“Are You Wasting this Weekend?”

Remembering Milt’s homegoing, 7 years ago today…

My View from the Rim

When Jesus was finishing His greatest work, the only ones celebrating were the enemies of God. What were Jesus’ followers doing the first Good Friday? Weeping through the weekend—grieving, fearing, and despairing.

What a waste of tears and terror! Jesus had plainly warned the disciples about the imminent dark days.  They had sensed something was “coming down,” but were too busy arguing about who would win the “most spiritual” prize.

Even as understanding was dawning, the disciples still refused reality. Hadn’t Jesus slipped away from angry crowds before? Granted, His popularity had waned when He talked about the need to eat His body and drink His blood, but now the Lord’s approval ratings were back up. Why, just a few days earlier the Palm Sunday crowd went wild as they entered Jerusalem.

Granted, the Jewish leaders were no doubt infuriated when Jesus made a whip and drove out the livestock…

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“There is No Book of Orpah”

The future looked bleak. Her husband, dead. Her mother-in-law, old and negative. To go back to Bethlehem with Naomi meant leaving her homeland and becoming a foreigner in a strange place. She “wisely” refused to share Naomi’s uncertain future. We never hear of Orpah again.

        The other daughter-in-law we know well. Ruth refused to turn back, but persevered into the unknown with Naomi. She dared commit herself to the God of a now bitter, barren woman. She looked beyond Naomi’s inability to supply and trusted God to be her Redeemer. Ruth shared her gleanings when Naomi could not repay, keeping her virtue and her faith in God–even when surrounded by temptation.

The rest of the story? God gave Ruth an autographed picture of Himself—Boaz, her earthly kinsman-redeemer. Her faith influenced history: Her great-grandson? King David. Centuries later, her descendant? Jesus Christ Himself.

What about you? Does your commitment to your husband or wife, to your pastor and church, to your family and friends, depend on how well they are able to supply your needs? If provision falters, do you? Do you choose the world-wise way, like Orpah?

Or will you dare, like Ruth, commit yourself when all that’s visible is barren and bitter? Will you look beyond the circumstances, even the inadequate, negative people in your life, and see that your Redeemer is your supply, not just of groceries, but of fruitfulness—even of life itself? Will you say, whatever happens—whatever has happened—I’m sticking with You?

Commitment to walking through hard places on life’s road glorifies God. He—not people—is your supplier, your source of joy. Trust Him to provide with much more than you need, with plenty to share with your family, your church, and an ever-widening circle beyond.

So others can’t meet your need? Never mind. Glean God’s grain and bring home enough to feed them as well. And hold fast. The Answer to your need arises at the end of the barley harvest.

“When the Glow Goes, What Then?”

“But, after you get to know them, will you still love them?” The veteran missionary’s question, asked when my husband and I, new recruits, first arrived in Japan forty-three years ago, startled us. Fresh off the plane only weeks before, our shiny eyes were full of stardust and excitement over God’s call to proclaim the Gospel to the Japanese people.

We had been warned that God had not called us to a romantic tourist’s adventure, but every day brought new novelties–shopping at the grocery store, driving on the other side of the road, greeting our Japanese neighbors.

But unlike tourists who go home, with snapshots and stories, we stayed, committed to the long haul. Slowly, silently, the shine dimmed, replaced by the growing awareness of what we had agreed to do–give our lives to share Jesus in a resistant field, where, contrary to all the welcoming smiles, only one out of two hundred Japanese claimed any relationship to Christ.

Real loving and giving opportunities surfaced after the novelty waned–when small irritants loomed large, when the other side became the wrong side, when we realized trips home to see family and friends were spaced four years apart.

 

After two years of intense language study, when we could communicate and comprehended the words people said, we struggled with understanding them. We had entered the second wave of culture shock–finally grasping what people said, but incredulous that anyone in his right mind could think that way.

You don’t need to live overseas for more than three weeks to face the loss of the sparkle of “new.” Buy a new house, move to a new town, start a new job, become a newlywed, bring a new baby home from the hospital…after a period of time delight often gives way to dissatisfaction.  

No matter where we live in this world, we are all in danger of losing our wonder, of our childlike joy growing jaded. A Welsh proverb describes this weariness when what once wowed us turns into the daily grind: “It’s a long road that has no turning.”

