Jesus in the kitchen

Think fishing.  Imagine water and people and boats and nets.  I’ve fished from a boat in a lake and a boat in the ocean.  I’ve fished off a pier and also from the shore.  And there are some constants among the people in all the places.  They ask, “You catchin’ anything?”  Almost invariably, “Where’d you catch ’em?” and “What are you using for bait?”  Interestingly there’s a story of Jesus that just last week struck me differently in its setting by the sea.  Jesus stands at the shore and calls to the disciples in the boat about a hundred yards out.  He asks essentially, “You catchin’ anything?”  He tells them the best place to fish, and sure enough, they catch 153 without one tear in their net.  They come to shore and see that Jesus has a fire ready, and He’s offering up fish and bread for breakfast.  And man, what a deal!  The times I’ve been fishing, I come home windblown and hungry, and I would love for a hot meal to be ready!  And that’s what struck me so refreshingly last week when I heard someone refer to this story.  Jesus was such a regular guy here.  He walked this earth and looked after His buddies who’d been out all night and had not even one fish to their name.  Certainly a huge catch and a hot plate of food would encourage them, as it would me.  Now I'm not sure He donned a floppy chef’s hat and a gingham apron, but why not imagine Him with a big spatula or a long-handled fork?  He can create all kinds of tools and all kinds of circumstances, and He swoops in to our aid with whatever we need.  He’s an engineer, He’s a navigator, He’s whatever, and that includes operating the bait shop at the shore that provides the perfect morsel for our next hook.  Grilling at the riverside or at the stove in my kitchen, He enters our everyday situations and serves up what nourishes.  If Jesus is cooking, I don’t want to be late.  I hope you'll read John 21 as well to see what insights the Lord gives uniquely to you.

Into heaven, my gracious friend

Today I celebrate.  Today I love the life of my friend who battled an ailing liver.  Again and again I look at her photo in my kitchen and replay her video on the computer, and I catch myself standing motionless for long moments, relishing all the memories.  I remember days of studying the Bible in our houses, and I still have handwritten notes from the day we studied at Chick-fil-A.  I remember the time she read over the mic at the coffeehouse a story she wrote, and I remember she loved the tortilla soup at the Mexican restaurant down the street.  I remember driving her to the infusion clinic and sitting with her and being so happy that she could enjoy Cracker Barrel on the way home.  When she needed the coziness of her favorite blankets, we prayed at her house.  Among her many rooms in the hospital, we prayed too, though sometimes her medications caused her to fade, but I still held her hand.  She traveled the hospital from the regular rooms to the wound care area, to the telemetry section, and to the many different floors that I don’t remember exactly.  So outwardly grateful she was for her doctors and nurses, and she entertained the thought of gathering her hospital friends for a cookout and a time of music and worship one day, once they would all be home.  After enduring a terribly persistent infection one time, she told me how the Lord gave an amazing peace that led her through, and so I took some pointy party hats to her room for us to celebrate.  More recently, her faint voice could hardly convey over the phone.  My last hospital visit, she was not in her room, so on her bed tray I left a card with a picture of a cat that looked like her black-and-white Ziggy.  Since she passed on Sunday morning, I have cried in joy for having known such a wonderful witness for the Lord.  She had hoped for a liver transplant that never happened.  Yet now she is free from pain.  The Lord has wiped all the tears from her eyes, and she dwells with Him now in a new way.  Revelation 21 speaks of heaven and the Holy City of gold, where there will be no darkness because the Lord’s glory will shine always.  All will be new.  My sweet friend now experiences eternally the grandest party of all, and I thank the Lord for sharing His sweet child and inspiring me through her.

Overrun by cedar

In South Texas, in December and January, cedar is a bad word.  When people hear cedar and allergy in the same sentence, an instant friendship of sympathy takes hold.  I know of no other words that conjure quite the same horrifying tales of human misery.  The itchiness and the sneezing seem endless, and your eyes can hardly see straight.  And a week ago, I fell victim to it all.  In the prime of this year’s cedar crop, my brain could hardly function.  I wished my sore throat could have screamed.  Yet the misery did lessen and finally disappear, and along the way, the question arose, “What was the point?”  Do we simply say sickness is part of being human?  Or rather, if God can bring good out of anything, can He use sickness for somebody’s good?  In this case, the Lord reminded me to pray.  And He wasn’t meaning just cursory prayer when I have some empty moments.  I think of one friend who awaits a liver transplant.  I think of another friend who endures fibromyalgia.  My friend who lives with Crohn’s disease, and another friend who undergoes dialysis 3 times weekly—they both have days and months that are majorly painful.  And still there are friends who live amidst all the treatments and procedures of cancer, and I have cried over them and for what they withstand.  There will be a day when all the nations gather at Jesus’ throne, and He will separate us one by one, parting some to the right and some to the left.  According to Matthew 25, among those on His right will be the ones who looked after the sick.  They will inherit eternal life and will have been blessed in their earthly living to have loved and served amidst sickness.   One day last week, I caught a squinted glimpse in the bathroom mirror of my uncombed hair, my red nose and dry skin, and my same gray sweatpants I’d been wearing all week.  I saw the sea of Kleenex surrounding the recliner where I’d camped for all the days.  I realized in retrospect how sickness had swallowed me whole.  I had become lost in it, and I easily envisioned how those with long-term sicknesses could become angry and depressed.  Yet right there in that very difficult mix of emotions, may the Lord lead us to love.  May we not simply know that someone is sick, but may we actually look after them.  May we call them on the phone.  May we drive them to the doctor.  May we visit them in the hospitals.  May we sit next to their bed that they would not feel lonely.  And certainly may we pray.  With full intent, in high priority, extending from our love of the Lord and a love of people, may we look after those who are sick.  Out of some crazy cedar allergies, the Lord gave me fresh perspective that was good.