debily

Today was my final Bible study session on the life of Paul.  Ephesians 2:8-10 was the text for the video session.  I heard  something I had never heard before – or perhaps had heard and forgotten.

Eph. 2:10 For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.

The original Greek word for “workmanship” is poeima…and as it was spelled out  and I wrote it down, the beauty of that word fell over me.

Literally, I am God’s poem.  He is the Master Poet and I am his beautiful poem.  His sonnet.  His ode.  For someone like me, who sings poetry rather than writes or reads it, I am His song.  His beautiful, exquisite, tender love song.  His song that He is writing day by day and singing over me with joy.

I can’t tell you what this does for me inside.  I can’t tell you how much this means.  I can’t tell you the joy and comfort this brings, and how deeply it humbles me.  I can’t tell you how grateful this makes me, and how unworthy and undeserving I feel.  But it’s true.  It’s right there in black and white, signed with the blood of Jesus Himself.  I am His song.

Me.  Little old me.  No one special.  No one famous.  I’m not especially good at anything, and I have a lot of faults, and I don’t always finish what I start and I let people down all the time.  In the grand scheme of things I’m not really that great.  Most of the world doesn’t even know I exist.  Most of the world didn’t know when I arrived and won’t really care when I depart this life.  But despite all that, God thinks I’m worth it.  I am His song.

The session closed with the truth that “one day, all the lines will rhyme.”  For me, I say, “one day, all the harmonies will be complete.”  What God has begun is a simple melody line that is incomplete.  One day I will get to hear that song with all the layers of rich harmony and dynamics and articulation and artistry and expression.  It will be a beautiful opus of His love for me, love that tells my story from beginning to end. My story.  His song.   I can’t wait to hear it.

Today I finished up my study on the life of Paul.  What an amazing story.  For the first time, I really saw Paul for the human being he was.  I actually felt sad to come to the conclusion of his life’s story.

I confess, I had fallen several days behind. But knowing that I had copy duty at Trey’s middle school today I took my study with me.  God blessed me with lots of time as I waited for 520 copies of 14 originals, copied front-to-back, collated, stapled… plus several “3 sets of 150 of 3 originals, copied front-to-back, collated, stapled” and a few “100 copies of 12 originals stacked, no staples”.   I got completely caught up and then some.  In fact, I became so immersed in my study that I was surprised to discover teardrops falling onto my page as I read about Paul’s final days.  As Paul pleaded with Timothy for companionship and comfort in that miserable final imprisonment, I found my heart hurting for him…feeling his loneliness, bearing the emotional pain of being abandoned by those who had once been so close to him, cringing at the humiliation he endured, and longing with him for comfort and encouragement.

And it was in that dark cell, when all of what was familiar and comfortable had been stripped – literally – away, that Paul was able to say with absolute confidence:  “I am convinced He is able to guard what I have entrusted to Him until that day.”  The only thing he had to cling to was his faith.  The only foundation he had to stand upon was his God.  The only sure thing he could count on was his salvation.  The only comfort he could wrap around his cold, dirty, beaten body was the presence of God Himself.  A God he knew.  A God who was as real to him in that prison cell as you and I are today.  A God who was faithful to bring his servant safely home.

My study guide closed with the following.  It was a message I desperately needed to hear and one that I hope will encourage you, wherever you are in your faith journey:

He is able to guard every single thing you have entrusted to Him.  Never will you choose to believe or trust, then be forsaken. (emphasis mine)  He is keeping every record, every scroll, every trust.  You may walk in faith and never see with your human eyes how trustworthy He really is until that day you come face-to-face.  But you can know the One in whom you believe and be convinced He is able.  You have not been foolish to trust an invisible God.  One day you’ll see.  (Beth Moore:  To Live is Christ)

And Jeremiah the prophet said to the prophet Hananiah, “Listen, Hananiah, the Lord has not sent you, and you have made this people trust in a lie.  Therefore thus says the Lord: ‘Behold, I will remove you from the face of the earth. This year you shall die, because you have uttered rebellion against the Lord.’”          Jeremiah 28:15-16

Jeremiah, I’m learning, is not a particularly uplifting or encouraging book!  There are a lot of hard things to read – both about the Israelites’ continued disobedience and rebellion as well as God’s holy wrath against them.

