backdrop

Do The Next Thing

2011-11-17T20:20:00.000-08:00

How does one move on after the dust of unexpected, harsh reality begins to settle? Elisabeth (Elliott) would tell you to simply do the next thing. She would know. Those are the words that the Holy Spirit whispered to her as she sat in the jungles of Ecuador hearing the news that no young wife wants to hear; her husband was dead. Jim Elliot, and four other missionaries had been speared to death by the Auca Indians, an unreached tribe that they were praying would come to know Jesus.

As Elizabeth sat at the ham radio, stunned by the news, she asked God how she could go on in the jungles without her beloved Jim, and as a single mother with an ten month old baby girl. The Lord impressed a question upon her heart, “What needs to be done next?” She looked down at her ten month old and thought, Valerie’s diaper needs to be changed. Elisabeth changed Valerie's diaper. And then she did the next thing that needed to be done and then the next thing and then …. Elisabeth’s “do the next thing” mantra got her through many dark days. It is the way to move on from harsh reality ....

Responding to Evil

2011-11-11T05:26:00.000-08:00

How easily we are overcome with evil. Once overcome, we attempt to respond to evil with more evil which simply leads to even more evil. Evil-thinking. Evil-speaking. Evil-doing. It doesn't work.

Jesus tells us the way to overcome evil is with good. King David implores us to not spend our time fretting over evil, or evil doers as it only leads to more evil-doing. So, here's to random acts of goodness!

(Psalm 37 Amplified Bible; Romans 12:21)

Steve Jobs, The Man

2011-11-08T20:09:00.000-08:00

I wrote this post last week, one day prior to the breaking news of the sexual abuse scandal of retired Penn State Coach Jerry Sandusky. I find that interesting. When you read the last line, I think you will too.

I was mildly astounded at the outpouring of accolades for Steve Jobs upon the announcement of his death. I’m all about respectfully remembering the deceased and the personal and corporate accomplishments of Steve Jobs deserved our attention. He was after all, the brilliant pioneer of the computer revolution, not to mention the co-founder, chairman, and CEO of Apple Inc. along with a myriad of admirable and respectable accomplishments. I was astounded however, because Steve Jobs was also known for being a highly unlikable and uncaring man. One of his hallmark habits was parking in the handicapped parking space at Apple. He was not handicapped nor was he considerate. Clearly.

In reading the website allaboutstevejobs.com I discovered that back in 1981, the Macintosh project founder sent a list of complaints about Steve Jobs to the Apple president, of those complaints were listed:

Jobs regularly misses appointments.
He acts without thinking and with bad judgment.
He does not give credit where due.
He interrupts and doesn’t listen.
He does not keep promises or meet commitments.
Jobs is often irresponsible, and inconsiderate.

Steve Jobs was also known for having a bad temper; getting angry at random employees and firing them on the spot for trivial reasons.

I have to wonder if the outpouring of awe toward Steve Jobs reveals that we are still convinced that we what we DO outweighs WHO we are. We have it backwards and that's tragic.

Forward Motion in Midlife

2011-11-07T08:00:00.000-08:00

"We are disappointed because we age.
We are dissatisfied because our dreams

slipped out of our hands.
We are discouraged that in our sin, we failed many, many times.

We are disappointed that good things come to an end
and that people move on.

Midlife exposes how much we struggle with that fact that
God completes His work of redemption

in us by keeping us in the middle
of all of the harsh realities of the fall.

- Paul Trip, Lost in The Middle

The question that begs my answer is how will I move forward, from grace-to-grace, in this transitory season that is shadowed by disappointment and dissatisfaction instead of, or rather than getting stuck in the quicksand of sadness and regret? The midlife question is about how one moves on with the new normal that often keeps loss and seeming limitations at the forefront.

God affirms that the one who finds his/her strength in Him, and in whose heart are the highways of heaven will journey through life from strength-to-strength. (Psalm 84:5-7)

The Weight of Wrong-doing

2011-11-06T08:59:00.000-08:00

The weight of wrong-doing. You've felt it. I've felt it.

The mental and emotional heaviness of heart and conscience ignited by angry words and loaded reactions. The hurtful tone. The lie that kept things in my favor. The greed or entitlement that grabbed instead of gave. The reaction that hurt instead of helped, condemned instead of cared. The selfishness. The loose lips about another. The retaliation. The private relief over the failure of one who hurt first. The bitter heart and rude response. The weight of temptation turned into reality.

The weight. That heaviness of heart and mind left behind from the aftermath of sin. Up close and personal sin or up close and someone else's sin.

The weight of another's choices can prove just as burdensome as the weight of mine. The worry and the wondering of their wrong-doing. The unwanted ramifications. The hurt and betrayal. The shock and disbelief. The loss. The heartache.

Wrong-doing is heavy. It's weight paralyzes. It's oppressive. It keeps one down for the count.

Enter the prophet, Isaiah. Relief for the inner-weight .... an exchange offered by the anointed One "... a garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness ..." The only help for the weight of wrong-doing.

Do You Have a Snippet of Time?

2011-11-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

We have a Penn State grad student living with us. A female student named Elyse. Yay! It's amazing, there's actually someone in my home who not only listens to me but hears what I have to say. Smile. In fact, Elyse dialogues with me. About things I want to talk about. Don't get me wrong, I love my three guys but I'll let you in on a little secret ... one dad plus two sons plus one mom does not equal deep, meaningful conversation. Rarely. Even when Ben and Andy lived at home, time didn't often lend itself to regular, substantial, detailed or emoting kinds of conversation. It was more on-the-fly, to the point, factual and activated kind of conversation. Meaning, just tell me what I need to DO and please don't ask me to join you in any kind of mental or emotional calisthenics. (haha) Most of the time it could barely be labeled "conversation." Let's just say that's why talking to myself over the years escalated to a whole new level. Now don't get me wrong, I have absolutely no doubt that my three guys love me, and the one I sleep with takes really good care of me. Really good. None of that is in question but the conversations I have with the Jameson men don't exactly fill me up. Ok, point made. Hopefully, point well-taken.

On the other hand, I do love the female chatter that rings in the walls of our home these days. One of my recent and allusive conversations with Elyse, left me feeling spurred on to offer something a little different for my blog followers ... many who may have moved on to more regular-writing bloggers by now. Ugh. I discovered something during my late night babble with Elyse that revealed reason behind my not so regular posts. The posts I wrote took big chunks of time. I don't have big chunks of discretionary time in this season of life. Soon after Elyse and I chatted, she scooted off to bed, always earlier than I scoot and as she did, I had an aha moment. Why not blog with snippets of thought, instead of chunks? Likely my readers can't afford chunks of time to read my posts any more than I can to write them? Yes. That's it. Snippets of thought, wisdom, musings, insight and more. Snippets it will be. Final answer.

So, here's to snippets instead of chunks .... I hope you'll click onto backdrop more regularly again. Let me know how you like it. Or how you don't.

The PLACE Makes All The Difference

2011-10-05T21:07:00.000-07:00

In route to the Twin Cities just a matter of days ago, to spend a week with our oldest son, I divided the sixteen hour trek into uneven halves with a one night stay on the other side of Chicago. I'm infatuated with cities; a true city girl through and through! I actually enjoy the traffic-laden, stop-and-go drive through a downtown metropolis. The buzz of people, the store fronts and billboards, the line of restaurants, the diversity, the hustle and bustle, even the honking gives me a bit of a rush. However, I was thankful to get through the heart of Chicago that rainy afternoon after ten plus hours confined to my driver's seat. I settled into one of Marriott's temporary bedrooms for a short nightcap fully aware I'd be back on I-90 in just a matter of hours.

I awoke early and was greeted by brilliant sunshine as I dragged the trusty plastic stick to draw back the heavy shade-darkening curtain. The opening of that hotel curtain collided with the opening of some faded memories from over a decade ago that tumbled into my conscience and caught me unaware. As I drank in the view of the breath-taking Chicago morning, the skyline sparked memories of being in another city with my late brother, Ron. Memories matched with a familiar flood of emotions that unwittingly showed up in my hotel room and my heart just after dawn ...

Ron called San Francisco home for well over twenty-five years until the very day he took his last breath on earth. His third floor apartment, in the Portrero Hill neighborhood, nestled in between what was then called PacBell Stadium and the Bay Bridge. A place that felt like home to me although I've only been back to the city once since Ron's death. However, on that sunny autumn morning just a week ago, while taking in the Chicago skyline, I had a rather odd but palatable sensation of being back in the PLACE that I grew up simply calling, "the city." As if San Francisco belonged to my family or something. Smile.

I felt the all too familiar rush of hearing, smelling and feeling city life as if I were actually stepping out onto the sidewalk below Ron's apartment housed on Mariposa Street in the hill-laden streets of his neighborhood. As my eyes beheld the windy city's horizon, it was if my nostrils took in a fresh aroma of Folgers Coffee from the plant only blocks from Ron's cozy flat. I had a strange sense of my leg muscles feeling the stretch while in my mind, Ron and I made the steep trek up to the Daily Grind Coffee Shop for our morning cup. I was almost convinced that my ears overheard the familiar bell faintly ringing at the local bookstore as my memory opened the door for Ron and me to step inside to peruse a few new titles or pick a needed greeting card. The sensations played out in my memory but the sentiments were so real they felt tangible.

As my minds-eye recaptured moments from life long ago, the Spirit of God made a poignant connection between this odd sensation to something of far greater value. I could see with the eyes of my heart how much these cherished memories awakened me to the reality that all too often we find ourselves feeling far from our Creator, gently grieving meaningful time lost with God. Time that somehow became a thing of our past; recent or distant. We despondently wonder if it will ever be "like it was before" with Him. As my eyes took in the view from my hotel window, my heart took in a different view and I began to wonder if this all too familiar dilemma has a solution so simple that we somehow miss it? That breath-taking view of the windy city tossed me back to life as it was in another city ... the city (smile) that my beloved late brother once called home. I had returned to a PLACE so like San Francisco that it nearly propelled my heart and head to believe I was actually there.

In a similar way, returning to the PLACE you or I used to meet with God is the beginning of recovering the relationship with Him we once enjoyed. It's really that simple. If we would but hasten back to the PLACE where we used to meet with the Lover of our Soul ... retreat to early mornings or a favored spot in nature, determine to return to church or just to that big comfy chair in the den ... the PLACE where we grew accustomed to listening to the Voice of Truth and pouring out our heart to the God who cares ... that PLACE will accompany us back to time with the Father as we once knew it because somehow, the PLACE really does make all the difference.

This Little Light of Mine

2011-09-02T19:56:00.000-07:00

How I remember being a wee little girl in Sunday School at North Highlands Baptist Church some 49 years ago. Preschool children, who were yet to be labeled such, met in the basement of that vibrant church where my daddy was the Pastor. We sat in a circle on metal chairs. No toys. No books. Often a flannel graph and always an open Bible. Sunday-upon-faithful-Sunday we learned about the Written and the Living Word of God there in the basement of that Southern Baptist Church in central California. Every week without fail we sang songs about Jesus, and His love for the little children. All the children of the world. I remember well one song in particular and singing the old familiar children's melody with heightened glee,

"This little light of mine, I'm gonna' let it shine .. . This little light of mine, I'm gonna' let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine ...."

Maybe you have a similar memory. Maybe not. I still have the emphatic sense that I meant what I sang ... as best as a four year old could mean it ... especially the part about hiding it under a bush, and shouting "OH NO! I'm gonna' let it shine ..." Regardless of my best and most sincere four year old intentions, it seemed that my light would grow dim while my body and my mind grew older and bigger.

How is it that somewhere along this journey called life, the sparkle of who we were meant to be, the joy of shining with the light we were destined to shine, stops? How does the little light of mine, or yours, grow so dim or worse yet, get snugged out?

Maybe the unkindness of another puts it out. Or the harshness of life's circumstances. Or chronic heartache. Or the cruelty of someone else's words. Or disappointment. Or bitterness. Or, God forbid, all of the above. Maybe those are the things that snuff out the flame the Creator lit within us long before the foundations of the world. I don't know. Not for sure anyway. I do think however, that it breaks God's heart when His light in us dims or worse yet, goes out. After all, light was God's idea. So was I and so were you. The very first words of the Bible leave no question,

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep.

And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.

Then God said, 'Let there be light'; and there was light. And God saw the light; that it was good;

and God divided the light from the darkness."

As God hovered, or lingered and contemplated, in the stillness of nothingness the idea came to Him to create light to contrast the darkness. And His self-judgement declared that it was good. The light was good. So much so that He actually divided it from the darkness. Enter the creation of man, and woman and ultimately, of you and of me. In each of us, God has put His light. A piece of Him that we are meant to reflect. Something of His image that we are destined to display. A light we were to let shine and not hide under a bush. Oh no. As children we believed that and we sang with gleeful confidence that we would indeed let our little light shine! And then we grew up.

And somewhere along the way our light, the light of God's glory, His goodness, dimmed and began to flicker. The darkness took over more and more of our heart until our light went out completely. I often wonder; each time that happens in an individual, does God look upon his created one and think, "this is not good. It's bad." I just have to wonder. Light has always been on God's heart. His Son came to earth to be the Light of the world and we were delivered out of darkness into His marvelous light! God is light and in Him there is no darkness.*

What would it take for your light to begin to shine once again? A simple decision that goes something like this ...."This little light of mine, I'm gonna' let it shine. This little light of mine, I'm gonna' let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine. Let it shine?" When the flicker is seen within, beware of bushes and their tendency to hide the light of the God's image in you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CVeB7ACVgO0&feature=related
* John 8:12; I Peter 2:9 and I John 1:5

Fighting the GOOD Fight

2011-08-14T18:07:00.000-07:00

I have a habit before I roll out of bed each day and head for my morning cup of coffee. A habit that serves me well and sets my heart and mind on what matters most as I face the demands of each day. It's the very first thing I do. I do it before I put my feet on the floor or mentally process what's on my plate for the day. It comes before coffee, a shower or my morning email check. It's one of the most treasured moments of my every day: listening to the Voice of Truth.

This morning was different. I woke in a state of prayer, the talking side of the heavenly dialogue. I was working my way through reminding God about the needs of person-after-person-after-hurting-person who are facing insurmountable challenges. Some of the specifics had me awake throughout the night of a rather fitful sleep. My running at the mouth morning prayer was an attempt to leave these dear ones in God's care in hopes I could get on with the fullness of the day I faced. As I prayed a knot in my stomach grew. I contemplated the heartache some are currently facing ....

... a young single mom with unexplainable seizures that are more frequent instead of less as she lays in ICU, her family heartsick as they wait and pray for answers ... the grieving family and friends of a local pastor who just passed from this life into eternity, a man whose presence on earth will be missed beyond description ... a couple who is separated and desperately trying to make some sense out of the place they find their once love-filled marriage ... my husband facing a new school year without his teaching partner of the last 14 years, his sense of loss and profound sadness ... the two young boys of my husband's teaching partner as they face the school year without the security and love of their mom ... a pregnant mother with multiple health issues that keep her from sleeping day or night as she finds herself so physically depleted she can hardly function ... a family with five children, including a new born baby, who just lost their home and their van after months of the dad searching for a job but coming up short ... my sister planning a fundraiser to help with the medical bills that stack up like dust while she prepares for a heart transplant .... another friend facing the near-to-certain need for a liver transplant .... Andy's coach and his wife as they worry about the unanswered questions over all of the developmental and physical delays of their dear little one-year old baby girl .... my precious mother lying in the same bed, in the same room day-after-day-after-long-day with a palatable desire to die so she can go to heaven and be with Jesus ... a couple heartsick over their adult daughter's divorce, to embrace her gay lifestyle and lover ... others grieving loss after death, divorce, a move, cut-backs at work, a broken relationship ... and on and on it goes.

