Every year for six weeks, listening to Christmas song after Christmas song, I begin to ponder all of the weird-o lyrics that everyone has been singing for decades. Such as the lyrics about toasting marshmallows and sharing ghost stories on Christmas (The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.) Wrong holiday, folks, that's Halloween. Or the snowman that asks the kids if they're married in Winter Wonderland. Huh? (Although I vaguely recall a fourth grade art class where two of my classmates, who had been boyfriend and girlfriend for some time, got "married;" we all tore up construction paper into bits of confetti after Mr. Zander, our off-beat art teacher, read them their vows from a dictionary. The marriage dissolved the next day, before the confetti could be cleaned off the floor, beating even the Kardashian record.) Yesterday the lyrics that played over in my head were, "Bring us some figgy pudding, now bring us some figgy pudding, now bring us some figgy pudding and bring it RIGHT NOW." Have you ever heard such demanding carolers? Who asks for food when they're singing cheerfully at your door, and then asks for a specific dessert, and oh by the way bring it to us immediately? Not to mention that even though I don't know what a figgy pudding is, it sounds nasty.
So today I was reading about figs in Matthew, chapter 21:18-22:
"Now in the morning, as He returned to the city, He was hungry. And seeing a fig tree by the road, He came to it and found nothing on it but leaves, and said to it, 'Let no fruit grow on you ever again.' Immediately, the fig tree withered away."
I laughed. Sorry, but I did. Because in my mind I paralleled Jesus' response with something I would want to do. Take, for example, the day when I craved a BLT wrap from a favorite local coffee shop. It was 2pm, and pregnant me was very crabby, cuz I was very hungry (something my brother-in-law has an actual word for: "crungry".) I went through the drive-through, voracious, only to hear the teenager say through the loudspeaker, "I'm sorry, we're not serving hot food through the drive-thru today." I wanted to set the drive-thru speaker on fire. Did they even know how nearly-fainting hungry I was?! Should I tell them I'm pregnant and that their decision of convenience may put my health at risk?
So I read this passage like: Jesus was hungry, saw a source of food, then was denied by the drive-thru fig tree- and because He's Jesus, he just cursed the life out of the tree because He was crungry.
Okay, so maybe there was more to it. The disciples were in awe that the fig tree just withered like that instantly. They asked Jesus how He had done it, (note: not why), and He told them in verse 21, "Assuredly I say to you, if you have faith and do not doubt, you will not only do what is done to the fig tree, but also if you say to this mountain, 'Be removed and be cast into the sea,' it will be done."
So perhaps He was crungry and used the episode to teach the disciples about praying with faith. Or maybe He cursed the tree all along with the initial intentions of teaching the disciples this very lesson. It was good for me to hear today, anyway. My prayers get so stale so often. They're repetitious, and often without fervor- or dare I even say faith-behind them. I want to put reverence behind the routine, passion into the petitions. Not just go through my list. But pray with belief that God will answer, in His time, in His way.
I'm sorry, Lord, for listing off my prayers as a to-do list for myself and for You. I'm sorry for breezing through prayer as simply part of my day and not as an opportunity to sit with you and really pray with faith. For my repeated prayers especially, I pray for a new way to put life, intention, and faith into my words, believing in Your power and promise to answer them. Amen.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Everest, Part I: Jesus, Our Sherpa
Staying up late doing some documentation for work one night, I perused our Netflix on-demand for some background entertainment. I wanted to find something that would keep me interested enought to stay awake, but wouldn't distract me too much from getting my work done. I came across Everest, a documentation series on the Discovery channel that follows an expedition group in their attempts to summit the highest point on earth.
I was absolutely hooked. All footage of this series was taken on the mountain, between cameras on the helmets of those attempting to suumit, and cameras at various base camps along the way. You see maps and diagrams of their route, graphs of weather trends, and statistics of injuries and death. You watch as the climbers become weaker and weaker with High Altitude Sickness, suffer frostbite, severe hypothermia, and even brain swelling. Some climbers make the summit; some have to turn around due to physical limitations, at times mere feet from the top.
