Amateurs Welcome

I really enjoy cooking. I will cook for hours, and I'm not intimidated by any recipe. They're not all successes, but I will try anything once! I enjoy the challenge, cooking helps me "de-stress", and I enjoy it when others enjoy what I have made. But it is amateur hour. I never went to culinary school. My knowledge of spices, cuts of meat, techniques and terminology rests solely in the vast expanse of the worldwide web. I am creative as it comes, but comparatively, I am a hack.

I met a couple of hacks today, in Luke 24:13-35. My paraphrase goes like this: Some time Sunday morning, after the discovery of Jesus' resurrection, Cleopas and a friend were walking from Jerusalem to the town of Emmaus. As they walked, they talked about the events of the last couple of days. Suddenly, they found a Stranger was with them, and He asked about their discussion. After, chiding Him a bit for being out of the loop, they began to tell Jesus all that had transpired, all they had hoped, and now, all they were attempting to reconcile. But it was Jesus' turn for correcting: "Oh foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken!" Jesus then, mercifully, expounds the Scriptures to them, revealing Himself to them. But they still can't see it. Not until they invite Him to their table, to commune with them further, are their eyes opened, and they see Jesus for who He is.

There is A LOT there. But I want to draw your attention to Jesus' initial question, and get back to this cooking thing (I'm kind of hungry). Jesus asks these men to tell Him what has happened these last few days! Now, when I read that, crazy and twisted as I am, I hear Julia Child asking me to explain to her the fine art of making Boeuf Bourguignon. Or Michelle Gayer asking for my Coconut Macaroon recipe.

Jesus... asks them... the story of His death and resurrection.

Just let that sink in. We know what they told Him. Luke records it. But compared to Jesus' version, I'm sure they sounded like a couple of real hacks. Amateurs.

Now I can't say what would have happened if Julia had ever tasted my Boeuf Bourguignon, or Michelle ever came to tea, but this is what Jesus does:

• He comes alongside them first, obviously knowing what they were discussing, obviously knowing they -- pretty much -- had it all wrong. 
• He walks with them. Two miles? Five miles? He goes with them the distance! As long as their ears were opened, as long as they desired His company, as long as they remained with Him, there He was.
• He sits at their table and opens their eyes to His true identity. He communes with them as deeply as they desire. As long as they remain hungry and thirsty for His truth, He does not deny them, or rebuke them, or lord His gifts over them. He shares them.

What grace! What mercy! The Lord of all creation taking the time to reveal life-giving truth to a couple of aspiring theologians. And it is no different for you or me.

Each time I sit down to pray, or read Scripture, or write, it's amateur hour. On my own, if I would even do it at all, I am a hack. But it is the Spirit of the One True God who is with me, coming alongside me (Acts 9:31), walking me through it, and revealing Himself to me, as long as this amateur remains willing and open to correction.

And it's the same for you as well; just ask.

On Purpose

It has been more than a year since I have posted here. I'm sure, eventually, I will address some of the things the Lord has taught me in that time, and the events that have occurred; but right now, I have been given a purpose, and I need to move toward that purpose. So, here it goes...

I have been studying the book of Luke in my personal time with the Lord, and I am nearing the end. In my reading, Jesus has been crucified, and the women have returned from the empty tomb to tell their account to the disciples -- some of whom were, no doubt, grieving, hiding, shaking their heads in disbelief, perhaps even feeling a bit foolish or betrayed. Luke says in 24:11, "And their words seemed to them like idle tales, and they did not believe them." The story of the women's encounter at the empty tomb was idle: stagnant, static; without purpose or effect; pointless, fruitless, powerless, and empty. Essentially, the polar opposite of what the account of Jesus' resurrection is -- or should be -- in me!

Now, I could elaborate on that -- the picture of Jesus' followers poo-poohing a bunch of women and their hysteria; what these men really thought... I'd like to, but not today. Purpose.

So, if the words of the women were as idle tales to them, what of Peter's reaction? Luke gives it to us in verse 12: "But Peter arose and ran to the tomb; and stooping down, he saw the linen cloths lying by themselves; and he departed, marveling to himself at what had happened."

Peter didn't think the women were nuts. Peter didn't think their words were empty or their tale was idle. Peter is the picture God gives us of how we should react when His words are truly life and power and purpose to us!

