Writers In The Storm

 

He sees all…

Every moment,

       major and minor

            a mother’s sigh

            a girly grin

            a toothless grimace

   and final shudder.

 

In the ebb and flow

of what’s called history

Every atom’s movement

swirls immediate

       under His watchful eye.

 

Can the past hide from His sight?

      Fade away in dim twilight?

      Disappear like fallen travelers

            in a puff of dust and vanished tears.

 

In a single moment of comprehension,

He sees every ripple,

            every cause and effect

                   and effect

                   and effect…

From beginning to end

         He sees,

            He knows,

                He understands.

 

The river surges unbridled,

         unspanned

                 untamed by human will

But with a single stroke of fingertip

            He sends a tsunami event.

           

A babe cries…a mama smiles…

            pink skinned Deity

            rests in fragile arms.

 

In the current,

   young carpenter swims

   He builds a bridge.

 

It stretches from days gone by

and those yet to come

                                    across

                        to the One who never changes

                                    across

from temporal

to timeless

                        from earth

to eternity           

           

A ripple, a splash

      A pig-tailed girl says “yes”

       to the tug on her heart

          Angels sing unabashed.

 

She steps into the river

    where water rises

            and darkness wraps about her.

 

She sees

     with eyes made new

Her hope

      on distant shore     

     

She gasps

    He sees her.

She realizes

    He’s always seen her.

I wish life were easy. I wish it for me. I wish it for my loved ones. I even wish it for my enemies. It might make them less hateful.

But it isn’t. The tough things in life have the deepest impact. Good. Bad. Either way.

It’s easy to sit back and observe the difficulty of another’s life picking and choosing what should stay or go. The effort isn’t mine. I won’t pay that cost. The fallout won’t settle on me.

In teaching my wonderful son about the bible, he is often dismayed at the behavior of people. It’s easy to judge Adam and Eve as foolish. The Hebrews as stiff-necked. The Sanhedrin as short-sighted. Judas as a traitor. These guys saw a bush burn, the sea part, and the dead get up and walk. Now me, I would have chosen to stay in the Garden of Eden. He only held back one little tree.

I have my own list of poor choices. Always made with the intent to make my life easier, in some way, and never in consultation with my Creator. Nobility, righteousness, grace were given little consideration in my processing. Consequently, my life became more difficult.

Ah, sweet irony.

Now that I try to live on God’s frequency-more righteous, more noble, more gracious, though I often fail miserably-decisions for myself are more clear. In my walk with Him, I have my own examples of bushes burning, seas parting, and my previously dead soul that now dances. I don’t want what he chooses to keep from me.

Now the hard thing, is less the decisions, but the enduring. The knowing that the world is fallen and won’t get fixed before He returns. It grieves me, but it also frees me to keep a heavenly perspective.

But there may be decisions-not passive, non-decisions-but hard, tough, difficult decisions that require nobility, righteousness, and grace in quantities I am ill-equipped to offer in the natural. I know He will be there with me. In His protections, with His love, and through His strength, I can do that hard thing for His glory, whatever my role may be.

God gave Joseph a dream, and he dared to share it. Joseph spoke the truth; he shared what God had whispered to his heart as he slept. He shared his dreams.

Some say taunting arrogance, lack of discernment, and naivete led him to speak of his dreams. Some say he deserved the scolding from his father and even the harsh treatment he received from his brothers. Some say he never should’ve spoken of the mysteries revealed to him in the darkness.

Perhaps.

Perhaps if he’d just kept his mouth shut, thought before he spoke, put himself in his listeners’ shoes… maybe if he had just pondered the words in his heart without spilling it all out to his family…. He could’ve avoided the pain of the next thirteen years-slavery and imprisonment in a foreign land.

But as we witness the life of Joseph unfold, we see a young man who believed God. Speaking of God’s work was a natural part of who Joseph was-he couldn’t stop speaking of what God was doing in his life. He certainly didn’t hide from his own family what he learned from God. Surely family was the place to share his most intimate thoughts, his quirky dreams, his good news. Wouldn’t they want to know what God was up to in his life? Who else was he going to tell?

His message was true. The events he foretold eventually came to pass. But his willingness to trust his family with his dreams came with a price. Joseph was misunderstood, rejected, and even hated. It wasn’t his own sin that led to Joseph’s slavery. His brothers chose to embrace murder in their hearts. Joseph wasn’t responsible for their hatred and he didn’t deserve their response.

But Joseph didn’t let their unfair treatment muzzle him. We later see him boldly proclaiming the truth of other dreams-even though he knew the listeners could’ve responded like his brothers, with ridicule and harsh consequences. He understood God was behind the dreams, and knowing that truth gave him the courage to speak up. As in the dreams of his youth, God had given him a message and he couldn’t keep quiet.

So I’m busy ranting at my credit card company this morning when my wonderful son walks in to rub my shoulders. He does this often. Yes, I trained him well.

Anyway, he’s been sick all week, but feeling much perkier today. The shoulder rub was to soften me up, as he was angling for some waffles. Unless Eggo delivered, he didn’t have a shot.

