Tipping the Scales

I've always known I was fat.  But I've also known it's never been as bad as it could be.  For instance, I am over the legal limit, but technically, I'm not in karaoke territory.  Sometimes I've wondered if that doesn't make it tougher for me to watch my weight.  I mean, it could go either way.  At my funeral, you could be standing over my casket saying, "Wow, she really did let herself go," or I could fly out of here a "10."  Either way, I watch my weight, believe it or not.  As long as I can still walk in a pair of jeans without setting my thighs on fire, I'm pretty good with that.  I try to eat right; I exercise.  But I've learned the hard way, that one careless encounter with Butter Brickle can wipe out a week's worth of walking.

A similar principle exists in our spiritual lives as well:
"One day of lean can eclipse months of fat." 
One wrong word can ruin month's worth of witness. One misdeed, especially in this "Big Brother" world of ours, can go as viral as a "Talking Dog," and ruin a once glorious testimony.  One day without devotion can open up the flood gates to waves of doubt and misinformation, and let out wisdom and discernment.  One day without prayer in our relationship with our Heavenly Father, can ruin days' worth of fervent prayer.  One choice made without Our Dear Savior in mind can ruin year's worth of preparation for the future and can put us on a track opposite God's plan.

Spurgeon shared his experience in his devotional on Genesis 41:4 --

PHARAOH'S dream has too often been my waking experience. My days of sloth have ruinously destroyed all that I had achieved in times of zealous industry; my seasons of coldness have frozen all the genial glow of my periods of fervency and enthusiasm; and my fits of worldliness have thrown me back from my advances in the divine life. I had need to beware of lean prayers, lean praises, lean duties, and lean experiences, for these will eat up the fat of my comfort and peace. If I neglect prayer for never so short a time, I lose all the spirituality to which I had attained; if I draw no fresh supplies from heaven, the old corn in my granary is soon consumed by the famine which rages in my soul. When the caterpillars of indifference, the cankerworms of worldliness, and the palmerworms of self-indulgence, lay my heart completely desolate, and make my soul to languish, all my former fruitfulness and growth in grace avails me nothing whatever. How anxious should I be to have no lean-fleshed days, no ill-favoured hours! If every day I journeyed towards the goal of my desires I should soon reach it, but backsliding leaves me still far off from the prize of my high calling, and robs me of the advances which I had so laboriously made. The only way in which all my days can be as the "fat kine," is to feed them in the right meadow, to spend them with the Lord, in His service, in His company, in His fear, and in His way..."

"Dear Jesus, increase my desire and discipline for Your glory. Keep me from choosing that which does not honor and glorify Your Holy Name. Keep me from holding onto that which was crucified with You; take it from me that I may never call upon it in place of You again. Thank You."

Time for some sit-ups, or some pasta -- now that could still go either way.

No Pain Without Promise

1 Peter 5:10

In his kindness God called you to share in his eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus. So after you have suffered a little while, he will restore, support, and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation.

Are you a believer?  I don't mean "Higher Power," though He is.  I don't mean "Mother Nature," though He is.  I don't mean "God," like some generic, one-size fits all being -- He is not!  I mean, The One True God.  The Alpha and Omega.  The Father, Son and Holy Ghost (and no, you can't pick and choose, you can't separate them).  And I'm not talking about vaguely remembering it from Sunday School, or CCD, or VBS, or MYF, or any of those other acronyms, from twenty or so years ago.  I mean have surrendered, have experienced God's grace and power in your life.  Then this promise, My Friend, is for you.

You can never/ will never experience suffering without God's timely restoration.  Be it flood, fire, financial, physical, familial (diggin' that alliteration I had goin' there, aren't you?) -- it does not matter what you have gone through/ are going through/ will go through, God promises that He will restore you, support you, strengthen you, and "place you on a firm foundation."  Promises!

Cling to that!  Embrace it.  Trust it.  Never lose it.  For God promises it!

Another Day on the Journey

I mentioned a few days ago The Workbook of Living Prayer by Maxie Dunnam. So far this is proving to be an excellent and enjoyable resource for improving one's prayer life.  Most importantly for me, it forces me to slow things down a little, to think about the gift of prayer, my attitude toward it, and what I'm trying to get out of it.  For indeed, prayer is a two-way street -- God desires to hear from those He loves much as parents desire to hear from their children regardless of any prior information.  And though it has been used as a Christmas list of sorts or a way to rub the crystal ball and get the right answer, prayer is a relationship thing.  Through prayer I grow more deeply in love with my Savior.  Through prayer He reveals Himself to me.  Through prayer our relationship becomes stronger and more intimate.

One of the activities in Dunnam's workbook suggests meditating on Psalm 34:8a

"O taste and see that the Lord is good!"

