Grumbling in My Tent

I really dislike Tuesdays. I'm not a huge fan of the rest of the work week, but I really dislike Tuesdays. Tuesday is my first day of the week. Tuesday is Monday, but Monday is Sunday; so Mondays are ok -- for me anyway -- but Tuesdays? Eyuck.  This past Tuesday I was in a particularly unpleasant mood: aside from the calendar, my daughter and her husband were in town, and I was unable to have the day off -- not that we would actually be doing much at that hour of the day, but sometimes I really hate going to bed earlier than most four year-olds. So, I had to work; I'd been to a funeral days before that set me to thinking about my mother's advanced age; my husband was in a funk over some things he was experiencing; I had dealt with some family drama that will result in some permanent changes, and I'd dealt with some family drama that will not change anything at all; and last but not least, I was sick. Rotten Tuesday across the board.

A couple of days later I was reading Psalm 106:24-25:

                         "The people refused to enter the pleasant land,
                           for they wouldn't believe His promise to care for them.
                           Instead they grumbled in their tents,
                           and refused to obey the Lord."

Now, the pleasant land was the land God had promised to His people long ago; a land "flowing with milk and honey." If you think about the production of milk, it can only be produced in abundance ("flowing") if the animals are healthy, well-fed and well cared for. According to Jewish Midrash, milk symbolizes superior quality, richness of taste, and nourishment. When we think of fruit nectar, as some suspect was meant by "honey," it can only flow in likewise fertile, well-maintained lands. Bees' honey is extremely sweet and versatile, and its cost is evidence of the scarcity and labor intensive production of quality honey. In short, why would anyone in their right mind refuse to go there?!

Briefly, sin puts us in a very wrong mind -- usually a self-indulgent mind, a mind that insists on doing things strictly in a way most comfortable or familiar to it. It's not easy to trust the unseen; many people would choose a familiar slavery over an unknown freedom. I might refuse dessert (a pleasant thing) because of the consequences (its unhealthy or fatty nature that contradicts its pleasantness). The pleasant things of God however, can have no downside because He Himself is only good. Refusing the goodness of God calls into question His very nature, as if there can be a hidden liability.

So what did the Israelites who called God's nature into question do? They dug in. Like petulant children who know little but self, impulse, ignorance and immaturity, they grumbled in their tents and refused to obey God. I don't know if you're a camper, but I love camping -- it's staying in the tent I don't like so much. It's crowded, the ground is lumpy, and then there's that smell. And that's twenty-first century camping! Let's face it, it was a desert, these people were accompanied by many animals, and they didn't use deodorant -- the animals or the people! So because God wanted things done His way, because they were in the wrong mind, they refused a land flowing with milk and honey, and chose to grumble in their hot, smelly, crowded tents instead.

Immediately my mind went back to Tuesday. What did I do with all those hurt, annoyed, uncomfortable, ugly feelings? I did, I laid them at the feet of the only One who can do anything good with them. I learned (the hard way, of course) a long time ago, grumbling in my tent gets me nothing but sweaty, smelly, and possibly eaten by a bear.

For My Husband and Best Friend

Have you ever had a dream? Not the kind you have when you're sleeping, but a big dream; the kind that is so heavy on your soul you can't seem to shake it, you always keep coming back to it; like a fly buzzing at the window pane, it looks like where you want to go, there must be a way toward it. One day, you stop and really look at your life, and there's not a remnant of that dream left anywhere; nothing you have, nothing you are, nothing you see even remotely looks like your dream. It's then you realize just how much it truly meant to you.

I had such a dream. It was big. I'm not a dreamer by nature, or at least I didn't think I was. But looking back, I realize just how big, how much of a long shot this really was. I met someone who was wonderful, who swept me off my feet, I guess you could say. I trusted this person enough to dream with them, about them; to even dream their dream. But this person was only made of flesh and bone; this person was limited by the same things that limit the rest of us: time, health, strength, knowledge, resources, humanity. And each one of those things crept in one by one and stole our dream from us.

Today I looked at what we have, at what we have become. We are so far from the dream we had. But little by little our dream slipped away. No one was at fault; no one was slacking off, or got off track. No one forgot the dream or tried to dream another dream. "Life happened." Isn't that what they say? "Life happened." Not everyone in our dream shared our dream. Not everyone outside of our dream wanted to stay there. Not everyone in our dream stayed healthy or fit for the task. Not everyone inside our dream played by the rules.

When we dreamed our dream, I distinctly recall laughter, but the days I recall now bring me to tears. When we closed our eyes, we saw youth and dancing, but when I open them now I see pages falling from the calendar and adults who were once children. When we looked up at the stars and spoke into our future, there were fun-filled days and sweet, cozy nights; but my days can be lonely, and so can his nights. Our dream was healthy and strong and comfortable; but reality has dealt its share of damaging blows and what I see bears their mark.

But we are together, and we are as one. And if we never dream another dream, you are my dream come true.

Great Trick -- Have a Treat!

This is Ember.

Bishop thinks she is "boooo-ti-ful." That still didn't stop him from trying to eat her simply because Tinkerbell wanted to -- collective hysteria and all.