As I listened in the background and glanced up time to time from my charting to follow the expedition, I found myself discovering all kinds of illustrations of God's grace though the documentary. In this blog entry, I'd like to talk about Sherpas.
Sherpas are Tibetans living in the Himalayas who specialize in guiding hikers throughout their expeditions. They are small, often described as "wirey," and they have abnormally strong hearts. These two things make them physically more advantaged to navigate the mountains that they live among. The less body mass a person has, the more able they are to carry themselves upwards. A stronger heart means they are able to tolerate the very low oxygen levels as found in higher altitudes, much more than the average person. This means that they are less prone to altitude sickness. They move faster and easier than anyone else. The Sherpas, quite literally, were created to live among these mountains. This makes me shake my head in amazement at God's perfect plan. It it no accident that a people who are native to their land are actually built to survive the extremes of their environment. God did that.
The Sherpas not only climb along with the hikers next to them, but they go ahead of them first to lay safety ropes and set up the next base camp with tents, food, oxygen, and other provisions. They are literally doing twice the work, to make things clear and safe for the hikers that will be climbing alongside them later.
Isn't this what Jesus has done? He has gone before us, here on earth, to pave the path that we should follow. He gave us His Word for guidance, to lay the ropes for us. He gave us the assurance that he has already walked the path in our shoes. And though He has already gone before us, He is coming back down to take us back up with Him. As I write, He is busy preparing our eternal Base Camp at the summit.
I had some stress-inducing meetings this week at work. I'm trying hard to not allow my anxiety to rule my thoughts and heart, but I'm finding this to be a difficult challenge. They've been my Everest. But one thing that has helped me has stemmed from something God taught me one evening in college.
It was my junior year at St Olaf, and on this particular Monday night, it was the eve of my first clinical experience in a hospital (I was going to school for nursing). I was so full of anxiety. I wasn't necessarily worried I would mess up badly or hurt anyone; I just didn't know what lay ahead. I didn't know what the precepting nurse would be like. I didn't know if my patient would like me. I didn't know where anything was on the unit. It was just simply a big day with a lot of unknowns, and it would be a long day starting with getting up at 5am for the morning commute. I sat in the back stairwell, one of the quieter places in my dorm, and prayed. But truthfully, worried more than prayed. After a while of quietly fretting, I had a sudden vision. A blip, it was so fast. It was a vision of a huge pair of arms, which I understood to be God's, and he was holding the hospital I would be working at the next day. and I understood. In an instant, I understood God to be telling me that He is already there. He will be with me as I get ready to leave, and He will be there waiting for me when I arrive. He will be with me the whole day. He will be with my patient, my precepting nurse, and in the supply closet I'd get lost finding. And I found peace.
So before I have something anxiety-producing, I remember God's teaching to me, and thank Him for going before me. He's already in that meeting room, He's with the people in it, He knows the agenda, He knows the outcome, and He loves me.
Thank you, Jesus, for being my Sherpa; for laying the ropes for my path, going ahead of me, going beside me, and coming back for me. Amen!
I was absolutely hooked. All footage of this series was taken on the mountain, between cameras on the helmets of those attempting to suumit, and cameras at various base camps along the way. You see maps and diagrams of their route, graphs of weather trends, and statistics of injuries and death. You watch as the climbers become weaker and weaker with High Altitude Sickness, suffer frostbite, severe hypothermia, and even brain swelling. Some climbers make the summit; some have to turn around due to physical limitations, at times mere feet from the top.
As I listened in the background and glanced up time to time from my charting to follow the expedition, I found myself discovering all kinds of illustrations of God's grace though the documentary. In this blog entry, I'd like to talk about Sherpas.