As my prayer list grew so did the knot in my stomach, as did a sense of dread and being overwhelmed. Both began to settle on me like a wet and heavy blanket. At that moment, the Voice of Truth interrupted my thoughts and prayers ...

"You're fighting the good fight, Sherilyn. Tthe good fight of faith."

As I meditated on that truth, the knot began to shrink and peace replaced the dread. The good fight ... the good fight of faith ... that truth adjusted my perspective. That is a fight worth fighting! We are all in a fight of some kind every day. We fight traffic when we're late, the clock to beat a deadline, the bank account being low and the needs being high, the demands at home versus those at the office, and more. Beyond those more trivial things we often fight each other along with our sick or injured bodies, and others that are bigger yet. We are all in a fight of some kind or another most of the time. Few are worth our time, energy or money. Some are unavoidable. The fights in life are part of why we go on vacation ... they are why we love to go to places like Disney World, a beach front house or plan a camping trip ... to escape the fight of daily life or to seek reprieve from the fight of a much greater magnitude. And yet, there is a good fight. The fight of faith.

FAITH is "perceiving as real fact
what is not revealed to the senses." *

The good fight of faith is a fight we must choose regardless of the cry of our senses. It's a demanding cry. A relentless cry. It's a cry that reasons, "If I can't see or feel it then it's not going to be." Faith reasons, "I may not see or feel it but it's going to be!" Faith comes by hearing the Voice of Truth.

Faith most often leads to a battlefield. No one is ever pushed onto the battlefield of faith. Not even by God. One has to step into the fight of faith. It's a good fight. Worth the long exhausting days that feel like war. Worth the unceasing threat of the enemy. Worth the sacrifice of time praying for, serving or loving another. Against all odds. Faith is worth the battle wounds. The fight of faith promises sure victory. The fight of life promises nothing.

* Taken from Hebrews 11:1 in the Amplified Bible. The "good fight of faith" is taken from I Timothy 1:18 and 6:12; II Timothy 4:7.

Passing the Test

2011-08-09T22:19:00.000-07:00

The last week has been a test. Life at our house has changed again. Benjamin, our oldest, took his trek across the northern part of the country to return to Bethel University to start football camp. He is with the senior players on a retreat as I type. My every heartbeat is a prayer for Ben as he starts this landmark year and makes life-affecting decisions. Andy, our youngest just returned from Lake Placid, New York where he played in an FCA Lacrosse Tournament. He knew no one going in and weathered the newness like a champ. He returned home to discover that the beloved lacrosse coach at Eastern University will no longer be his coach when he moves into his dorm in two weeks to start his sophomore year. Andy is really sad about Coach Child's resignation. His dad and I are heartsick. With every beat of my heart I pray for Andy as he presses into a new year with many more challenges than that of a new coach.

Mothers worry. I'm not a worrier by nature but as Ben and Andy's mother I have fought the urge to worry. I seem to keep loosing that fight in recent days. When worry knocks at my door, I have to reckon with that fact that life has served me a test. A test I've confronted many times before. A test of whether or not I will trust the Father once again with my most prized possession; my children. The question begs an answer in my heart-of-hearts .... will I trust God with what feels like one of life's sweetest treasures or is my trust in Him limited to something I give lip service to? As in a praise and worship service? In a conversation? On the pages of my journal?

The criterion of the worry test is I Peter 5:6,7 (Amplified Bible)

" ... humble yourself [demote,lower yourself in your own estimation] under the mighty hand of God, that in due time He may exalt you. Casting the whole of your care [all your anxieties, all of your worries, all of your concerns, once and for all] on Him,
for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you watchfully."

Worry is pride. If I'm to humble myself as I throw the weight of my cares on Him then, worry is pride. Trusting is humility. Humility always leads back to the cross. Trust follows. As I meditated on I Peter 5:6,7, the phrase, "on Him" got stuck in my heart ... "on Him" is also mentioned in Isaiah 53, smack in the middle of the prophetic verse about the coming Messiah ...

" ... the chastisement [needful to obtain] PEACE and WELL BEING for us was upon Him ..."

Jesus was chastised so that I could live worry-free. Be at peace. Enjoy well-being in my emotions. It was part of His destiny. To hang on the cross that chastised Him for my peace and well-being.

Dr. Larry Hutton identifies worry as perverted imaginations. We all imagine daily ... how the meeting will go, what we should say to her or to him, what others will be wearing or saying or doing at the next event we must attend, how the family member will take the news, what the outcome of this decision or that decision will be and on and on it goes.

Worry doesn't solve tomorrows problems. Worry destroys today's gifts. Worry misses God's watchful care. Worry fails the test. Trust imagines good things happening ... even in the worrisome. Trust is believing what God imagines. Trust rests in God's watchful care. Trust passes the test.

Andy warming up at Eastern

Ben playing for Bethel in the Final Four

Humility 101

2011-05-05T06:28:00.000-07:00

Some of you have mentioned that you miss reading my posts (thanks for noticing!) and I want you to know that your words of encouragement fill me up, and are deeply appreciated. I am not being a "blogging slacker." Smile. The best way I can describe where I've gone is to say that God enrolled me in a crash course this semester. Humility 101 offers a rather intimate classroom setting, typically of two. The instructor and I. Every now and then we take a field trip together, for points of discussion. I'm learning more than I knew I had to learn.

Somehow I simply can't find my words right now. At least not for print. At least not while I'm still enrolled in this course. Please note that I will return. I can't say when but I trust it will be soon. Semesters are ending all over the country this time of year but I haven't heard yet if there is follow-up summer session for this one. Smile. Time will tell.

Thanks for checking backdrop and for believing in my what I have to say.

Press On to Know the Lord

2011-04-02T19:35:00.000-07:00

I've heard so many good stories from others about the challenge spurring them on to more meaningful and regular time with God. The two weeks are up. New habits have been established. Old habits renewed. I'm pressing on in my 21 day challenge, no longer posting journal entries ...

Hosea 6:3 NLT

"Oh, that we might know the Lord!
      Let us press on to know him.
   He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn
      or the coming of rains in early spring.”

Day 12 - No Words

2011-03-30T20:04:00.000-07:00

Read my Bible in brief today. In constant dialogue with the Father. Grieving. No words to share right now. Profoundly sad. At peace. Weary in body and soul. Grateful that Jesus captured my heart so long ago. So grateful! He is all together lovely. Altogether worthy. Altogether wonderful to me.

Day 11 - Some Days Are Like That

2011-03-29T20:58:00.000-07:00

I spent time with God today and it was good.

I continued my reading in Jeremiah and read some amazing verses but nothing was sticking to my insides. Nothing seem to soothe my soul. I mostly prayed. Listening and talking. More like thinking.

I'm grieving and full of sadness for my husband who has lost his teaching buddy, Beth who from my perspective left this earth too soon. She has two young sons and a husband who loves her. I'm grieving for Grant and Conner and Pat and for those dear middle school students who loved Mrs. Donghia. And don't seem to know Mr. Jameson without her.

God's ways are not are ways, His ways are higher than our ways (Isaiah 55:8) so I trust.

And then there's my almost 83 year old mother whose body no longer functions independently. At all. The dear woman lost her ability to feed herself a few weeks ago. It was the only function she had left. It's gone now. She and I have lost the ability to talk on the phone. So sad. Mother is an aging woman begging Jesus to "call her home." He is silent. At least, for now.

Beth had to leave, mom has to stay. His ways are not our ways, they are higher than our ways. I need to trust.

I'm tired and my heart is aching for those I love that seem to have lost their willingness to think and act with wisdom. I'm sad and concerned for them. Very seriously concerned. My heart feels so heavy. It has all day.

Some days are like that. Some times with God are like that too.

Day 10 - The Eternal Paths

2011-03-28T07:29:00.000-07:00

The most pure meaning for the "ancient paths" in Jeremiah 6:16 is "eternal paths." God is imploring us through Jeremiah to ASK for the eternal paths, those roadways that lead us to live our lives for what will go beyond this life.

Why does He tell us to ask for eternal paths? Could it be because we have such a tendency to make this life our focus and our own happiness and achievements here on earth the important matters? They do matter but they are not the eternal paths. The eternal paths are those paths that lead us to live our lives by the two greatest commandments; to love the Lord our God with total abandon and to love others the way that we love ourselves (Matthew 22:36-40). To love the Lord our God like that is the "most important, the principle commandment" according to the Amplified Bible.

What a jolting reminder my husband I got this weekend about the brevity of life and our need to ask for the the eternal paths. Our friend, and my husband's teaching partner for the last 15 years, literally dropped dead while on her treadmill this weekend. Beth was a healthy 39 year old with much of life ahead of her. She leaves behind two young sons and a husband who loved her. She got up Saturday morning, drank a cup of coffee, talked with her sister on the phone and went to the basement to exercise while her husband and boys wrestled in the family room upstairs. And in a moment, while exercising and enjoying life, God called her into eternity. How could she know? Did she leave anything undone, unsaid, unsettled? Was there anything she might have done or said differently if she had known? Those of us who loved her are stunned. How could we have known? Eternity comes in a moment.

Life is fragile and in the whole scheme of things, so very brief. James says that our life on earth is only a vapor. How long does your vapor, I mean your breath hang in the air on a frigid morning? Seconds, maybe. Such a vapor is the comparison to our lives, the length of our lives. The ancient paths, the eternal paths are the ones that Jesus walked on; doing the will of the Father, undoing the works of the devil as he healed bodies, souls, forgave sin and called many to follow after Him.

As a follower of Jesus, the question begs to be answered in my own life; am I on the eternal paths? God implores me in Jeremiah 6:16 to ASK Him to show me, lead me to the eternal paths and to WALK IN THEM.

Day 7 - 9 - God's Paths

2011-03-26T18:29:00.000-07:00

“ … ASK for the ancient paths; ASK for the good way …”

Below are a few choice verses from my long list of them on God’s paths and way.

Jeremiah 18:15

“Yet my people have forgotten me; they burn incense to worthless idols, which made them stumble in their ways, in the ancient paths. They made them walk in byways, on roads not built up.”

Psalm 16:11 and Act 2:28 (Amplified Bible)

“You will show me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy, at Your right hand there are pleasures forevermore.”

“You have made known to me the ways of life; You will enrapture me [diffusing my soul with joy] with and in Your presence.”

Psalm 25:8-12 (Amplified Bible)

“Good and upright is the Lord; therefore will He instruct sinners in [His] way. He leads the humble in what is right, and the humble He teaches His way. All the paths of the Lord are mercy and steadfast love, even truth and faithfulness are they for those who keep His covenant and His testimonies. For Your name's sake, O Lord, pardon my iniquity and my guilt, for [they are] great. Who is the man who reverently fears and worships the Lord? Him shall He teach in the way that he should choose.”

Psalm 27:10,11 (Amplified Bible)

“Although my father and my mother have forsaken me, yet the Lord will take me up [adopt me as His child].Teach me Your way, O Lord, and lead me in a plain and even path because of my enemies [those who lie in wait for me].”

Psalm 119:35

“Direct me in the path of your commands, for there I find delight.”

Proverbs 4:26 (Amplified Bible)

“Consider well the path of your feet, and let all your ways be established and ordered aright.”

Proverbs 5:6

The adulterous woman “gives no thought to the way of life; her paths wander aimlessly, but she does not know it.”

Romans 11:33 (Amplified Bible)

“Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unfathomable (inscrutable, unsearchable) are His judgments (His decisions)! And how untraceable (mysterious, undiscoverable) are His ways (His methods, His paths)!”

Day 7 and Day 8 and ????

2011-03-25T07:49:00.000-07:00

Although one of my strengths is to think strategically, by no means am I a methodical thinker. Nor do I process step-by-step, line-by-line. You can imagine therefore, that my study of God's Word isn't methodical either. However, hear what I'm not saying; a well-mapped out approach to reading/studying the Bible offers a comprehensive understanding of the written word of God and it's good. It's necessary to accurately understand and explain the word of Truth (II Timothy 2:15). I often require myself to read and study in that way but it's laborious for me. It feels like a chore (not all bad), it's personally counter-intuitive. All of that to say, for those who may be following my 21 day journey, I did not skip Day 7 or Day 8, etc. but I'm off on a search in Scripture about "the good way" and I'm collecting a list of verses, definitions if you will, to "the ancient paths and the good way" as mentioned in Jeremiah 6:16. It's imperative to interrupt Scripture with Scripture so that's where I am, "standing at the crossroads and looking." Stay tuned for that list ....

Day 6 - The Path that Leads to Life

2011-03-23T19:15:00.000-07:00

Jeremiah 6:16

(New American Standard)

“Thus says the LORD, Stand by the ways and see and

ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is, and walk in it;

and you will find rest for your souls …”

You may have noticed by now that I love to read the same scripture in multiple versions. I find that helps me get my heart and head around its meaning. So, as I meditate on Jeremiah 6:16, I’m compelled to know what the ancient paths are and what the good way is. There are many places where God talks about paths, and a way and more. I read a number of them and landed on Psalm 16:11 that are referred to in the New Testament, in Acts 2:28. King David asks to be shown the path of life as found in the presence of the Lord where there is joy and pleasure. Fullness of joy and pleasures forevermore. A place where I will be “enraptured with joy.” Is it possible, Lord? There’s no doubt YOU can diffuse my soul with joy as the Amplified Bible puts it (Acts 2:28) but then why do I all too often miss it? Is it my unbelief? My sense of hurry? Have I have filled myself up with so many other idols that there just isn’t room for You, for the joy and pleasure you offer? I’d be a fool to not show up for such an offer. Show me the path, the road, the way of living that leads me to you where your offer is sure and life, true life, can be had.

I asked the Lord for salvation for those in my life who don’t seem to know Jesus personally. I prayed Psalm 16:11 for them.

Day 5 - Rest for Your Soul

2011-03-22T19:18:00.000-07:00

While yesterday’s time with the Father seemed to be about asking for the good paths, today seemed to illuminate the phrase “find rest for your soul.”

Interestingly, I didn’t get in my time this morning. I had an unexpected interruption and had to wait. Not an excuse, just an explanation. I went on to work where a day of meetings and emails and studying begged for my attention. I have the glorious privilege of being in paid ministry and we happen to have a brand new Prayer Cabin on our property where our church offices our. (I know, it’s amazing!) Knowing I would be out all evening for ministry, I found a space late in my work afternoon to sneak over to the Prayer Cabin for a mini-retreat. I spent just over an hour in the presence of the Holy One. I snuggled up in the comfy easy chair, covered up under a blanket and after soaking in some praise music and talking with the Lord I found myself nodding off. Now let me back-track to explain that each day at the end of my time with Him I write “ASK” at the top of a clean journal page and wait for the whisper of what I am to ask for. This afternoon however, I sensed the Lord urging me to not write “ask” but instead, to write, “PAUSE.” Thus, I did. And then my mind followed my pen as I wrote a letter to me, from the Father.