Ember belongs to our daughter, Christine; when Christine and her family come for a visit, so does Ember. This visit I've had an opportunity to do some work with her (Ember, not Christine -- that horse has left the barn). She's a great dog, a quick study, and she's incredibly smart. As with most dogs, treats are the perfect motivator for Ember. I help her to execute a new command as I give it, and then I treat her. With enough patience and repetition, she reaches the point at which I only need to say the command, and she will obey. Eventually, she should get to the point I will be able to nix the treat and simply give her accolades and scratches as a reward. Should she begin ignoring or even disobeying the command, training will resume, the treat will reappear until she "gets it" again.

This is by no means a dog training blog, so why bore you with all that? Psalm 44. I was reading it this morning. There are psalms that encourage, talk about repentance, rejoice, call for retribution, even cry and whine; but most times the crying and whining are followed by lifting up your eyes to heaven, where help is found. Not here. This one is straight up: "Wake up! We're falling apart down here! What are You doing?!"

I've felt that way. If you've walked with Jesus for more than a week or so, I think you've felt that way. It's tough to live in a broken, corrupt, mortal and messed up world, to serve and rely on Someone you can't look in the eye or wrap your arms around, to be ridiculed and demeaned for it, to wait for promised relief on that Someone's timetable, to watch others whose methods and morals are questionable get ahead, to just be tired of sticking with it. Almost like Ember, we have been conditioned; conditioned to believe "nice guys finish last."

Years ago, my employer rewarded people who finished their jobs in less than the allotted time. These days, they use those people to cover the work of others who refuse to do what's required even when using all the time given them. The world no longer recognizes honesty as a virtue: honestly reporting your hours on your timecard is a good way to have your job eliminated, or get written up for not taking a lunch. Sex sells, and "feel good" stories are relegated to page six. Controversy and gossip are what gets attention; helpfulness and grace are a big snore. When we go through tough times, we might consider casting all of this virtue stuff to the wind, and getting along the way everyone else does. This is the world we live in, and this is the behavior the world teaches.

When I read this psalm this morning, I thought too, about the way we expect God to act. Ember does a trick, Ember gets a treat. We understand positive reinforcement; we use it on our pets, our children, maybe even our spouses... We almost expect God to be like some Trainer in the sky. We do a good thing, we want to see the benefit of it. What keeps us on a diet? We step on the scale and we see results; the guy in the office down the hall suddenly begins to take notice. But we hit a plateau, or you meet his smokin' hot girlfriend, and we're grabbing for the Chunky Monkey with one hand, holding a bag of Doritos in the other. Positive reinforcement is a part of how we live and learn.

But faith is work. God has never hidden that from us: "These things I have spoken to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) As long as we are in the world we will have trouble; we will be tested; we will grieve and hurt. But resting in Our Savior, Our Father, Our Comforter, we can have peace.

Not An Even Trade

My father loved to travel. He instilled that love in his children and we in turn, instilled -- or tried to instill -- the same love in our children. Dad was the "let's-go-somewhere-let's-do-it-let's-fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants" kinda guy. My mother, on the other hand, enjoyed traveling, but she was definitely the list maker. She was practical about almost everything. Especially the overpriced and extra tacky silvenirs (her word for souvenirs) that every gift shop from Disneyworld to Knott's Berry Farm peddled as "must-haves for commemorating your fun-filled family vacation." Mom would hover over us like -- well, a mom, making sure we made wise decisions with our money. She would always steer us away from the costly items that were in no way commemorative, but more akin to overpriced discount store items: beach towels, or jump ropes, or Chinese finger traps (fine if we were in China -- we were not). "Buy something that, at least has the name of the amusement park on it," she'd urge. "And don't bother with those games -- no one ever wins; they're all rigged. Oh, and don't use up all your money today. What will you do when we get to Cypress Gardens tomorrow?" Who goes on vacation to listen to a bunch of rules? Especially when it comes to spending my own money?!

As a kid, I hated it. As an adult, I did it. Oh, yes, I did. Not until I met Scott, did I learn the value of gradually allowing a child to make some of their own decisions -- good or bad -- under the safety of Mom and Dad's roof. But it was hard. What parent wants to see their child work hard and save even harder, only to wind up with some useless piece of broken crap at the end of the day?

I thought about this as I was reading the other day:

"They exchanged the truth about God for a lie." ~  Romans 1:25

and,

"They have exchanged the glory of God for the shame of idols." ~  Hosea 4:7b

The truth about God is that He is loving and merciful. The truth about God is that all this chaos and calamity is not caused by Him, but it is the good things in life -- no matter how big or small -- that come from Him. The truth about God is that once you decide to seek Him, He shows Himself to you; and once He reveals Himself to you, if you decide to love Him, He works in your best interest -- always.

But there are some who have decided to ignore these truths. They'd rather believe He does not exist. He abandons people. He's some variation of Santa Claus, or high school headmaster. He is whatever  they want Him to be.

And then there are those, who know He exists. He lives in between the pages of their Bible, His Word; He doesn't get out much. He lives in church; they don't visit very often. He gets in the way: Sundays are their only day to sleep late; Sundays are the only day they can manage to get a decent tee time; Wednesday nights are their night to unwind. He'll still be there when they get older and can find time for all that religion stuff. He wants them to give up things they really enjoy.

Dad wanted us to experience something really exciting. Mom wanted us to never forget those
experiences. And while Mom was a shade neurotic, somewhat controlling, and a bit insecure, she just couldn't bear to see us wind up with a useless piece of broken crap at the end of the day. I don't think God does either.