Don't throw the baby out with the bathwater

The following article articulates some of my feelings regarding the church--as I read it I laughed, agreed,was grossed out (the man in the choir), was sad---sometimes we don't see the handwriting on the wall until it is too late.

Christianity Today, November 2005

In Praise of the Church Lady
God manages to use dubious characters to shape our lives.
by Mark Linville | posted 11/15/2005 09:00 a.m.


I was overchurched as a child. The prevailing ethic of our church community dictated that "every time the church doors are open you should be there." Whether our family actually succeeded in this, I am not sure. But, at any rate, my childhood memories are filled with those of my reluctant but compulsory attendance at more church gatherings than I thought I could bear.

What stands out in my boyhood memories is an assortment of odd characters. I can recall being sternly warned by one member not to eat snow because it had been poisoned by Nikita Khrushchev. An elder of the church adamantly maintained on more than one occasion that we had not "evoluted." A brigade of lay evangelists confronted devout Lutherans or Presbyterians—or even people who had been baptized in the right way but with the wrong idea—on their doorsteps, unblinkingly informing them that they were destined to be cast into the lake of fire unless they converted (i.e., joined our church). These guys made the Sanctified Brethren of Lake Wobegon look like Unitarians. There was Al, who, upon greeting you at the church door with a handshake, would inexplicably pull your hand up into his moist underarm. I learned quickly to enter church through the side door. There was Mr. Reed, an elderly man who sat in the choir, facing the congregation, and had the rather dispiriting habit of elaborately—even ceremoniously—hacking phlegm from his deepest recesses and then, predictably, leaning forward to spit it into the carpet in front of his seat.

We also had our share of hypocrites: the volunteer youth sponsor who, though recently married, attempted to seduce half of the teenage girls in the youth group; the other volunteer youth sponsor who succeeded in seducing another man's wife and running off with her. I can recall more than one occasion on which some of the churchmen traded racist jokes—featuring, of course, the n-word as a kind of verbal centerpiece. Then the minister took an inordinate interest in the contents of a skirt or two in the congregation and was soon seen loading a U-Haul bound for another state.

There was also the Church Lady, who, outfitted with horn-rimmed glasses and a flannelgraph lesson, taught my Sunday school classes. If every believer is graced with some spiritual gift, such as hospitality or encouragement, hers was the gift of disapproval. This woman never understood that good behavior in little boys did not entail their acting like little girls, so I am sure that her reprimands brought out the worst in me. I could never seem to escape the Church Lady as she was also perpetually involved in vacation Bible school, that bane of summer; a whole week of daylight stolen from the middle of a sandlot-baseball-playing boy's vacation. Under her direction, we pledged allegiance to the Bible ("God's Holy Word") and to the Christian flag ("and to the Savior for whose kingdom it stands"), drank green Kool-Aid from Dixie cups, and glued macaroni to plates to form crosses.

As a child, I was dragged involuntarily to a plethora of gatherings and placed under the authority of dubious characters, many of whom might have made interesting studies in abnormal psychology. Some of this is perhaps the stuff cited by members of Fundamentalists Anonymous, a support group for people who have finally escaped the clutches of the religious authorities of their childhood, but who are still nursing old wounds.

But this company of the strange, the judgmental, and the hypocritical—in cooperation, of course, with the not-so-strange nor hypocritical—managed somehow to do me the invaluable service of laying a solid foundation for the faith of my adult life. Indeed, these imperfect people instilled within me my basic worldview by the time I was 4 years old. That worldview has undergone a bit of fine-tuning since then, but by age 4, I had the deep conviction that there is a God who is supremely good and wise, that he created us out of love, and that he wishes for us to learn to love one another in the same way that he loves us. This early orientation on my proper place in the grand scheme of things has been a keel that has directed safe passage through a variety of intellectual and emotional crosscurrents.

I suspect that the Church Lady—who in my memory is more an amalgam of many people who had an early influence on me than an actual person—had something less than an articulate and carefully reasoned theology. I would not be surprised to learn that she harbored some religious beliefs that were downright silly. But she is yet another example of those crude earthen vessels in which God has placed his treasure, and which he is able to use for his good purposes. Everywhere I looked, it seemed, there were examples of people struggling to live lives of discipleship as best they understood it. In short, I grew up in the midst of a community of people who embraced essentially the same Christian worldview, however imperfectly, and I am the better for it.