When glitter no longer gleams, what then? When the joyous “Yes” to God’s call to serve Him at home or abroad turns into a life sentence? What’s the remedy for restoring a couple’s relationship when their honeymoon ends? What’s the a solution when fantasies bump into facts and disillusionment descends?

Our answer lies in looking at God’s way of dealing with us when we daily fall short of His glory. Consider how He relates to imperfect people. He is not surprised when we fail, even when we grieve His Holy Spirit. He doesn’t “defriend” us, divorce us, or disown us when we sin. Instead, our Good Shepherd seeks straying sheep at great cost to bring us back to Himself. Even when we deny Him, He remains faithful.

His love contrasts dramatically with the world who appreciate and applaud–as long as the perks and  pleasures of our company continue. But when the not-fun negatives outweigh a person’s positives, fair weather fellows abandon ship.

Man’s sinful nature, unplugged of power by the cross, may surprise born-again believers when it resurfaces. Our never enough flesh, although “crucified with Christ,” never stops trying to regain control. Self-centered souls, determined to avoid the pain of self-denial, demand, “My way or the highway.”

But God’s love is not based on our worth, our work, or what He gets out of our relationship. He loves us because that’s Who He is–LOVE. His abiding affection for the Adam’s race is not a fickle feeling, that ebbs and flows like the tide. Instead, it pours forth, constantly, an everlasting, never-ceasing River of Life.

Long after we lose patience with ourselves, our Heavenly Father remains long-suffering, not willing that any should perish. Rather than desert us, He draws near to His naughty children, correcting and comforting like a caring parent. His perfect–mature, well-seasoned–love remains steady and sure, regardless of our current performance.  

The real test of the mettle of a missionary or a marriage comes when the the bright daylight of reality pushes back the starry-night of infatuation. When it happens, we face an important intersection: We can either eliminate everyone who offends us or we can chose to value and accept people, like God has accepted us.

“If we say that we share in life with God and keep on living in the dark, we are lying and are not living by the truth. But if we live in the light, as God does, we share in life with each other. And the blood of his Son Jesus washes all our sins away.”

Want to reflect God’s no-matter-what love as you journey through your days? Stop looking at others’ imperfections, including your own, and turn your eyes on the only perfect One. As we spend time in the Lord’s presence, we will shine like lights, showing the Way to those who share our corner of this world.

 

Spring–Finally!

Earlier this year, in the springtime, I entered a new season. Technically, I had been single for five years, beginning at 1:40 PM on April 19, 2012. That day began my long and often lonely walk through grief. Women who had traversed the Valley of the Shadow before me testified that it wouldn’t always “be winter and never Christmas.” My head nodded, but my heart doubted.

Then, this spring, like a crocus slowly poking her head out of the sod, I broke through into a new season to discover a surprising joy in my single status. I still checked the “widow box” on my tax return, but it no longer brought an image of a black, deadly spider. The headline story on my front page slipped to the back page, replaced by brighter tidings.

Finally, I began to see my many freedoms as a single woman. At the top of my list, the ability to devote my attention and time, without distraction, to a more intimate relationship to the Lord. The Apostle Paul said it would be so: “Marriage involves you in all the nuts and bolts of domestic life and in wanting to please your spouse, leading to so many more demands on your attention. The time and energy that married people spend on caring for and nurturing each other, the unmarried can spend in becoming whole and holy instruments of God.” (1 Cor. 7:34-34)

Life’s simpler now: I rise without an alarm, savor scripture and a steaming cup of coffee, just as I did when my husband was still this side of heaven. But now I don’t head to the kitchen until I’m ready for breakfast. I chose what I want to eat and when, usually easy meals with little fuss, no longer do I prepare my husband’s favorites (potato salad and lemon meringue pie). I’ve stopped looking at what I’ve lost and now focus on the pluses of what I’ve gained.

Aware of the danger of becoming a selfish senior, I look for ways to serve others with the gifts I’ve been given. Hosting get togethers around a simple meal (Saturday morning waffle breakfasts are my favorite) brings people together. Sharing hallelujahs and praying for heartaches creates community—something all of us need to thrive.  

Whether single or married, His call in Song of Solomon to intimacy is for all of us:

“My beloved spoke, and said to me: ‘Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; The time of singing has come, And the voice of the turtledove Is heard in our land. The fig tree puts forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grapes Give a good smell. Rise up, my love, my fair one, And come away! ‘O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, In the secret places of the cliff, let me see your face, let me hear your voice; For your voice is sweet, And your face is lovely.’”