But when I read these verses this morning, God spoke to me.  In ch. 27, Jeremiah has just been speaking out to the Israelites and the other kings in the region about how God will place the yoke of Nebuchadnezzar over them and bless them if they will submit to him as king.  He even tells them not to listen to prophets who prophesy peace because they are false prophets.   Then this guy Hananiah shows up and tells the people – including Jeremiah – in the house of God no less, that God has said he will break the yoke of bondage over them within two years.  For added emphasis, Hananiah takes the yoke around Jeremiah’s neck and literally breaks it in half.  BAM!!  What a powerful demonstration!  What awesome words of hope!  Two more years and God will free us!!  You can almost hear the crowd encouraging one another: Hang in there, it’s almost over!!  God is going to deliver us!

Jeremiah says “Amen!” but then leaves the people with some food for thought.  He looks at Hananiah and says, “Boy, I really hope what you say comes true.  I sure hope God sees our bondage and sets us free from this captivity.”  (please excuse my paraphrase)  But then, in front of God, the people, and everybody, he continues, “But I tell you this, Hananiah, if you’re going to stand here and prophesy peace and freedom, you’re really going out on a limb.  As much as I’d like to believe you, only time will tell if God has really sent you.”  And he goes on his way.

I’m sure the people were stunned with Jeremiah’s words.  What a downer!  Here they’ve gotten the best news in a long time – words of peace and hope and reconciliation and an end to their troubles – and Jeremiah has to be the party pooper.

Of course, Hananiah’s words don’t come true.  Two years pass and the people are still in bondage.  The yokes of Nebuchadnezzar are still firmly in place around their necks.  They don’t get to return to their homeland or enjoy the blessing of peace.  In a final showdown, Jeremiah once again faces Hananiah and utters God’s condemnation against him for deceiving the people.  And sure enough, in that same year, in the seventh month, Hananiah dies.

I’m reminded: God doesn’t tolerate lies.  He doesn’t approve of those who choose to change His words to fit their needs, wants, or desires.  He’s not pleased with those who compromise the truth…especially when spoken by a leader.  I’m not just talking about pastors or teachers, here.  I’m speaking to parents, to mentors, to friends.  To anyone who holds a position of influence in another’s life.  God measures our words by the power they have over another’s actions.  And if we are using our influence to deceive, we’d better be ready to face God’s righteous and holy anger in response.  God defended the Israelites, though perhaps not in the way they expected.  He removed the liar from their midst so they wouldn’t have to ride on his emotional roller-coaster again.  He delivered them from believing the lie that may have caused them to forever doubt the truth…from having their faith shattered by an apparent lack of faithfulness on God’s part.

May I take this passage seriously.  Better yet, may I take my words seriously.  May I take my influence seriously.  May I be mindful of those who are listening – both to my words and my actions – to be sure I am speaking God’s truth, even when that truth is hard.

Tomorrow is a special day ’round these here parts.  Once again, we get to enjoy the great booming voice of Big Tex as he thunders across Fair Park with his stiffly cheerful, “How-dy, Folks!”  Once again, the Cotton Bowl becomes a prized destination as crowds, loyally dressed and decorated, flood its seating bowl to watch epic pigskin battles.  Once again, the Texas Star spins slowly across the east Dallas skyline.

And once again, the smell of fried anything wafts through the air.

Now there are certain things that are required eatin’ for fairgoers.  Fletcher’s Corny Dogs, for one.  Never mind the long lines or the huge stack of tickets required to enjoy a glorified hot-dog-on-a-stick.  You have not been to the fair until you’ve indulged in at least one.  With mustard.  Only.  Trust me on this.  Another must-have is a funnel cake.  I realize these are a dime-a-dozen at most carnivals.   But somehow, they just taste better here.  Add a healthy dose of powdered sugar and you’re in fried-dough heaven.

Or you could be more adventurous and sample some of the winning fare from the Big Tex choice awards.  This year’s finalists included Fried Sauerkraut, Deep Fried Pineapple Upside Down Cake, and Fried Autumn Pie.  Because down here in the south, it’s a firm rule: EVERYTHING tastes better when it’s fried.