It hit me, though, how often I let the messy details of life dampen my mood, steal my time, and pinch my joy. I don’t know why I wear some of the things I do. When I consider this question I think-But I had to go through a lot of effort to try and fix the problem and - blah, blah, blah

In the end, I still had to do all those things. But I did them in a state of grumpy that only cost me. What was the point?

So I’ll ask God to help me next time to keep that twist from forming in my knickers. Life is hard enough without inflating the merely irritating. I did check on my boy, who at twelve, is capable of making his own breakfast, but he missed the Love to go with it.

So I gave him some extra Love. He didn’t miss the waffles, however. It’s Wednesday. He barely gets those on a weekend.

The orthodontist installed braces on my wonderful kid’s teeth today, another milestone in his young life met with his usual cheerful spirit. He knows it will be a benefit for his future. A little discomfort, a little extra dental care, perhaps a little teasing from somewhere for eighteen months of his life while his teeth train to behave. It’s a season in his life.

God uses seasons in my life to teach, admonish, or get my attention. My spiritual orthodontist, as it were, he tries to set me straight. His efforts have been more successful lately. For many years, I was a wanton snaggletooth. Ignoring my creator’s desire to show me a better way, I lived for me. But sin never satisfies.

At the time I thought following Jesus required a lobotomy of some sort. I had to first excise my personality, intelligence, or a desire for fun. Now I know that isn’t the case. And my idea of fun no longer brings anyone pain.

Jesus says that: My yoke is easy and My burden is light.

Amen. He is merciful, generous, and kind, more so than any human I have ever known. He loves me enough to correct me, because He knows it will benefit my future, and my future lasts an eternity.

I routinely read websites across a spectrum of topics-politics, finance, writing, religion. Many encourage readers to leave comments, which in a perfect world might be an interesting addendum, but increasingly these forums degenerate into an electronic food fight. The verbal “flipping off” of another with an opposing opinion is common.

These same people might be more restrained were they to share a line at the grocery store. Or not. But the anonymity of the situation tends to encourage profanity. As a Christian, as an American, as a human, it leaves me sad. Or mad.

Reading a post that assails my core beliefs in a less than decorous manner makes me mad. Reading a post that upholds my core beliefs in a similar manner makes me mad, sad, and embarrassed.

Christian beliefs are going to offend, according to Jesus. Any sneer I add to the mix dilutes the sacrifice He made. It calls attention to me. Before I was a believer, I held some of the same notions as the most vitriolic of critics. Offering an opinion to the world ought to bring light to a topic, not another case of blatant hypocrisy.

Went I engage in an issue of profound consequence, I need to let Jesus speak through me, or spare the effort. No one “won” me over to Jesus by condemnation. It took an individual witness. A formerly angry, bitter, and, well, (sorry, Sis) kinda-mean human being changed into a genuinely loving, concerned, honest person. Whatever she had, I wanted that.

So I quit reading the comments on websites. I think Satan uses them to keep me on the ropes. I can let my knickers get so twisted with the bile of an individual that I lose sight that there is a human behind that keyboard. I act from a place of anger and weakness, not love. I don’t know what kind of life that person lived. I do know, without God’s grace, those nasty, hate-filled words could have been mine.

Baseball, basketball, school, hanging out with friends-all demand a portion of my son’s time. Playing Halo, Rockband, and Madden also claim spare moments. Well, okay, hours. My rare attempts to join his computer game world usually end abruptly with the simple message of my incompetency-”game over.” I chuckle when I see the proclamation, and quickly abandon my post at the controls to someone more qualified than me-usually a teenage male with an extra gaming gene.

Funny how this comes to my mind as I’ve spent another weekend by a graveside; I’ve mourned at five funerals in eight months. Three of the loved ones were under the age of twenty-two.

The caskets proclaim the shortness of life, how quickly it’s over. Eulogies feel incomplete-they only tell a brief synopsis of a life story, and they’re inadequate to herald the worth of one life. The tear-filled chapels goad me with a sense of urgency to make this life count. And then I’m reminded that I’m completely inept when it comes to making anything count in life. Accomplishments are inadequate. Success measured by the false scale of this world’s standards is worthless. I only have empty hands as I kneel before my Maker.

But His word reminds me there’s more to the story of my life than my faded, dusty moments of glory. Some things about this life are precious to Him. My prayers today are a fragrant aroma to Him. He finds pleasure when He is the object of my devotion, the focus of my heart. He delights in my loyalty, my knowledge of Him, and my obedience to that knowledge. He loves a cheerful giver; He smiles when we share about His goodness. He rejoices over us as His children, simply because we belong to Him-we who name Jesus as our Savior are precious, honored, and loved because Jesus stands before our heavenly Father and calls us His own.

Death swallows up mortality and awakens us to real life, where true treasures are stored up and heavenly rewards are waiting. Just as suddenly as the x-box message flashes across the screen, we’re transported to a place where time stops. Minutes, hours, and days no longer mark life. Opportunities are gone. Earthly riches fade away instantly. The game’s over. And in that moment, the only eulogy that matters is the one Jesus offers to our heavenly Father on our behalf-she believed in Me.