Musings from a Servant's Heart: Dear Jesus

Musings from a Servant's Heart: Dear Jesus: Dear Jesus, I do not understand.  Just babies Lord.  Just little ones.  I cry for the horror and senselessness.  I cry for the parents w...

Dear Jesus

Dear Jesus,

I do not understand.  Just babies Lord.  Just little ones.  I cry for the horror and senselessness.  I cry for the parents who cannot be consoled. The horror of such evil defies description.  The depth of such grief goes beyond words.  Questions and screams of denial rage like angry chimpanzees around in my mind.  The answerless questions demand victims for their rage:   someone to blame, someone to punish.  Some way, anyway to avenge, to gain some kind of justice.  Yet nothing will.   I will never understand any of this.  No answers will ever be enough.  No words will heal the gaping wounds in the hearts of the parents of those children. 

So in all this darkness I run to You.  Even as I wonder why You did not intervene, I know You are our only consolation and hope.  Where else is there to go?   You are the only hope and consolation that will keep all of us from falling into a dark, pit of insanity because of this evil.  Thank You for the promise that You my silent anguish and the parent’s anguished spirits of the parents cry out in pain too deep for words (Romans 8:26).

So hear me Lord.  Please know I feel helpless.  Please know now that I struggle with fear for all the little ones that I love.  Please know I do not doubt you, but then I cannot fathom how this has happened.  Please Jesus, show your grace and mercy to these parents, teachers, and other surviving children.  Please Lord You said Your Holy Spirit is a comforter – how they (and we) need You in that role now (John 14:26).

Even as I type I see the scene in the New Testament when You gathered the little ones around You (Matthew 19:14).  May those little ones be gathered around you now.  Please be holding them in your lap.  Please wipe all the horror and pain from their beautiful souls.  Please Lord may their parents see each of them on Your knee and in Your arms. 

As to the rest of it, well Lord may the world finally see that more laws are not the answer.  Nothing but Your love and grace ever overcomes evil. 

Thank You for listening and understanding. 

My Grandma George made the most awesome biscuits in the world. A trip to her house in Kentucky, meant biscuits and something (sausage gravy, eggs, bacon, and/or sliced tomatoes) for breakfast. She could cook anything, but those biscuits! Every morning, Grandma sifted flour from an old Hoosier cabinet into a huge stoneware bowl. She dipped lard from a huge tin can with a big spoon and poured fresh milk into the mixture from a pail. She slid them into an old huge gas oven as bacon or sausage sizzled above in a cast iron skillet. Her beautiful strong hands turned out fluffy “melt in your mouth” treasures. My mouth waters from vivid memories of her kitchen.

Grandma taught me how to wash clothes in a ringer washer, sew on a treadle sewing machine, churn butter, and pluck a chicken among many other things. She could do anything on the farm and in the kitchen, but she could never teach me to make biscuits. No matter how hard she tried, no matter what tricks she showed me – my biscuits were always miserably tough and crunchy. But Grandma never gave up and so I didn’t either. No matter how bad my biscuits were, she set my lumpy efforts next to her works of art on the metal kitchen table as though they were worth something! We all knew the chickens got extra to pick at after breakfast – at least the appreciated my efforts!

Grandpa George had a gruff, no nonsense personality. His icy blue eyes felt like they could pierce straight through to your soul. His no nonsense Baptist faith suited his personality. He spoke loud and worked hard. He inspired fear and respect just by walking into a room. Grandma called him in to breakfast every morning from work he started at sun up. No one ate until he sat down and we thanked God for the hard earned feast in front of us. Every morning we visited he sat down, offered grace, looked around the table and asked “where are the biscuits that girl makes?” (I don’t remember him ever calling me by name. I was just “that girl.” From him, it was a term of endearment.) Every time Grandpa picked up one of my biscuits with his calloused hands and smiled at me. He ate them like they were manna from heaven. No one said anything else. I do not know if anyone else noticed or cared – but I did.

Grandpa and Grandma went to heaven more years ago than I care to count. Their farm is now an RV sales lot. The barn Grandpa built still stands as a silent testimony to years of hard labor. Many good memories are wrapped up in the weekends and vacations spent on their farm: digging to china in the red dirt, playing in the creek, digging potatoes, feeding orphaned piglets, running from chickens, snapping beans and so many more. I really do not recall either of them saying, “I love you” to me. But at every breakfast table, I knew acceptance and love because they treasured my simple offering.

