruined One.
And he looks at me as his masterpiece that has only been played by ruined fingers and says, "I can make that ruin glorious again, but let me play the tune; I know what her life is supposed to sound like."
See Wolfies, that's why he defends us. He saw us before we were ruined. And he can see how we will be restored. He thinks you are worth restoring.
He thinks you are worth defending.
So he does.

Passed Over.

So something like a week (ish) ago I said, "Yeah, yeah, next week I will write something to you about Easter"
I know you never thought it was coming but today, babies, it's coming.

I am sure none of you care to remember, but I was not in the Christmas spirit this past winter holiday season, and with that memory still raw in my mind, I prayed all that Easter week that I would be impacted by Easter this year. For certainly I needed one holiday to resonate inside of me.

Which leads me to a thought: Why in the world don't we make nearly as big of a to-do about Easter as we do Christmas?
Think long and hard about it. And then be comforted knowing that I am going to make a big to-do from now on.

But anyway. I wanted to be impacted by this holiday, really get into the whole meaning of the death and resurrection of Christ.

Which, to a woman like me, that can only mean one thing: I spent some time reading about the first Passover in Exodus.
: )
Yes, it's true. I just can't get over this feeling I hold strongly to that if you don't know your Old Testament then your New Testament won't have nearly the same bang for its buck (and I wanted Easter to have bang for it's buck, remember). Because just reading the New Testament is like starting a book half way through. Characters don't really make sense, you have no idea about past histories between people, and you're totally left guessing as to why in the world they keep going on and on about that time they were in Budapest.

Wait, what?!?

Nevermind.

Basically it's like this: Have you ever been enjoying dinner with people and all of the sudden a handful of them start telling stories about people you have never met (but apparently everyone else knows), having adventures you were not a part of (but apparently everyone else was), and you just sit there and think, "I don't have the foggiest idea what you are talking about right now, but gee, it sure sounds fun; wish I had been there..."
Yeah.
That's basically what happens when you just read the New Testament.

But I will get off my soap box (for this post) (maybe) (doubtful).
Just read the Old Testament...

And in this conviction, spurred on by my desire to see Easter differently, there I was. With Moses. In Exodus. In Egypt. Watching the whole place fall apart.
If you are not familiar with the story, go read it right now (Exodus 11 and 12).
At this point in the story we enter in to find everything in commotion. God has just brought all kinds of plagues on the people and lands of Egypt because of their ruthless oppression of the Israelites and because of their worship of false gods.
The place is a mess, I can only imagine.
Yet God is not finished. There is still one more thing to be done; judgment had to be exacted upon those false gods Egypt clung to (12:12). So the only true God sends a curse upon the firstborns. Firstborn sons, that is.
And if there is anything we know as Christians, it should be this: When God says it, it happens.
So the curse was placed and it was going to come to fruition. The oldest sons in all the land were condemned because the people had followed gods that were not God.

In the very essence of God's character, though, there is always a protection offered. For those who called upon his name, God gave instructions for how to remain in his covering. The Israelites were told to "take a lamb for his family....Then they are to take some of the blood and put it on the sides and tops of the doorframes of the houses where they eat the lambs...The blood will be a sign for you on the houses where you are; and when I see the blood, I will pass over you..." (12:3,7,13)

Whoa.
Whoa whoa whoa.
This kind of language should make the buzzers and alarms and bright flashing lights in your mind go bonkers.

Because it did mine (and who wants to be alone when your brain is going off like a pinball machine?).

False gods.
Judgments.
First born.
Curse.
Condemned.
Lamb.
Blood.
Pass over.

See, if I had just skipped more than half of the story and gone straight to when Jesus comes on the scene in the New Testament, I would have missed more than half of the story.
Because there in the New Testament I see all this language; phrases and words that can make you go, "Yeah, I live two thousand years after all this happened, I wish it talked about stuff that could cross time and space and generations and mean something to me today," UNLESS of course, you knew that language like that had already crossed time and space and generations to get to the time of Jesus, and Wolfies, let me tell you, language like that is still crossing time and space and generations, and--get this-- it still means something to us today.
It meant something to me this Easter.

Because, see, here is the deal. That morning as I read this story again, Jesus made more sense. His story, and all this Easter talk about death and resurrection and something we call Salvation was not just a stand-alone event that happened out of nowhere, was based on nothing, and has no personal significance to us anymore today. Jesus is the continuation (and final completion) of what God has been doing for thousands of years.

