cling

Last year, I thought I'd figure out how to make a movie on my Mac. This was the result.

Songs by Brett Williams and Paul Baloche.

what is that?

Such a good reminder ...

good question

My friend, Shannon Gallatin, sent me this video clip after her husband, Scott, sent it to her this morning. The subject line to his email was: Are women born this way?

Good question, Scott. I'd say yes.

guest blogger: andy estrada (with help from c.s. lewis)

My oldest friend in the world (oldest as in longest-lasting, that is), Andy Estrada, periodically sends me really thought-provoking emails. All the rest of the time he just sends me jokes and funny videos. But yesterday, this came through. It's a quote from C. S. Lewis that I have read and pondered before. I know that elusive "something" that Lewis describes--a hint of something not quite tangible, but almost painfully familiar; a something that tugs and draws and promises.

I hope you enjoy the thoughts of both these men, and that you too decide to lay aside what is seen and touched and tasted and set your desires instead on that which awaits us. God save us from the "evil enchantment of worldliness."

"In speaking of this desire for our own far-off country, which we find in ourselves even now, I feel a certain shyness. I am almost committing an indecency. I am trying to rip open the inconsolable secret in each one of you–the secret which hurts so much that you take your revenge on it by calling it names like Nostalgia and Romanticism….

We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name…

The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things–the beauty, the memory of our own past–are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited. Do you think I am trying to weave a spell? Perhaps I am; but remember your fairy tales. Spells are used for breaking enchantments as well as for inducing them. And you and I have need of the strongest spell that can be found to wake us from the evil enchantment of worldliness.”

–C.S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory"

Lewis touches on the nerve of our deepest longing. We try to fill the void with false intimacy, hollow relationships, sex, pornography, food, alcohol, drugs, “serving God”, education, sports, daily busyness, and a myriad of other meaningless things the world offers us trying to replace true intimacy, intimacy with God, intimacy within marriage, intimacy within friendships.

What little I know about the subject tells me that it does not happen naturally. It not only takes unreserved and undivided commitment, but also cultivation, nurture, and a persistent focused effort. Achieving true intimacy (love) cannot and must not depend on feelings. I cannot depend on how I feel at any given moment. Feelings are fickle and wavering and cannot be trusted.

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?” Jeremiah 17:9 (NKJV).

Some days I don’t feel like seeking God. Some days I don’t feel love toward my mate, children, or friends. So what do I do then? God’s description of love is found in 1 Corinthians 13:4-8 (NIV),

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails”

Notice this description has absolutely nothing to do with feelings, but in actions. In fact love acts opposite the way that I would naturally feel or react. In my opinion, true love (which leads to true intimacy) is a result of choosing to act on an unwavering commitment or covenant with God, others, and ourselves. Not that I always act or react congruent with my belief system, for I am a mere mortal (I know, hard to believe!). But working in cooperation with the Holy Spirit I purpose in my life to be a man of integrity and authenticity and act in such a way as to honor God in my daily journey with Jesus.

Life is about choices. So often I chose not to choose, but to live my life by the path of least resistance, a directionless existence that has for the most part led to ruin. I believe in my case this attitude has been based in a false sense of worthlessness and fear of loss. The enemy of my soul had me convinced that I would never add up to anything, that my dreams could never come true, that anything good in my life was a fluke, and that I was such a screw-up that even God didn’t like me.

Today, that changes. Today I choose to see myself as God sees me. I choose to live life in my true identity, as a child of the King, a beloved of the Most High God, the apple of His eye. Today I choose to live life on purpose.

--Andrew Estrada

easter 2009

My husband sang this song--one of my very favorites--at our Easter service yesterday. I didn't tell him I brought the camcorder and he didn't notice when I flipped it on and started filming. I'm glad I did.



Dave Woodward (accompanied by Jerry Roberts)

dearest friend

O sacred Head
now wounded,
with grief and shame
weighed down,
now scornfully surrounded
with thorns, thine only crown:
how pale thou art
with anguish,
with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish
which once
was bright as morn!

What thou, my Lord,
has suffered
was all for sinners' gain;
mine,
mine was the transgression,
but thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior!
'Tis I deserve thy place;
look on me with thy favor,
vouchsafe to me thy grace.

What language shall I borrow
to thank thee, dearest friend,
for this thy dying sorrow,
thy pity without end?

O make me thine forever;
and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
outlive my love for thee.

start now

My dear friend, Inga-Lill Guzik, sent this to me today. I love the message behind this woman's actions. Read to the bottom, and then ask yourself, "What can I start doing today that will create beauty for someone?"

The Daffodil Principle
by Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards

Several times my daughter, Julie, had telephoned to say, "Mom, you must come see the daffodils before they are over." I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from my place by the beach to her lakeside mountain home.