“Sherilyn, you are weary and tired. Soul weary and body tired. You’re empty. I’m so glad you are coming to Me, the fountain of Living Water. Your soul is parched and thirsty. Your body is begging for rest. Come, drink from My fountain. Come, retreat in My presence. Come, lay at My feet and rest. Come, enjoy sweet relief from the demands of your world. And above all, when you come, Relax. (Imagine here the my list of all the things weighing heavy on my heart and mind.) Your time is in My hands. I love you. What else matters? I love you. I am enough for all that concerns you. I love you. I’ll make a way where there seems to be no way. I love you. That will never ever change. I love you. Now and forever. You alone are mine. I alone am God; Father, Savior and Comforter. Receive.”

Immediately upon writing in my journal, I fell asleep. I think that’s ok. To sleep during our time with Him. We sleep when we are relaxing with those we are close to. I think its ok to sleep when we are with God. I really do. I wonder if God watched me as I enjoyed my little catnap like I used to watch my boys when they were sleeping? And I wonder if He smiled as He stood over me there in that small prayer cabin resting? Like I used to smile with such contented delight over my children as they slept. I woke and re-read Jeremiah 6:16 in the NIV Bible …

“Ask where the good way is,

walk in it,

and you will find rest for your soul.”

From there I read Isaiah 55:1-3 where we are invited to come to the waters if we are thirsty and without money to come, buy and eat” and then I read all of Isaiah 58 about fasting and Sabbath. The Holy Spirit said that Sabbath is His invitation for us to “press pause” and rest; body, soul and spirit. I love that! Press pause and rest. Ultimately, the promise here is that when we find the good paths, the ancient ways and then walk in them, rest will be by-product. And who doesn’t need rest these days? What renewal for me as I spent time with Him there in our little Prayer Cabin. It was good to be in His presence this afternoon.

Day 4 - Stand at the Crossroads and Look

2011-03-22T19:05:00.000-07:00

It’s Monday and thus, I was able to have some extended time with God today as Monday is my day off, sort of. Smile. It was so good to be with Him and not be in a hurry. It was rich and it filled me up.

My continued search for Scriptures with the word “ask” in them took me to Jeremiah 6 today. I was reading in the Amplified Bible.

“Thus says the Lord, ‘Stand by the roads and look, and ASK for the eternal paths where the good, old way is; then walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.’ But they said, ‘We will not walk in it.’”

To ask is to inquire or beg. Some versions say “stand in the crossroads” indicating a fork in the road that leaves one with a choice. And at that moment of deciding which way to go, we are to LOOK or consider the choices and ASK for those paths that keep eternity in focus and lead us to walk in the good way, the pleasant way according to the Hebrew meaning. As God shows us the good way, we must then choose to walk down that pathway. It’s easy to be appalled at the people of the Old Testament who said obstinately; “we will not walk there” until I happen to hear my own voice among them responding the same way to the path God shows me. I think right now I too stand at a crossroad and as I stand, I’m looking as I begin to “beg” for the ancient paths that are good for me.

Let your mercy lead the way, Lord.

Day 3 - Filling Up on God

2011-03-21T20:07:00.000-07:00

My journal pages are filling up again. Its been awhile and it’s not that the journal is coming to life, it’s that I am!

Today's time with God was a simple one of reflecting and confessing and cleansing. My journal feels too raw. Deep. Personal. But His words that were my reflection are full of life and renewal.

Proverbs 30:5-9

⁵ “Every word of God is flawless;
   he is a shield to those who take refuge in him.
⁶ Do not add to his words,
   or he will rebuke you and prove you a liar.
⁷ “Two things I ask of you, LORD;
   do not refuse me before I die:
⁸ Keep falsehood and lies far from me;
   give me neither poverty nor riches,
   but give me only my daily bread.
⁹ Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you
   and say, ‘Who is the LORD?’
Or I may become poor and steal,
   and so dishonor the name of my God.

Day 2

2011-03-21T20:04:00.001-07:00

Another rich time with the Father this morning. Psalm 39:5 in the Amplified Bible tells us that’s God’s favor (grace) is for a lifetime. It also puts it this way, “His favor, grace is life …” I love that. It’s proven true for me, His grace is life to me. And then in verse 10, the psalmist offers a short prayer,

“Hear, O Lord, have mercy and be gracious to me.

O Lord, be my helper.”

I would end those sentences with an explanation point. Smile. How I need the mercy and grace of the Lord. How I need Him as my helper. In His grace is life, and even in my asking I am desperate for His grace and mercy for there, in my asking, I find impure motives , selfishness, fear, pride, self-pity and more. I am reminded of the angel of the Lord who spoke to Zerubbabel and told him to cry out or “SHOUT GRACE” to the mountain of human obstacle (Zechariah 4 Amplified Bible). I follow this wise instruction. I shout, cry out loud in desperation for God’s unmerited favor to the people and situations that weigh heavy on my heart. People I know personally, and otherwise.

Hearts and relationships broken seemingly beyond repair. Healing of body, soul and spirit. Those who've not yet tasted the salvation of Jesus. As I listed in my journal those things that concern me, I prayed that His goodness would be the solution in each life and circumstance. In mine and in theirs.

My heart weighs heavy for my mother who is like an invalid and longs to say her final goodbye on earth so she can take up residence in her heavenly home. But her heart beats on and we wait with her for the Lord to call her home.
I choke up when I read the blog of friends who long for the children of their heart yet unknown to them, to come home and snuggle safely in their beds, and in the arms of their parents while the Ethiopian government makes decisions affecting that choice. I can't quite get over the hope and faith their hearts display nor the longing and heart wrenching sadness in their story.
How do we wrap our heart or head around the unfathomable needs of those in Japan who are suffering the devastation of the earthquake and the tsunami? Lives lost. Dreams shattered. Hope hanging by a thread.
And the dear young friend I know who resides out-of-state in a rehab doing the hard work of reflecting, regrouping and rebuilding.
Or the other friend whose paraplegic brother took his own life and now the family longs for him, and for their questions to be answered.
So many friends whose adult children seem lost and are slowly becoming strangers to the parents they once knew and loved.
And on and on and on …. the list could go.

The cry of my heart is that of the Psalmist for those who need a savior, a healer, a counselor, a deliverer and a friend. “Hear, O Lord, have mercy and be gracious to them! O Lord, be their helper!”

Day 1

2011-03-21T20:03:00.001-07:00

I overslept, felt discouraged but got up and enjoyed with Him anyway. Hope it kicked the devil in the butt!!!! Spent 40 minutes in my Bible, journal and in prayer that flew by like it was 5. LOVED it! IN pressing on with my 2011 theme, “ASK” – I decided to do a mini-word study on passages in the Bible with the word “ask.” There aren’t tons but enough. When I exhaust the list of verses with ask in them, I am going to move on the word “cry” or “cry out.” I started in the OT and today I read Psalm 27 and journaled. David penned this psalm when he was older, most scholars believe it was around the time he was 70 years old. I was struck by the ONE THING he would ask for at this point in his journey of life, the only thing that seems to matter as life wears on – to daily be in the house, or the presence of the Lord. It’s the only place that soothes a heart that’s breaking when life is beating on it or in David’s case, when eternity seems upfront and personal. His presence is the safe harbor when conflict ensues and bitterness works overtime to take root within. His Word is the solace when the battle in our mind rages fierce and hope seems to only be thread. And His mercy and loving-kindness give us courage when staying faithful and peaceful and loving seems nearly impossible. The presence of the Father ushers in relief, restores perspective and promises sure victory. Ultimately, that’s the ONE THING I want too and yet, the Holy Spirit still beckons me to ask keep asking …. To expect a miracle. To look for the Lord and taste of His goodness in all things, at all turns.

In my time with Him, I felt compelled to ASK for Him to do something supernatural in someone’s heart and life that is close to me. I trust Him to show up in mighty ways. My time set aside for Him was SO good … like water on parched land.

The 21 Day Challenge

2011-03-21T07:40:00.000-07:00

I have been teaching a women’s Bible study called “The Moving Company” for eight years. The Moving Company is all about “getting from where we are to where God wants us to be.” Thus, the name.

Last week at The Moving Company, I confessed my neglect of habitually practicing some of the Spiritual Disciplines for many months now. I shared that I sense the Lord beckoning me to exercise some self-discipline in re-creating the habit of daily time with Him, quality and quantity. So, after teaching from Luke 24 about the two who walked on the Emmaus road with Jesus, and yet did not recognize Him until he broke the bread, gave thanks and their eyes were opened, I offered a small challenge to The Moving Company girls. On the basis of Luke 24:32, I challenged them to make one change in regard to the Spiritual Disciplines of Prayer and personal Bible Study (reading/meditating) over the following two weeks.

Not wanting to challenge anyone to do anything without doing it myself, I renewed my commitment to spend time with God every day for three weeks as experts say it takes 21 days to form a new habit. (I asked the girls for two weeks because The Moving Company meets every two weeks.) I've decided to post my journal on each of those 21 days here on my blog. There is no promise of anything profound, just simple truths from His Word that lighten my load, renew my mind and move me toward transformation in my heart, and life. I will return to Day 1 which was Thursday, March 17, 2011 and add the journal entries prior to today.

Here's to a new habit and prayerfully, a changed life ....

Luke 24:32

“They asked each other,

‘Were not our hearts burning within us while

he talked with us on the road
and opened the Scriptures to us?’”

(italics mine)

A Grace-clinger Observes Lent

2011-03-14T21:19:00.000-07:00

I read a blog recently where the author referred to herself as a grace-clinger. I like that. Grace. My only hope in my brokenness. My only help for my inadequacies. Grace. God loving me when I deserve otherwise. Grace. God’s mercy singing its melody over my confusion and heartache and sin. I love grace – the sound of it, and the reality of it. I too would call myself a grace-clinger and yet in recent weeks I sense that my life is somewhat out-of-balance. I'm not sure you can ever err too much on the side of grace when it comes to giving it to others. But I know I can err too much on dishing it out to myself. I use it as an excuse to be something less than I should be. I use it as justification for not doing something I really should do. The Grace-giver is beckoning me to bring balance back into my habits through purposeful self-discipline and all the while, to keep clinging to grace. Enter Lent.

Lent is a rather foreign observance to me. Sad but true. I didn’t grow up observing Ash Wednesday nor the season of Lent. I've never understood much about either. In fact, I’ve never given liturgy a lot of thought at all. But the Father gently led me to consider the intention of Lent; to help Christ followers prepare to celebrate Resurrection Sunday, and beyond, with total abandon. I wonder why we never did that? Never observed Lent that is, in my home nor in the churches where I learned about following Jesus. Hmmm. Wikipedia explains it this way; “Lent in the Christian tradition, is the period of the liturgical year from Ash Wednesday to Easter. The traditional purpose of Lent is the preparation of the believer – through prayer, repentance, alms-giving and self-denial – for the annual commemoration during Holy Week of the Death and Resurrection of Jesus, which recalls the events linked to the Passion of Christ and culminates in Easter, the celebration of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ.” I’m far from a traditionalist but I like that purpose. As a lover and follower of Jesus, to avail myself to anything that holds promise of preparing my heart to more fully celebrate His resurrection, and life, is good.

Enter Lent 2011. I’m observing Lent for the first time in my life, rather privately. Doing much of anything privately is a bit atypical for me. Observing Lent is way out of the norm. (Well, maybe I'm not observing it so privately now that I’m posting about it on my blog. Smile.) Somehow, much of this first go-around with Lent feels too intimate to share, let alone post about. The prayers, the repentance and the giving to the poor feels sacred and I find myself being reserved about sharing it. Odd. At least for me. But the self-denial part, now that doesn't seem quite so intimate. I'll tell you what I have given up for Lent. Although I'm not convinced it really falls into the category of self denial ... maybe more like generic self-control. Anyway, those who observe Lent won't be surprised, it's a popular one. I’ve given up sugar. Not just DQ Peanut Buster Parfaits, homemade apple pie, chocolate chip cookies or dessert when dining out. Sugar in general. Almost completely.

Abstaining from sugar during Lent has an intended purpose for me personally - my desperate need for a lifestyle change. My decision came after the Holy Spirit was nearly pleading with me to dig a little deeper than dieting and to move beyond what I prefer to call my "mild sugar addiction." Is any addiction mild. Seriously? Mild is a word of justification. Anyway, back to Lent ... so far, a few physiological changes are noticeable, all good once I got past a few days with a dull headache. I think my body begged in tandem with the Father for the changes I’m experiencing. My greater need by far however, is spiritual in nature. An urgency to return to some basic spiritual disciplines. That urgency is at the root of my soul need but was manifest in my sugar addiction. (Just a mild one though. Smile.) Lent is leading the way back ... To prayer ... talking and listening to God. To personal Bible study ... letting the Word of God renew my mind. To meditation on the words of God ... time set aside daily to let Truth penetrate the fabric of my being. To fasting ... sitting still in the presence of the Father ... freeing up space for Jesus ... letting the Holy Spirit fill my soul hunger.

Lent. Forty days set-aside for soul cleansing and more aggressive grace-clinging. I like that.

The Power of Destination

2011-02-17T19:17:00.000-08:00

A number of years ago our family woke to what promised to be a great day, and an even better vacation. We had an easy flight from State College to Philly with just an hour lay-over there. Our flight from Philly to San Diego was direct. The morning went like clockwork; up with the alarm at 4:15 am, at the airport promptly at 5:00, on the commuter flight by 6:00 and taxing out exactly as scheduled. Knowing we’d soon be in the air and on our way toward a sunny afternoon at Mission Beach, we settled back to snooze as the small aircraft underwent routine de-icing before our departure. However, the de-icing that morning quickly became anything but routine and our early morning catnap was spent on the runway at University Park Airport, not in the air.

We had high hopes of being able to catch our connecting flight so upon arrival in Philadelphia we raced through concourse F, squeezed among the others on the tram headed for concourse A. As the tram crept its way through the snow and pathways of departing air craft, our hopes began to dwindle. We bolted off the tram and right through concourse A, huffing and puffing as we arrived at A-16 just moments after our plane had taxied away from the gate. The day that began with high hopes took a detour and quickly melted into a day of frustration and waiting. Waiting at gates, waiting on runways, waiting for flight crews, waiting for brakes to be fixed, waiting in long lines, waiting to hear about hotel and car rental reservations and finally, waiting for our luggage. Luggage that never showed up in San Diego, at least not with us. (All four suitcases "landed" on my sister’s front porch in the middle of the night while we were all suffering from jet lag.) The scheduled seven hour doorstep-to-doorstep trip became defined by frustration and waiting.

We deem waiting as a necessary evil in life. God doesn't seem to. When circumstances require us to wait, everything whittles down to one thing; our destination. The details that we view as hardships on the journey become secondary. How quickly we forget about the plane we missed and focus our attention on the plane we hope to board. Waiting helps us forget about the ice on the plane or the snow on the ground and presses us to focus on the sand at the beach or the sunshine in the sky. Waiting changes our perspective and renews our commitment to reach our destination.

