Lyrically stifled

Back in June, we had some curious musical things happen.  I remember connecting eyes with my husband as confusion whirled, and he knew I needed him to step in.  Why couldn’t I sing the next stanza?  This was a song we’ve led for years.  Yet he moved toward the mic and carried us into the chorus.  Guitar and song fell back into place, and we kept going.  But then it happened again, only in reverse.  This time it was my husband whose words fell unexpected.  He’s speaking between songs, and my heart begins to flutter.  Somehow the fluttering becomes panic, yet still I see no astonished faces in the congregation.  Perhaps the Lord is garnering only our attention.  But what’s going on?   Why wouldn’t my eyes let me move past that first stanza?  We were scheduled to sing again in 2 more weeks, and as that day approached and unfolded, the sequence of events proved similar.  What was it about Wednesdays?  Singing on Saturdays brought none of this awkwardness.  So I told our friend who schedules Wednesday music to hold off on scheduling us for a while.  We would finish out July as she had already included us, but for August onward, I wanted to be available to the Lord.  I needed Him to settle my heart.  And soon a very interesting conversation came.  As back in May a friend had posed the idea of conducting parenting classes to help some younger moms, and as weeks had passed since then, she wanted to know now if I could host the classes 4:00 – 6:00 on Wednesdays.  And right there I’m pretty sure I froze.  My ears, my brain, and my heart all took a sudden leap to rejoice.  Was this what the Lord was preparing me for?  Had He been clearing my music commitments on Wednesdays so I’d be available to conduct these classes?  It’s interesting that never again did we encounter any awkward musical moments.  Fulfilling our commitments for July, it seemed once I decided to decline any further music scheduling, the Lord had no need to garner my attention anymore.  He made His point.  And our parenting classes have been happening for 4 months now on different days of the week, but most consistently on Wednesdays.  And so I thank the Lord for those awkward moments back in June.  As His ways can be mysterious, they are perfect.  When we earnestly seek Him, He makes sure we find Him.  Second Corinthians 3:3 tells us we are letters from Christ “written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.”  Each of our experiences with Him is uniquely fashioned.  Each translates to us and to the world His desire to supply for our every step.  What is the Holy Spirit writing on your heart?

Musical redemption

What could go wrong?  It’s just a voicemail.  Just listen real quick.  But in actuality, the message threw me a curve.  It rattled me.  The delight I’d known 5 minutes ago had been invaded.  And the evening that began with thrilling moments musically now held tainted air.  We had met with friends for new music—new instrumentation, new combinations, new blends.  Having waited more than a year for this to happen, and having prayed about joining them on oboe in particular, I figure my giddiness showed.  Joy ran deep.  Would we also use piano?  What about voices?  Still some questions, yet we met, and things fell in place almost effortlessly.  Humility was key for setting such a worshipful tone.  But then after rehearsal was when the voicemail came.  A whole big complicated message that rattled the rafters.  So I stepped away to find quiet.  “Lord, settle my heart,” I prayed.  “Let nothing keep me from You.  If Satan is twisting and destroying this, may You prevent him.”  And what ensued was amazing.  Music restarted, and there was a point in one song where I played an F.  On oboe, it’s the F on the top line of the treble clef.  This F had something different about it.  The way the pitch centered.  The strength of air pressing in.  The nuances of the note I knew from having played thousands and thousands of Fs over the years.  The Lord gift-wrapped that F with the prettiest paper and glittery bow.  In that F, He returned to me the calm and intimacy I treasured before the voicemail.  All the while playing, my heart beamed for knowing His faithfulness in answering my prayer and coming to my rescue once again.  Romans 8:28 says, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”  May we never doubt Him.  May you and I both call upon Him.  May you experience His love today.  