A completion of what God did in Egypt that day when the plague came.

Because it's the same story. If you read the Bible, as well as any history in general, you will find out that it's been the same song and dance since Adam and Eve.
Since the Fall there have always been false gods, because there has been a lack of trust in the one true God. And since there are false gods there have always needed to be judgments. And there have always been firstborns and curses and condemnations...

...And therefore we have always needed lambs and blood and passovers.


Bingo.

Suddenly it's all clearer to me. Jesus is the "Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world," (John 1:29) because we have always needed the blood of spotless lambs to cover over sin, for "without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins" (Hebrews 9:22).  And in Egypt that day God struck down all of the firstborns because upon them the curse had been placed. But in Jerusalem that good Friday God turned things on their head and struck down HIS firstborn....
Why?
Because upon ME the curse had been placed (Romans 3:23). And so the second person of the Trinity took that curse upon himself, to reconcile us back to God (II Cor. 5:19). "Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law by becoming a curse for us, for it is written, 'Cursed is everyone who is hung on a tree.' He redeemed us..." (Galatians 3:13-14a).
And salvation came to those Israelites that night in Egypt, why?
Because they had covered their homes with the blood of a spotless lamb.
And salvation still comes to me, to you, to whoever receives it, why?
Because we cover ourselves in the blood of the perfect, spotless Lamb of God.
And just like that dark night in Egypt, when God sees that blood he still passes over us...

I wish I could convey these in words more eloquent than what I just typed. I wish I could put into phrases the way it works in my brain, but tonight I can't.
All I know is that this Easter I saw Jesus twice. I saw in Exodus how he made a way for salvation, and I saw in all those New Testament passages we read in church how he is STILL making a way for salvation.
Because it's what he does, Wolfies. He is the God who saves. It's his blood and his alone. That's how it was 2,000 years ago in Jerusalem, 6,000 years ago in Egypt, and today the same wherever you are; it's his blood, still crossing all that time, space, and generations, still passing over all of our sin.

Not only yours.

Hello, you beautiful people!
So the story goes that I have half written a pretty though provoking entry on Easter (yes, I know it's after Easter). But frankly, I don't have time today to other-half write the post because--get this--it's going to be a long one. Fortunately, though, I think you can handle it because let's be honest, most of mine are long ones : ) That being said, basically it all means that if you are ok with me posting something about Easter, say, next week, then next week I will post something about Easter.
How does that sound?

But I did want to say hi and to leave you with a thought. I have been in I Kings lately in my devotion time (remember Sheba and that bit about Praying Differently?) and am starting to pick up on a theme which goes something like this:
                What you do affects other people.

Novel, I know.
But seriously.

The book talks a lot about Solomon at the beginning; it touts him for being a great king, for building sensational edifices, being sought out by *all* of the greatest people in the world at that time.
A man to know, let me tell you.

However (why is there always a "however"?--OH that's right, because we are human), Solomon had one issue he was not victorious in: WOMEN.

Right there, chapter 11, starting in verse 1: "King Solomon, however, loved many foreign women besides Pharaoh's daughter--Moabites, AMmonites, Edomites, Sidonians and Hittites. They were from nations about which the LORD had told the Israelites, "You must not intermarry with them, because they will surely turn your hearts after their gods." Nevertheless, Solomon held fast to them in love. He had seven hundred wives of royal birth and three hundred concubines, and his wives led him astray. As Solomon grew old, his wives turned his heart after other gods, and his heart was not fully devoted to the Lord...."

See, right off the bat you see the main problems. "Many" and "Foreign" and "Besides."
Bad news bears.
Why? Because those are all direct violations of what God had said to do. The Bible does not teach "Many" wives, nor wives you are note equally yoked with, nor having wives besides the first one you have...
Let me tell you a little story. I was in the middle east last summer with a people that do not worship the same God I do. And in their religion they are allowed to have a handful of wives, and yet, none of the people there did. So one day I posed the question to the elder in the family, "You are allowed to have more than one wife, and yet none of you do. Why is this?"
And this adorable grandfather figure responds back in perfectly broken English., "Yes yes, our god say it ok. But me? Uhhh.... Me know that the heart only love one. If two wives, one will never be loved good."