Destination is powerful. In all things. The destination of a reconciled relationship. The destination of a child’s heart. The destination of character. The destination of a personal dream. Waiting clarifies the journey and helps us focus on the destination. Waiting slows us down. Gets our attention on the better thing. Waiting causes us to seek God's heart instead of His hand. To trust Him more than we trust our own reasoning.

Waiting seems like a necessary evil but waiting is actually, a necessary good. Rewind to the Jameson family spring break trip ... was it worth the wait on each airplane at each airport and in every terminal at every gate? At the time we weren't convinced. However, as the day wore on and our destination became our focus, it was. And then as the 80 degree ocean air greeted us in San Diego, there was no doubt that it was well worth the inconvenience of every second of our wait. Destination, it's a powerful thing.

Snowstorms, Wool Scarves and A Lesson to Be Learned

2011-02-02T19:05:00.001-08:00

The snowstorm came as expected. Six inches had made its way across the country and more was on its way, keeping our Andy overnight in Milwaukee after his flight home from Minnesota was canceled. Andy was returning home after visiting his brother, Ben who attends Bethel University in Minneapolis. What Andy didn’t know at the time was that his college friends had come to surprise him at the airport when he returned so I found myself entertaining them for 24 hours until he arrived safely back in State College. The pleasure was all mine, believe me. While Andy was stranded in Milwaukee, his friends and I decided to head out to the dollar theatre instead of staying cooped up at home. We slowly made our way to the movie and ended up arriving just beyond the previews, the opening credits and the first scene of the movie. As we found our way to our seats in a nearly empty row where all six of us could shuffle in and quickly settle in, I begin to quietly unwrap myself from my snow attire. I tried to non-chalantly loop my scarf around my head and off my neck, keenly aware of those behind me who might already be annoyed over our ten- minutes-into-the–show grand entrance. The scarf made its way off of my neck and shoulders but in my attempt to pull it onto my lap, it snagged and caught on the bridge of my glasses! I struggled to set it free with my glasses still on my nose but to no avail. I took my glasses off to fix the snag and pull the scarf and glasses apart. Again, no go. I finally put my glasses back on to see if I could endure the movie with it hanging from my spectacles while I inconspicuously worked it loose. As I turned to Brie, Andy’s friend whom I had just met I might add, with the wool scarf obstructing my view and flapping around following every move of my head, she and I begin to laugh. Uncontrollably so. The moment was indeed comical. The dilemma indeed common ... at least for me.

Have you ever had a phrase from the Word of God stick to your heart or snag in your mind in such a way that no matter which way you turned it seemed to follow your every move or show up everywhere you looked as my scarf did on my glasses that night? The last phrase of I Corinthians 12:31 in the Amplified Bible has been “stuck in my heart” like that in recent weeks.

“I will show you a still more excellent way [one that is better by far and the highest of them all--love].”

The more excellent way “caught” in my heart in such a way that it wouldn’t let me escape its impact. The more excellent way, His love in me. No matter what, no matter when, no matter who. What trips me up is that I read the words, “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, 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 ...” (I Corinthians 13:4-8) and I think, “I need to act that way! I need to love like that!” And I do but the problem is I go out and muster all the patience and kindness and humility that I can and try with all my might to love others well and I crash and burn. I fall short. I can’t keep it up. And I feel like a failure. The infamous “love chapter” in I Corinthians 13 is about God’s love, not mine. It’s His love for me that transforms my heart in me.

I miss God’s point when I focus on my love. My love is more often impatient than it is forbearing. It’s kind at times but not when I don’t get my way or someone annoys me time-after-time-after-time. I don’t tend to be envious. Not until I run across someone who has the ease of lifestyle I long for or who has a wonderful relationship with a daughter I never had or who lives near extended family like I wish I did. My love is full of ME, I tend to be proud, thinking my way and my opinion is best and at times, right. I boast about the things and people important to me. I think far too highly of me and far too little of another. I have dishonored others with a thought, a word or even a look. My love is oh-so-self-seeking. I get angry and sometimes keep a record of wrongs done to me, or to those I care about. Sometimes I delight in evil, when it feels like someone “had it coming to them” or when another's decision messes with my desire. I rejoice in the truth but not nearly enough. My love certainly doesn’t always protect, trust, hope or persevere. My love fails. Often and immensely. I crash and burn. I fall short. I can’t keep up with loving well. That’s God’s point; the more excellent way is His love in me. Not my love in me.

May the more excellent way – His love in me – catch in my heart, snag on my mind and follow me wherever I turn, obstructing my view until it transforms my heart so that my words and my attitudes and my conduct reflect His love.

Is This Writer's Block Resting On Me?

2011-01-27T10:49:00.000-08:00

The month of January brought with it what I thought was writer's block, or maybe writer's cramp (smile) and my intention was to post something about my dilemma, particularly for the faithful Backdrop followers who may have given up checking to see if there was anything new posted in recent weeks. Before I could make my way to the "new post" button this morning however, I stumbled upon an amazing phrase in I Peter 4 in the Amplified Bible. And thus, a new twist on the "block" I've experienced during this dreary month of January.

"... the Spirit of glory, the Spirit of God, is resting upon you."

The context for this verse is suffering for bearing the name of Christ. It would be absurd for me to claim that I am suffering in any such way. However, that nugget of truth tucked away in I Peter was like an epiphany for me, shedding light on what I have blamed on a "block" in my heart and mind, and in my writing, for the past 30 days or more. It's as if God pressed the pause bottom within me during this wintry month. He quieted my heart. Transformed my mind. Revealed new truth about His love. His Spirit was resting upon me.

I find this heart stuff so hard to put into words when I'm in the process of God revealing Himself. It's such a rarity for me to be "without words." I have a constant string of them running around inside of me at ALL times ... often tumbling out for all to hear, whether they are listening or not but that's whole 'nother story ... so this time has felt odd to me. Almost like when one puts on two different shoes and tries to walk with a normal gait, and can't. Not having thoughts in my mind, begging to become words that insist on being shared is just not the norm for me. The thoughts are there for sure but they have been followed around by more musings and these incredible aha moments about how wide and deep and high the Father's love is and what a profound difference that makes in me. And around me. And for me. So much of the Word seems so fresh and new ... I Corinthians 13 and I John 3, not to mention I John 4:19 are full of new life for me ... and on and on the list could go.

So, here's to the Spirit of glory, the Spirit of God resting upon us .... and to new posts that will appear soon. Smile.

At the Pull-out Shelf of the Teacher's Desk

2011-01-02T16:15:00.001-08:00

Children often teach us the best lessons about God and first grade student, Robert Bronner was no exception for me. As a new teacher at Arrowhead Elementary, my colleagues gave me the low down on what I could expect that year with seven year old Robert. The teachers told me everything that Robert couldn’t, shouldn’t and wouldn’t do regardless of pleading, prodding or punishing. Not one teacher had anything positive to say about Robert nor did they think to tell me that he had been retained in kindergarten primarily because of his mother’s death that year. Robert was a very tall, very handsome and very rambunctious boy with chocolate brown skin and a smile that melted my heart on the first, and every day, of that school year.

It didn’t take long to figure out that Robert was indeed a naughty boy. He let me know quickly and emphatically that he agreed with my colleagues; he couldn’t do the academic work expected of him, he wouldn’t be nice on the playground and he wasn’t clear about personal boundaries or socially acceptable expectations. I reminded him quickly and emphatically that I was there to help him learn and I would take full responsibility for his success in my classroom as well as on the playground. Robert learned quickly that I said what I meant and meant what I said and he spent a number of his recess minutes by my side and many hours next to my desk. Sure enough in time, Robert and I began to love and respect one another just as I had anticipated.

I had a teacher’s desk that year that had a small pull-out shelf that could be used as additional work space. Somehow that became Robert’s “desk of choice” for most of his hours at school. One day about mid-year Robert stopped working and stared at me for a long time and then said something I will never forget. I was sitting, he was standing so we were eyeball-to-eyeball when he said, “Mz. Jamson, you smell like my mama.” His words made my heart skip a beat. I sat dumfounded for a moment and tried to swallow the grapefruit lump in my throat. I finally hugged Robert, helped him with his spelling and our school day pressed on but his words echoed in my heart all day long.

Robert Bronner didn’t really smell his mama on my skin; he felt the love of his mama coming from my heart. The Father’s heart is the same toward you and me … He pulls out this small work shelf and invites us to sit right next to him, not concerned that we feel “naughty” or that we need His help. He doesn’t even care if we can’t read or spell or do things right. In fact, His attention and heart of compassion are on us when we struggle most in the classroom of life. He says, “Come, sit right here next to Me, I’ll help you, I’ll do this with you, I’ll be here for you and accept you as you are.” His heart breaks when our heart breaks, he notices when life beats us up or when grief tears us down, he is delighted to take responsibility for loving us back to a place of worth but like Robert we have to receive God’s love and help. Like Robert we have to trust God and believe that what He says about us is true. How much like Robert Bronner you and I are ... dependent, love-hungry students in the classroom of life.

Psalm 40:17 (CEV) “I am poor and needy, but, LORD God, you care about me, and you come to my rescue.”

The Morning After .... Christmas

2010-12-26T08:54:00.000-08:00

Jason's Christmas ... the boys-on-mom dog pile!

December 26th always marks the morning after Christmas. The morning after the weeks of hectic preparation, the buzz of family coming home, getting together, making plans, the heightened excitement of children wanting new stuff and awaiting a visit from Santa, the stress of not enough time to decorate, shop, bake, wrap, prepare for house guests, socialize and on and on it goes. The morning after can be an exxagerated sigh of relief or an exxagerated sense of disappointment, or both. All too often the morning after brings with it the ramifications of another year of over-extending ourselves physically, socially, emotionally and financially while under-extending ourselves in generosity and grace. What if the morning after could be different? What if on the morning after Christmas our heart could wake up to the fullness of contentment and a genuine sense of gratitude?

This year was the most minimal ever for me personally in regard to gifts received, social events attended and shopping required and yet as I sit here by the fire on this morning after, not only is my cup literally full of my much loved Caribou coffee, my heart is full as well, nearly to overflowing, with contentment and gratitude. I really did experience the most wonderful time of the year this season and I think two intentional decisions marked the difference for me. The first was the one my husband and I made to make this Christmas more about those beyond our family as those inside our family. That wasn't a new decision for us but with a new twist, nothing for me and him. The second decision I made on my own was to put my expectation and hope in the steadfast love of the Father, not in anyone or anything else.

The results of the first decision are as follows. My heart is bursting with the memory of the smiles on the faces of a single mom and her three children when their gifts, bought by our Life Group, were delivered and added to their six small gifts under their undecorated Christmas tree that was barren even of lights. And then the joy that delivery brought my teenage friend, Emily filled me up even more. She gave $50 of her own money earned at her job so that the teenage girl in the family could have some things she wanted, like cute winter boots, and more. A sure deposit of joy! Then my heart filled up beyond explanation the night our family celebrated Christmas early with a young man who is becoming like a son and brother to our family. At one point he whispered to me in the middle of it all, "I LOVE this!" Another deposit of joy! Then there is one more orphan we added to our life this year who will have food and education because of a minuscule sacrifice on our part each month. Somehow imagining his or her face (we've not yet been assigned) while they eat or go off to school fills me up to more overflowing. And an Ethiopian orphan whom we had a very small part in bringing into a loving home to a couple longing for a child of their own. More deposits of joy to be a part of another family's adoption. Then there was the extended family member of my husbands who was encouraged by a monetary gift we were able to send their way, something small to us, huge to them as the husband enters into month number twenty-one without employment. Their response yet another deposit of joy! You just have to believe that Jesus meant it when He said it's more enJOYable to give than to get.

The results of the second decision are hard to put into words. I put my hope and expectation in the Lord instead of in people and having the holidays a "certain way." I lowered my expectations for what I could and couldn't do and trusted Him for those things that began to make me feel disappointed. I decided to do what Mary did in Luke 2; I treasured and pondered in my heart the amazing things in my life that are because Jesus not only came into our world but into MY world and has, and continues to change and enrich my life beyond description! I treasured and pondered the incredible things I see God doing in our own children as He shapes their hearts after His. I treasured and pondered God's faithfulness to my husband and I during almost 25 years of marriage that at times was amazingly wonderful and at times was unbearably difficult. God made the difference. I treasured and pondered what Christmas must be like in heaven now that my brother and my daddy were there for the celebration this year. The pondering and the treasure began to feel so weighty it seemed to hold a sense of His glory.

It's the morning after and I am content. My heart is full. Overflowing with His goodness and unspeakable gratitude.

Holiday Cheery or Holiday Weary?

2010-12-17T13:02:00.001-08:00

A paraphrase of the amazing offer of Jesus to the weary in Matthew 11 ... for the holidays and for every day ...

“My child, when you find yourself weary during this holiday season, please come to Me. Don’t keep trying to live under the burden of sin that exalts itself during the Christmas holidays. Don’t keep trying to press on under the burden of doing the holidays a certain way or keeping up with the holiday demands on your own, trying to be perfect in your approach to decorating, socializing, gift buying, being the family peacemaker and more. That pace, and those expectations will wear you out. They will deposit weariness into your soul. And if you stay weary, you’ll become discouraged. Discouragement will tempt you to give up on Christmas or at least grow to dread this amazingly wonderful time of year.

Laboring through the holidays in your own wisdom and according to your own understanding will zap you of your physical, emotional and spiritual energy. Don’t let the holiday traditions of others become your obligation as you celebrate this season. Those traditions might work for others but they will weigh you down, their demands are heavy. Come to Me, I am your papa and I am pleased with you. Enjoy relationship with me during the holidays instead of trying to be perfect or religious or something that someone else is expecting you to be. Come to Me. Learn of Me. Love like I love and obey Me with simple abandon instead of trying to follow all the demands and obligations of the season.

Listen for My voice. I will speak a word to your heart and it will not be burdensome. When you come to Me your weariness will be overcome by My steadfast love. Your discouragement will melt as you embrace My way of rest; rest for your mind, will and emotions. When you come to Me, I will refresh your soul and set you free to worship and celebrate during this season that is set aside to call you to a new place of wonder and awe. Wonder and awe of ME, not of your beautiful home nor even your precious children, not of your wanted gifts or your much awaited vacation but of Me. Choose to fix your heart on the wonder and awe of your eternal home and of the most amazing story of all time, that I came into your world as a dear little baby so that you, and those you love, might have life abundant and life eternal. Come to me when you are feeling weary and over burdened and I will give you rest.”

Matthew 11:28-30 (Amplified Bible)

²⁸Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy-laden and overburdened, and I will cause you to rest. [I will ease and relieve and refresh your souls.]

²⁹Take My yoke upon you and learn of Me, for I am gentle (meek) and humble (lowly) in heart, and you will find rest (relief and ease and refreshment and recreation and blessed quiet) for your souls.

³⁰For My yoke is wholesome (useful, good--not harsh, hard, sharp, or pressing, but comfortable, gracious, and pleasant), and My burden is light and easy to be borne.