There is a moment in the New Testament where a widow found the same kind of acceptance from God. Luke relates a story about Jesus watching people bring their offerings to the temple. The rich people gave large amounts out of their plenty. A widow brought all she had. Her offering looked pathetic in light of the larger gifts of the financially secure. Her two mites seemed worthless and hardly worth the effort. How could such a small offering make a difference? Probably not even enough to buy a cup of regular coffee at the gas station. But Jesus accepted hers, because she gave all that she had. He said nothing about the finer, more expensive offerings. In fact, He valued her offering above all else. Jesus said, “Truly I say to you, this widow has put in more than all.  For all they did cast in of their abundance; but she of her want did cast in all that she had, even all her living.” (Luke 21:3-4)
The lesson is this: do not ever let anyone say you are not enough or that your sincere efforts are worthless because they are too small or seemingly useless. Jesus accepts you and your offerings as you are – without comparison. He is looking for a heart that gives its all to Him. Whatever that all looks like, whatever talents you may or may not have. He loves you and accepts you. Bring your offerings to Him and find Him waiting to love and encourage you as only He can.

Musings from a Servant's Heart: You Can't Hide

Musings from a Servant's Heart: You Can't Hide: My husband Dean and I care for three mustangs.  (I use “care for” since no really owns these powerful creatures.  They choose to accept us...

You Can't Hide

My husband Dean and I care for three mustangs.  (I use “care for” since no really owns these powerful creatures.  They choose to accept us as caretakers and part of their herd.)  Dean adopted a wild mustang stallion at an auction before we married.  Then a couple years later Dean’s  brother and  sister-in-law later gave him a mare they adopted as well.   The two produced a gorgeous  loveable  male we affectionately call “Doofus.”

Cheyenne is the female and the lead mare in our little herd.  Even now at her “guestimated“ age of 35 she keeps the other two horses  in line. Before Dean and I married, she pretty much kept Dean on a short leash as well. Every morning she rousted him from bed around  4 a.m. demanding her breakfast  by banging her hoof off an iron gate outside the bedroom window.  

As a newly wed, I did not say much about it – at first.  I think I maybe waited a week before  I exclaimed to Dean, “You’ve got to be kidding me! This will stop!”  My sweet husband felt torn in this battle of female wills.  “On the farm,” he gently explained, “the animals come first.”  “Really?,” I retorted, “On a farm the animals that get fed that early in the morning are usually meat on the table in the afternoon!” Finally I convinced him to at least make Cheyenne wait until a much more decent hour of 6 a.m.  Cheyenne caught on quickly.   She relented.  Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

Afternoons still presented a challenge.   In the afternoon as soon as my car pulled into the drive way, Cheyenne started clanging the gate demanding hay.  In order to convince her to stop, I brought hay to the gate and refused to throw it to her until she quit kicking.  The battle of wills continued  for several days.

Finally one  afternoon I came home and no Cheyenne kicking the gate.  Congratulating  myself as an amature animal trainer I opened the car door.  Then  I heard it.  Instead of the “clang, clang, clang”, a loud “thump, thump, thump” literally shook the barn.  It took a moment before I realized Cheyenne decided to kick the back wall since I refused to feed her if she “rang” the gate.  Had to admire the old girl!  I started giggling.  Cheyenne stuck her head around the side of the barn and snorted at me.

We started the routine again:   I refused to feed her until she quit kicking the barn.  It only took a couple days until she stopped.  Triumphant, I tossed the hay in the corral.  Then I scratched her and whispered in her ear “what a good girl.”  I bragged about it to Dean the next afternoon as I threw the hay into the coral.  “See, I gloated, “No noise!  You just have to let her know who is in charge!”   I followed him to the water barrel in full view of the back of the barn.  There stood Cheyenne swinging her foot and just missing the wall.  She looked at me defiantly, tossed her head and trotted out to the pasture. 

Just like we “caught” Cheyenne, God sees everything.  Nothing is hidden from Him. Proverbs 5:31 says, “For your ways are in full view of the Lord, and he examines all your paths.”  His desire is to love and provide for all His children, but He is in charge and wants His children to acknowledge His Lordship.  He stands with our provision in His hands and we still insist on trying to get our own way, do our own thing.  The miracle is, He never gives up.  He stands at the gate and waits to give us only good gifts. It is up to us if we choose to do His will. 

Lord, how patient you are.  Forgive me for the times I demanded my way. Forgive me for the times my pride made me think I could hide anything from You.  Thank You for  Your Mercy.  Thank You that in Your great love, You sometimes withhold Your answers to teach me who is really in charge.  Thank You that my demands and whims do not sway You.  Thank You that You never give up on us!