(Song of Solomon 2:10-14)

“The Prodigal’s Mother”

Did she cry? Run after him? Plead one more time that he stays? What did she feel, standing in the doorway, watching her son stride out of her life?  Jesus didn’t mention the prodigal’s mother in Luke 15, but what if she lived the story too? How did she face her grief and learn to live through the unthinkable? What can we learn from her?  Her story may be yours, for places change and faces change, but people are pretty much the same. Her son’s journey from father to far country and back again is well-known. His mother’s response remains a mystery. Let’s look at the signposts that might have marked this mother’s path of grief.

Grief’s Path*:

1. Denial and Isolation: At first she could not believe her son was gone. Looking back, she wondered why she didn’t see the separation coming—his restlessness, his unsavory friends, the growing tension between him and the family. But she had refused to think her son might be floundering. Other people’s children might turn away from family and faith, but not hers. Hadn’t she and her husband taken him to the synagogue every Sabbath? Didn’t they follow all the rabbi’s rules for raising their boys? Surely their obedience guaranteed a happy home…or did it? In disbelief she determined to shut out the pain.
2. Anger:  Murmurs stirred in her darkness: “Why my son? Why me?” The whispers grew into growls: “Didn’t her husband know how much she hurt? Did he care? Did he ever care?” Anger jabbed its twisted finger: “Your husband let your son leave. He even gave him money.” She took up the tirade, “If only I were the head of this family, our son would be home. If I had been the father, I would have gone to every little league games. I would never have shouted at the boys….”  Like malignant cells, her anger spread. “If my older son had not been so self-absorbed….” She raged again the loss of her son that left her to deal with pain, embarrassment, and guilt. Then fury turned on her. “If-only-I-had” tapes played, then rewound, and played again. Finally, prayers, long turned hollow, whimpered no more. Hands once folded in supplication clenched white. She dared the unthinkable; she screamed at God.
3. Bargaining: First, she feared God’s retaliation, but heaven’s silence surrounded her grief. Desperate for solace, she pled with God: “If you send my son home,” she bargained, “I will do whatever You want, just make my boy come home.”
4. Depression: But God still did not answer. Exhausted, she stared at the storm’s aftermath. Despair and misery cluttered her soul. No letter came from the far country to assure her that her son was safe. She mourned over what might have been, drained of her dreams.
5. Acceptance: She didn’t know how long she staggered through time. Then, quietly, like the tiptoe of spring, the season of her soul slowly, softly turned. Too tired for tantrums, to weary to wail, she leaned upon His everlasting arms. Her heart for prayer returned. The God who had seemed silent spoke. His words of comfort and peace repelled the gray heaviness. The sun shone once more. She would pray and trust.

        GOD’S PRINCIPLES:  Are you limping a parallel path with the prodigal’s mother? The Man of sorrows knows your pain. Jesus walked grief’s road and left us a map to follow. Bible truth tames the toughest terrain. Jesus’ encounter with another headstrong heart in Mark 10:17-22 reveals five principles to help you reach a rebellious son or daughter before they head out the door and down the road.

1. Jesus listened: A rich young ruler came to Jesus. He was tired of his life. “Good teacher, what shall I do that I may inherit eternal life?” he asked. He was ready to seek something more. Is your wayward child asking questions? Answer them, but don’t preach. Jesus gave the seeker two verses, not two chapters. If you offer ladles of living water, not a bucketful of truth, he may dare ask more questions.
2. Jesus looked: “Then Jesus, looking at him…” What did Jesus see when He looked at the young man? His gaze went beyond the man’s clothes, the length of hair, the arrogance. Jesus saw his heart. He was not distracted by the externals.  Ask Got to let you see your prodigal like He does. Pray to view the soul beneath the surface.
3. Jesus loved: “Then Jesus… loved him, and said to him, ‘One thing you lack: Go your way, sell whatever you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven, and come, take up the cross, and follow Me.’ ” Jesus’ words were firm. If Jesus really loved him, wouldn’t He make following easier? Sometimes love must be tough.  You may be tempted to abandon godly principles when dealing with your rebel. Hold firm on church attendance. Require responsibility and respect. Make the hard decisions that look beyond today and into eternity.
4. Jesus let him choose: “But he was sad at this word, and…” The options were clear. The consequences of obedience could be measured. Bur Jesus let the rich young ruler decide-without controlling or coercing. Like the father in the story of the prodigal son, Jesus gave the young ruler what was his—power to choose.