Indulge me, please, while I share my thoughts:

  

“O taste and see that the Lord is good.”

I think of a huge banquet table with food laid out beautifully as far as the eye can see.  To see, it leaves a lasting impression.  The image, the color travels to my brain.  The bright orange red of a lobster.  The fertile green garnish of kale around it.  Lemons the yellow of the sun dot the wreath.  Drawn butter in a spotless silver dish – golden, translucent.  From there, the bounty spreads forth – a feast of color for the eyes.  Shiny black olives, slick, red grapes, brilliant orange tangerines, and a vibrant rainbow of vegetables.  A mountain of consummately ripened fresh fruit looms over dazzling mirrored goblets, filled with the richest and finest Burgundy.  An enormous turkey, golden browned to perfection with skin as crispy and crackly as autumn leaves, rests at one end of the expanse; a dark brown rib roast, thickly encrusted in flavorful herbs and spices, awaits its first cut at the other, juices brimming with anticipation and a bright pink core, warm and glowing.

But to taste -- to taste is to imbibe in such a feast.  To taste is to allow it to permeate one’s being, to travel to multiple sensory receptors throughout the body, to nourish, sustain, please and immediately draw one’s lips into a reflexive smile, unfettered and involuntary.  To taste is almost to become one with it, to savor it, to move it around in your mouth, slowly experiencing it.  To taste is to mull it over, to attempt to define flavors and textures if at all possible.  Inhaling in order to, once again send the aroma swirling through the olfactory system, and allow the marriage of fresh air and fragrance to enhance and release the flavor found in the best foods.  Taste is experience, ambiance, the collective enterprise of multiple senses.  

"O taste and see that the Lord is good! 

Just How Strong is Dad, Anyway?

Recently, one of our pastors spoke on the parable of the Prodigal Son.  I’ve always been able to relate well to this parable – from the perspective of all three major players.  I’ve been the prodigal – in more ways than one.  I think we all have, at some point.  Let's face it, we are all prodigals when it comes to our Heavenly Father; none are born into the family out of natural birth.  Even those reborn at a very young age were once held prisoner by sin and were originally born into this world. 

I’ve been the jealous, petty brother.  I’ve watched people file into church on Easter morning, welcomed with hugs and smiles while I -- Steady Betty, Miss Faithful Attendant -- stand by waiting for someone to be glad I’m there.  I've been petty and simple-minded.  I've wondered why everyone else gets ahead while I, Debbie Do-Right keep getting the short end of the stick.  I've scoffed when someone has pointed out "what a wonderful Christian" he or she is, thinking, "They don't know what he's really like," or "I'm a better Christian than she is."

As the "father," I have heard my children curse me, ask for what is “due” them, and watch them intentionally reject every principle I’ve tried to weave into the fiber of their lives.  I have stood waiting and watching for my child to return, longing to welcome them with open arms, clothe them, and put rings on their fingers. 

Of all three of these characters, to me, the father comes across as being the most pitiable.  Now, I know the father represents our Heavenly Father but, really?  Such a fuss over a prodigal?  I’ve been a prodigal; I know how we are!  Unreliable, opportunistic; here today, gone tomorrow.  Try as we might, we can’t seem to keep it together, even when we want to!  And the gentle manner with which this father handled his oldest’s petty jealousies and selfish complaints?  Not: "Where does he get off asking for his due?  His due is what I say it is; after all his 'due' is my hard work, my love poured out in order to build something special, something of substance for him!"  And as our pastor pointed out, the oldest could have at any point said, "No father, why on earth would I want my portion now?  I don't even want to think of inheritance; you are alive and I am grateful.  I love you.  I want to stay here on the farm with you and build our heritage together."  Why didn't that father just kick both of his selfish brats to the curb?

Well, here's where the parable gets personal.  As a mother of a prodigal or two, I know the pain of loss, and the joy of reunion.  Love endures the hurt, the not knowing.  Love seeks to extend its hand, seek out those who have rejected it, bravely risking rejection again.  Love waits and hopes; love controls its desires to quit, as well as its desires to take by storm.  Love seeks to grow enough for both parties, shouldering the burden while looking toward the day when it will be joined with the other.  We do not celebrate the life my child lived while out of the fold, while choosing to remain outside of a mother's or father's love.  We do not celebrate the arrogance, the ignorance, the foolishness, the strife that tore us apart.  We celebrate the forgiveness, the growth, the renewal, the grace of God Almighty that has brought us together again. 

And as for the Father of this prodigal, thanks be to Him for His forgiveness, His faithfulness, His boundless love, His mercy that cannot be understood or defined in earthly terms, but has waited patiently, searching the horizon for my return.