To sing Wednesday

Allergies.  Ugh.  My husband and I were scheduled for music on a Wednesday night, and this itch in my throat wouldn’t quit.  Rehearsing at home led only to gagging and more gagging, causing us to lose all momentum of the songs.  How could a mere itch be so crippling to a voice?  Have you ever been so ready to pour into something, and then there’s a snag in the pour spout?  In my case, the itch kept snagging the voice.  So I asked the Lord to allow my throat a way to sing.  “Lord, may You give freedom for air to flow.  May You protect my voice.  May Your voice sing freely through mine.”  And so at 7:00 we began.  The first song . . . the second song . . . the third . . . and the fourth.  All the while there's a joy deepening inside me and utter amazement for how the Lord is preventing any inhibitions to my voice.  Yet afterward as I took a seat with the congregation, what happened?  I started coughing.  The itch returned and so did the gag, though just briefly, as if the Lord kindly reminded, “I'm here.  You asked Me to guard your voice during the songs, and I did.”  It was the timing, the precise moment after singing.  I hadn’t even fully sat in the chair before needing to exit the room, so the cough wouldn't interrupt everyone else.  That brief itch lent me to reflect on all the allergy troubles before prayer versus the peace the Lord offered after prayer.  And so I ask you, as a reader here today, “How do you need the Lord?  Do you ask Him for a voice to sing or for something different?”  He loves to hear the call of your heart.  I have prayed for you already.

Intimacy of December

Is latest always greatest?  Is bigger always better? Here’s a story.  Last month we went to some friends’ house on a Saturday afternoon.  Their home was a new music venue for us, yet it was a long-awaited and exciting occasion of joining their fellowship of musicians.  The sun shone, the air was crisp, and the drive held a serenity we loved.  On their porch sat a chiminea that softly slowed our pace from the city, much like a campfire seems to bring time to think.  My husband and I were among the first to arrive, and as everyone soon filed through the door, we discovered much in common beyond music.  We had shared neighborhoods and traversed the same roads near and far.  We spoke English and Spanish and had attended the same churches without knowing the other was there.  I must've donned a permanent smile from all the laughing and amazement, knowing little about the best part still to come.  Then I heard our friend announce that music would begin.  People stirred.  Guitar cases opened.  The djembe took prominent position.  Uncapping my little film bottle of water to soak my oboe reed, I sensed a tinge of nervousness beginning to creep.  Yet we set out in music to worship the Lord.  How would we experience Him?  How would He touch us and impact the moment?  The songwriting, the instrumentals, the storytelling, the prayer—it all came so sweetly.  Such an abundant presence of God inhabited the room, both for us as individuals and as a group.  Neither was it a big church service nor any high-tech event.  On this little parcel of land outside San Antonio, a small group of Believers was given a hugely amazing experience of the Lord transcending the day.  Covered softly in stillness and calm, my heart was full.  The gift was supernatural, like when the priests of the Old Testament couldn’t enter the temple because the glory of the Lord filled it so completely (2 Chronicles 7).  Fast-forward to 2014, and the Lord filled my heart so full that no want for anything more could enter.  For days and weeks, this aura of peace held.  I write here now to offer encouragement for those times when we’re restless.  We try the pretty things like shopping, we follow the flashy ads for movies, and we tout food as if it quells our unrest.  In actuality our solution lies in pausing to worship the One who created us.  The peace comes first through Him.  Consider the intimacy the Lord can bring to the smaller moment, for the most treasured gifts aren’t always in the biggest boxes.

Paper-clipped

People devote themselves to things.  It’s a compliment, usually.  Merriam-Webster defines devotion in terms of loyalty and love.  To devote means to commit in a sincere and serious way.  So it’s curious about these writings we call devotionals.  We buy a book or subscribe to emails, and they’re short and quick.  They have a Bible verse, writer’s comments, and prayer all wrapped up pretty in a 5-minute package.  But what about the other 1,435 minutes in the day?  How devoted are we?  Consider someone devoted to gardening.  He tends his vegetables in all kinds of weather—rain, drought, sunshine, or snow.  Consider the devoted parent who exhausts his energy laughing one day and inevitably grieving the next, yet he perseveres.  How shallow or deep is my devotion?  It's not admirable that I sometimes postpone my time with God.  My brain entertains the thought, “Just 2 more emails and then I’ll pray.”  But when the emails finish, a friend calls to talk, and I find prayer postponing once again.  I hear people say they pray in the car on the way to work.  Praying in the car can be good, but if we postpone prayer in order to be in the car first, the prayer is secondary and not the purest of devotion.  We're paper-clipping God to another task.  If I set aside a morning stroll just to listen and speak with the Lord, that’s different than choosing vigorous exercise and paper-clipping prayer to the back side of my power walk.  In 1 Chronicles 28:9, David tells Solomon, “. . . acknowledge the God of your father, and serve him with wholehearted devotion and with a willing mind, for the Lord searches every heart and understands every motive behind the thoughts.  If you seek him, he will be found by you . . .”  In my laundry room, I have a box of colored paper clips from a bunco party.  The green, blue, and pink clips create a cute package, and they're much more fun than the plain old silver, yet it's the order of papers to be clipped that's more important.  Will the paper signifying my devotion to the Lord be first?  Will I clip the other sheets behind or in front?  What about you?  How do the papers line up in the 1,440 minutes of your day?