Life Can Get Complicated; A Thanksgiving Day Disaster

2010-11-29T19:42:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving 2010 was very uneventful; six of us gathered for a typical meal of turkey, stuffing, mash potatoes, cranberry salad, homemade rolls, corn ... well, you get the idea. We ate, had pie and left to take left overs to Gram some three hours away. However, Thanksgiving a year ago, 2009 was a very different saga. Life can get complicated even on the most well intended of days.

Our immediate family had traveled just across town to an extended family member's house for Thanksgiving dinner. The house was full of more extended family; adults, teenagers, and a couple of children from two sides a married family. Neither side knew the other well. Added to the mix was our adorable new, rescued puppy, Madden and my mother-in-law’s old, cranky canine, Nittany. One of the children in attendance was a precious thirteen month old little girl that LOVED both dogs and simply couldn’t keep her sweet little hands off of them. In fact, she just couldn’t leave either of them alone. Our puppy was good with that so we kept encouraging her to play with Madden but that was tricky, at best. She wanted some action with Gram’s old cantankerous canine as well. She clumsily climbed into Nittany’s bed (he was snuggled up along side Gram at the time) while her parents oo-ed, aw-ed and took pictures of the little cherub. Simultaneously, the relatives on our side of the family held their breath hoping the old dog, and Gram, wouldn’t notice.

We all took our assigned seats at the festive dining room table. Dinner was served. However, Thanksgiving dinner rapidly turned from delightful to stressful as the thirteen month old cherub wanted to be “down with the puppies!” The squirming and shrieking of a one year old can transform a Kodak moment into holiday chaos, so there we sat trying to pretend all was well as we made an attempt to ignore wondering toddler. No one noticed little cherub quietly wander over to the exact spot beneath the dinner table where a dog bed cradled Nittany as he was peacefully enjoying a holiday snooze. Little cherub gently reached to pet him and in a moments notice any shred of peace hanging in the atmosphere was chased away by sheer panic ... Nittany bit little cherub’s face and all “you know what,” broke loose!! Understandably, her mom and dad went bezerk. Mom grabbed little cherub and whisked her into the bedroom. Dad left a streak of swear words lingering in the stale air as he jerked the older child from his place at the festive table to pursue the hysterical mom carrying the bellowing toddler. All the while the hostess was accusing her husband of not watching the baby. The baby was crying and screaming as my mother-in-law burst into tears and wept uncontrollably while the rest of us sat like stone statues, frozen in time and space. Even the active, frisky puppy energy that is typical for Madden seemed to be suspended for a moment or two. We were stunned. We were perplexed and for a moment, no one even flinched.

The dad broke the silence as he surfaced from the bedroom and announced with obvious annoyance that although the bite didn’t break little cherub’s skin, it had marked and bruised his daughter’s cheek significantly, and immediately. The situation advanced from hysteria to even more awkwardness. Within moments the dad was muttering under his breath “that dog should be shot, put away! This is ridiculous ...” and although I don’t blame him, it was upsetting my mother-in-law who was just about as traumatized as little cherub had been. I rescued the moment by packing up while declaring that I would leaving with both Madden and Nittany, immediately if not sooner. Within seconds my husband, oldest son and mother-in-law emphatically insisted on heading out the door with me. We departed with one thought in mind; get Grammy and the dogs as far away from the holiday festivities and the family in crisis, as possible.

Isn’t wasn’t long before we were winding our way out of the neighborhood in the silent comfort of our Toyota Camry and our Madden began to puke all over the back seat of our car. Little cherub had been feeding him table food even though we asked repeatedly that the parents please keep her from doing so. As Madden heaved green peas, I began to laugh uncontrollably. As I cackled, my husband’s patience began to drain from his psyche which ignited more gut wrenching laughter from me. Gram thought our son was throwing up because she was in the front seat and can’t hear well. I successfully had the dog puking in a blanket but Ben was yelling for his dad to “pull over” so the dog could throw up outside and all the while our son was gagging mercilessly.

Grammy kept saying, “Poor boy, he always eats too many potatoes” and my husband kept bellowing, “MOM, IT’S THE DOG, NOT THE BOY!” By the time my husband got the car pulled over, Madden was completely done puking. We started our journey again. Moments later we pulled into our driveway as everyone, including Madden, begin to normalize. We had no more unpacked the car when the rest of the family made an appearance. The story was told a few times over with personalities highlighting various components and emphasizing their favored moment. I was just thrilled to have Gram’s homemade pies show up with the second entourage ... the biting episode took place between our first and second helpings of turkey, stuffing and the fixings. Sigh. Little cherub was going to be just fine ... something for which we were all genuinely thankful!!

Life can get complicated even on the most well intended of days.

Religion that God Esteems

2010-11-23T12:59:00.001-08:00

“Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” I James 1:26, 27 (NIV)

Why Do I Hate Religion; Let Me Count the Ways

2010-11-21T21:26:00.000-08:00

I hate religion. I made that statement recently to someone who had been hurt by religion; by religious people. This person was actually willing to defend religion on the premise that "hate is a strong word." I do hate religion I argued. Detest. Abhor. Disdain. Loathe. Despise. All of the above. Use any one of them to describe my sentiments about religion and it fits. My opinion doesn't matter much in the whole scheme of things but when I read the New Testament accounts, I am convinced that Jesus hated religion. Hear what I'm NOT saying - Jesus didn't hate religious people. Nor do I. He simply hated religion and its affects on the hearts of men. Particularly as it painted their view of the Father.

I once heard a woman define religion in a most poignant way. Religion is man's idea of God's expectations, she expressed. Therein lies the problem, religion was never God's idea. I consider it absurd to think that God would send his only and most loved Son to earth to be misunderstood, unjustly accused and ill-treated; let alone to die a heinous death on a cross, so that you and I could have a nice little set of rules to follow. A spiritual check list with a formula for how we are to act, speak, dress, dictate where we go and what we do, and what we don't do. Rules that make us feel good about ourselves and about God when we follow them. The same rules that make us feel badly when we don't. I have a serious problem with that because the purpose for which Jesus came to the earth, other than to serve, was so that you and I might have abundant life. Abundant means to be full, have the supply met and then some, go beyond sufficient. When I was in bondage to religion, my life was totally deficient in abundance. At least the kind that translated into LIFE for me. However, when my life was full of religion it was overly abundant in condemnation, guilt, discouragement, defeat, boredom, bitterness, resentment, and on an on the list could go. I hate religion. In fact, if there was a Religious Anonymous chapter to join, I would. I'd be delighted to stand up at every meeting and proclaim, "Hi, I'm Sherilyn and I'm a recovering religi-aholic." I'd go on to describe a life now overly abundant in grace, mercy, loving-kindness, joy, peace, forgiveness, freedom, and on and on the list could go.

Why do I hate religion? Let me count the ways ...

1. Religion makes the rule more important than the relationship. Grace values the relationship above all the differences.

2. Religion reminds others of their sin. Grace reminds others to stay in the shadow of the cross.

3. Religion becomes all about what not to do. Grace finds common ground.

4. Religion builds walls. Grace builds bridges.

5. Religion needs others to look, speak and act the same. Grace makes room for diversity.

6. Religion rejects. Grace pursues.

7. Religion is rude. Grace is considerate.

8. Religion judges. Grace understands and lets God be God.

9. Religion yells and demands and gets angry. Grace whispers and leaves options and forgives.

10.Religion pities those not on the "inside." Grace serves those on the "outside."

11.Religion is close-minded. Grace sees the options.

12.Religion is self-absorbed. Grace always notices the other.

13.Religion talks, often yells. Grace weighs words carefully and often prays.

14.Religion points fingers. Grace admits its own need.

15.Religion reacts. Grace responds.

16.Religion is convinced it has all the answers. Grace is open to the
questions.

17.Religion brags about self. Grace brags about Another.

18.Religion is about what I can do for God. Grace is about what God has done for me.

19.Religion is loud and wants to be recognized by man. Grace goes unnoticed and wants to be in God's presence.

20.Religion catches another messing up. Grace is there to help pick up the pieces when one messes up. Grace gives hope.

21.Religion knows what to say. Always. Grace points others to the One who knows best. Never anywhere else.

22.Religion loves formulas. Grace embraces life in the Spirit.

23.Religion has it all figured out. Grace listens, even when it's uncomfortable.

24.Religion beats others up with the truth. Grace earns the right to be heard.

25.Religion is about me. Grace is about Him.

I hate religion but oh how I love grace! Cherish. Esteem. Prize. Treasure. All of the above. Use any one of them to describe my sentiments about grace and it fits.

"The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth" (John 1:14)

"Uh, Mom, Can We Go Now?"

2010-11-11T21:11:00.001-08:00

Although I'm snuggled comfortably on my couch in our cozy family room at home in Pennsylvania, a piece of my heart is in Minnesota where I was scheduled to be, as of tonight. I had a road trip planned with my girlfriend, Sandy and our east coast departure was scheduled for yesterday. The intent was to make the 16 hour trek to be with my oldest son, Ben for a long weekend. And of course, to enjoy some girlfriend adventures in the Twin Cities as well . Sadly, I won’t make it to the stands of Royal Stadium on Saturday to watch Ben’s last football game of the regular season. However, Bethel University is headed into the D-III play-offs so it may not be their last game this year. Regardless, God had different plans for this weekend. The road trip was canceled because Sandy was informed that she had to attend a national board meeting this weekend yet she spent all day in our local ER trying to arrest a kidney stone ... imagine having THAT emergency on the road! Ugh ... so, back to my couch where I'm sitting while I pen this new post. Disappointment in my heart and nostalgia in my emotions. My husband and the dog are out cold and the young man living with us is closing up Chick-fil-A. The house is quiet.

I’m attempting to embrace this new season of parenting but find myself desperately pining for the presence of children in our home. I readily admit my sentiments in this transitional phase of parenting, I miss my boys. I’ll shout it from the mountain tops. I miss hearing their voices and seeing their faces. I miss “feeling” a little more in control of their lives. I miss their friends. The full dinner table. The piano playing and the deep voice coming through the front door greeting me. I miss my boys. I don't miss their laundry but I desperately miss their personalities and their presence in our home. I could go on and on but I’ll spare you the many more obnoxious mother-laden details of my grieving heart. What I miss most may be the significant chunks of TIME to be with Ben or with Andy. When they were little guys, full of energy and many needs, I would crave time alone. An hour or two that afforded me some stillness, and the sound of silence. ME time! But now, I just miss hangin’ out with my boys, and their friends. I miss the chance that time would afford us to chat, laugh, play or discuss something of a serious nature or even a small window for me to impart some parental wisdom. Smile.

As I sit here lamenting, my mind wanders back to a day last year when Andy was a high school senior . A day he was off school some eight or nine months ago. I recall that Andy and I had gone to The Waffle Shop to have breakfast together. It was likely just another mid-morning meal for Andy but it happened to be a treasured appointment for his mom! I enjoyed my coffee and blueberry pancakes, but I mostly cherished listening to my son who was on the fast track to becoming a young man. It was food for my soul to talk face-to-face with him instead of on the fly, or in a text message. Sigh. I loved looking into his eyes, and into his future to dream with him just a little bit. I had come to breakfast with something on my heart that I wanted to share with Andy; a word of affirmation mixed with a small measure of admonition. And just about the time it seemed fitting to initiate that conversation, Andy asked the dreaded question. “Uh, Mom, can we go now?” I chocked down a fork full of pancakes and made an attempt to hide my disappointment while his question hung like a broken pinata between us. With as much normalcy as I could muster, I replied, “Sure, Andy, we can go now. I know you’re off to a fun and busy day.” I knew that his abrupt desire to leave wasn’t about me. Andy had finished his short stack, home fries extra crispy, side of bacon and chocolate milk and he was ready to get on with his day. He had plans with friends and still had a lawn yet to mow. His day off was full and he needed to get going; he wanted to get going. He took our bill and $20 to pay the cashier while I fumbled through my wallet to leave a generous tip for the cheerfully attentive waitress who had served us. The meal that had just been served was already being cleared from our table.

As we headed out to the parking lot together, The Waffle Shop doors closed behind us. And as they did, I sensed the familiar nudge of the Holy Spirit for me to notice something vaguely familiar about the scene that I had just witnessed. An aha moment in my spirit where I saw a mirror image of me and my all too customary demeanor in the presence of God. His loving conviction disclosed my own tendency to show up for my time with Him, most often with a hungry heart, all too often with a hasty spirit, reading the Word just enough to whet my spiritual appetite and then to be on my way. My quick self-absorbed prayers followed by a heart attitude of, “Uh, Father, can I go now?” I pondered how rarely I listen with the intent of hearing what’s on the heart and mind of the Father in that moment. I was reminded that when I don’t linger in His presence, I miss out. When I miss out, God’s not mad at me. When I miss out, He doesn't yank His favor from my life. He doesn’t even beg me to stay with Him longer. But, I miss out. Plain and simple. I discard what was on His heart for me, for others, and for His intended glory or at best, I treat it with contempt in my effort to be all about me when I'm with Him.

In James chapter 1, the phrase “look intently” literally means “to linger” and in this context it is referring to lingering in the Word of God. The verses in James 1 tell us that if we will linger as we read or look into the Word of God (the perfect law that gives freedom), and hang out there awhile, and then DO something with what we’ve heard or read, there are blessings to be had! I have to ask myself, how often do I miss them? God has something on His heart at all times for me but will I linger in His Word and in His Presence long enough to receive it? I would be a fool to miss it.

My heart is longing for time with my son tonight and that longing reminds me that the Father yearns for uninterrupted time with me too. I’d like to break my habit of asking, “Can I go now?” and train my body, soul and spirit to “hang out” in His presence to receive every ounce of the Father's heart that I can get.

James 1:22-25 "Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like a man who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But the man who looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues to do this, not forgetting what he has heard, but doing it—he will be blessed in what he does."

Don't You Just Love Airplane Stories?