Thirsty?  Try some Fried Coke or a Deep Fried Latte or even Fried BEER.

Need something the kids will eat?  How’s about some Fried Mac ‘n’ Cheese, or a Fried PB & J Sandwich?

Prefer the spicy side of life?  Get yourself some Fried Salsa, or Fernie’s Fried Chili Frito Burrito, or even Buffalo Chicken in a Flapjack – which, despite the absence of the word is, indeed fried.

Don’t want to mess with the classics, man?  Then you ought to try some Fried Sweet Potato Pie or Fried Praline Perfection or Deep Fried Biscuits ‘n’ Gravy or Chicken Fried Bacon.  There’s even some good ol’ Deep Fried Southern Hospitality which has your collard greens, pulled pork, and cornbread:  it’s one-stop eatin’!

Need something a little more healthful?  Then step right up for some Fried Canteloupe or El Bananarito (which, in case you hadn’t figured it out, is deep-fried banana).

Got a sweet tooth?  Then you definitely need to get yourself a Heavenly Deep Fried Brownie, Fried Cheesecake or Fried Caramel Pecan Candy.

And when you’re all done, you can cleanse your palate walking around the Fair chewing on some Fried Bubblegum.

Acts 23:11 The following night the Lord stood by him and said, “Take courage, for as you have testified to the facts about me in Jerusalem, so you must testify also in Rome.”

I love the words here: “The Lord stood by him.”  God “stood by” Paul both literally and figuratively.  Paul was in the midst of being imprisoned, beaten, and shuffled from one court of law to another while the Jews tried to figure out what to do with him.  I imagine that many of his Pharisee “friends” had abandoned him, either for fear of finding themselves in the same position, or feeling like they were powerless against the higher-ups.  I imagine that many of his church friends were distanced from him, whether by geography or lack of communication, or physically held back by the guards.  His missionary friends were themselves either killed or off doing God’s work in the places He had called them to.  So Paul was truly alone.

And his troubles had only begun.  God tells him, “Hey, you’re going to be facing some tough stuff coming up…you’re going to need to be strong because I’m taking you to the next level on your faith journey.”  Paul knows what this means.  Ramped-up beatings.  Increasing threats.  Longer and more difficult imprisonments.  Trial after trial after trial before one important leader after another.  Stress.  Physical hardship.  Testing.

But “the Lord stood by him.”  As He uttered those words to Paul, He was standing “by him.”  As He was breaking the bad news, He was standing “by him.”  As Paul’s heart no doubt sank and he may have physically shuddered at the thought of what was coming to him, the Lord was standing “by him.”  And when Paul had no one else by his side, the Lord was standing “by him.”

Paul is no different from you or me.  Our tasks may be different – you and I may not be called to stand before the tribune or the Roman elite, we may not be flogged or have our lives threatened for our faith – but they’re no less difficult, daunting, and stressful.  But we can rest assured that as “the Lord stood by” Paul, He will do the same for us.

I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.

Those words, made famous by Scottish runner Eric Liddell in the movie “Chariots of Fire” don’t begin to describe me.  While I do believe that God made me for a purpose, I can’t say that He made me fast.  In fact, he made me more like a Clydesdale than a thoroughbred.  And most of the time, I certainly *don’t* feel His pleasure – or any other pleasure – when I run.  In actuality, the pleasure comes after the run, as in “I’m SO happy I’m done running!”  or “Yay!  I can take a shower now!”

Yet it’s been 18 months now since I first set foot on a treadmill – on a whim – to see if I could, in fact, run one complete mile.  Now I’m up to over 6 miles, running an hour straight and have completed several 5K’s and one 10K and am actually contemplating training for a half-marathon.

Yikes.  Who am I and what have I done with myself?

Today marked an anniversary of sorts.  It was one year ago this weekend that I ran my very first 5K.  My good friend Jacqueline agreed to go with me and run at *my* pace, which was significantly slower than hers.  We honored the memory of another friends’ precious little baby by running that 5K, a beautiful little girl who lost her battle to leukemia just days before she would have been 9 months old.  For both of us, it was our first 5K, an emotional time to remember and honor Allie but also complete a significant personal accomplishment.