"I will come next Tuesday," I promised, a little reluctantly, on her third call. The next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and so I got in the car and began the long, tedious drive.

When I finally walked into Julie's house and hugged and greeted my grandchildren, I said, "Forget the daffodils, Julie! The road is invisible in the clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and the children that I want to see bad enough to drive another inch!"

My daughter smiled calmly, "We drive in this all the time, Mom."

"Well, you won't get me back on the road until it clears and then I'm heading straight for home!" I said, rather emphatically.

"Gee, Mom, I was hoping you'd take me over to the garage to pick up my car," Julie said with a forlorn look in her eyes.

"How far will we have to drive?"

Smiling she answered, "Just a few blocks, I'll drive ... I'm used to this."

After several minutes on the cold, foggy road, I had to ask "Where are we going? This isn't the way to the garage!"

"We're going to the garage the long way," Julie smiled, "by way of the daffodils."

"Julie," I said sternly, "please turn around."

"It's all right, Mom, I promise, you will never forgive yourself if you miss this experience."

After about twenty minutes we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church. On the far side of the church I saw a hand-lettered sign ... "Daffodil Garden." We got out of the car and each took a child's hand, and I followed Julie down the path. As we turned a corner of the path, and I looked up and gasped.

Before me lay the most glorious sight. It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it down over the mountain peak and slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron, and butter yellow. Each different-colored variety was planted as a group so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. Five acres of the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen!

"Who planted all these?" I asked Julie.

"It's just one woman," Julie answered, "She lives on the property. That's her home," and she pointed to a well-kept A-frame house that looked small and modest in the midst of all that glory.

We walked up to the house and on the little patio we saw a poster:

Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking :
50,000 bulbs
one at a time
by one woman
2 hands, 2 feet
and very little brain
Began in 1958

There it was ... "The Daffodil Principle."

For me that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than thirty-five years before, had begun - one bulb at a time - to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountain top.
Still, this unknown, old woman had forever changed the world in which she lived. She had created something of magnificent beauty, and inspiration.

The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration: learning to move toward our goals and desires one step at a time, (often just one baby-step at a time) learning to love the doing, learning to use the accumulation of time When we multiply tiny pieces of time with small increments of daily effort, we too will find we can accomplish magnificent things. We can change the world.

"It makes me sad in a way," I admitted to Julie, "What might I have accomplished if I had thought of a wonderful goal thirty-five years ago and had worked away at it 'one bulb at a time' through all those years. Just think what I might have been able to achieve!"

My daughter summed up the message of the day in her direct way, "Start tomorrow, Mom," she said, "It's so pointless to think of the lost hours of our yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson a celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, "How can I put this to use today?"

quarters

Today we went to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial. And once again, I heard the story of Janusz Korczak. It's a story worth telling over and over, so here are my thoughts from the first time I visited Israel:

I woke up last night at 2:45, and for some reason, there in the darkness, I thought of Janusz Korczak. You're wondering: who is Janusz Korczak? Well, in my opinion he's about as close to a hero as you're ever going to find, humanly speaking. Janusz was a champion of children, an educator and writer, and the director of an orphanage in the Warsaw ghetto in Nazi Germany. During that horrendous period, thousands of Jews were forced to live in unimaginable conditions in the walled and guarded ghetto; when they realized they were being rounded up and sent to their deaths, they hid their children. Janusz took in as many of them as he could find and cared for them until the Nazis caught wind of his rescue. They paid a visit to the orphanage and demanded that Janusz hand over all those Jewish children; when he refused, they barreled past him and grabbed the children anyway. As the soldiers marched the startled group out of the orphanage, Janusz joined them.

It's possible the children never knew they were headed to their deaths. Witnesses said that Janusz led them in songs, played games with them and kept them happy all during the long train ride. And when they arrived at the Treblinka death camp, and stood in line to the gas chamber, they held hands and walked with dignity. And Janusz perished with them.

I learned of this hero while visiting Yad Vashem, the Jewish Holocaust Memorial, in Israel this past October. After I took this picture of his statue, I stared at those wide, embracing arms and the look of pained and patient compassion, and I thought, I want to be like Janusz Korczak.

I think most of us would like to be like Janusz. Deep at heart, we all wish we could face a moment like that--a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to pour ourselves out on one last grand act; to make our life count toward something profound and weighty.

I once heard a story in which God gives a man ten thousand dollars and asks him to use it for His glory. The man accepts the money and says, "Yes, Lord! I'll find some spectacular way to use what You've entrusted to me--I'll spend it all at once, in one stunning, dramatic display that will make people look up at You in awe and wonder." But God stops the man. "I don't want one act from you," He says. "I want a lifetime of service. I want you to spend that money one quarter at a time."