Alarm

The weather is in rapid change mode today.  Supposed to have some of the white stuff sometime today.  I know some people do not like winter, I love the first snow fall. Yes, I know it means everything is cold and wet. I know roads become treacherous. However, for me the splendor of a winter wonderland far outweighs the negatives.  Often the first snowfall  transforms leafless trees into delicate lace curtains framing a landscape glittering like diamonds. A peaceful softness wraps everything it touches. For a few moments a small part of creation whispers a fresh, clean promise to those who listen.

One year not too far in the past a heavy snow blanketed Huntington county.  It frosted the landscape in 12 inches of white.  So awe inspiring until the electric went out. Quite a few people spent less time enjoying the snow that year and more time trying to keep warm. Our church lost power for several hours. After it was restored, I hazarded a journey to the edge of town to insure all was well in our worship place. 

I cleared a path to the glass front doors before I could enter.  No problem, still beautiful and now I was warm too!  However, when I opened the door and stepped into the foyer my appreciation of God's masterpiece quickly turned to irritation. A blaring alarm welcomed me. The culprit was the septic system.  Its alarm screamed at me while I hunted for the trouble. No reset switch on this system; just a button to silence the alarm.  After a few hours of anxiety, I learned from the repairman that the pump simply needed to "catch up" or recycle or something. The technical explanation escaped me. However the irony of going from pristine beauty to thoughts of an overflowing septic tank did not. Neither did the lessons God built into our first snowfall of the winter.

Lesson one: nothing comes without a price. The beautifully frosted landscape cost some folks cold nights and others major property damage. Some families lost food and part of their paychecks. My point is that every gift comes at someone's expense. God's love for us cost Him the life of His only Son, Jesus Christ. The wonder of grace that brings us peace came with an enormous price tag: His blood.

Secondly if we repent and accept His gift of salvation, we are washed clean of our sins. We are a new creation full of life sparkling with the light of the Son.  We are whiter than a landscape full of snow. This too is expensive. Jesus made it very clear that the disciple's life costs plenty. It may cost embarrassment, material things, family, friends, and livelihood. Some pay with their lives. Yet, the peace, joy, triumph and hope of life lived for Christ will always be worth the price.

Third, when a person or a body of believers "lose power" an alarm goes off. God even sounds the alarm through the world's pain and sorrow.  Hmmm, I think hurricanes qualify as an alarm.  I found it sad that during Hurricane Sandy,  so few called people to pray,  Instead of hoping in the Lord, it appears most believe the media and government are our help in times of trouble.

Back to the alarm:  a disciple and/or large group of disciples can lose power when they choose to avoid sacrifice or believe God saved them only for their benefit. Some choose to complain rather than focus on the beauty of Christ. Many people ignore that quiet voice of God calling them to leave everything behind for Him. Yet many of God's people turn a deaf ear and blind eye. Others grow angry and blame. Some simply refuse to live a sacrificial life that offers the world's only hope: Jesus Christ. We try to silence the alarm but our powerlessness is seen in the ugly mess we can see all around us. Only through the power of Christ in us will anything truly ever change.

Praise be to God there is a reset button. A humble heart can always find forgiveness and new life just for the asking. God willingly offers salvation, peace, joy and cleansing to all who call on His name and follow Him.

"Come now, let us reason together," says the LORD. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool." Isaiah 1:18 (NIV)

Cut your own Switch

Cut your own switch…

I grew up in an era when corporal punishment just came with being a kid.  My Grandma watched us while mom and dad worked.  I never doubted she loved me.  I also never doubted I better behave.  As kids often do, I found ways to get in trouble.  Grandma always gave me several warnings, but every now and then I pushed her too far.   When Grandma said, “Dianna Lynn…” in that tone only grandmas and moms possess, I knew I should stop.  However, sometimes I figured whatever I was doing was worth the punishment.  And punish me she did.

  I clearly remember one of those times.  I do not remember my age.  Probably around six.  It was a chilly morning.  Grandma’s house had big gas registers in the floor that heated their two-story double.   I discovered if I dropped crayons through the grate, they hissed and melted down the side of the duct.  For some reason, this fascinated me.  Grandma warned me of impending punishment.  But, I did it anyway.  Sure enough, the smell of burning crayon alerted my Grandma: “Dianna Lynn go cut me a switch.”

Some of you may not even know what a “switch” is.  A switch is a small flexible branch from a bush or tree my grandma used in place of a paddle.  If you misbehaved badly enough, grandma made you go cut your own switch from a bush in her backyard.  If you did not bring one sturdy enough to inflict at least a sting….well, let’s just say you knew you better get a decent switch.  A “switching” and description of the reason for your punishment ensued.  Then, I usually wound up in the corner until the tears stopped and I promised to not do it again.