For nail-biters & hair-twirlers

Do you have any fingernail-biters in your house?  Any hair-twirlers?  You know anybody who opens a bag of chips at the slightest hint of stress?  This week the Lord gave me new perspective on nervousness.  It seems our hands tend to toil when we’re uneasy.  We start to fidget.  We make ourselves busy to mask the tension.  Yet there’s remedy in simply separating the hands.  Those schoolteachers who tell their students to sit on their hands aren’t altogether wrong.  And hence the posture of prayer and worship.  When I’m prostrate, my hands don’t touch.  Hands cannot twist and twirl hair.  Hands can’t pop knuckles either.  When hands raise in worship of the Lord, hands are apart.  Thumbs can’t twiddle themselves into knots.  Hands can’t open the pantry door to search out the Oreos.  To find rest is to finally quit stirring.  To find rest is to quit biting fingernails, quit trying to fix everything on our own, and quit avoiding being still with the Lord.  With hands apart, we eliminate some of those worrisome energy-wasters.  And I thank the Lord for teaching this week with simple pictures.

A duet of three

A new harmony rang out.  The new sound was all the more sweet because of how harried our road had been.  Parenting problems.  Piano logistics problems.  Computer problems.  The list went on and on, and suffice it to say, we were strapped in stress.  My friend stood at the piano, and I sat to play, and somewhere in the mix of our singing, this new harmony blossomed, and we savored it from the very first moment.  Without stopping to acknowledge it, we found nourishment in it and cleansing.  “Lord, I need You, oh I need You.  Every hour I need You.”  How perfectly the lyrics fit our depth of fatigue, and so we sang and sang more and repeated and repeated again.  When the song quit singing, the piano kept playing.  When the piano quit playing, the Spirit still hovered, almost as if my sustain pedal on the piano sustained the Holy Spirit’s presence.  My friend and I stayed motionless and realized our streams and rivers of tears.  Beyond musical pitches, beyond any great set of lyrics, in a different realm our duet had become a trio, and we didn't want the experience to release.  In this flourish of harmony, blessing had entered the air, and we simply delighted to breathe.

Halfway Herbert & the lady at New Life

“Do you know if Brady Boyd’s new book is out?”  I replied to her, “I’m sorry I don’t.”  My husband and I had entered New Life that Sunday as visitors.  Not knowing exactly what was behind any of the many doors from the parking lot, we found ourselves at the church bookstore.  The word discount on a sign pulled me across the room, and 10 minutes of extra time allowed me to start scanning the front table.  The lady who asked about the book explained that Brady Boyd is a pastor who walked alongside New Life in their years of healing from scandal.  I thought of the shootings in Columbine and Aurora and last year’s grass fires and a whole depth of injury that Colorado has endured.  She asked, “Where are you from?”  “San Antonio,” I said.  I spent a minute sharing about blessings that have come in visiting churches and witnessing the Lord at work away from home.  In fact, a large part of today’s blessings came through this new friend at the book table.  She was my first acquaintance with New Life and the welcoming voice of the church for me.  She was the personal connection that stepped out from the large congregation.  Her casual conversation spoke of real-life Christianity that let me see again how Jesus-followers are scattered all throughout our world, and the Lord uses us to encourage each other.  Yet many yearn for a church home, and I think of friends who've become disenchanted by the imperfections of the people inside the churches, and I pondered what it is actually we seek on Sunday mornings.  If we don’t identify with the pastor, that’s not necessarily bad.  If we don’t connect with every song, that doesn’t have to be reason to leave.  Maybe there’s a book table where we’re supposed to stand and talk with visitors about Christ and how He delivers us from the trials of everyday life.  I didn't sense the role of the book lady was even a formal role, as she simply was a book scanner like me, yet she was ready to share life with whomever.  This Sunday the teaching from the pulpit proved to be thought-provoking and wonderful, as did the music, though it was through the gentle manner of my friend at the table that the Lord first ushered blessing.  The fact that I had fun in finding a half-price copy of Halfway Herbert for my nephew was a bonus.  May the Lord give us joy for the circumstances He creates.