2010-11-01T07:10:00.000-07:00

I boarded the plane right on time and was headed for my assigned seat, 9B when I overheard a woman conversing with her husband about asking someone to give up their seat so that they could travel side-by-side. She was my traveling mate, assigned to seat 9A, her husband directly behind her in 10A. I honorably offered to trade seats with her husband which delighted them both and evoked a gracious comment from the husband about me. I smiled and took my place in 10A. As I began to settle into 10A while watching a couple wrestle with their gigantic duffel bag and the overhead compartment, a perfectly coiffed blonde woman standing in the aisle near row seven caught my eye and with a smile and a rather patronizing tone said, "Dear, YOU are in my husband's seat." I pointed to the gentleman in 9B and replied, "No, HE is ..." as I attempted to indiscreetly holler back my explanation about trading seats. The couple in 9A and 9B seemingly ignored me. Blondie insisted I abandon 10A because her husband clearly had ownership for this flight. I gently tapped the guy in 9A on the shoulder and asked if he would kindly show the woman his boarding pass and when he did it revealed that he had indeed been assigned to 10A, now my assigned seat. Blondie appeared slightly stunned and bellowed to a gentleman standing in the aisle at about row five, "George, honey, what is your seat assignment?" 11B was his response. I didn't wait for hers but simply gathered my belongings and moved to a new assignment yet one row back while muttering, "I'm happy to sit anywhere, really." A few chuckles rose from the observant passengers as we exchanged glances. No sooner had I set my posterior in 11B when a tall, lanky gentleman spoke to me, he had been standing in the aisle between the couple who had finally stuffed their over-sized duffel bag safely into the overhead compartment and Blondie. "Would you sit in 11A so I can be on the aisle?" Although asked with the inflection that indicates a question, it sounded far more like a command than a request. I quipped, "Absolutely, I aim to please!" The onlooking passengers began to laugh openly, I made one final offer to anyone who wanted to give up their seat for 11A. No takers but plenty of merriment. Free pre-flight entertainment is always a plus. I prefer to watch it however, not provide it! Sigh. I stayed in 11A for the duration of the flight and everyone seemed satisfied. Even Blondie.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I couldn't help but ponder the fact that my contentment came from simply having my mind fixed on my destination, the twin cities where our oldest son attends college. I hadn't seen Ben for three months and a Bethel football weekend was ahead with the promise of perfect fall weather, plenty of Minnesota sunshine, time with friends and my 21 year old son whose company I thoroughly enjoy. My seat assignment was a secondary issue at best. My heart began to drift to life as a journey and our tendency to get all worked up over the meaningless details like seat assignments. The interruptions in our schedule that inconvenience us. The job assignment that we dread or the financial burden that never seems to go away. The unexpected illness that slows us down. The house that begs to be cleaned or the yard that needs to be mowed or far more importantly, the family member or friend that begs our attention when we are tired, empty, feeling selfish. And on and on the details of life go causing us to demand a certain seat, next to a certain person, near a window or maybe an aisle and before we know it, our focus has shifted from our destination to the details that ultimately, just won't matter when all is said and done.

My heart recognized a vague connection to an amazing truth mentioned in Hebrews 12:2 about Jesus enduring the agony of death on a cross for the joy set before him. Frivolous airport stories like mine although slightly humorous can hardly be compared to "enduring the cross" but the Spirit did use it to grab my attention for a brief moment and remind me of the ridiculousness of focusing on the details of life instead of on the destination. It doesn't really matter if those details distract us from the ultimate destination of eternity or simply the destination of a day marked by joy and gratitude because I choose them, not necessarily because I feel them. Destinations matter. Seat assignments, not so much. His truth grabbed my heart and my attention. I trust they will make a difference in my days.

I was assigned to seat 10C on my return flight and I had no sooner settled in and secured my seat belt when I looked up and saw none other than Blondie and her husband headed down the aisle. I grabbed my book and literally stuck my nose in it hoping that the two were assigned to seats next to each other. Blondie's voice never pierced the airplane hum so I trust they were but seated behind me, I never knew for sure.

The Absurdity of Time

2010-10-15T19:34:00.001-07:00

Andy and roommate, Jono

Andy, our 18 year old college freshman is home for fall break. A five day reprieve from dorm life, dining hall grub and endless hours in the library. I could hardly wait for my hairy son to come through our front door and now that he’s home, I’d like to lock him in his bedroom and tell him that his university has been put on orange alert and there’s no need to return to school, at least not for a few months. Like he’d fall for that! Smile.

Eastern Lacrosse

How can it be that this same boy who crawled into bed with his dad and me nearly every night until he was about nine years old now calls Doan Hall on Eastern University’s campus home, and seems perfectly comfortable with that? It doesn’t seem right that Andy takes the train into downtown Philadelphia with his new best friends as naturally as he drove around State College in his dad’s Jeep with his best friends at home. His lacrosse team played in the Headstrong Tournament last weekend and my skin hurt from the pinching as I pondered that my baby was now a college athlete. Somehow while I was making lunches and beds, doing laundry and grocery shopping and holding down a full time ministry job, Andy grew up, and grew a mustache. That’s the way it’s supposed to be ... well, at least the growing up part, not so sure about the growing lipstach part ... but it sure can catch a helicopter mom (you know, all the hovering) off guard and knock her off of her proverbial doting mother stool. Sigh. Andy stands on the brink of adulthood as a responsible, easy going and kind-hearted young man and his mom stands amazed.

Ben and his Dad at Bethel

And then there’s Ben, our 21 year old college junior who won’t be home until Christmas break because Bethel University in the Twin Cities was the institution of choice for his higher ed. experience. It’s just a painless 16-17 jaunt door-to-door, hardly even a road trip. Ugh. It’s not an option for Ben to come home on fall break, nor on a personal whim for that matter. He’s cool with that. After all, he is the same three year old kid who announced his move to Chicago when he turned 18 (we lived in Arizona at the time) where he planned to buy a truck and put a “mill-youn” bumper stickers on the back. How is it that the place he calls home is waaay up there in the North where the dialect requires the accent to always be on the “o” ... even words that don’t have an “o” ... and where groceries are carried home in a “beg.” Not to mention sub-zero temps being the cozy winter norm. Somewhere between my first gray hair and menopause, Ben became a young man and left his mama, and his messy bedroom at home. Ben is by society’s definition, an adult and a very happy, tenderhearted and respectful one at that. His mom is by society’s definition, done raising him; finished, completed, as in, "it’s over." Ben moved out and word on the street is, his mom needs to move on. Ouch. Now there’s Jason, our 20 year old “borrowed” son who lives in Ben’s bedroom and unlike those I gave birth to, he gives me NO grief when asked to help but cheerfully does more that he’s asked to do while he’s workin’ two jobs at a time and mostly datin’ two girls at a time. Smile. Jason is a hard-working, kind and respectful young man and every time he strolls down the stairs in dress shirt and tie, headed for work at the bank, I can’t help but wonder, when did THAT happen?

Jason and Madden

Last I remember he was a freshman in high school wildly bounding out to our van at 3:20 to say hello and tell me something about his day. He and Mama J, as he calls me, have become very close in the absence of his mom, and our own children and it seems time is fleeting as we share this short season as “mother and son.” Jason is seizing this opportunity to get his feet firmly planted back on the ground while Mama J is trying to pick up the pieces from having the rug pulled out from under her tidy little mom-life. Sigh. Time is a funny thing. Funny strange that is, not funny ha-ha. The absurdity is that we always thinks we have plenty of it until we look over our shoulder and realize after the fact, it’s gone. Gone before we're ready to let go. Gone before everything has been said and done. Gone before enough memories have been made, not just captured in an album but stored away as snap shots that are keepsakes of the heart. It’s odd how time seems to show up on everyone's face and hairline but never on our own. Smile. Time is a funny thing. But for all of its absurdity, time is a gift. Our most precious commodity. We must use it well. Cherish its contents. Be assured that the moment of now will never come again. Can never be re-visited. Will soon be a memory. Time is marching on and we must keep in step. Time is a funny thing, not to be laughed at but to be reckoned with.

The Loyalty of Dog named Hachi

2010-10-06T17:12:00.001-07:00

Spellbound by a Hallmark special movie entitled, “Hachi; A Dog’s Tale” starring Richard Gere, I couldn’t get a grip on my emotions. Tears poured down my face more like a bathtub faucet than the trickle from a sink. The endearing story left an indelible mark on my heart about faithfulness. “Hachi; A Dog’s Tale” is Hallmark’s American adaptation of a true story that took place in Japan in the mid-1920’s about a loyal dog named Hachiko. Hachi, his Hollywood name, was an abandoned dog who was befriended by a college professor. Hachi and the professor had a unique connection and each day enjoyed a joyful exchange of love and loyalty between them. Hachi would wait at the train station every afternoon for his master’s return from school until one day his master got on the train and never returned. Hachi was thus, given to a new family. Although his new family adored him, Hachi notoriously left them again and again by escaping and finding his way back to the professor’s old house where Hachi once lived with his master and his master’s wife. Over time, Hachi apparently realized that his master no longer lived at the house and thus, he went searching for him at the train station, faithfully returning to the exact spot outside the station every single day precisely when the train was due at the station, refusing to believe that his beloved master was not going to return. This amazing dog doesn’t just wait for a few hours, days, weeks or even a few months for his master to show up on a train, all of which would be understandable and maybe even remarkable. Hachi dutifully sat and watched train after train after commuter train come into Shibuya Station for nine years after his master’s death, until His own death took him away. As each year turns into the next, Hachi becomes a regular part of the lives of those at the train station as well as those nearby in the town square. He was described as being like a permanent fixture at the train station each afternoon catching the attention of other commuters. Thus, they brought Hachi treats and food and he became the train station pet as he parked himself in the same spot ever day for nine years in hopes his beloved master would return. He never did.

Hachi’s unyielding loyalty teaches lesson upon lesson upon life lesson. Today, a bronze statue of Hachiko sits in the exact spot where he waited all those years outside Shibuya station in Japan. His statute serves as a permanent reminder to all of the residents in this Japanese community that Hachi, amazing canine that he proved to be, was the epitome of loyal devotion and love. Hachi and his devotion captured my heart as I began to ponder how on earth we humans have grown to display less devotion and stictuivenss in relationships than a dog? What should cause us shame and embarrassment is something that we wear as a badge of honor instead. We proudly, or at least unashamedly wear personal disloyalty like an earned medal of accomplishment. We trade in spouses for new models not on the basis of infidelity or life-altering addictions that threaten a family but on the basis of no longer liking the one we once promised “til death do us part” or some other superficial rationalization to be self-absorbed. Parents give up on the children they prayed and longed for because that child becomes too much of a challenge to parent or discipline or because they seem to be in the way of the parents personal desires and goals ... or maybe that would that be selfish desires and goals. My heart felt that familiar dull pain as I pondered what ever happened to die hard loyalty like Hachi demonstrated? We discard spouses and friends and families as if they were an old worn out pair of tennis shows that begs to be replaced.

May Hachi, the dog tale, restore in us the honor of being faithful, known as one who will not give up believing in the one we love, against all odds. May his tale cause us to hug the ones we love a little more often, extend grace to those we care about a little more generously and believe the best in the one we are tempted to give up on yet one more time. And while you're at it, keep your eye out for the Hallmark version of Hachiko’s story of loyalty at Shibuya station. When you find it, curl up in front of the television and take in this remarkable tale, make sure there is plenty of Kleenex nearby.

The Eli Syndrome

2010-09-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

Psalm 50:1 “The Mighty One, God, the Lord, speaks and calls the earth from the rising of the sun to its setting.”

Perched on a swing that is housed on a screened-in porch at a rustic little cabin in northern PA, I was basking in some uninterrupted time with God. A personal prayer retreat of sorts. The quiet feels almost foreign to my soul at times but for the 48 plus hours in this remote little Pennsylvania town (population 641), the quiet filled me up. Late in the morning, I ventured down to a small boat dock to soak up some sunshine and to hear God speak. I sat enraptured by the reflection of the changing leaves on the water, the calm beauty surrounding Nuangola Lake and delighted with the presence of a new canine friend. A neighboring resident’s old dog, Bentley introduced himself by slobbering on the pages of my Bible. Smile. As Bentley lazed in the sun by my side, I positioned myself so that the glorious rays of sunshine would dance on my face (which may have been the best moment of the 2 ½ day retreat). I felt ready to listen to the Father speak. I listened and heard the quiet only. I listened and fell asleep in the sun. I listened while reading the Word of God and jotted down just a few thoughts on the pages of my journal. I listened some more and once again, heard the quiet only.

In recent days I have pondered the dialogue between the God of the universe and His own. My mind seemed to wander to that place of musing again while I socked up the sunshine on that rustic dock at the shoreline of the small lake before me. Within moments I found my heart reflecting on the familiar account of young Samuel as told in I Samuel 3 ... a story that seems to show up everywhere my mind turns lately. Remember it with me. Samuel is a young boy living in the temple under the authority of Eli, along with Eli’s two unruly teenage sons. One night, Samuel hears his name called out as clearly as if it were someone standing next to him in broad daylight. He surmises it must be Eli. He runs to Eli’s room and wakens the old man to ask why he beckoned him but Eli replies that he did not call out to him. As you may know, this happened three times until Eli finally instructs Samuel that if it happens again, he is to say, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.” That is exactly how it came down and God told young Sam what was about to happen to Eli and his family, and it wasn’t exactly a message of glad tidings.

The heavenly message is far from the end of the story but was enough for my heart to hang out and ruminate on for a moment. What strikes me about this account is that Eli was an experienced, “professional” priest with a high religious position and God bypassed him to speak instead to a young boy, about Eli. Why is that? Why would the Lord bypass Eli with a message for Eli? I can’t help but note that God is never impressed with titles, degrees and positions, like we all too often are. The Bible is clear that God is impressed by only one thing and that is a life marked by faith; dependence upon Him believing that because He is God, He can and will do what He says. But beyond that, although little Sam had been taught how to minister to the Lord; somehow he had never been taught how to listen to His voice.

As an Old Testament priest, Eli had to have known about listening to the voice of God but the indication here is that he no longer heard that voice. Possibly he had even forgotten that the Lord speaks to His own. I can’t help but wonder if Eli had just simply stopped listening to God’s voice somewhere along the way. Maybe he had become discouraged by life and failed to listen to the still small voice within. Maybe he was disillusioned, or offended by God through some life circumstance during a difficult season of his life. It’s possible that Eli had become disinterested in, or complacent about God and became so accustomed to taking care of the details of the temple that he convinced himself he didn’t need a fresh word from God’s heart. Whatever it was, little Sam had not been taught to listen for the voice of the Lord. So why did God bypass Eli and speak to this young boy whose heart and ears were not yet even accustomed to hearing His voice?

Could it be that God spoke to Samuel because he knew Samuel would listen? God had seen little Sam listen to Eli and respond. I wonder if God came to expect that Sam would listen to Him in like manner. Sam got out of bed all three times he heard his name, wanting to respond to the voice calling him. His three-word reply said a million more, “Here I am!” God called Samuel’s name personally and He spoke to him specifically. The Lord speaks to those who will listen. He shares His heart with one whom He knows will respond.

Samuel also seemed to have a humble heart. He had a servant’s demeanor, willing to respond to the call of his master. There was no apparent pleasure for Samuel in telling Eli the truth about what was about to happen to him and his loved ones. In fact, young Sam dreaded telling Eli what God told him to say. Samuel humbly spoke the truth to Eli, sparing him no details. The Lord speaks to those whose hearts are humble. Humble enough to consider others as more important than one’s self (Philippians 2). God speaks to those who can be trusted with His words.

So as the sun warmed my face and Bentley stayed by my side there on that little dock, this familiar story helped me see the reflection of my heart in the mirror of His. I couldn’t help but notice more of Eli in me than I saw of young Samuel. I stand guilty of busy-ness to a fault. I get caught up in the details of doing for God, letting it gobble up precious time and energy that could be spent being with God. Too often I permit discouragement to deafen my ear and disappointment to harden my heart. And I miss God’s voice.

I intentionally snuck away from the demands of life for a few days to hear that still small voice. And yet I only heard the quiet. I had kept my appointment at the dock to enjoy the quiet, and the beauty, and to hear God speak. Although I recognized His beauty all around me, it seemed I only heard the quiet. I listened more than I heard. There in a camp chair on an old rusty dock, I heard God's unmistakable voice break the quiet and speak truth. I have an Eli heart. I finally replied, “Here I am! Change my heart.”