Today’s authorities most likely would frown on my grandma’s form of discipline.  To be sure, corporal punishment is dangerous when used by an abusive or angry authority figure.  However,  Grandma’s discipline taught me valuable lessons in life.  I learned respect for adults and authority.  I learned that all behavior has consequences.  Grandma instilled in me a need to keep my word.  She never rushed to punish, but knew that I needed boundaries.  She intended to teach a precocious strong-willed child those boundaries because she loved me.  I never once doubted she loved me, not even when I felt the sting of a switch.

God is a Father who believes in disciplining His children. For instance, there is the story of King David.    God loved King David as a man after His own heart.  David reveled in that love, but like a much-loved child he sometimes presumed on God’s love and sinned.  He angered God so much at one point, God sent a prophet to correct him.  David had a choice between  three days of plague or three years of famine or three months of running from his enemies (2 Samuel 24).  In effect, God said, “David, cut your own switch.” 

Did David rebel, doubt God’s love, or bitterly resent the discipline?  No David owned his sin.  He realized God’s grace in stopping him and punishing him for his misdeeds.  That’s the old way, before Jesus right?  No!  Grace brings salvation from sins, but does not mean we are not responsible for our actions!  We will reap what we sow and we will experience the consequences.  In fact the author of Hebrews says, “God disciplines those he loves.”

So I look at it this way. Some bad stuff just happens.  Some things we suffer because of others.  However, a lot of the things we bemoan in our life we bring on ourselves.  So before we do the poor pitiful me or where is God stuff, how about we look back and see if we are simply experiencing the promise of God’s grace in our lives.  Like crayons dropped furnace grate, the stench of sin reaches the nostrils of our loving Heavenly Father.  When He’s had enough, He will warn you.   And there will come a time when you will know the sting of His discipline.  Let that be a time when through your tears you are reassured that it is His grace and love in action to save you from yourself.

Praise Him!

I love music.  As I grew up, most of my mom’s family gatherings wound up around a piano or guitar singing and playing.   Some of my most treasured memories are singing in old farm house that served as a church where my grandfather pastored.  Before services it was not unusual for strings and voices to usher us into the presence of God.  When the service officially started, the piano and voices joined in singing as only those down home folks could.  The music transported me.  That place was safe and full of joy.  I always thought that perhaps the heavenly choir sounded something like a good old  fashioned songfest.

We sang from memory in addition to using worn hymnals.   Some songs came from a series of song books with Jesus on the cover.   All of the music plays in my heart and soul every day.  I picture my grandfather play the acoustic guitar.  Mom, sometimes grandma or others, played the piano, a mandolin often joined in as we celebrated the Jesus and our salvation.

I knew the words to almost every tune we sang before I could read.   For years I never looked in a hymnal since I already knew the words.  At some point, I began to think about some of the words I sang. Some were so beautiful.  Some told stories.  Others I just did not understand.   

One song in particular always puzzled me: “Praise Him! Praise Him!”  I puzzled over that song until one service, my ten year old self wanted to look like an adult.  So, I opened the hymnal to the announced number and began to follow the words.   The familiar words “Praise Him! Praise Him!” danced below the music graph.  I dutifully sang/read through the first verse.  Then we began the chorus, “Praise Him, praise Him, tell of His excellent greatness…”  What?  Greatness?  All these years (which were many in my little mind) I sang “tell of His excellent grape nuts.”  I reasoned early on that whoever wrote the song really like cereal.  How embarrassing, yet no one noticed.

I think of that revelation often and smile.  I wonder if Jesus laughed every time the chubby, curly headed little girl in thick glasses stood on the seat and belted out “tell of His excellent grape nuts.”   I think so.  I think the angels He sent to guard me probably melted into fits of giggles at the sincere, but sincerely clueless child who praised God for breakfast cereal.  And then I think, “Well, why not?  Didn’t Paul say to rejoice in all things?  Didn’t Jesus say, ‘suffer the little children to come unto me?’  Didn’t He also say unless you become like a child we can’t enter the kingdom of heaven?’”

So Jesus, thank you for your music that carried me through childhood and the prodigal years.  Thank you for calling me back to You through your melodies of love.  Thank you for musicians who open the flood gates of heaven with worship music.  Thank you for a voice to sing your praises.  Thank you for vivid memories of Your presence  surrounded by joyful song.  Thank you that you inhabit the praises of your people.  And, oh yes, Jesus you did teach someone how to make cereal.  I will always sing of Your excellent grape nuts.

“While I live, I will praise the Lord; I will sing praises to my God while I have my being.”  Psalm 146: NIV

Hello

Just some random lessons Jesus taught and still teaches me!  Hope they encourage you!