Brilliant. Even worldly wisdom knows it's a terrible idea.
So while Solomon was the wisest man to ever live, he wasn't right about this point. And it became his downfall.
Maybe he was on a power trip and wanted all the royal women in the land to be his alone and no one else, or maybe he just could not deny himself any beauty his eyes beheld.
Whatever the reason, it became his downfall.
And right there in the middle of it all is this little principle that is tolling like a bell through my mind: What you do affects other people.
The "you" I am talking about in this bit, obviously, is his wives.

They were who they are, you can't fault them for that. Which is exactly why God prescribes a "No-go" policy about foreign women. Because here is what I am learning: we have the power to turn the hearts of other people.
And I would personally tend to think that the phrase "turn their hearts" is a little too liberal, and YET--there it is. Right there in the text. "His wives turned his heart...."

Yikes.
This quickens my breath why?
Because I wonder whose heart I am turning.
And frankly, I wonder in what direction?

Those close to me. My family, my friends, those I work with, minister with, minister to.
All of you here who read this little thought journal of mine.
Am I turning hearts?
To what?
To whom?
Away from what?
Away from whom?

A sobering thought, Wolfies. One I don't think we should take lightly.

And one more thing. Repeatedly in this book is the phrase: "He did evil in the eyes of the LORD, walking in the ways of his father and in his sin, which he had caused Israel to commit."

Yikes.Again.

Causing others to sin?

See, our sin is not our own, kids. Don't ever think that.
Because a lot of really bad kings long ago thought that and actually, rather than just committing it themselves, thinking it was their private sin, their personal vice, a guilty pleasure only theirs, it wasn't.
Your sin is not your own.

What you do affects other people, babes.
Let us live rightly.

Empty.

I have great memories of going to the landfill when I was a kid. Heading there with my parents to dispose of what we would call the “un-burnables” because, yes you bet it, when you live in the country you burn stuff. Trash. Whatever fire will consume. 

But there are a few things that fire won’t touch, and those things got taken to the landfill. Tin cans. Old buckets of paint, and the inevitable television that even the latest version of bunny-ear antennas couldn’t make work.

And if my memory is serving me correctly, whenever we went it was always sunny out. And our particular landfill was situated in the woods, so not only was it sunny and typically warm, there was always a cool breeze coming from the forest. Just exactly the kind of weather that is conducive for a girl like me to have her already-overactive imagination run wild.

In addition to the grand, sunny weather, there to tantalize my mind were old semi-truck trailers, each full of only one kind of thing. All the TVs went in that one, all the batteries heaped up in another, etc. etc.. How cool, I always thought, bins full of old stuff and scrap metal.

Even at that age my mind ran like a fleeing wind: DO YOU KNOW WHAT I COULD DO WITH THAT?? I would think as I surveyed the piles all around. I had these crazy imaginings of being let loose, free to take whatever I wanted, no doubt conjuring up images of all kinds of neat furniture and cottages I could make with my findings.

It is probably safe to say that that’s where my “Scavenger” mentality came from, for, I admit, if I see something cool that has fallen off the back of someone’s truck, no doubt on their own way to the landfill, I am ridiculously tempted to stop and pick it up (and you all remember those stories I have told of where I gave into that temptation and did in fact pick it up….).

For instance, last week on my way to work I saw what, I am pretty sure, appeared to be a sander.

And I even saw it twice.

But I didn’t stop.

And now I regret it.

But I digress. Yes, we all know, Bethany likes old stuff that she finds.

In ditches, on the side of the road, or even, she imagines, in those heaps at the landfill.

And these are all the thoughts I thought about when I came across this passage in Matthew.

“And when you pray, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do, for they think that they will be heard for their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matthew 6:7-8)

See, I like heaps. I like digging through things, scavenging, to find the treasure, to find something interesting that I can do something grand with.

But when I read this and I see that word “heap,” I don’t see piles of cool scrap metal and nifty bricks. No.

I see something more along the lines of….milk jugs. The big gallon ones.

Can you picture a huge heap, a pile big enough to climb on and slide down like a human avalanche, of empty milk jugs?

Well that’s all I can think about.

Did your dad ever yell at you when you were a kid over the “un-squashed” jugs in the trash? Mine did. And he was right. It was a useless waste of space because literally, they are just full of hot air.

So maybe that’s why I have an inherent distaste for piles of empty milk jugs. 