Pray and Keep Walking

2010-09-15T13:41:00.001-07:00

I woke up feeling great and went through my normal morning routine which always involves a quick look at my in box. I prefer to answer any time-sensitive work emails before leaving the house each morning. I have a bad habit of doing that while sitting on our bed with the puppy snuggled up beside me. Upon getting off the bed and standing up to head out for my day, my back began to scream at me. In pain that is. Unable to stand up straight without an excruciating stab in my lower back, I began to pray and stretch and moan a little bit. After contemplating calling my chiropractor and canceling my morning plans, I heard the whisper of the Holy Spirit in my heart, “pray and keep walking.” I’ve learned the hard way to obey His whisper so in a rather uncomfortable Jeep ride, I bounced my way over to where our staff was meeting to pile into a couple of vans together and head up to the Penn State campus to prayer-walk.

A bit like an 80 year old lady I grabbed the door handle and arm rest to pull myself up into the van trying desperately to not wince nor give into the sharp pain threatening my body. Once on campus, and while walking to meet the others, I asked my faith-filled friend, Lynn, to pray for my back. She did, short and sweet then off we went. Now, I could go on and on about my spinal predicament and God’s mercy in healing me, and the two plus miles I walked in an effort to obey the whisper but the moral of the story is not Sherilyn’s healed back. Smile. The moral of the story is a life principle that I couldn’t help but notice as the day wore on; pray and keep walking.

All too often when something hurts. When I'm injured on the inside, emotionally or spiritually, I’m tempted to do almost anything other than talk and listen to God. Let alone keep pressing on. Much more often I opt for sitting still and nursing the wound so as to not feel the pain ... or medicating the pain ... or running to the doctor to deal with the pain. And all are wise and viable options, at times. However, when life hands me an unwanted trial, a disappointment or even when someone hurts or offends me, if I would but pray and keep walking instead of the alternative responses of choice, things might be set aright more quickly. Maybe more completely. And very likely, more accurately. According to what God has on His heart for me in any given situation, on any given day. When one of those difficult times or seasons come along in life, I tend to ...

sit and keep worrying
pout and keep resenting
fret and keep working
isolate and keep blaming
stew and keep complaining

And on and on the choices go that seem to never set things aright.

Pray and keep walking. A good rule to live by whether your back needs divine healing, or your heart does.

God's Glory in a Laundry Basket

2010-09-08T21:21:00.000-07:00

I walked down the basement steps into the salon for “the works” ... the works on my hair, that is. I know my hairdresser well. She’s more than a hairdresser, she’s a friend. Keeping my appointment is always a delight, not only for the vain glory of the enhancement to my appearance but even more so for the meaningful and at times, therapeutic chat my hairdresser and I typically have while she cuts and colors my hair. I didn’t expect what I got today, however. A lesson on glory. God’s glory. What it is. What it looks like. Why we often miss it. I got to my appointment on time and sat gazing at all of the perfect, airbrushed people in the myriad of magazines on the table in the waiting area while I listened to my hairdresser friend scurrying around upstairs. She and her family live upstairs. It’s not uncommon to wait for her to come down, running a few minutes behind schedule. I’m good with that. It affords me the chance to put the brakes on my fast-paced and hectic lifestyle and rest a spell.

Soon, in classic style, my hairdresser friend hustled down the stairs and upon greeting me announced, “Did you hear we have a newborn?” I froze for a split second and replied, “An animal, right?” She assured me it was not a furry friend but indeed a new born baby. I was stunned. I wasn’t the only one, she said. She had commented to me several times over the years about her little family being complete even though she and her husband adore babies. Additions to their family of four, or not made absolutely no difference to me personally but this was such a shock. Something had changed, this was drastically different. She began mixing my hair color as the story unfolded from her heart and off of her lips. I listened intently and fought back my emotions. We hardly noticed the gentle interruption of her husband as he snuck down the stairs, gingerly carrying a laundry basket (aka emergency bassinet) cradling the most precious little 13 day old cherub I had seen in a long time. Such a perfect little nose. Adorably long little piggies (aka toes) and the sweetest itty-bitty cry to match her minuscule stature. 5 lb. 13 oz. little Miss Kayla. Born to a mommy and daddy that were whisked off to incarceration moments after her birth. Enter the story ... my hairdresser friend and her family. Sparing the details, this family of four embraced baby Kayla in their home, and their hearts like her arrival in their lives was the plan from the beginning, even though they were unaware of her existence less than one week before.

A glimpse of God’s glory. A little 5 lb. bundle of His creativity and potential lying in a laundry basket in a home-based hair salon. I knew I was beholding His glory as it was meant to be; caring for the needs of one who can never ever really give anything in return.

All too often, and tragically, we put God’s glory on a shelf in neat little boxes marked “incredible sunset” or “awesome corporate worship” or “weekend-retreat-mountain-top experience.” Not incorrect, just incomplete. Somehow in our short-sightedness, we define His glory by something magnificent in our eyes. His glory is indeed magnificent but His eyes see things very differently than ours.

His glory is in the bedroom of a handicapped woman who is treated with patience and dignity by a friend who answers her call in the middle of the night to change the bed sheets so that she can return to a restful sleep. His glory is in the hug between two people who only share one thing in common; a loved one hanging in the balances in a bed in ICU. His glory is in the hearty laughter of a once orphaned child who has been loved and prayed for by strangers and then adopted into their family and is no longer fatherless ... or motherless ... or sibling-less. His glory is in the full stomach of a lonely teenager invited to a meal by one who notices the young man's stomach and soul hunger so she dishes up a warm meal and some genuine love to feed him. His glory is in the hopeful heart of a woman who receives money from a stranger on an airplane who offered to help calm her baby and listen to the hurting woman’s heartbreaking story. His glory is in the eyes of an old man who is being cared for by one who is no longer recognized as a family member and who may never be thanked for their tireless care and faithful love. His glory is in the garage where boxes are being packed by strangers for a single mom in a desperate have-to-move-right-NOW kind of situation. His glory is at the lunch table with a kid who is kind to the girl typically bullied and teased for reasons she will never really know. And on and on we could recount glimpses of God's glory in every day life.

We can miss His glory. We miss it waiting for the big spiritual high or the amazing moment in a beautiful setting. His glory is there but it’s much more common in the mundane of life when one person does something to offer another person help and oft times, hope. God lets us carry His glory and share His glory and see His glory ... if we will but notice.

Have you seen His glory on the face of a precious little abandoned 13 day old baby girl lying in a laundry basket lately? I have and it was, well, absolutely glorious.

Prayer-walking; Plain and Simple

2010-09-04T20:48:00.001-07:00

Today was game day in Happy Valley. The match-up; Penn State and Youngstown State. A few of us met five hours before kick off in the parking lot of our church building ... about a mile from Beaver Stadium ... the House that Joe Built. Smile. We had one thing on our mind, not tail-gating but prayer-walking. I was stoked; I’ve become comfortable with praying and walking. At the same time. My friend agreed to go even though prayer-walking is new to her as is praying out loud. She was not stoked. A little uncomfortable with this prayer-walking activity, in fact ... it was foreign to her. I get that. Praying with your eyes open instead of shut feels weird. At first anyway. Praying “as God leads” instead of listening while someone else prays out loud, intimidating. Walking and praying instead of walking and talking seems a little too out-of-the-ordinary, even with friends. The whole praying out loud thing can be a stretch. This 2 hour prayer-walk was really pushing the limit for my friend but she took the risk and gave prayer-walking a try ...

We set out on foot after a brief definition, according to Sherilyn. There’s little to explain. Walk and don’t carry on a conversation with each other. Walk and listen, meaning when you have a sense of something to pray about, do it. Walk and talk out loud. To God. Walk and pay attention to who and what’s around you. Then pray about it. It’s that simple. We make it hard. We turn it into something it was never meant to be – effort and religious ....

We think we have to say the right words ... we prayed today for young men to rise up with as much passion for Jesus as they do for football. We said it just like that, as it came tumbling off our lips.
Beyond the right words, we think we have to use words ... my friend prayed today for the freshman on campus and she began to cry. Tears are better than words sometimes. Somehow I think Jesus cries over hurting freshmen too. And sophomores ... and juniors ... and seniors ... and ...
We think we have to pray loud and long ... we spoke the names of students and faculty we are connected to as we talked with God today, asking Him to draw them to the truth about Jesus. Less can be more. Even in prayer.
We think we have to understand what we say before we mention it in prayer... we prayed today that the Holy Spirit would saturate each dorm room and make a difference there. We don’t know how that will look nor how it can happen but we want it to. I believe God does too.

We prayed for lonely students who wake up on game day and have no one to hang with, at the game or otherwise. We prayed that God would awaken the passion He created within the hearts of students. Passion for His glory. We prayed that students would be passionate for more than an athletic victory or a good party with alcohol and hooking up. We prayed for the faculty and support staff, for their marriages and where/how they get their significance and more. We prayed for the Christ following students, faculty and campus ministry leaders at Penn State, that they would have wisdom, compassion and a servant heart toward others. We asked the Lord to give hope to all who are connected to Penn State. The hope that Jesus offers.

That's prayer-walking ... plain and simple.

E.M. Bounds, the eighteenth century Methodist preacher, author of nine books on prayer and faithful pray-er once said, “God shapes the world by prayer. The more prayer there is in the world, the better the world will be and the mightier the forces against evil …”

Could it be that God is shaping the Penn State "world" as we walk and pray during these 21 days?

People Magazine and Prayer

2010-08-31T22:04:00.000-07:00

So, my dad (Harold Green) passed from this life into eternity in July and our family has made a quirky but rather amazing discovery; Daddy was quoted in People Magazine in 1979. None of us knew! Not any big measure of notoriety but still rather amazing! Did Daddy prefer no one know he was quoted in People or did he not know himself? We will never be sure. Although Bob Erler hadn't crossed my mind in well over 30 years, I read the article and instantly remembered the man featured whose life story radically changed when it intersected with the Redeemer. Daddy loved "Erler," as he and the "boys" referred to Bob. What my daddy loved the most was what God had done in Bob Erler's heart and life ... talk about amazing! Bob wrote a book and told his story, They Call Me the Catch Me Killer. Daddy was passionate about that book because he was passionate about stories of redemption. He gave out copies of Bob's book to hundreds and hundreds of friends and strangers over the years.

As I recall Bob Erler's amazing story, and remember Daddy, a couple of verses in the book of Hebrews just keep running around on the inside of me. The writer of Hebrews, in the beginning verses of chapter 12, talks of Jesus, the AUTHOR and the FINISHER of our faith. Both pieces of that truth grab my heart, for their implications in my life but particularly now when I'm praying for others. You see, our church has entered 21 Days of Prayer for Penn State University here in Happy Valley and as I pray, I keep having this overwhelming sense within; to ask the Lord to begin writing individual faith stories in the lives of Penn State students, faculty and personnel; a few by name. Now "begin" may not be the best word choice here because author God started all faith stories before time began but I think it might just be semantics. Or maybe the redemption part is where we are to call upon His Presence to reign on those who don't yet know Jesus as Lord; asking the Holy Spirit to cause individual stories to intersect with the story of Jesus. And thus, the re-writing of a life story begins by author God. Just like when He began the re-write of The Catch Me Killer’s story, and all of the details were redeemed. You can read a portion of that story in the 1979 issue of People magazine. Be sure to note the quote by Associate Pastor Harold Green, he was my dad! Smile.

http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20074779,00.html

Living Life Against the Backdrop of Eternity

2010-08-31T21:21:00.000-07:00

I've been writing long before there were blogs. Smile. I ran across this journal entry I wrote upon dropping our oldest off at college the first time, 2 years ago ...

My husband Dave and I made our way to our vehicle as quickly as possible in an attempt to save our flood of tears for the confines and privacy of our own car. The moment that had hung over our heart and head for the past nineteen years had become a reality and it was now a thunderous force pounding the truth of our “loss” on our hearts. We knew it was coming, we had heard “rumors” that it was painstakingly hard to say goodbye to our first born and thus, to family life as we had known it for nearly two decades. We had certainly experienced different seasons and many changes along the way of raising our son but this was different, it felt more final and we knew it would close the chapter on a very significant season in our lives as parents.

As we scurried to our car, and left Benjamin behind with ninety-nine other rookie Averett University football players, we willed ourselves to not break down and sob openly. Dave and I both knew that this moment, and the emotions attached to it were inevitable but what caught me unaware was the heartache that threatened to take me hostage for an unpredictable amount of time ... nineteen years of playing, and praying and laughing and training and wondering and hoping with and for our firstborn flashed before my eyes; not to mention that chubby little face and strong-willed spirit that I had grown to adore in our Ben. Somehow the magnitude of that moment caught me off guard. It felt like the enormous reserve of joy from those two decades filled my heart in that one moment and the weight of it, although good felt particularly hard to bear that afternoon. There was gratitude mingled with grief and both just kept pouring down my face in tears I simply couldn’t contain. It wasn’t a desire to keep Ben close, I knew he was ready to spread his wings and fly. It wasn’t even sadness really; I knew this was a good thing. It wasn’t fear as I was convinced that the Faithful One was Ben’s God too, in that moment and beyond. But it was a kind of grief that held a command for me to accept the changes and to embrace this transition in our family life. Letting go of this dear boy that I held close for so long didn’t come easy. In fact, I found it hard to see our Benjamin as the nineteen year old college freshman that he clearly was and impossible to not see him as the little boy we knew running through our home and lives for so many years. It was time to make the shift, to press into the transition and to begin adjusting to the “new normal.” My heart ached in ways I hadn’t expected and I cried harder than I had expected.

I couldn't help but think of another moment that will show up unexpectedly for all of us; just as that long awaited moment of actually leaving our son at college felt like it appeared suddenly. So it will be with our entrance into eternity. Most of us will not have time to prepare or go back and re-do or re-think or change our mind. In the blink of an eye, the rumors of another world will be our reality even though we knew about it, had talked about it and had been “warned” about it. Regardless, it will come suddenly. So, as I stand on the brink of this new season in our family life, I want to be even more prudent in my life to view all things against the backdrop of eternity. Looking beyond today and the right now of my circumstances and see a greater good that the Father is working out to prepare me for eternity. Encouraging my kids that there is much more to live for than the pleasures of this life and there is One worth living for who we will meet face-to-face someday. We know eternity is coming, that moment when the rumors of another world become reality. I want to live intentionally with that “other world” in mind at all times!

Psalm 90:12 “... teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

So What’s So Great About Change?

2010-08-29T11:06:00.000-07:00

My status on facebook last week was a comment about the weariness I was feeling over the changes in my life in recent days. A friend commented that change can be good. She’s right but I wasn’t feeling it. Not that day. So, what’s so great about change anyway? Ask me that now, after a summer of some fairly significant changes in my relationships and I might say, “not one darn thing!” A little odd for me. I typically love change. Need change. Embrace change. I’m wired that way.