Sherpas are Tibetans living in the Himalayas who specialize in guiding hikers throughout their expeditions. They are small, often described as "wirey," and they have abnormally strong hearts. These two things make them physically more advantaged to navigate the mountains that they live among. The less body mass a person has, the more able they are to carry themselves upwards. A stronger heart means they are able to tolerate the very low oxygen levels as found in higher altitudes, much more than the average person. This means that they are less prone to altitude sickness. They move faster and easier than anyone else. The Sherpas, quite literally, were created to live among these mountains. This makes me shake my head in amazement at God's perfect plan. It it no accident that a people who are native to their land are actually built to survive the extremes of their environment. God did that.
The Sherpas not only climb along with the hikers next to them, but they go ahead of them first to lay safety ropes and set up the next base camp with tents, food, oxygen, and other provisions. They are literally doing twice the work, to make things clear and safe for the hikers that will be climbing alongside them later.
Isn't this what Jesus has done? He has gone before us, here on earth, to pave the path that we should follow. He gave us His Word for guidance, to lay the ropes for us. He gave us the assurance that he has already walked the path in our shoes. And though He has already gone before us, He is coming back down to take us back up with Him. As I write, He is busy preparing our eternal Base Camp at the summit.
I had some stress-inducing meetings this week at work. I'm trying hard to not allow my anxiety to rule my thoughts and heart, but I'm finding this to be a difficult challenge. They've been my Everest. But one thing that has helped me has stemmed from something God taught me one evening in college.
It was my junior year at St Olaf, and on this particular Monday night, it was the eve of my first clinical experience in a hospital (I was going to school for nursing). I was so full of anxiety. I wasn't necessarily worried I would mess up badly or hurt anyone; I just didn't know what lay ahead. I didn't know what the precepting nurse would be like. I didn't know if my patient would like me. I didn't know where anything was on the unit. It was just simply a big day with a lot of unknowns, and it would be a long day starting with getting up at 5am for the morning commute. I sat in the back stairwell, one of the quieter places in my dorm, and prayed. But truthfully, worried more than prayed. After a while of quietly fretting, I had a sudden vision. A blip, it was so fast. It was a vision of a huge pair of arms, which I understood to be God's, and he was holding the hospital I would be working at the next day. and I understood. In an instant, I understood God to be telling me that He is already there. He will be with me as I get ready to leave, and He will be there waiting for me when I arrive. He will be with me the whole day. He will be with my patient, my precepting nurse, and in the supply closet I'd get lost finding. And I found peace.
So before I have something anxiety-producing, I remember God's teaching to me, and thank Him for going before me. He's already in that meeting room, He's with the people in it, He knows the agenda, He knows the outcome, and He loves me.
Thank you, Jesus, for being my Sherpa; for laying the ropes for my path, going ahead of me, going beside me, and coming back for me. Amen!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Ancient Words, Modern Woman
Oops.
But wait, why "oops" just because she was holding her Bible? It is unfair, wrong, and sinful to be thinking those thought of anyone, Christian or not. That was a good God-slap right there.
And then I sat there thinking, "I should say something to her...something to let her know I'm a Christian too..." Why on earth is that?! Like it's some secret society? Like I had to let her know that she was a witness to me- a Christian- by carrying her Bible into Caribou. I did it anyway.
"Great idea, bringing your Bible into Caribou for quiet time," I said. She responded by saying that just simply cannot get away from the distractions at home to sit down and get her Bible reading done; she just started the habit of doing it at Caribou, to devote time specifically to reading the Word.
"Well, thanks for the inspiration; I'll have to try that sometime," I said, and we exhanged a tone of understanding when saying our "have a great day"s before I walked out. You know, the secret society of Christians. She understood.
I was in a complete funk later today, really bogged down with anxiety about work. One thought kept coming across loud and clear, louder than the worry: "sit down and read your Bible first, before you do anything else tonight."
I did, and listened to one of my favorite songs, "Ancient Words":
Holy words, long-preserved
for our walk in the world;
They resound with God's own heart
O, let the ancient words impart.
Words of life, words of hope
give us strength, help us cope.
In this world where ever we rome
ancient words will guide us home.
Ancient words, ever true,
changing me and changing you;
we have come with open hearts;
O let the ancient words impart.