As frightening as it is, give your prodigal what belongs to him—his life.

5. Jesus let him go: “But he…went away grieved, for he had great possessions.” Following God’s guide post does not guarantee repentance. You adult son or daughter may, like the rich young ruler, decide to turn from the truth. Where will he or she go? You may not know, but do not abandon hope.

When the disciples despaired for his soul, Jesus reminded them, “With men it is impossible, but not with God; for with God all things are possible” (Mark 10:27).  Self-will’s roadside cafes are supplied with bitter fruit. (See Proverbs 1:31.) Suppers with swine can bring a prodigal to himself. Even in a full castle, an empty heart can turn a rich young ruler home.

*5 steps of grief adapted from On Death and Dying by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

“The Wicked Wicker Weaver”

Satan, like a maker of wicker who bends pliable willow twigs into furniture and fencing, takes God’s eternal truth and spins andspirals it into lies: “Did God really say…” No wonder wicker and wicked are linked in meaning: “to twist, to bend.” The enemy does not design and originate, but takes what God has created and turns it for his evil purposes. “Screwtape” takes what should prompt praises and crooks and curls it into blame and shame. If unchecked, the deceiver will turn even a heart of compassion and empathy, gifts from God, into unproductive guilt.

Guilt over God’s blessings had fenced me in, hindering my progress through the valley of grief. I had entered that valley 3+ years ago, when my husband, age 72 died. Unlike many widows, I was financially well off, able to drive, live independently, healthy, and loved by family and friends. But what God meant for good, the enemy used for evil. I was blocked from rejoicing by comparing my blessings with less fortunate widows.

“My husband is celebrating in heaven,” I tried reasoning myself out of my gloom. “So why am I so unhappy? Why do I feel lonely when I am so blessed? Others are suffering so much more than me.” Questions cycled over and over in my mind. Scolding surfaced too: “You should be happy. You know better. Buck up!” Confusion, not comfort, often corralled me.

Stuck in a tar pit of overanalyzing, I struggled. My continual internal conversation was keeping me from joy-producing praise and gratitude. No wonder the Apostle Paul admonished Jesus-followers, “I desire therefore that men pray everywhere, lifting holy hands, without wrath and doubting (over analyzing).”

When I saw how Satan’s scheme had wrapped me around the axle, I determined to switch off the hyper-analysis that was producing my paralysis. Attempting to solve my heartache with my head wore me out. Like a hamster running on a wheel, trying to dismiss my quiet despair by turning thoughts over in my mind didn’t get me farther through sorrow’s valley.

I meditated on scriptures that I could recite but I hadn’t assimilated. Instead of pondering my pain, I rolled God’s promises over and over in my mind. Slowly, I saw clearly: My solution to my struggle for joy resided, not in being happily married, not in my bank account, not in a continual Disneyland life, but in God alone.

Joy is not in people or things, but in Jesus. His joy flows from the river of life, whose headwater is the throne of God. (Rev. 22:1) Realizing that all my “fountains of joy are in Him” freed me to join the singers and dancers’ praises. (Psalm 87:8)

“Marooned at Christmas”

Source: “Marooned at Christmas”

“Marooned at Christmas”

I awoke, the strains of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” haunting my head. The melody reminded me that for the first time in our lives we would not be home for Christmas, just 2 days away. Instead, we were 7,000 miles from home, enrolled in a Japanese language school above Tokyo. Brand-new missionaries in Japan, our sacrifices were limited to a living in a cramped mountain cabin with our three kids, bicycling to classes on narrow, icy roads, and feeling like deaf mutes.

I eased my feet to the cold floor, resolving not to start my over-stuffed day by feeling sorry for myself. I forced a snatch of “Joy to the World” from my mouth and surveyed our scantily furnished living room. That would change today, after we picked up our furniture in Tokyo and hauled it home, just in time to brighten our cabin for Christmas.

We downed a hurried breakfast and rode the train down the mountains, arriving at our mission’s hostel in Tokyo. Welcomed with lunch by the hostel house parents, the Robinsons, we had our pick of dormitory rooms, since all of the students had gone home to their families for the holidays.