I couldn’t wait to do it again this year.

But this year, I would have to go it alone, since my running buddy came down with some nasty flu bug.  My goal was to complete the run in 32 minutes or less, beating last year’s time.  This would mean running at a 10′ mile pace…or even faster.  According to my Dailymile posts, my pace has only been 10′/mi. or faster when I’ve been on the treadmill in the early stages of Couch to 5K, or when I’ve run short distances, like to my weekly Moms in Touch meetings where I have an hour of recovery between the intervals.

Lining up before the race, I was really nervous.  For one thing, I was feeling very much alone.  Trey was at a youth group retreat and Matt had opted to stay home with Crisana, so I had no cheering section.  My running buddy was sick and I didn’t know anyone else there.  And then there was my not-so-brilliant plan of having run both Thursday and Friday.  Though Friday’s run was short and fairly easy, it was extra mileage on my gimpy ankle.  To top it all off, I’d had a somewhat indulgent day of eating on Friday…between a donut at breakfast and gelato in the afternoon and french fries at dinner.  I wasn’t sure if my tank was full, and the reserves were well fueled, and how that might affect my pace.

But once the gun went off and the crowd surged forward, I felt all that apprehension fall away.  I had nothing to prove to anyone but myself.  If I needed to walk for a minute or two, so be it.  If my ankle started to hurt too badly, there would be volunteers on the course that could help me get back to my car.  And if I can run that miserable hill known as Meandering Way, I can certainly conquer this relatively easy, flat, smooth course on well-paved, 3-lanes-wide city streets.

Out of the gate, I was in the middle of the pack, and with the crowds I was more focused on not running into people or tripping over their feet than I was with my pace.  But as I neared Mile 1, what I saw on the timer shocked me.  That first digit was a 9!  I passed the timer just as the digits rolled from 9:59 to 10:00.  But there was no time for celebration, because I knew I had to keep that pace going for 2 more miles.

Mile 2 was a little tougher, with navigating the water station, turnaround, and a long slow incline.  At 15′ I hadn’t yet reached the turnaround, and I was concerned that I had fallen well off my pace.  But as I began that slow, steady climb I could see the timer at the mile marker and those numbers were still in the teens.  While I didn’t quite make it at 20′, I passed that timer at 20:10…not too bad, and still close to my pace.

Now came the hard part.  That final mile and the push to the finish line.  Thankfully, I found a good pacer in front of me that I could focus on and follow.  But I was beginning to feel tired.  I wanted to go downhill for a bit.  And doggone it if my mp3 player didn’t decide to go all wonky on me.  I tried to fix it while still running but the bright sunshine made it hard to see if what I was doing was working so I had to pull off to the side and actually take the darn thing off.  By then, my pacer was farther ahead, but I could still keep her in my sights, even if I had no hope of catching up to her.

I made the final turn just before Mile 3 to a sight that disappointed me.  The timer, though hard to read, was somewhere in minute 31.  I knew it would be hard to get to the finish line in less than 2 minutes…and I had done so well up to that point.  But as I turned the final corner, God gave me a burst of energy.  Something literally pushed me forward to the finish line.  I couldn’t see the timer well – someone’s head was blocking it – but I knew it was still in minute 32.  And literally seconds before I crossed it, I saw the number “33:00″ pop up.  darn.  But I crossed strong, and felt proud to have finished, knowing I gave all I could have given.

The official results say I finished in 33:05 (according to chip time), which is a 45-second improvement over last year’s chip time.  My official pace was 10:36, placing me 273 out of a total 763.  If I did the math right, which is always a sketchy proposition, that means I ranked 64%, almost in the top third.

The end of a race is always an emotional moment for me as I realize just how grateful I am to have a body that can *do* this.   I may not do it as well as some, and I may not look as good as others, but that’s okay.  I’m not interested in being the best, but in doing my best…and in bringing pleasure to the One who created me, for His purpose.

Deut. 6:4 ”Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one.5 You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.6 And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart.7 You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise.8 You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes.9 You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates.