How awesome that the modern woman in Caribou, that me in my sweaty workout clothes worrying about my week, that anyone today can come before those very same ancient words, and be changed. As I knew it would, my perspective on looming trials has changed. And I have learned a few lessons on my quickness to judge others along the way. Conviction, comfort, compassion....
Thank you Lord Jesus for your words that never change, never fail, and always give strength and guidance. Amen.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Blanding In
I ruined dinner tonight.
For Christmas, I got these awesome cookbooks. They're filled with recipes that "hide" vegetables. You know, so your kids will eat them without knowing it. Or, in my case, so I will eat them with only partially knowing it. I really don't like vegetables. Carrots taste like soap to me. Cauliflower makes me gag. Sweet peppers are okay, but I taste them for 48 hours after I eat them. Celery? Ha. Celery sticks are simply a way of getting ranch dip into my mouth faster.
So tonight I was all excited to try one of the new recipes. I was to make pumpkin ravioli, from scratch. Well, sort of from scratch anyway. The recipe has you make them from wonton wrappers (which make potstickers, dumplings, that type of thing). Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. They were absolutely nasty, mainly because the wonton wrappers were slimy once they boiled for several minutes. Slippery and slimy are never good adjectives for food. The filling was okay, though. I put a whole lotta garlic in there. I loooove me some garlic. If a recipe calls for two cloves, I put in six. Can't go wrong with garlic. Garlic brings food from bland to brilliant.
It's crazy how much a little spice can change the experience of food. Four years ago, I was eating in a resteraunt with my extended family during a family reunion weekend. I ordered pancakes. But something was odd about them. There was something in them, something very different from the typical hints of cinnamon or nutmeg. I handed my plate to my sister.
"What do you think is in these?" I asked. She took a bite, wrinkled her nose, then looked upwards in thought before passing the plate to our mother.
"Try this," she told her. "What is that?"
This process repeated itself over and over until nine of my relatives had "tasted" through half of my breakfast. They were all stumped. We asked our waiter, who inquired the chef. He came back.
"Did you find out?" I asked eagerly.
"Cardamum," he said.
"Caaaaar-di-muuuum," all nine of us said with an "aha!" tone.
I was reading Matthew 5:13 today:
Ouch. I feel convicted. I am blending in too much with the world. If the world is pasta, all I'm adding is bland parmesan. And not the fresh kind of parmesan, either; we're talking the parmesan powder that comes in that green shiny shaker can and clumps up in the fridge; you know, that one that's been in the door of your fridge for the last five years. That's how bland I feel these days.
As a Christian, I'm supposed to stand out. To add a joyful difference, something that stands out to others, something refreshing, and maybe even a little peculiar. Cardamum. A bay leaf. Even some fresh pressed garlic. But I feel like I'm just marching with the masses, shaking my tired parmesan all over the place.
Lord God, as I try to read Your Word more, and as I try to spend time listening to you....may it change me. I want to be different. Different than I am now; different than others. To make different choices. To have a different attitude and outlook. I desire to have the flavor back, so that others may look at me, and say, "what exactly is that?" It is not enough to be a Christian if I am not different from the world around me. Change me, Lord. Amen.
For Christmas, I got these awesome cookbooks. They're filled with recipes that "hide" vegetables. You know, so your kids will eat them without knowing it. Or, in my case, so I will eat them with only partially knowing it. I really don't like vegetables. Carrots taste like soap to me. Cauliflower makes me gag. Sweet peppers are okay, but I taste them for 48 hours after I eat them. Celery? Ha. Celery sticks are simply a way of getting ranch dip into my mouth faster.
So tonight I was all excited to try one of the new recipes. I was to make pumpkin ravioli, from scratch. Well, sort of from scratch anyway. The recipe has you make them from wonton wrappers (which make potstickers, dumplings, that type of thing). Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. They were absolutely nasty, mainly because the wonton wrappers were slimy once they boiled for several minutes. Slippery and slimy are never good adjectives for food. The filling was okay, though. I put a whole lotta garlic in there. I loooove me some garlic. If a recipe calls for two cloves, I put in six. Can't go wrong with garlic. Garlic brings food from bland to brilliant.