We had planned to stack our furniture on a rented truck early the next morning and head home in time for Christmas Eve. But, when the Robinsons invited us to spend Christmas at the hostel, we agreed. It trumped jostling for hours on narrow roads, all five of us crammed into a truck cab the day before Christmas.

Instead, my husband Milt would make the trip alone, unload the furniture at our house, pick up our already wrapped Christmas presents, and zip back to Tokyo the same day. Although we didn’t know the Robinsons well, sharing Christmas with them would help brighten the season.

Alas, Milt missed a turn driving back into Tokyo, crushing our plans for Christmas. He called, saying he wouldn’t arrive until after bedtime. I attempted to respond like a “mature” missionary, but inside I moaned, “What kind of Christmas is this—with no presents, no family, and no husband!” I had so wanted our first Christmas on the mission field to be a special—one we wouldn’t forget. It looked like we’d remember this one, all right, but not for the reasons I’d intended.

I tried to encourage myself, “At least I can keep one tradition and read the Christmas story to our children.” So, after supper dishes I excused myself and gathered our three disappointed kids around the hostel’s Christmas tree. Normally, my husband would read the Christmas story.

But nothing about this season had been normal. Our extended family was celebrating on the other side of the Pacific; Milt was lost somewhere in Tokyo; I was marooned in a stranger’s house.

My voice was flat as I began, “And it came to pass in those days…” I stifled a sigh, wishing that Milt would magically walk in the door, just like the happy ending of a Hallmark movie. I continued repeating the words on the page. But slowly, like the clearing of fog, I began to see something—something about that first Christmas I had never seen before.

Everyone in the Christmas story was away from home! Not one of the “main characters” of that first Christmas was home with family. Joseph and Mary trudged 90 inconvenient miles from their home, arriving too late to rent a room.  Surprised shepherds hiked down from their familiar

“Are You Searching for the Fountain of Joy?”

Source: “Are You Searching for the Fountain of Joy?”

“Are You Searching for the Fountain of Joy?”

We are designed for JOY. Our lifelong quest for happiness begins early; even babies seek joy. Throughout our lives we search for this illusive elixir. Driven, like a parched person in the desert, we spend our days striving for soul satisfaction.

As we walk through the carnival of our culture, many voices urge us to sample their wares. The foolish assure us, “Stolen waters are sweet.” (Proverbs 9:17) If we surrender to the sirens’ seduction, we wake up in the morning with a hangover. Ask anyone over sixty, “Have you found the satisfaction you have been searching for? If they are honest, they’ll admit they’re still chasing the mirage, hoping that the next sample, the next dollar, the next vacation, the next partner, will quench their thirst.

We, like Solomon, try to stuff ourselves with many things. After a lifetime of pleasure-grabbing, Solomon deduced: “…all is vanity and grasping for the wind.” Ecclesiastes 1:14b

Do you still think that one more of anything pleasurable will bring the joy you long for? Stop stretching to scratch an itch you can never reach. God has built “The Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility” into His universe, just as He has established the law of gravity.  Said simply, this principle means that the 23^rd hamburger does not taste as good as the 1^st. More of something—food, money, sex, fame, adventure, whatever or whomever—will not satisfy our hearts’ thirst for joy.

What can slake this unquenchable thirst for joy? One other voice cries in the streets of the world’s marketplace: “Come, eat my bread, and drink the wine I have mixed. Stop being gullible and live. Start traveling the road to understanding.” Proverbs 9:5-6 (God’s Word)

Who promises such satisfaction? The One who created your thirst for joy is the only One who can satisfy it. The woman at the well tried to fulfill her yearning with sex. After five husbands she still wasn’t content. Then she met Jesus, the fount of every blessing. He promised her, “But no one who drinks the water I give will ever be thirsty again. The water I give is like a flowing fountain that gives eternal life.” John 4:14

Are you weary of searching for the fountain of joy? Above the din of the clamor of the marketplace comes this clarion call: “On the last and most important day of the festival, Jesus stood up and shouted, “If you are thirsty, come to me and drink! Have faith in me, and you will have life-giving water flowing from deep inside you, just as the Scriptures say.” John 7:37-38 (CEV)

Save yourself a lifetime of hunting for satisfaction. Discover the way of gladness. Don’t wait! Start drinking at the springs of living water today!