Going to the Dogs

Interesting thing -- I was just in the kitchen pouring myself a cup of coffee, and both dogs were sitting there, eyes wide, ears perked, backs straight; their gaze never left me as I moved through the kitchen.  It doesn't take a dog owner to recognize this posture as "The Beg."  Funny thing is, I had nothing for them.  Sure they probably would have lapped up any creamer, or even coffee that I spilled on the floor, but there was nothing to fill their perpetually hungry bellies.  But, there they were -- sitting on the cold, hard floor, at full attention and ready for anything that might come their way.  I am sure, that if I were to leave my desk and walk to the kitchen even now, Bishop would leave his comfortable spot on the carpet at my feet and Belle would come tearing down the stairs from her warm place at the foot of Christine's bed, just to follow, beg and await whatever I had for them.  No matter how many times I went through the routine, they would be there -- following, begging, waiting.

I love my dogs, but the simple fact is, they are "just dogs."  They do not share the same place in my heart with my children, they do not garner the same respect that I give my husband, they do not occupy the same place at my table that I would give a guest in my home.  Nevertheless, they know what I can provide for them, they know what I have to offer, and they never fail to seek it -- religiously.

Therein lies the gnawing conviction -- do I seek my Father, my Savior, my Jehovah Jire in the same way my dogs faithfully, urgently, hopefully seek the smallest crumb that falls from my hand?  Do I grab hold of God, wrestling with Him even in pain and fatigue as Jacob did? ( Genesis 32:24-32)  Would I persist with the faith of a Canaanite woman, happy with the crumbs from my Lord's table? (Matthew 15:21-28)  Do I, like my dogs, seek more even after I have received my daily portion?  Do I want to be hopelessly, eternally, exclusively reliant on Jesus Christ for all that I have and all that I am?  Do I want to die to self in such a way that my sole purpose in life, the reason I write every letter, speak every word, execute every deed is to serve and please my Master?  Is my longing to fill every empty place in my life with that which He provides, as intense as the yearnings of my dogs to have that "full" feeling all the time?  Am I sitting at my Father's feet, ready and willing, afraid to blink for fear I will miss whatever my Father has for me?

I guess, sometimes, you can learn a lot from a dog -- or two.

A Time to Dance

Today is my father's "funeral."  Nothing but cremains and, for now, no interment; certainly no spirit remains.  So, "funeral" really doesn't fit in my book.  Memorial?  Maybe, some; we'll definitely be remembering him.  But, as un-"PC" as it sounds, today is a day of celebration.  Early Thursday morning my father was healed -- of everything!  Sure, he had a myriad of health issues -- not a one, I might add, that ever kept him down or left him bitter, but my father was as broken in sin as the rest of us.  That is all gone now.  My father has been made perfect -- the way, had it not been for our own greed, pride and evil suspicions, we all should have been from the very beginning.  God's grace was made manifest four days ago, in the wee hours of the morning, when my father joined his Father as a pure, restored creation, and for the time being anyway, resident of Heaven.  Today is most assuredly a day for us to celebrate that and look forward to a reunion with him!  Ecclesiastes 3:4 

WOW! What a Ride!

From the time I got my brother's call, the past 48 hours or so have been amazing.  My father's passing has taken me on an incredible ride through bitterness, forgiveness, confusion and brokenness; once again, I am left with no recourse but to be speechless, breathless even, at God's goodness and grace.

I am the type of person that, when overloaded shuts down -- I mean completely.  If I have too much on my agenda, if I throw myself too deeply into a project or relationship, if I am hit with one too many ideas, or issues, or emotions -- ZZZT!  With barely a sizzle or hiss I'm "out" like a lit match in a puddle; I flip on the Boob Tube and go so deeply underground it takes an army of moles to sniff me out. (Or one very persistent husband who means more to me than re-runs of "Gilmore Girls.")  Yesterday afternoon I felt myself starting to slip away; I knew now was definitely not a good time, and that only added to my stress level.  I met Scott in "our office," pulled up a washing machine and unburdened.  I gave him everything -- the pressure, the craziness, the plan -- and as usual, he was gracious enough to listen, offer a few practical suggestions, and kick me back into play.  (God, in His wisdom has created a partnership of two very high-strung friends; now that could spell disaster, but mercifully, He has made those two friends polar opposites in many other ways.  We understand what the other is going through and feel one another's frustration, just not over the same issues; handy for empathy, great for practicality!)  I prayed for God's direction and power on my walk back to my mother's. 