Along a Certain Road

Think for a minute:  Who is your favorite person to call?  Who do you celebrate with?  Who listens when you cry deep?  This week I studied the word call in Greek, particularly the verb used in John 10:3, which says, “. . . He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”  My dictionary offered a new tinge on the word PHONEO, which is the verb in this particular verse, saying that it implies a pleasure in the calling of each individual name.  It’s not a dutiful calling in anger like “Go clean your room!”  Neither is it a calling to reprimand for having done harm.  Here it is the sounding of a call that’s spoken with delight.  Sometimes I try to imagine hearing the Lord utter my name, and then I realize I have heard Him speak it already.  He has garnered my attention and conveyed different messages for different tasks, yet I don’t remember His pronunciation of the English spelling of L-i-n-d-a.  He understands my English when I pray, yet certainly at His disposal are ways for calling me outside the English language.  The point here is that He takes pleasure in calling us, and however it is that He pronounces our names, we can hear and choose to listen with pleasure as well.  In work, and in rest, and in intrigue and wonder, I worship Him in my decision to follow.  Today I share with you a video I created upon the Lord’s prompting.  I hope it testifies to the blessings of wanting to make my desires secondary to His.  He calls us to travel along His certain road, and I pray you know first-hand the blessings of letting Him lead.  Click Along a Certain Road or search it on YouTube.

Asian Mission

I opened the door cautiously, as it was a few minutes past 10:45.  On the right-hand side was a row of open seats, and I ambled across quietly.  To my surprise, I soon heard a young voice speaking in English.  “Welcome,” she said, and her smile addressed the whole congregation.  I had realized years ago that our church building hosted congregations in 3 different languages, among which only the English and the Spanish I was familiar.  The Laotian-Thai congregation was the one with which I’d never attended, and in recent months, my interest had renewed.  The previous Sunday, in fact, upon visiting the women’s restroom on the far side of our building, my ears perked up to the sound of a new language.  Quite possibly my heart leaped into a cartwheel, and being curious as to whether the Lord was orchestrating once again, I asked the girls there, “What congregation do you attend?”  And there we stood . . . with my heart all aflutter and my eyes probably bouncing up and down in excitement . . . in the women’s restroom, of all possible places!  I talked with one of the girls a little more at length, and it clearly seemed the Lord had provided me a personal escort for next Sunday’s Laotian-Thai worship service.  Next week came, and happy I was to see my new friend again.  More English was spoken than I expected, and I learned that Amen and Hallelujah translate straight across.  They sang “Just As I Am” in their language, and I sang it in mine, and we worshiped the same Jesus.  They opened to Deuteronomy, and so did I.  When they read from Proverbs, I was right there with them.  To hear the different voice sounds and to encounter a new taste of how Jesus' love reaches around the world was wonderfully enlightening and invigorating altogether.  What does the Lord have in store here?  I don’t know, but I love when He walks and when He turns left and turns right and takes me with Him. 