The one glorious act would be far, far easier. Because I don't like--we don't like--to spend our quarters in secret places. Nor do we like to spend our quarters on people we don't deem worthy--people like the woman who rushes to take the parking space you waited for, pretending to not see your blinker. People like rude neighbors, and crabby relatives, and ungrateful strangers who don't seem to notice you slowed down so they could shove their cart in front of yours. We want to horde our quarters, then, and wait for a worthy spending spree. But God asks something different of us.

Oh, God, if it's true that the Christian life is lived one quarter at a time, I need Your help. Teach me to spend in a way that pleases You, and help me hold my quarters with an open hand. Give me the grace to spend freely. And if it's Your will, let me have enough left at the end of my life that I might still give You one last, spectacular gift.

megiddo

“That’s wrong,” Tera says, and I see indignation settling in her eyes. Her voice is quiet, but fierce. “There’s nothing joyful about that. Nothing. Why are people taking pictures?”

From our position above the ruins of Megiddo, I look down at the circle of stones—the “high place” where untold numbers of infants cried and breathed their last—and my heart agrees. This is a place of abomination.

Our guide has just described the culmination of Israel’s idolatry, carried out long ago on the platform below. Drawn into paganism, they satisfied their idols’ blood thirst by offering up their first-born children.

“They had medicinal means of abortion,” he explained. “But often, if a girl conceived before marriage, she would carry out the pregnancy instead of opting for abortion. Then she’d bring her newborn here and sacrifice it to the gods, figuring that by fulfilling her obligation with this unwanted baby, she wouldn’t have to give up one she loved later.”

I see that girl in my mind. She walks the steps quickly, aware of the weight in her arms, but already hardened to its miracle—hardened too to the sounds of his cries, and the softness of his skin, and the potential of his life. She lays her burden down, and turns her back on innocence, and retreats again to her life.

How could anyone make that decision, and take that journey?

How does anyone do it today?

“History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new” (Ecclesiastes 1:9 NLT)

Healing Hearts--for those dealing with the trauma of abortion.

full

I've been battling sickness all week, but I had just enough energy to write a new post on our women's ministry blog this morning. But that's all I've got. So here's something from a few years back. I hope you all have a wonderful Valentine's Day ...

Earlier today, I said to Dave, "Check on me tonight, will you? When you get home, say, 'How's that chapter coming? Did you get it finished?' I need the accountability."

Dave gave me that look, the expression husbands the world over don whenever they find themselves being soft-spoken into a no-win situation. I saw fear in his eyes. I tried to erase it.

"I won't get snappish or crabby or defensive when you ask. I promise."

He stood there thinking, remembering. I have a feeling I've made that promise before. I have a feeling I've broken it. Without commiting to anything, he left the house--quickly, and without looking back.

When he returned awhile ago, he didn't ask. So I offered. "You know, I'm going to need a little grace on that chapter," I began.

He scoffed. Not a bad, mean, hostile scoff. Actually, it was a tad on the timid side; just enough to hint "I told you so," but undefined enough that he might be able to pretend he was only coughing, should I call him on it.

"No--I really do have a good reason," I said.

He looked at me, waiting.

"Well, first off, I was asked to do an edit. Quick turn-around. They needed the article right away . . . as in today."

He didn't blink.

"And I spent the afternoon at the school helping with Tera's party. And after we got home, Zac needed a ride to the Y."

Nothing.

"And . . . and it took me a loooong time to form the meatloaf into a perfect heart shape."

Know what? That one worked. He loves meatloaf, and he's not averse to heart-shaped food, if that food happens to be served on, say, Valentine's Day.

I'll put in an hour or so on that chapter after I'm finished here. Honest. You can check with me later, if you feel brave.

For now, I feel like blogging. I'm just too full not to. I've had a perfect day, and it has to come out somehow. So here goes:

--I awoke to snow on my car. Not much, but enough that the air smelled winterish and wonderful.
--My husband took me to lunch; at the conclusion, I had the most perfect puff-pastry swan filled with light-as-air cream.
--Clouds rolled in.
--Clouds rolled back out.
--I heard from an old friend.
--I heard from some new friends.
--I found what I was looking for at the library.
--My meatloaf came out perfectly; the potatoes had just enough cream cheese and butter; the peas tasted like I'd just released them from their pods.
--Zac's working on his third plateful and making appreciative, gluttonous noises, Larry's laid out like a bear skin rug near the wood stove, Tera's doing homework on the hearth, and Dave's sitting next to me on the couch, not holding me accountable.
--There's just enough breeze that every so often, the wind chimes on the porch tinkle.
--I'm loved.

I hope you know you're loved, too, tonight. I hope your day was wonderful, and you spent time with someone you care about.

Happy Valentine's Day

can't hold it in

I found this video on YouTube tonight while looking for a David Crowder video. The info says this is a guy walking down the street in New York City who can't keep his praise to himself.

I don't want to be silent either.