Now, I know family events are a haven for drama, but I still wonder if any family has as much as mine.  Anyhow, one of the key issues in my father's death was my being "forced" to meet my half-brother, Tom, and "forced" to deal with another one of my father's "other lives."  My brother, Paul had contacted Tom years ago, extolled his virtues and I believe, even passed on an e-mail address to me -- I labelled it "Round File."  I couldn't deal with my father's acceptance of Tom and abandonment of me; I couldn't deal with some overly educated, saintly "Wunderkind" slapping me in the face with his Father-Son talks and his "God is Good" serenity.  God's timing is perfect, I know.  I was not in a place to meet "my father's son;"  I'm not sure I am, now, but upon meeting him yesterday I have hope.  I had allowed my anger to misrepresent him completely; Tom seems like a wonderful man of God and friend.  Our visit was, to me anyway, a tremendous blessing.

Shortly after 3, my nephew and I left my mother's.  He played with M and O while Scott and I chatted.  Later, we piled in the car for a much-needed "casual dining experience," dropped our nephew off, took care of PJ's procedure and dropped into bed.  It felt as if God had once again, made the sun stand still; He had given me a much longer day to fight and win.  Stress was subdued, craziness curtailed, and bitterness beaten down.  I had the "family time" I needed, both with my immediate and extended families, handled some urgent matters, repeatedly sought renewal at the Throne of Grace, and moved, by God's grace a little closer to victory over a difficult past.  I can't wait to see what He has in store for me today!        

A Window of Grace

This past Sunday our church had a "guest" speaker, CJ Mahaney -- not really a guest at all, he is as much a part of our church as anyone else that sat before him.  His role in our church made him a "shoo-in" to help us celebrate our 25th anniversary.

One of the issues he addressed as he spoke, was boasting.  As with any milestone we celebrate on this earth, the temptation is to attribute our reaching it as the culmination of our efforts or the fruits of our labors.  CJ cautioned us to keep our eyes on the Author and Finisher of our faith, the One in whom we all should boast.  He drew back the curtain for us, on a window through which we need to view the events of our celebration -- a window that God constructed for us so long ago, one of grace and mercy, providence and blessing.  Even as he spoke, the application of his message was inescapable -- here was this incredible man of God speaking before us, an author, missionary, leader, "family man" to his Christian family as well as his wife and children, an amazing presence -- and it is all "in spite of" what we are as human beings; it is all by grace.

My father went to heaven yesterday.  I envy him.  He was known to his Christian family as a leader, a man of faith, a charitable and loving man with a heart for God and a concern for the lost.  He was known to his immediate family as a flawed human being, a man who was "just a man."  Over the years when others would approach me, gushing over what a wonderful man he was I would bite my tongue to bleeding, force a smile, and run like paint.  I would seethe when I saw him suited up, Bible in hand, readying himself for another "show."  I knew what he did, what he said when the eyes of the church were no longer on him.

God did, too.  Good thing for my father, his Father viewed everything he did, everything he was through the blood of His Son Jesus Christ.  Good thing for all of us.  When my father approached the Throne of Grace, he answered for his life, but Christ answered with His.  It is Christ's blood that gained access for each and every one of us; it is His Death on the Cross, not our deeds and, thankfully, not our misdeeds (heaven would be a very lonely place).  When CJ reminded us on Sunday to look through a window of God's grace and goodness when viewing significant events in life, God knew that very soon I'd be calling on Him to help me look through that very same window at some painful events.

"For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast."  (Ephesians 2:8,9)