Nothing Like a Little Crazy to Get Your Attention

Thursday morning. Alarm sounding, electric toothbrush buzzing, the soft blue glow of dash lights seducing me to stay within my warm, cozy truck. Phones ringing and my head pounding. "Gotta get more sleep." Typing furiously, trying to get the last bit of work in before I. have. got. to go! Dashing down the walkway, across the lot, ready to fight rush hour traffic. People rushing to work; dogwatchers rushing home. In the door, kiss, kiss; "Have a good day;" "You too."

Thursday Part Two has begun. "Dra-a-a-ma! Poppi wea-ving!" "Gramma, Tinkerbell is licking me!" I look at the clock -- three hours 'til Bible study. Praise God! Three hours to do the things it takes me six hours to do on other mornings. Are you kidding me? It's the morning routine and letting the dog in and reviewing notes and crowd control and repeating myself and letting the dog out and the quick trip to the market and the television is offline and letting the dog in. Soon the house is fully alive with happy chatter. Peace and joy settle in as we pray and study God's words. The hurry and crazy of the morning fades into the background as the presence of Jesus comes sharply into focus. He is the One who makes all of this possible. He is the One who sustains us through our days and gives us rest all through the night -- even the shortest nights.

But, during prayer, a sound from the basement -- the sound of silence. "Well, that's not good," I think, and I tiptoe out to investigate. My mother and two little partners in crime, liberally applying lotion and lipstick. "Gramma, I helped Nana with her necklace!" "Dra-a-a-ma, I got wo-shun!" And right then, at that very moment, as I stare into those faces, I thank God for the privilege of it all. Of the rushing and the noise, of the delays and the silence. I thank God for the laughter and the unforeseen, for the tears and the drudgery. His love for me is beyond measure, but while He demonstrates it toward me again and again, in myriad ways, I often fail to notice. In my failure, I incur the greatest loss; but in these "neon sign" moments, these moments I pray for -- "Make it clear, Lord, You know how dense and distracted I can be" -- He floods my world with blessings undeserved. My sisters close by and praying. My loved ones before me and laughing. My God forever and in all ways sustaining me; I am overcome by gratitude.

“I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,

But now my eye sees You.

Therefore I abhor myself,

And repent in dust and ashes.”

-- Job 42:5,6 

The Sweet, Sweet Taste of God's Grace

It was 50° when I stepped outside. Dressed in a t-shirt, shorts and slippers, I took my place in line at the window of a blue and white truck. I had been dreaming of this moment for two years!

Mom loves ice cream. When Mom lived up the street she would call at all hours -- "I just figured you could pick up some ice cream if you were going out." "Mom, I'm in bed. I go to work in two hours." She kept seven piles of one dollar bills across the top of her television each week, and would sit on the porch every evening, waiting for Mr. Softee's jingling truck to appear. In fact, it was ice cream that tipped me off to Mom's diminishing capacities: a spot of chocolate gave me to realize she was wearing the same shirt days in a row. And since she's lived with us, a single spoon lying in the sink eventually exposed her nasty habit of eating ice cream straight from the carton -- and explained the exorbitant quantities of ice cream we were suddenly consuming.

The summer before last, as the ice cream truck chugged its way down our street, I silently promised I'd stash some cash by the front door, for evenings when I was home and could get Mom "her usual." And though we had our share of ice cream that year, I was unable to keep my promise to grab her a spontaneous frosty treat. The ice cream truck that had been one of her favorite parts of summers past, and the driver who knew her by name had eluded me. Last year, more of the same. When the leaves began to fall, and I realized I no longer heard the iconic jingle fading in and out as it weaved its way through our neighborhood, I asked God to allow me to chase that truck at least one last time for Mom. So, here I was, on an unseasonably cold and breezy Spring evening, standing behind a neighbor, waiting for a "twist with chocolate jimmies." In tears (because a t-shirt, shorts and slippers in Fall-like weather don't scream "lunatic" quite loudly enough), I carried my offering across the street and into the house, the immeasurable grace of God before me.

Sitting here, weeks later, trying desperately to communicate to you just how much that moment meant, I realize what a silly little thing it was. But it wasn't to me, and because of who God is, it wasn't to Him. You see, God loves me, and He knows the things that break my heart. One of the hardest things I ever had to do was remove Mom from her home of fifty years. The image of Mom sitting on the porch waiting for the ice cream truck, knowing she would never be that person again, has always caused me to regret the curse of this world. But God gave me the opportunity to serve my mom in a way that was special to both of us. He gave me a gift that touched my heart, assuaged my pain, and brought a huge smile to Mom's face. He allowed me to experience His goodness in a world wracked by uncertainty and sickness and death. That's the kind of God He is. He's a God of grace and kindness. He's a God of the silly little things as well as the big important things. It is His nature to give and give lavishly. And He loves Mom even more than she loves ice cream!

A Friendship I Have to Share

When Scott and I went on our first date, it wasn't actually supposed to be a date. He lured me in with some crazy excuse about not wanting to go to the movies by himself. I agreed to help him out. (Pardon me while I take a moment to consider how magnanimous I am.) But, the tables would be turned on a balmy July evening. To say Scott knocked my socks off that first date would be an understatement. His many wonderful qualities attracted me, and our casual outing morphed into the beginning of a lifetime with my best friend.  