But wow, change after change after change has yanked the ankles of my heart in an effort to trip me up emotionally. So it feels anyway. Even the selling of our van evoked tears. I know, how crazy is that? I get that the selling of a vehicle is not something to mourn but I guess an emotional attachment developed between the van and I over the years when it transported so many kids to so many activities on so many occasions. It seems that in some strange way our van takes with it the tale of our two boys growing up. It took them and picked them up from school. Andy shut his finger in its sliding door. Both boys learned to drive in it. Ben drove it into the neighbor’s yard the day he got his permit ... on accident and in reverse! That van safely carried our family to and from assorted vacations. When we tried to sell it the first time, Andy’s 15 year old buddies protested saying, “Mrs. J. you just can’t let Mr. Jameson sell the van! Not the Jameson mobile!” We honored their request and kept it about two years longer than we should have. Smile. The seemingly sentimental attachment caught me off guard.

So much change! The one thing in life you can count on is that you can’t count on things staying the same. Very little does. Not forever. Even when relationships are stable and marked by loyalty, things change. Health, bodies, youth, relationships, finances, responsibilities, seasons, family dynamics and on and on it goes. Change can be good. My friend was right. I get it. Change can offer moments of serendipity (desirable discoveries by accident). Change can call out the best in someone and can bring people together. On the other hand, change can be debilitating. It can offer disappointment and ignite grief, bring out the worst in someone and can tear people apart. Change can feel like a noose around the neck, threatening at any moment to choke the life out of someone or something.

The prophet Malachi may have been a personality that resisted change. Some people are wired that way, unlike me. At least typically. I have to wonder if Malachi resisted change, or at least felt its threat. He wrote in chapter 3, verse 6, “I the Lord do not change therefore, you, O Sherilyn are not consumed.” (I always put my name in the place of “the descendants of Jacob" because I am!) The Hebrew word for “consumed” (some Bible versions say “destroyed”) means to be overwhelmed. That’s what makes change so unbearable. At least at first .... change makes us feel overwhelmed. By the unknown and the unfamiliar .... and both make us feel uncomfortable. Out-of-control. Unsettled. But Malachi offers a big sigh of relief. God doesn’t change. He is the same yesterday, today and forever (sigh) ... when all else is changing, we can count on one who does not. Change does not have to overwhelm us. Make us uncomfortable, feel out-of-control or unsettled. That is something that is so good about change. And about God.

What If Jesus Meant All That Stuff? by Shane Claiborne

2010-08-29T10:42:00.000-07:00

Shane Claiborne wrote a letter to all who are not Christ followers. It's an apology. It's dead on. It's worth reading.

http://www.esquire.com/features/best-and-brightest-2009/shane-claiborne-1209

The Untamed Jesus and the Heart of a Parent

2010-08-28T06:57:00.001-07:00

Andy and Ben's Football Banquet 2008

Our pastor, Dan Nold, refers to Jesus as being untamed. The kind of man who is perhaps a bit less concerned about our comfort and a lot more concerned about our character. Dan reminds us that Jesus might even make some people uncomfortable, maybe even me. You see, Dan believes that Jesus would be radical in his passion and courageous in his convictions. Undomesticated and wild and thus, Dan often refers to the Son of God as the Untamed Jesus.

Mark 12:41-44
"Sitting across from the offering box, Jesus was observing how the crowd tossed money in for the collection. Many of the rich were making large contributions. One poor widow came up and put in two small coins—a measly two cents. Jesus called his disciples over and said, "The truth is that this poor widow gave more to the collection than all the others put together. All the others gave what they'll never miss; she gave extravagantly what she couldn't afford—she gave her all."

Although I’ve said goodbye to loved ones here on earth, I’ve never been a widow. I’ve weathered seasons when I thought the bills might go beyond the paycheck but I’ve never really been poor. Not like the widow who caught the attention of Jesus in Mark 12. I’m certain God could never “accuse” me of the generosity of heart this widow displayed. I have yet to give my all. At first glance, it’s easy to conclude that what grabbed the heart of Jesus in this account was the widow’s willingness to give money even in her poverty. However, I have to wonder if it was her expression of trust in Him that caused Jesus to take notice and thus, gave her the courage give her all? She was extravagant in trusting God before she was extravagant in giving, keeping nothing for herself. The Untamed Jesus presses us to risk giving that which we are tempted to keep for ourselves, that which we might miss if we gave. He presses us toward radical live-it-out-in-your-life kind of faith versus go-to-church-on-Sunday-morning kind of faith. Safe faith. This same Untamed Jesus marks the heart of a Christ following parent with the same kind of radical risk and asks, “When others only go so far in their parenting, will you give up all rights and desires for your child and trust him/her to Me?”

As a parent, I struggled with this risky question this summer when my Dad died rather suddenly after a very short, month-long bout with pancreatic cancer. Loss can make us want to hold those we love closer than ever before and, so it was with me. In saying goodbye to Daddy on earth, the temptation to pull my children close; in proximity and in heart felt overwhelming. As I struggled through this reality in my inner-being, the Holy Spirit began to bind up some old wounds with the healing salve of His Word. I heard his whisper in my heart, “you have your eyes and attention on the wrong thing.” The truth of Hebrews 12:1,2 began to set my heart free by asking me to give instead of keep for myself, not monetarily but relationally. I heard the soothing yet challenging words, “Sherilyn, fix your eyes on Jesus, the Author and Perfector (finisher) of not only your faith but of Ben’s faith and of Andy’s faith.” I was reminded that the Untamed Jesus is writing my children’s story, I am not. (Absurd thought I know; such an over exaggeration of my own importance. Sigh.) God asked me to trust Him and once again give Him my most prized possession; my children. It felt like it would have been easier to write a big, fat check than to let go of my boys even more and trust them to God, letting Him put in and take out of their lives what He deems best in order to write their story and leave His mark on their heart and life.

So, as Ben hopped in his little Honda that was packed to the rafters, and headed back to Bethel to set-up his first apartment and start football camp, I offered him to the Lord; desiring to give extravagantly what I thought I couldn’t afford to give up, the writing of my son’s story by the Untamed Jesus. And then a week later as his brother, Andy rushed from his freshman dorm room at Eastern University to join his new friends for dinner, I watched him hustle across the lush college campus he will now call home, and I offered him to the Lord as well; prayerfully giving with extravagance what I thought I couldn’t afford to give up, the writing of my son’s story by Jesus, the Untamed and Faithful One. Neither was a first for me. I have offered my children and their personal situations to the Lord over and over again for the last 21 years finding that each time more courage was deposited into my parent-heart to trust the Untamed Jesus more fully until I was able to give my all.

Sipping from the Wrong Cup

2010-08-28T06:54:00.000-07:00

“Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all of our days.” Psalm 90:14

Running late, I slid into the booth at The Waffle Shop to meet a friend running even later than I. When she arrived, I admired her new hairstyle and she noticed my “cute” summer jacket. No sooner had we ordered and my pancakes and her number three special were being served. (You gotta’ love our local Waffle Shop!) Typically, when I order blueberry pancakes, the wait staff brings my requested heated syrup in a clear glass container with a spout for ease of pouring it on my half stack. This morning was not typical. My hot syrup arrived in a coffee cup, odd but hey, it was hot and that's essential for me to enjoy my breakfast, odd but true. The “syrup cup” was identical to the one from which I was already sipping my morning coffee. . Engrossed in conversation, somehow I hardly noticed. It wasn’t long before I inadvertently picked up a cup and mindlessly took a gulp of … you guessed it …hot maple syrup! I coughed and gagged and immediately spewed a mouthful of syrup into an empty juice glass followed by a violent scrubbing of my tongue with a Waffle Shop napkin as I desperately tried to rid my taste buds of the sickening sweetness that lingered. I lost my appetite. Even my desire for the good coffee that remained in the other cup had vanished. Actually, I was done eating all together at that point, leaving half of my half stack to waste. Too much sweet is just too much.

Sadly, I have to admit to experiencing far too many moments like that at the table of life. Inadvertently, and mindlessly I take a gulp out of the wrong cup. Oh, usually not at The Waffle Shop, of course but at the retail counter, the refrigerator, the office … believing a lie that my next purchase, the food I crave, working longer or harder and many other substitutes for “real life,” will satisfy the longing in my soul. Somehow it always proves me wrong. The promise of those things doesn’t deliver. They prove more often that although there is nothing wrong with purchasing something new, eating something I enjoy or working more, none of them shake out to be the real deal, as they say. And it seems that they never offer soul satisfaction but more often than not leave me feeling more unsatisfied than before I sipped from their cup. King David drank from the wrong cup a time or two and in his error, he actually discovered that there a cup in which satisfaction could be had. God’s unfailing love. Love that offers to satisfy in the morning, as we face our day ... the best time for sipping a fresh brewed cup of life.

God's Got My Number

2010-08-28T06:52:00.001-07:00

Andy on the Lacrosse Field 2010

Our family has a great love and respect for the number 21. It was the number of the late Pirate’s outfielder, Roberto Clemente; one of my husband’s heroes. Therefore, our boys, Ben and Andy, have often tried over the years to get that jersey number when they can. Sometimes successful, other times not. Over the years, I have grown to cherish #21 myself as I would wash the jersey bearing it or as I kept my eyes on the player wearing it. Whatever number my son's jersey bore, I grew fond of. The details of our lives have changed and with our boys in college, I no longer launder their jerseys. A Bethel Football Equipment Manager washes Ben’s and an Eastern Lacrosse Manager washes Andy’s. Smile. I’ll be the first to admit that it’s not the number that makes my heart swell when I see it; it’s the kid wearing the number. And yet … at nearly every game, from the moment players come onto the field until only their backs can be seen returning to the locker room, I would have my eyes fixed on that jersey. My boy could be in the huddle, doing pre-game warm-ups, standing on the sidelines, in the action of play or giving a high-five to a team mate and my eyes would be fixed on their jersey. It made little difference to me what #21 was doing; I could pick my boy out of the crowd of players in a moment’s notice.

Even from the bleachers, I was often able to sense when #21 was dying to be called up for a play on the field. I could almost feel the knot in his stomach over the threat of defeat or the glorious tension on his broad smile after a victory. As a mother I not only “see” #21 on the field, I know all about #21. I am acquainted with the way of his heart. What brings him great joy and what causes him great frustration. I know about the days that go well for him and the days when life is cruel. I know his amazing giftedness and abilities as well as his bad habits. I know what makes him love life and what kills the joy within him. I know the kid in the jersey wearing #21, and I know him intimately. Even when #21 appears more like a miniature action figure in a sea of players on the sidelines, my heart is knit together with his by love and experiences and the blood running through our veins.

Athletics has afforded me a few “aha” moments and one of the most significant ones that ever grabbed my heart happened when my boys were high school student athletes. I began to be aware of my tendency to watch Ben and Andy more than I watched their game. Psalm 139 helped me see that in like manner, God knows me intimately and has His attention constantly on me. He knows when I sit or stand and what I am going to say before I even say it. He understands my thoughts and His thoughts are ever on me. God is far more interested in ME than in the game of life that I find myself playing. He knows my heart. The wounds. The sin. The longings. He knows when I’m on the “sideline” of life and how much I long to be back “on top of my game.” He knows me from afar and up close. My heart is knit together with His by love and experiences and by the blood of His One and only begotten Son. His eyes are fixed on me even when I have no idea He’s watching.

You see, Ben and Andy will NEVER fully know the joy or the pride I feel each time I “watch” them, no matter what they might be doing, or not doing in their football or lacrosse game. I, on the other hand, will never be able to forget the pleasure I have in just knowing and loving them! God, our Heavenly Father loves me far beyond human comprehension. He is intimately acquainted with me and His eyes are fixed hard upon me every moment of every day … and then some. God’s got my number and He can hardly think of anything else. As the mother of student athletes, I totally get that.

“You (God) are intimately acquainted with all of my ways.” Psalm 139:3a

The Hope of the Orphan

2010-08-28T06:45:00.001-07:00

During a layover in the San Francisco airport a few years ago, I had the pleasure of meeting 7 year old Anna, 3 year old Lela and their “papa” as they waited for the same delayed flight I did. The threesome struck me immediately as they appeared to be of humble means with each girl carrying a very small homemade day pack that seemed to contain a floor puzzle, crayons, index cards and a small, much loved stuff animal. Papa himself was toting a very small backpack and a violin case. When it was obvious that we would be detained and the girls were hungry, the threesome shared a small loaf of bread, plain and a juice bottle.

Beyond their humble means, the kind and gentle ways of this likely single dad grabbed the attention of my heart and I gleaned much as I observed the interaction of this threesome. His attention upon his daughters was uninterruptible. Squabbling was met with papa’s gentle voice that seemed to dissipate disagreements and usher in harmony. When Anna and Lela would raise their voice even an octave, papa would simply put his index finger to his lips and they obviously knew what that meant as they would quiet down immediately. As the hours wore on and we waited for the departure of our flight Anna and Lela’s whining or teary complaints would be comforted by papa lifting them onto his lap to whisper into their ear or gently rub their back, absolutely attentive to their every need. Lela seemed to have more of a propensity toward being naughty as she stepped on the puzzle pieces, grabbed her sister’s beloved stuffed doggie or the like. Immediately papa’s gentle voice would utter her name,” Lela,” nothing more, nothing less. The way papa said Lela, or maybe it was the look in papa’s eye, would signal Lela to change her behavior.

Papa watched Anna and Lela play and contentment was evident in his eyes, seemingly happy to be interrupted by their voice or their needs ... such a kind and gentle attentiveness to his children. When they became restless, he distracted them. He would meet their continual questioning about the status of the flight with patient and repetitive explanations. It was an amazing moment to me when Anna finished the floor puzzle and complained that 3 pieces were missing; papa told her to remember that those pieces were missing permanently. She appeared completely satisfied with his response. Lela, at a very restless moment, proceeded to dump her crayons one at time off her chair while Papa looked on ... there was NO evidence of disappointment, anger or frustration but patient satisfaction with his tired 3 year old. Anna and Lela had obviously spent many hours in the presence of their papa and the intimacy of communication was obvious.

The most telling moment of the afternoon was when Papa left to use the restroom. He gave Anna and Lela instructions on staying put and when he “took his presence away”; it was incredible to watch the scenario before me change in an instant. The sisters became loud and excessively silly and before papa could return, Lela had taken Anna’s beloved doggie. Anna reacted by smacking her sister in the head. The “sister war” accelerated until papa turned the corner and approached our gate as both girls had a death grip on each others hair and were wildly screaming.

Papa briskly approached and quietly but firmly pulled the girls apart as he carefully held each arm to separate them. He got down on eye level with them and spoke in hushed tones with his eyes intently on theirs. Within moments, as his presence returned to them, so did their joy and contentment. Soon Anna and Lela had their stuff packed up and each lay on either side of papa – satisfied in HIS PRESENCE and care. In the final moments before we boarded our flight, the girls tried many things to please/bless their papa; rubbing his neck and shoulders, tying and retying his shoes, kissing and hugging him and on the flood of affection went. The longer I observed this endearing threesome, the harder time I had containing a smile from my face as I recognized the reality of being God’s kids and as long as He is there, we are in His care.”

We are ever in the constant care of our loving and attentive heavenly Father whether we have an earthly papa or not. That’s the hope of the orphan; to have a Father in heaven that cares about them! We are all orphans in some sense as we are all deficient of father love to some degree. And for the true orphan, the child alive without a father or mother to care for them, this is their hope too. A Father in heaven that cares about them! They will only know this hope if we show them that we care about them. As Christ followers we must be the hands and feet and heart of the Father to the orphans.