• Peter arose! He got moving. He didn't give himself time to talk himself out of reacting. He didn't attempt to "apply reason." He didn't worry what the others would think if he got excited over the ridiculous rants of a few obviously emotional women. He arose. The sense I get from this is, immediately.
• Peter ran to the tomb! I remember the slow, mournful pace at which my mother would always walk to pay her respects at the grave of her parents. They weren't going anywhere, after all. Peter ran! Excitedly! He could not be torn from his purpose. He could not be thrown of course. He moved quickly and directly toward his Savior, his Friend, his Teacher, his Power and Purpose for living!
• Peter stooped down! Peter, in abandon, dropped to the only vantage point at which he could really substantiate the truth. He got his hands dirty without a second thought. He searched actively, purposefully for the hope that would determine his calling for the rest of his life -- an empty grave and a Living Savior!
• Peter saw! Those who dismissed the words of the women as nothing more than idle tales did not, could not. To see as Peter did required movement, direction and discipline, and zeal.
• Peter "departed, marveling to himself at what had happened." Peter left changed. He was still human, and, I'm sure, spent some sleepless nights trying to grasp the enormity of all he had just witnessed. But, because he believed, he took action.

We know from the rest of the New Testament that Peter continued to demonstrate his faith with his life. He continued to show everyone he met, the factual, historical account of Jesus' Resurrection was not idle, or empty, or powerless in any way.

What we believe determines the path we walk. And if I, too, believe the words of an angel, spoken to a group of women one morning: He is not here, but is risen!, I need to respond with more than an "Amen". I need to respond with all I've been given, and on purpose.

Getting to the Right Place

Have you ever found yourself in a place you never planned to be, but somehow you knew for certain you were in the right place?

Last month, through a series of schedule changes, I found myself giving blood at a nursing facility; not my usual donation point. It was no coincidence this residence appears to specialize in patients with dementia and Alzheimer's. We have been blessed -- and I do mean blessed -- to care for my mom for the past year. And seeing what life could be like for her, has made that acutely evident to me.

Don't get me wrong, please. Elder care is far from an easy or exact science. What works well for one family does not always succeed in another. Families face difficult decisions regarding loved ones and their care. What one facility provides may not be possible in another. Most of these businesses and their employees do their jobs, do them well, and even go above and beyond to make the lives of their clients -- patients as well as their families -- comfortable and enriched.

That being said, my grandmother had been in a nursing home. As young as I was at the time, I can still recall how depressing a place it was. When I got older, my first real job was in a retirement community; things had changed since Nana, but the medical facility on that campus was little more than the nursing home in which I recall her living -- and dying.

The place I found myself last month? Well, as I walked to the entrance, patients lined the portico. Some chatting with others; some, heads lolling and eyes vacant, simply sat and waited. The grounds were beautifully manicured, but there were tiny signs of neglect and deterioration on some of the buildings. I heard something whisper, "Death."

Inside, sunlight poured through monstrous windows and danced about the crystals of grandiose chandeliers. Patients who were able moved about freely. One conversed with a nurse who playfully teased her about knowing the job better than she did. Another, peering into the windows of the dayroom, questioned me about the activity occurring before her.

     "It's a blood drive," I answered. Her face showed alarm or confusion; I wasn't sure which.

     "People donate blood to help those who need it." More confusion than alarm; I was satisfied there were no vampiric images running through her imagination.

While I was donating, a patient wandered into the dayroom. I believe she thought she was reporting for work. She approached the Red Cross nurse with confidence, her purse slung sassily over her shoulder; she proudly stated her name as if he should be familiar. He gently removed her from the donation area, all the while his eyes searching, pleading for a facility nurse to appear. Comical initially; poignant now.

As I looked around the room, I noticed the trappings of a nursing home dayroom: a TV with ample floor space around for "wheelchair seating"; a couple of wilting plants meant to cheer, but the lack of proper care given them only recollected an end to their glory days; worn out board games stacked up on a worn out bookcase; elementary arts and crafts proudly displayed about the room -- the latest achievements of adults who had yesterday contributed so much. The décor appeared expensive and tasteful, but bargain pressed-wood furniture and acres of stamped wall-to-wall carpeting couldn't hide the truth. This was a grave dressed as a soiree.

It is not my intent to be negative or critical of establishments such as these; this is not some commentary on healthcare or elder care. Let's face it, we do the best with what we're given. But the gravity of aging and death -- mine as well as my mother's -- weighed on me more heavily than ever as I left the grounds that day. I was unspeakably grateful for the opportunity to care for her, yet suddenly aware of gossamer threads holding that opportunity within my grasp. The tragedy of what has become since one fateful day in a garden, and the glory and grace of one fateful day at a cross were at war within me as I drove home to Mom. I could be overcome with grief and hopelessness, or allow God's Holy Spirit to overcome those things with His peace and hope.