Guitar crossover

I’ve been resisting it.  Learning guitar hasn’t been my idea of fun lately.  I am fully aware that enormous blessings have come my way through things I didn’t choose myself, yet somehow I’ve resisted.  Yesterday was good, though.  I dived in with chords G, C, and D.  Thought I’d try them on “Lord, I Lift Your Name on High,” thinking maybe a familiar tune with lots of voices would prevail over my inexperienced hands straining across the strings.  And actually it was fun.  A refreshing memory came to mind as well.  My husband and I used to study with a friend who would bring his guitar to start our Friday evenings with a few songs.  Each Friday, he invariably fumbled some chords, and I loved it.  His fingers hit crosswise, and I always smiled in my heart and maybe on my face too.  The fumbled chords brought a reality to our worship.  Real life has fumbled chords, so to say.  We hit rough spots and need to bounce back.  Just as our friend double-checked his chord chart to replay, we regain our footing with the Lord and step back on track.  Yesterday, sitting on the couch with the guitar on my knee, this memory did lighten the task and bring joy to this new endeavor.  My crossovers from oboe to piano and then piano to voice have stretched me indeed, and sometimes I haven’t understood how it would all work together, but it did.  May the Lord continue to overpower my selfish heart and give joy for the new road. 

A frog in the throat

I wanted to listen about the zaroah, but I couldn’t.  A sudden onslaught of temptation had infiltrated my brain.  Next would be the afikomen and a prayer, and I was panicked.  This lump of something in my throat was not clearing, and time was short.  For many days and weeks, I had been asking the Lord to sing through me on this occasion, as He had given me great joy for this song.  I had imagined His voice resounding freely and fully into every nook and cranny of every heart in attendance, and yet now in this moment of panic, again I prayed silently, “Lord, may You let nothing in my throat obstruct Your voice tonight.”  I could feel warmth spreading at my neck, which usually means red splotches of nervousness infecting my skin.  My husband and I stood to approach the steps, my eyes peripherally seeing him pick up his guitar, and he began with a beautiful introduction.  I almost didn’t want to sing those first lyrics.  I had hoped so big and with such great anticipation, and all I had envisioned for “Creation Song” was a group of worshippers spellbound to reconsider the magnificence of the Lord.  Anything less was not appealing.  Yet that first verse came, and then the second.  To my amazement, I was noticing an inspiring connection within the congregation.  Their eyes didn’t blink, and their postures stood at attention, and their lips came to join in the latter choruses.  Despite my fears, despite the thoughts that had felt all jumbled in my head, the Lord had prevailed.  He had most certainly covered my voice with His.  And the reactions afterward confirmed that indeed the Holy Spirit had hovered among us.  At that particular seder that our friends call "Jesus, Lamb of God Passover," the Lord had won—once and for all—and again.

Spanish — SMTWTFS

When the Lord led me to a Spanish congregation, I had little idea what would lie ahead.  I was curious and excited, though also uncertain, because all those years ago I had dropped out of high school Spanish when we were assigned Lluvia Roja.  I could conjugate verbs and pass vocabulary quizzes, but reading a whole book in Spanish?  No way.  I took one hall pass to the counselor’s office and transferred out.  Yet now with my new congregation, I was facing whole conversations and whole sermons in Spanish, and what would happen?  Would my limited textbook Spanish work at all with the real-life Mexican vocabulary, or the Tex-Mex, or the Puerto Rican?  They had advertised for a guitar player, and soon we changed from our English congregation, bringing my husband to carry his guitar down the hall to the Spanish group.  They were different rooms in the same building.  Different languages with the same purpose.  And I loved it very quickly.  Each week they patiently lent me new words, and even when I asked “¿Cómo se dice…?” for the thousandth time, they flinched not once to translate me yet another word into Spanish.  They spoke some English, yet Spanish was comfortable and close to their heart, as was English for me.  I soon studied the Bible in Spanish on Wednesdays and brought a friend from Puerto Rico.  When a small group on Sundays prayed in Spanish, they graciously allowed me room to pray in English.  I soon found myself singing “Rey de Justicia” during the week at work and realized the Lord was touching my heart deeply.  I experienced over and over the Lord’s presence without my fully knowing the spoken language.  A host of blessings far outweighed my occasions of feeling like I couldn’t learn Spanish fast enough.  Yet still now, in these most recent months, I’ve realized more.  The Lord has positioned me to speak Spanish on the streets when I’ve prayed in front of an abortion center.  He has supplied me words in Spanish for visiting patients in the hospital.  He has given me enough Spanish to welcome Spanish-speakers to our English study group.  He has used my endeavors toward Spanish to inspire the same interest in some of my English-speaking friends who want me to toss them some new Spanish words just for fun.  When I ride the city buses, I can now converse more in both languages.  The two have seemed to mix around in lots of directions.  And only after I asked to announce to the Spanish congregation about 40 Days for Life, did I realize I hadn’t been nervous about formally speaking in Spanish.  All this to say I love how the Lord takes us down unknown roads.  Unknown only to us, that is, though we’re entirely secure in His hands.  He comforts us along the way.  He supplies us—7 days a week—SMTWTFS.  He encourages and enlightens with each step.