My walk with Jesus, this walk in faith, is somewhat similar. We are together, but even death will not part us. He is faithful and true. He loves me with an everlasting love. He knows my every need and my every sorrow. Everything good I have ever received has come from Him. He laid down His life so I did not have to pay what I owed, and He has made me new. He has promised to never leave me -- even for a minute. As we travel this life, He continues to "wow" me with how good He truly is.

Someone recently suggested I get a little carried away with my "God talk", as if I overdo it with my faith, as if there is something wrong with me taking every. word. of His Word so seriously. Really? Would it be better if I believed He was God on Sunday alone, just between the hours of 9AM and Noon? Maybe I could try to go it alone the rest of the week, only call on Him when things get really dicey. Or, what if I believed the things He did for Moses, He is unable or unwilling to do for me today? When did He stop raising people from the dead, exactly? Maybe just until the Bible made it to print, just long enough to establish a written record of His generous and mighty reputation? Then, "Stop the presses! We've got enough material -- no need to continue with this 'miracle' stuff." And what of the Savior who says to pray for "whatever" and "anything"? Should I not be committed to a God like that?

What would be your response if someone said, "Why be so loyal to your friend? No need to get so carried away." Or, "What's with you and your best friend? Do you two have to do everything together?" You'd probably think they were nuts. You'd probably answer, "We have a relationship -- an important one at that! If you really knew him/ her you'd probably feel the same. If you knew all we've been through together, you wouldn't say that." You might even feel a bit sorry for them because they didn't grasp the concept of true friendship, or commitment, or because they didn't have a great relationship like the one you've got. Maybe they'd never met anyone like your friend. You'd probably think it was sad they were so bitter or unaware.

And you would be right. But you'd keep telling them there's hope. And you'd pray they would find a relationship just like yours.

Fragrant Honor

Several months ago, I began writing an article about Luke's account of the feast at the home of Simon, the Pharisee. Jesus was invited. An honor, right? But, a woman enters -- but not just any woman -- Luke tells us she was "a sinner," a prostitute. She pours out expensive perfume; she pours out her tears; she pours forth, from the depths of her heart, contrition and worship. The Pharisee mumbles derisively and Jesus brings to light the deepest contents of the host's heart: self-righteousness, arrogance, judgment, and maybe even a bit of jealousy.

"I entered your house; you gave Me no water for my feet, but she has washed My feet with her tears and wiped them with the hair of her head. You gave Me no kiss, but this woman has not ceased to kiss My feet since the time I came in. You did not anoint My head with oil, but this woman has anointed My feet with fragrant oil." (v. 44-46)

Jesus called the home owner out at his own dinner table! Imagine Simon's face reddening before his guests. The truth is, had any one of those guests acted in such a manner, Simon would have despised them equally. He wasn't interested in honoring others as they were; he was uncomfortable with people and their messes. Oil spilling all over the floor. Tears and weeping, loudly making a scene. And her hair draped over the dusty feet of this stranger? A mess! Just like this filthy woman's entire life! How dare she bring her dirt to his door! Chaos and disorder, sin and shame spilling over his threshold -- and in front of "decent people!"

As I read, I looked around our home. Clean. Neat. Preserved. And nothing is -- or was -- necessarily wrong with that. But, I asked myself how I would feel if such a woman brought her dirt into my home. What would I do if someone "caused a scene" such as this woman did? Would I show her the door, or make excuses to my guests? And who would be at my table? Is my heart's desire to serve and love, or to keep tidy and avoid drama? Does my honor of Jesus come with qualifications?

Within a week, He gave me the opportunity to have all my questions answered. Drama and "messiness" had taken center stage in our lives. A week! An unbelievable situation, that had begun with a simple "this is to inform you" letter months prior, had come live and in person to our front door. Sitting in my neat little office contemplating the scene at Simon's house was a far cry from what the Lord was now asking us to do. And like any self-righteous Pharisee, deep down, I was uncomfortable with damaged people and their messes. I wanted this chance -- more than anything; I knew we had to take responsibility; it was the right thing to do. But oh! the mess it was going to make! Our lives turned upside down, our relationship tested, our physical limitations expanded, our resources exploited -- and forgiveness? The forgiveness we were going to have to give, the forgiveness we were going to have to accept! For, if we were going to do this, we would have to know it was only because we walk in the forgiveness granted by Jesus Christ, and we would have to show that same forgiveness to others.

"I tell you the, the great love she has shown proves that her many sins have been forgiven. But whoever has been forgiven little shows only a little love." -- Luke 7:47

That was almost a year ago, and we have been equipped for this journey each and every day. Equipped with grace, poured out on us; equipped with forgiveness, completely and eternally purchased for us, and daily before us. Our walls have dings and our floors have scratches. Piles of freshly folded clothes topple to the floor as closet space runs out; dirty dishes and garbage are automatically replenished, while gasoline and time are not. But it is this -- our home and lives poured out, our sanitized dreams completely disrupted, our schedules surrendered -- that Jesus demands. It is the mess, invited as we open our hearts and homes to one another, that gives Him the fragrant honor of which He is so deserving.