It's crazy how much a little spice can change the experience of food. Four years ago, I was eating in a resteraunt with my extended family during a family reunion weekend. I ordered pancakes. But something was odd about them. There was something in them, something very different from the typical hints of cinnamon or nutmeg. I handed my plate to my sister.
"What do you think is in these?" I asked. She took a bite, wrinkled her nose, then looked upwards in thought before passing the plate to our mother.
"Try this," she told her. "What is that?"
This process repeated itself over and over until nine of my relatives had "tasted" through half of my breakfast. They were all stumped. We asked our waiter, who inquired the chef. He came back.
"Did you find out?" I asked eagerly.
"Cardamum," he said.
"Caaaaar-di-muuuum," all nine of us said with an "aha!" tone.
I was reading Matthew 5:13 today:
"You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men."
Ouch. I feel convicted. I am blending in too much with the world. If the world is pasta, all I'm adding is bland parmesan. And not the fresh kind of parmesan, either; we're talking the parmesan powder that comes in that green shiny shaker can and clumps up in the fridge; you know, that one that's been in the door of your fridge for the last five years. That's how bland I feel these days.
As a Christian, I'm supposed to stand out. To add a joyful difference, something that stands out to others, something refreshing, and maybe even a little peculiar. Cardamum. A bay leaf. Even some fresh pressed garlic. But I feel like I'm just marching with the masses, shaking my tired parmesan all over the place.
Lord God, as I try to read Your Word more, and as I try to spend time listening to you....may it change me. I want to be different. Different than I am now; different than others. To make different choices. To have a different attitude and outlook. I desire to have the flavor back, so that others may look at me, and say, "what exactly is that?" It is not enough to be a Christian if I am not different from the world around me. Change me, Lord. Amen.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Wilderness
It's Thursday night, which means I'm tired. By this point in the week, I'm simply exhausted, and no amount of caffeine can get me to 8pm without heavy eyelids. I am downright nasty when I'm tired. Kirsten the Terrible. Just ask my husband. I read into things, I snap back with an ugly tone in my voice, I make assumptions, I glare, I pick fights. I play martyr. I pout. I roll my eyes. Just go to bed, a voice of reason says inside my head. Go to bed before you do more damage. But I don't, not for a while. Not before throwing out a few more jabs and selfish grumblings.
So I'm putzing around in the book of Matthew, reading slowly, absorbing, without agenda. Kind of like meandering down a path in the wilderness, without a timeline for when I have to be back. Stopping to smell a flower, watch a bird, skip stones in the creek. Yesterday I stumbled along the first verse of chapter four:
"Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil."
The Devil did not lead Jesus into the wilderness. The Spirit did! Because of the desperation and strong temptations presented in those forty days and nights, we know Jesus has known human suffering. We know He knows what it's like to be tempted. We also know that we can trust that Jesus was in fact without sin. What a gift Jesus has given us by going through this! Jesus went without food for forty days and nights. Forty! I get crabby if I miss breakfast. He had the power to turn the stones into bread as Satan suggested. He had the power to escape the wilderness. But He didn't. He was obedient, under the most dire of circumstances. It's not just that Jesus said "no" to the temptations the Devil laid out before Him; it's that he said "no" and magnified God through quoting scripture when he was starving. When he was hurting, alone, weak, wasting away.
And tonight, when I'm simply tired- not starving, not wasting, not lonely- just sleepy- I fell into the temptation to be unkind.
I am super-blessed to have a forgiving husband, who lets these things go, Thursday after Thursday. And how blessed I am that I can meander in God's Word, come back to Him, and He forgives me Thursday after Thursday too. Amen.
So I'm putzing around in the book of Matthew, reading slowly, absorbing, without agenda. Kind of like meandering down a path in the wilderness, without a timeline for when I have to be back. Stopping to smell a flower, watch a bird, skip stones in the creek. Yesterday I stumbled along the first verse of chapter four:
"Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil."