She asked us why God would have had the Israelites write these words on the doorposts.  That same day a question was posed on the Christ Fellowship page about the correlations between Passover and N.T. communion.  My mind got to thinking…and suddenly BANG!!  POP!!!  CRACK!!  Lightning had struck.  An apostrophe! epiphany!  A thunderous roll echoed between my ears as the smoke cleared…and this is what God revealed.

Okay.  So, apparently God has a “thing” about doorposts.  First He has the Hebrews prepare for their inaugural Passover by painting the doorposts of their houses with a lamb’s blood.  And then, when they are out of Egypt and ready to enter the Promised Land He has them write these words of the law on the doorposts of their homes.  What is it with the doorposts??

The doorposts represent the way.  The way in and the way out.  They represent the way in to our “homes” – our inner sanctum, our most private place, our heart – as well as our way out into the world, our places of business, our community.  Our days are filled with going through doorposts – whether it be from one room to another, or from one location to another.   Writing the Shema on the doorposts provides a constant reminder of how I am to conduct myself, whether at home with my family, or out in the world conducting business.  As I pass through the door, I am reminded to make sure that my actions INSIDE my home match my actions OUTSIDE my home…that I am displaying in front of my children and husband the same integrity of character and love for God that I show to the world…or vice versa.  It’s also a reminder to those coming into my home of just exactly Who is in charge.  Who I serve.  And Who they should be expecting to see.

And it’s because of what the Passover doorposts signify that makes the Shema so important.  You see, when the Hebrews painted the lamb’s blood on the doorpost, God told them specifically to paint the top and the sides.  Unlike paint, blood is a very thin liquid, so when you paint the top, some is going to drip onto the ground.  And when you connect the blood-splattered dots – from top to bottom, from side to side – what shape emerges??  Yes.  A cross.  You see, the Israelites were literally painting the sign of the cross with the blood of the lamb to protect them from death, rescue them from slavery, and set them free.  As they walked through their doors that dreadful morning, they walked through the blood of the lamb.  It was that blood that protected their family.  It was that blood that allowed them to walk out of Egypt forever, as free men, free women, and free children.  It was that blood that provided a new life in a beautifully abundant land prepared just for them.  But they had to walk through it.

Years later,  the Lamb of God stretched his bloodied hands out to the side…His bloodied head rested at the top of the cross, while the blood from the nails in his feet dripped onto the ground beneath.  The blood of God’s precious Lamb stretched side to side, top to bottom, just like the doorposts at Passover, because HE is my way.  He delivered me from the angel of death…freed me from my bonds of slavery and sin…and will one day end my sojourning and bring me to a beautifully abundant land prepared just for me…if only I will walk through the blood.

I get goosebumps just thinking about the awesomeness of our God.  I love Him so much.

You make lemonade, of course.

But if you’re a true entrepeneur, capitalist, or overachiever, you then sell that sweet-tangy nectar at your very own lemonade stand!

This summer, as part of our Brownie program for Girl Scouts, our troop was supposed to choose a project to make our community a better place.  Note the use of the singular adjective: A project.  One.  Majority rules.

Our troop, however, could not decide on a project.  No, all seven of our girls each voted for a different project.  So we ended up with no majority.  And you know what that means to an overachiever like me.  Yep, we’re doing all seven.   One per month for the entire school year.  Because that’s how we roll.

So each girl now gets to take the lead role in organizing and carrying out her chosen service project.  Crisana’s was to help the Samaritan Inn, Collin County’s only homeless shelter.  We drove by the Samaritan Inn regularly on our way to swim lessons this summer, and we could see the number of people waiting, even in the midst of the brutal heat, to get inside.  We heard about the overcrowding, the large numbers of children who were living there, and the way the Inn’s meager resources were being taxed trying to meet the needs of the most desperate in our community.  Crisana decided she wanted to help.  She contacted the Inn and spoke with one of the coordinators there to determine how our group of third-grade girls could make an impact.

Toilet paper and paper towels was the answer.

But I wanted this to be more than just having the girls ask their parents for money to buy toilet paper and paper towels.  I wanted the girls to have some sort of investment, to make some sort of sacrifice or effort to participate.  I wanted this to mean something to them.  I wanted them to give, not just physically but emotionally as well.

And so was born Crisana’s lemonade stand.