But then when I see that verse, brazenly using the word “heap” in a negative way, it stops me in my tracks a bit. For, it BEGS the question: Are your prayers equivalent to piles of empty milk jugs?

Wait, what?

I know, it’s totally obtuse, but think about it!

Are your prayers just taking up space?

And I don’t mean that in like a your-prayers-are-less-important-than-everybody-else’s kind of way.

No no no no no no No. I don’t believe that is possible at all.

I mean it in a do-you-think-God-hears-you-more-because-you-say-all-the-right-things kind of way?

Maybe none of you have this attitude, but sometimes I think I do. Sometimes I think God listens to me more because I have been a Christian a long time, I serve on this many ministries, I write all this stuff, I give my money to the poor, blah blah blah blah blah.

That’s so ridiculous.

Why?

Because it’s pride.

And here is what I have decided: Anytime pride comes into our relationship with Christ, anytime we think we have it all together, anytime we are pretty confident that when it comes to “being a Christian” we have got things figured out and, yeah, we can handle it on our own---all of our prayers become like heaps of empty milk jugs.

Useless wastes of space.

Because it denies the very reason why we pray in the first place.

In this passage Jesus says that the Gentiles thought they would be heard “for their many words.”

I.E. They thought they would be heard because of things they had done. Things they had said. Because they had figured out how best to talk to God.

God hearing them was totally based on THEM, they thought. It had nothing to do with God. It was based on their performance.

And just like he always does, Jesus swoops in and turns the situation on its head. It doesn’t matter about how great of a performance or show you display, or about any of those good things that you have done, any of those flowery words that you use, God doesn’t pay more attention to you because you have this whole spirituality thing under control and know how to sound all “Christian”; God hears you when you come to him admitting the opposite. Admitting a dependence on him. 

Do you see the difference? It’s a removal of I-have-it-all-together and an induction of Oh-God-I-Need-You.

And why does he not only hear prayers based out of that kind of reverence, but answer those prayers? Because you are admitting in humility what he already knows: You have a lack and he is the only one who can fill it.

And not only does he know we have a lack (and yet he is still good to us), but Wolfies, he knows what we lack BEFORE we do.

Talk about removing any possible opening for pride. Not only do we have nothing to be proud about, but he knows of our failings and needs way in advance of us being aware of it.

Whoa.

And yet, it’s to those people, the ones who see their lack, face it, admit it, and bring it to him to fill, those are the people whose prayers are not empty. Those are the people who do not heap up piles of worthless trash.

Rather, I like to think that maybe my prayers, your prayers, if said in an awareness and understanding of our lack of sufficiency, maybe ours are piling up like cool old scrap metal and bricks and broken furniture, just waiting for him to make into something more excellent than we could have ever figured out what to do with on our own.

Sheba, the Excessive.

That stories about a woman like the Queen of Sheba would send my mind reeling is probably new news to ….um….oh that’s right….none of you.

What with how you all know that I love such things as boots and lots of jewelry, how I have an on-going relationship with my hair, I take more trips than some deem necessary, and how I believe adult women should play dress up more often, I feel as if there is nothing left that I could say for you to be taken aback. Especially something as obvious as me saying, “I wish I could have known the Queen of Sheba.”

No. It seems being a blogger—especially if said blogger is yours truly—makes one lose their surprising power.

Anyway. 

There I was, minding my own business on my journey through I Kings, when, after being given the impeccable design detail of Solomon’s temple (which naturally I loved), in walks…or…well…I am sure she actually paraded….the Queen of Sheba.

And my onward-motion focus for the rest of my devotion time ran down a trail like a rabbit would just as quickly as she and her entourage came.

Because, see, here is the deal: while I cannot surprise you anymore, my mind went crazy over reading that that exact thing happened to little miss Queen B when she entered into Solomon’s palace and temple.

Actually. No. It was more intense than that. She was not surprised.

She was overwhelmed.

Whoa.

The Queen of Sheba.

Overwhelmed?

That’s not something that happens everyday.

Or ever.

I mean, what had she not seen, what had she not eaten, were there any experiences still left to be had?

Debatable.

But there she was, in all her own glory, being trailed and attended to by what must have been caravans of people to do her bidding—and she was overwhelmed.

A woman more sensational, more over the top, more to-the-nines, more EVERYTHING than a woman like me could even imagine being. 

And what was it that did her in exactly?

