Ancient Words, Modern Woman

I was at Caribou today, armed with my laptop and a smallskimcampfiremocha.  A lady caught my eye; she was heading in my direction, to the chair next to me.  In her 40's, her hair was bleached blonde, she wore suuuuuper-tight jeans, lots of make-up, and fancy-pants boots.  I won't lie; I pegged her for- or rather, judged her for- being a modern-day Barbie, a flake-o, maybe even a golddigger.  Then I saw her Bible.

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.

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: 

"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.

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.

A New Perspective

Balance. 

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.

Great Delight

I love this picture of me and Oliver.  He was four months old, and making me laugh by nuzzling his sweet little face into my cheek.  I love the intimacy that the photo shows, the unspoken communication of love and sweetness, the delight. 

I came across a verse from Zephaniah, of all books, the other day (3:17):

"The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save.  He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing."

I read this and thought about our sweetest moments together, me and my son: when Oliver quiets when I sing to him.  The little hand that goes pat-pat, pat-pat on my back when I rock him to sleep.  The unreplicated feeling of his sweet little breath into my neck, the weight of his head on my shoulder.  That intimacy, that trust.

And this is one little slice of how God feels about us.  He quiets us with his love when we are restless. Hold us close.  He delights in us, greatly, and rejoices over us with singing, just as I sing to my little boy. 

Lord, Abba, thank you for being my Father.  Teach me to come to you for rest, to seek quiet, to be still.  Remind me to rest my weary head on Your shoulder, to know Your closeness and remember your delight for me.  Thank you for loving me as Your child.  Amen. 

The Strength of My Heart

The Pastor of our new church called me about a week ago, the night before my pacemaker replacement surgery.  He called to talk, offer peace, and to pray.  Just before his phone call, I was beginning to realize that despite going through this so many times before, or maybe even because of going through this so many times before, I was getting anxious.  Pastor Bob then spoke the words of Psalm 73 (verse 26):

"My flesh and my heart will fail; 

But God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

I smiled.  The first time I ran across that verse, I knew it was to be one of my life verses.  My flesh and heart will fail. Not might, will. For me, they already have.  And everyone's will.  But God is my strength, for forever. 

I hate anesthesia.  "Going under" is just about the worst feeling I have ever experienced. I simply cannot tolerate the feeling of my head being altered.  So I have leared to repeat a prayer or a verse as I begin to slip away into that terrifying state; and Psalm 73 is what I repeated when I lay there, scared out of my wits. I got confused.  I felt like I wasn't in my body.  I think I stopped breathing.  I was in a horrific place.  The nitrous oxide made me lose control of my body, my awareness, and the ordering of my thoughts.  But I hung on to that verse, and those words stayed in order, calming my heart.

 God's words stayed strong and clear when everything else wasn't. 

 They always will.