She sent out an email to the neighborhood advertising her stand this past Saturday and Sunday.  She spread the word through my facebook account and even sent an email to the principal at McGowen asking for permission to collect donations there.  She decided to sell lemonade and cookies, and to use the profits to purchase the needed supplies for the Samaritan Inn.  She set to work, making her sign, putting a tub out on our doorstep for donations, and squeezing lots and lots of lemons.  With a little help from mom and a few friends, she made 10 dozen chocolate chip cookies, 8 dozen sugar cookies (4 of which she frosted and decorated with a single candy corn), and 8 dozen oatmeal raisin cookies.  She bagged them in individual baggies and made nearly 6 gallons of fresh-squeezed lemonade.

And then we dragged it all down to the corner and set up shop.

One of her Brownie troop-mates joined us for the sale on Saturday, as well as a neighbor friend who is a Girl Scout Junior.  Thanks to a neighbor, we enjoyed shade from the brutal sun both days.  Thanks to other neighborhood children, we also enjoyed a nearly constant stream of customers and activity throughout the two-day event.

When it was all said and done, the pitchers were washed and the trash was bagged up and the cookies were eaten and the money was counted…we learned that she had earned a whopping $195.50.  That’ll buy a lot of toilet paper.

All because a little girl had a dream…had a passion…had a heart…and a lot of help.

I think we’ve already succeeded in making our community a better place.

Isaiah 44:3  For I will pour water on the thirsty land,
and streams on the dry ground;
I will pour my Spirit upon your offspring,
and my blessing on your descendants.
4  They shall spring up among the grass
like willows by flowing streams.

What a refreshing promise for us during this time of drought!  God will – in a very literal sense – end this dryness.  He controls the weather patterns, the earth’s cycles, even global warming!  He understands creation’s “groanings” for His healing and restoration.  Just imagine how much more beautiful our landscape will look after seeing so much brown and yellow, how much we will appreciate the lush greens and vivid colors after seeing the dry, brittle grass and trees, and how refreshing it will be to see ponds filled with water rather than prairie grasses.

And in a spiritual sense, He will do the same for us.  In those seasons of spiritual dryness, He will – in His time – pour out His spirit of blessing and refreshing.  He will saturate our cracked and dry heart-soil.  He will saturate our parched and thirsty souls.  He will fill our empty reservoirs of joy, peace, and purpose.  And our vine will be lush and beautiful, bearing fruit for Him once again.

I have to share with you a funny story that happened to me today while I was out for my run.

I have a  small shuffle player that I listen to while exercising – maybe not as cool as an iPod or iPhone, but it works for me.  The only downside is that I can’t create playlists on it, but I’m not much of a playlist kind of girl.  In fact, I enjoy being surprised by the often-eclectic mix I hear.  I like to think that some days God takes advantage of having a captive audience, when He has something He really wants to say to me. 

Well, today was apparently one of “those” days.  I had planned to go for one of my 10K training runs: 5 minutes of brisk walking to warm up, followed by 3 18-minute run intervals, with 1 minute walking recovery in between.  The course I use when I do these long runs is scenic and beautiful, with large acreage lots and horses and longhorns and two-lane country roads.  It’s also very hilly and challenging and pushes me to go beyond what I think I’m capable of doing.  Today, I was really struggling.  I had run out of gas after the first two run intervals and my hamstrings were unusually sore, so I decided to walk the majority of the last interval.  I used that time to pray and talk to God and seek His encouragement.  This song came on, and even though it’s one that I’ve heard probably hundreds of times, the words just really spoke to me:

For some reason, this song was just speaking to me in a powerful way.  I was crying out to God, “YES!!  That’s what I want!!  I want to shine like the stars!  I want to be YOUR light!”  It was a precious time of worship, even in the midst of a failed training run.  I just sensed God’s nearness and love and even His pleasure as my heart expressed my deepest desire to Him.

The song ended.  My soul was soaring.  My heart was overflowing.  My spirit was burning.   I could hardly wait to hear the next song.

And what should that next song be?  “La Bamba.”

Worship. was. over.

The mountaintop experience was gone.  Just like that.  I had to laugh.  I’m pretty sure God was laughing, too.  He has a sense of humor, ya know.