Quaked, then resurrected

One earthquake.  Days later, another earthquake.  I imagine every inch of land being affected.  The quake that came with His death brought rocks to split and tombs to break open as well.  And how would that look?  I can hardly fathom the rocks.  Going for a stroll and suddenly seeing rocks of all sizes splitting in half?  And between the 2 quakes mentioned in Matthew 27 and 28, the one at Jesus’ resurrection is noted as violent, which shows me this idea of bringing life from death really does turn our way of thinking upside down.  The idea of Jesus dying in order to give us new life really is revolutionary.  Even the land didn’t know how to witness the magnitude of what was happening.  The sun stopped shining for hours, and our earth was essentially gasping for air.  It would inhale a new Presence, a new beginning.  And I thank the Lord that I may be intrigued countless times at His power to affect our world.

Walls with doors

Where will the Lord lead?  I’ve asked Him to set my feet in motion.  This year He has led me to study during the week with a church around the corner, and it’s been wonderfully sweet to meet a new group of Christians and see the Lord at work in my neighborhood.  One question: “Why not study with my weekend congregation?”  Answer: This is where the Lord led me.  I don’t have all the answers.  On the weekends, I study and worship in a building that houses different congregations in 3 languages.  I attend the English at 8:00 and the Spanish at 10:30.  There already I interact with different groups of people, all under one roof.  Why on weekends do my husband and I drive for 30 minutes, going east across town to church?  Answer:  That’s where the Lord led us.  Again I don’t have all the answers.  Over the years I’ve been blessed through ministries of various congregations: writers’ groups on both the north and the northeast sides of town, messianic celebrations on all 4 sides, street ministries downtown, and a government and politically oriented group more north central.  Churches don’t have to compete.  It’s one of the many freedoms we find in the Lord: go where He calls us, without worrying about all the reasons.  I’m aware of a church in Austin, Texas, that contributes financially to the ministries of other churches whose locations and servant groups are well placed as they are.  This particular church sees no need to build their own similar ministry.  When Jesus talks about the church, He often refers not to a single, small group of people but rather the church overall.  We live and work and serve in buildings that have walls, but the walls don’t have to confine us.  Walls do have doors.  Enter as the Lord leads.

The vehicle of music

She sat a few rows back. I stood at the piano in front, looking out across the congregation while still listening to the sermon. Here at the end of the worship service, most everyone’s eyes were fixed upon the preacher. Her eyes had drifted my way, and without knowing her name, I was very happy for us to meet as we did. I smiled, and so did she. It was opportunity to welcome her to our church. Over the years, I’ve asked the Lord to be my music teacher, and He has shown His purposes to be more than musical. Though He has wonderfully stretched my fingers to play notes and chords I didn’t think possible, music has not been simply an end product. More often music has been a vehicle to deliver something else. Last Sunday with our study group, I shared a story that posed the question, “What would this world be like if no one cared who got credit for what they did?” Many in the group suddenly stopped what they were doing, whether sitting or standing, to ponder. The story fit with the song we planned to sing, and I sang the first verse, only to notice the effects of the question still lingering throughout the room. People remained quiet to think. Our group had asked my husband and me to lead music, long before we ever knew we'd retell that story.  Music had served as the vehicle for delivering the story, just as my standing at the piano allowed me to welcome a girl from across the room. I’ve seen the Lord use a simple, little melody to set a deeply thought-provoking tone. Other times He’s used a laughable clunker of a note to ease someone’s burden. In infinite ways, He uses music—for the sake of people.