I have to admit, one surrender is easier than the other. And I know now, just as I did that day, God is showing me something. He determined my steps that day, He will lead me where I need to be once again.

The Commitment to Family

When I was growing up, the concept of family was pretty straightforward: Dad, Mom, a slew of noisy kids, and the family pet. Even the pets were traditional: dog, cat, fish, a bird, or maybe a box turtle, if you were known to walk on the wild side.

ALL of that has changed. Many of today's families are "blended." The way we decorate our homes, the churches we do or do not attend, the holidays we do or do not celebrate, even the foods on our "traditional" holiday tables are as varied as the backgrounds of the people gathered around them. And, of course, our pets are unique: ferrets, hedgehogs, pigs, exotics. "Nontraditional" seems to be the new traditional.

This morning I was reading the book of Ruth in the Bible; the account of a blended family. Ruth was from the country of Moab; she married an Israelite man from the tribe of Judah. Ruth's husband died and her mother-in-law, Naomi, also a widow, living far from her homeland, wanted to return. Naomi advised Ruth to leave her, and return to her family home. Ruth refused, with these words:

“Entreat me not to leave you,
Or to turn back from following after you;
For wherever you go, I will go;
And wherever you lodge, I will lodge;
Your people shall be my people,
And your God, my God.
Where you die, I will die,
And there will I be buried.
The Lord do so to me, and more also,
If anything but death parts you and me.”

Wow! How beautiful is that! Such commitment. Such sacrifice. But stop for a moment and consider just how big a sacrifice!

When my ex-husband and I separated, his mom was sick. Being a senior, a widow, and having a difficult time handling some things most of us take for granted, Ellie required help. I would stop by with groceries on my way home from work, or assist her with paperwork or transportation. I was prepared to stick by her at any cost. When it became clear my ex-husband and I would not reconcile, and when he became more available to help his mom, she and I parted ways. But during that period, I often thought about Ruth and the decision she made. What I never considered was just how much credit I was giving myself!

We don't know how old Ruth was, but she may have been very young; I was 40 -- almost a senior citizen! Ruth and Naomi were from two entirely different cultures; we can't know how long Naomi had been Ruth's mother-in-law, but what if it had only been for a couple of years? a couple of weeks? Ruth would have had barely a chance to become accustomed to a Jewish way of life! Ellie and I were from the same country, the same state, and had known one another almost fifteen years! Ruth was willing to move miles away from the only land she'd known, to nearly the epicenter of Naomi's culture; I wasn't moving anywhere, much less living with my MIL. Ruth's act was real commitment!

And here's something I'd never considered before: Who says Naomi was easy to get along with anyway? What if that whole "No, go back to your family" thing was little more than a pity party? I mean, look at Ruth 1:8 -- Naomi puts herself  in association with the dead, locking in that correlation with certain doom. Almost has a ring of "No, death is my companion now; you go on with your rosy cheeks and your youthful gait," to it. Doesn't it?

And 1:11-13? "Turn back!" Reminds me of something you'd find at the end of a driveway to a vacant old house: "Turn back! WARNING: MISERY AHEAD!" Naomi then asks, (of course I'm paraphrasing) "Why would you want to come with me? What could I possibly have to offer you, or anyone else for that matter?" And Naomi laments, not that she is too old to have children, but that she has no sons to promise Ruth and her other son's widow: she is not pregnant with sons for them. And again: "Turn back!" Woe! Woe! "For I am too old to have a husband." Wait! What?! Too old for a husband, but never does she say she is too old to bear sons. In fact, she even speculates: "IF I had hope, for, of course, why would I?" (Again, I'm paraphrasing) "...but, IF I had hope, and I married today and bore sons, would you wait until they were old enough to marry?" Poor, poor Naomi. "I could never expect you to wait until my sons were grown; far too much for me to ask you to do that for a poor old widow like me."

And, here comes the crème de la crème: (paraphrasing) "I am so sorry you got caught in God's crosshairs when He turned against me. You were just collateral damage when God marked me for takedown. I am so sorry. It's so unfair for you, though I know I deserved it somehow."

What a sacrifice! Of course it could be in how you read it, but I tend to fast-forward to the end of the story, to God's reward for Ruth's commitment, failing to see how Naomi had lost hope, and how that was of little consequence to Ruth. It almost seems Naomi was a fount of despair and pity rather than the gentle, guiding mentor Ruth would have benefitted from following so closely. Instead, it is Ruth, the Moabitess, the pagan, who leads one of God's chosen people back to her God, and "sets her up" for installation in the story of her Savior!

The story of God's blended family: backgrounds, ethnicities, colors, cultures, and lands, grafted into His family tree!