The Devil did not lead Jesus into the wilderness. The Spirit did! Because of the desperation and strong temptations presented in those forty days and nights, we know Jesus has known human suffering. We know He knows what it's like to be tempted. We also know that we can trust that Jesus was in fact without sin. What a gift Jesus has given us by going through this! Jesus went without food for forty days and nights. Forty! I get crabby if I miss breakfast. He had the power to turn the stones into bread as Satan suggested. He had the power to escape the wilderness. But He didn't. He was obedient, under the most dire of circumstances. It's not just that Jesus said "no" to the temptations the Devil laid out before Him; it's that he said "no" and magnified God through quoting scripture when he was starving. When he was hurting, alone, weak, wasting away.
And tonight, when I'm simply tired- not starving, not wasting, not lonely- just sleepy- I fell into the temptation to be unkind.
I am super-blessed to have a forgiving husband, who lets these things go, Thursday after Thursday. And how blessed I am that I can meander in God's Word, come back to Him, and He forgives me Thursday after Thursday too. Amen.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
A New Perspective
That's one of my New Year's Resoluntions, or rather, a goal.
I'm not talking about try to juggle housekeeping with a full time job, being a mother and wife, working on relationships, etc. I have that completely squared away with no problem.
Oh! But I'm kidding. It's not squared away, but it never will be; the balance will always shift. It's always going to feel like one of those tabletop maze games, the ones where the maze is encased in a box, and you gently try to tip the box in different directions to guide the small silver ball down the paths of the maze to end up in the center. I will always be trying to over-and-under-compensate pressure and time in all areas to get that ball rolling somewhere towards the middle. It's just a fact of life, that it will always be tipping one way or other.
The balance that I'm wanting to work on is one of getting myself back into peace. Peace so that my evenings where I come home angry and crabby after a tough day at work become fewer. Peace so that I take a deep breath when I'm cut off in traffic, and realize it's not a big deal. Peace so that I give myself slack when I'm late, when I forget things, when I'm hurting.
I need a spiritual makeover.
I'm beinning to realize, and God is beginning to teach me, that I have been confusing discipline with heartfelt commitment. When I began to really know God personally in my high school years, I began to learn about daily Bible studies and quiet time. I took suggestions for how to spend this daily devotion to heart, and practiced them, well, religiously. The messages I kept hearing was to read Scripture, meditate on it, and write about it. Journal thoughts, or think of a way it applies to my life and write it down. And pray, of course, pray.
I did this every day for years. Like, 17 years. Sometimes I varied by using devotional books, but I applied the same concept: read the devotional verses, or do the study questions, then write something about it. This was good practice, and it's a great idea for personal study. But I often find that I'm writing in that journal just because I'm "supposed to." I felt repetitious. I was repititious. On "off" days, I wrote things that were half-hearted, boring, obvious. I'm stuck.
This past year, I followed a daily devotional for mothers. It was okay. But I found myself wanting to just get my Bible open, not this little book with a verse or two a day. And how odd...I felt like I had to finish the book before I could change up my devotions. What is it about finishing a book, what is it about following someone else's recommendations without deviance, that fits in with my spiritual growth? The truth is that it doesn't. The truth is that habit does not mean devotion. Following regimen does not mean following God.
I'm doing something daring. I'm reading my Bible. And that's it. Just. Reading. And sitting. No regimen, except to do it every day. No minimum number of verses. No journaling (unless I feel like it). No minimum time. I'm letting myself linger over the words, sit still with it, sit still with God. He is there.
Today I really went crazy. I listened to quiet music while I read (Gasp! Music!), and I had a cookie and some milk. Because I felt like it. Because the music actually helped me to be quieter. Because, sitting in my flannel pajamas, coming to the Word with no requirement, no assignment, it felt right tonight to celebrate that God's Word is comfort. That I am free to think, pray, and read the Bible in different ways. It's a new perspective, and I already feel that God is blessing me through the simplicity of me just sitting with Him for a while, without agenda. I'm coming back to Him.
Amen.
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