Christ's audible prayer

My email inbox contained a quote from Robert Murray McCheyne:  “If I could hear Christ praying for me in the next room, I would not fear a million enemies.”  This one sentence is boggling my brain at the moment.  I consider the idea of Jesus in my house, sitting at the foot of my bed, ready to accompany me in prayer.  My feeble mind wanders a bit to imagine Him in my kitchen, opening the refrigerator.  Humorously I wonder whether He’d slap together a sandwich with mayonnaise or opt for the product of those mustard seeds He talks about.  And I rethink that if He were in my living room, would I suddenly pick up the tufts of cat fur spotted around the carpet?  But then soberly, I consider the power of His voice.  What a trembling reverence I envision upon hearing Him say my name.  Even just the idea is almost unfathomable, and I’m not certain my body could contain the size of His blessing.  The enormity of His love could bend my knees, maybe even spontaneously buckle them, as they’ve never withstood first-handedly such a wonder-filled physical presence.  Overall it is a picture of actuality, for indeed Christ is here.  He prays for those He loves.  By Isaiah 53:12 He has prayed for sinners all, and by Romans 8:34 He is actively praying for us today.  Years ago He walked this earth in our human form, and now still He walks with me in San Antonio and with you in your hometown.  All the while, His perfect love drives out our humanly crippling fears.  His love girds us, as no being or circumstance can instill a fear that Christ's love cannot thwart.  And to read the Bible, to be with Him and meditate and marvel, indeed we are blessed.  

Jehoshaphat's way

Do you know King Jehoshaphat? He’s the guy in 2 Chronicles 20 whose approach to battle is quite interesting. Upon learning a vast army was coming against his land of Judah, his first move was to inquire of the Lord. Jehoshaphat did hear from the Lord and bowed face-down to the ground, leading his people to worship in the same way. Jehoshaphat appointed men to sing to the Lord and praise Him as they led the army to their battle positions. In the end, on Jehoshaphat’s behalf, the Lord won the battle by setting ambushes against the enemy and even causing them to stir in self-destruction. Upon victory, Jehoshaphat did not forget the Lord, for he led his men to rejoice in the temple. Verse 32 says, “…he did what was right in the eyes of the Lord.” What an amazing mode of operation that doesn’t need to end as strictly history. What would it look like today for entire militaries to sing to the Lord? What if each soldier praised Him in preparation for the battle ahead? What if we supporters praised the Lord faithfully on behalf of our soldiers? And what if we sang in our homes and on our streets for the many inner struggles we face? May we learn from Jehoshaphat.

A new birthday

Imagine the fun of a birthday party with ice cream, candy, decorations, and even those rubber-banded party hats that pinch under your chin. Add a candle to the cake, and everybody’s smiling and bubbly. One very sweet friend adds her personal testimony as she celebrates her Christian birthday. More than the day she arrived on this earth, she recognizes the day she asked Jesus Christ to be her Savior. I know no one else who celebrates this way, and she’s caused me to rethink a few things for good reason. She grew up in excruciating circumstances. She was sexually abused as a child, and in her adolescence, her mother tried to kill her with a car. Having sought the services of a counselor at different points of her adulthood, this sweet friend has gained healthful perspective and tried to reconnect with some members of her family, though it’s been a rough road. Her love of the Lord is utmost. She recognizes His deep love for her, and that’s why she celebrates. Even for people with cushy lives, all the nice-and-neat childhoods in the world don’t change the fact that we all need the love and forgiveness of Jesus. No matter where we’re born on this globe, no matter our difficulty or ease in dealing with family, no matter the pain we’ve endured or the pain we’ve caused, Jesus offers a new beginning. 1 Peter 1:3 says He has given us new birth into a living hope. May we celebrate.

A rejuvenating conversation

My gauge leaned toward empty. The sit-down conversations I love about real-life issues had not happened this day. Two and a half hours of good teaching and worshipful music, yet somehow I felt disconnected. But as our study group was dismissing, opportunity presented new. A bundle of kindness now sat in the chair next to me, and she was the personification of God’s blessing. I discovered she’d been in a car wreck just a few days before and that she’d endured some of my same bumps and bruises in life. Despite all that, her thankful spirit smiled bright, and we shared stories of the Lord and of the ways He calls us to new situations. In fact, within this very conversation, He was supplying new joy through friendship and for prayer. Psalm 121 says He watches over our lives and does not slumber. He had answered my longing. And my gauge now tilted full again.