I Kings 10:4-5 “When the Queen of Sheba saw all the wisdom of Solomon and the palace he had built, the food on his table, the seating of his officials, the attending servants in their robes, his cupbearers, and the burnt offerings he made at the temple of the LORD, she was overwhelmed.”

It would seem, to steal the words from a Downton Abbey character, that when it comes to overwhelming the world’s most glamorous woman, “Nothing succeeds like excess.”

But wasn’t she used to excess, my mind forcefully queried?! Didn’t she embody it?! After all, not 4 verses later we read this: “And she gave the king 120 talents of gold, large quantities of spices, and precious stones. Never again were so many spices brought in as those the queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon.”

And I quote—“Never again were so many…”

No. There can be no doubt. This was an excessive woman. More excessive than the world or King Solomon himself would ever see again.

And yet. And yet. Regardless. There she was. Overwhelmed.

We read what did her in, but what are all those things? Lavish banquets, yes. Mind blowing palaces, most definitely. Servants and cupbearers galore; bedecked in finery like no servant she had ever seen (and she had seen many). Offerings to a God she probably didn’t worship that made her praise his name anyway (Verse 9).

It was splendor. Solomon was known for having it in spades. And it besieged her.

Wow.

What must it have been like…

I received the most beautiful flowers the other day. They were delightful for numerous reasons, but the timing of them was brilliant considering I have been staring at snow for the last 5 months.

A welcome reprieve of life and color and beauty.

And as I was marveling at them, roses and lilies and beautiful things I don’t even know the names of, they kind of overwhelmed me. I mean, flowers are just so…so…splendid.

And then suddenly it hit me, with the Queen of Sheba still rolling around in my mind, she in her overwhelmed state and me in mine, my thoughts went to where Jesus himself talked about these two very same things. 

“And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?” (Matthew 6:28-30)

Not even Solomon in all his splendor was clothed like one of those.

But how can that be?! DIDN’T HIS SPLENDOR JUST OVERWHELM THE WORLD’S MOST EXCESSIVE WOMAN?????

And that’s when it hit me. All those things that Solomon had, all the things that sent that woman either through the roof or go weak at the knees---those were things that Solomon had done.

Yes, yes. God gave him the ideas and the abilities and the wherewithal to do it. I don’t doubt or debate that for one second.

But all of those things were man-made things.

She was marveling at something done by the hands of earthly craftsman.

Is it any wonder then, that when Jesus comes into the picture he turns the whole thing on his head and, while he does not deny that Solomon had his splendor, he challenges the assumption that Solomon’s splendor was the highest kind.

“Do you see the lilies of the field? They haven’t done anything to make themselves beautiful. They don’t toil or sew; they are simply what God has made them to be. And not even all of Solomon’s splendor can compare.”

How crazy is that?! How counter-cultural, both then and now! Because there before me, arranged in a perfect bouquet, were things that had more beauty and splendor than all that could overwhelm an excessive woman.

But why?

Well, for one, God made those flowers.

Yes, I realize that is an elementary truth. But when was the last time you stopped to think about it?

God made those flowers.

And while I don’t have a verse right now off the top of my head to prove it, I am going to go out on a limb here and say this:

Whatever God makes is more splendid, more worthy of overwhelming you than anything our hands can do.

And I am not just talking about nature things (although Romans 1 is pretty clear that that does a sufficient job of proclaiming his excellencies)! But what about all the other things that only God can grow?

Like how about other people and compassionate hearts and souls that are moved to prayer and ministerings that happen out of nowhere and your path crossing with someone it shouldn’t have crossed with and the Spirit convicting you of some old, ugly, drawn out sin and opportunities you couldn’t have even imagined happening?

I mean, human hands can’t create those things.

And yet, do they overwhelm us?

Or no, that’s not the question. Do we LET THEM overwhelm us? Or is our focus so temporal, so earthly, so right now, that we are like the Queen of Sheba and can only be moved by the glamorous, the over the top, the excessive? Without even recognizing that God, in his mercy and grace and holiness and blessing is so much more excessive, his plans are so much more successful, and he is so much more worthy of praise than I, or even the Queen of Sheba will ever realize. 

Are we letting the wrong things, the wrong Someones, overwhelm us? Are we putting our hopes and our delights in earthly things? Or are we willing to let the enticement of the glamor of this world go so that we can be overwhelmed by the manifold glories we see every day, the things that God has created and is creating and that he has purposed to overwhelm us for him?