In addition to this network of believers who shared the burden of directing my earliest steps, in the late 1950s and early 1960s, there was the sense that those authority figures beyond the church walls—schoolteachers, for example—were very much in league with my parents. But the winds have changed in our culture. The teachers in charge of our children may be more interested in dismantling their politically incorrect Christian convictions than encouraging them. And while I am not interested in joining a critique of today's children's cartoons for purportedly promoting the gay lifestyle, I do believe there is a cynical atmosphere that pervades many of the forms of entertainment to which today's children are exposed. It is the cynicism that marks our postmodern times and that promotes a sort of ironic detachment from any form of deep conviction and commitment. It is "hipness unto death." Our children are alive to it at earlier ages, with the result that the old loyalties can appear to them as quaint, hopelessly naïve, and easily parodied ("Sounds like The Waltons! Goodnight, John Boy!"). Thus the natural trusting innocence of childhood is lost.

The Church Lady is needed today more than ever. It would be the height of foolishness for us to expect to engender a robust faith in our children today without simply immersing them in a community of believing people as I was. There may be attempts within the home to instill faith and Christian virtues, but the prevailing winds of our culture are blowing strongly in the opposite direction. Young saplings are nearly certain to bend to and be shaped by those winds if not sheltered. And the only proven shelter is marked by a steeple.

Mark Linville is professor of philosophy at Atlanta Christian College.

MY PRAYER...
Holy Father, my Great Emancipator, you have freed me from sin, law, and death at the cost of your precious Son. I open my heart to you today to say I love you and want to thank you. Please accept the actions of my life, the words of my mouth, the thoughts of my mind, and the emotions of my heart today as my offering of thanks. Through Jesus my Sacrifice and your holy Son I pray. Amen.

Where am I? Trying to stay in the moment. I have a bad habit of always being somewhere other than where I am right now. Memories are good to look back on and use your experience from, dreams and goals are also important but I want to embrace the moment. This is where I am right now--take the time to get all that I can from it---this day, this hour will not come again.

Well this hour involves doing my bills and then going about the rest of my day. I may finally check out the zoo that is less than 10 minutes away.

Stay tuned

Discipleship is sometimes defined by being normal.

A woman in a small Arkansas community was a single mom with a frail baby. Her
neighbor would stop by every few days and keep the child so she could shop.
After some weeks her neighbor shared more than time; she shared her faith, and
the woman did what Matthew did. She followed Christ.

The friends of the young mother objected. "Do you know what those people
teach?" they contested.

"Here is what I know," she told them. "They held my baby."

I think Jesus likes that kind of answer, don't you?

We had a guest speaker on Sunday and the topic was fear and how it runs our lives. He was a very low key speaker but delivered a strong message.

The message I keep getting as I seek to draw closer to God is His holiness. To keep reading about His holiness.

Met with some ladies from church for dinner last night. Conversation was good but as usually the case it stayed superficial until it was almost time to go. We wound up staying afterwards in the lobby to talk some more.


Through the centuries, some of God's servants have faced the possibility of an agonizing death unless they renounced their faith. They knew that God could deliver them, but they also knew that in keeping with His own purposes He might not answer their pleas for supernatural help.

In the book of Daniel, three young Hebrew captives faced a life-and-death choice: Worship the king's gold image or be thrown into the fiery furnace. Their response was unhesitating: "Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace." They added, "But if not, . . . we do not serve your gods, nor will we worship the gold image which you have set up" (Daniel 3:17-18).

But if not! Those words challenge our allegiance. Suppose we face crippling disease. Suppose we are facing shameful disgrace. Suppose we are facing painful loss. We plead for God's intervention, yet in every threatening circumstance our plea should carry the proviso, "But if not!"

Is our attitude that of Jesus in Gethsemane? "O My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will" (Matthew 26:39).

Are we willing to endure whatever will glorify God and work out His holy purposes? —Vernon Grounds

They climbed the steep ascent of heaven
Through peril, toil, and pain:
O God, to us may grace be given
To follow in their train. —Heber

When conviction runs deep, courage rises to sustain it.

It is in God's Hands

The world was horrified when Chechen rebels massacred hundreds of people held hostage in a school in Beslan, Russia. Many of the victims were children, including six belonging to the two Totiev brothers, who are active in Christian ministry.

One of the brothers reacted in a way that most of us would have a hard time choosing. He said, "Yes, we have an irreplaceable loss, but we cannot take revenge." He believes what the Lord says, as recorded in Romans 12:19, "Vengeance is Mine, I will repay."

Some of us have difficulty getting rid of bitterness about small slights, to say nothing of major offenses like this family faced. Totiev's attitude lets go of bitterness and doesn't seek revenge. It abhors what is evil (v.9), but doesn't repay evil for evil (v.17). What a difference there would be in marriages, families, churches, and in all our relationships if by the Holy Spirit's enablement we were filled with a Christlike attitude that puts in God's hands the injustices done to us.

Why not pause right now and search your heart. If there is any bitterness toward another or a desire for revenge, ask the Holy Spirit to help you not to be "overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good" (v.21). —Vernon Grounds

Search me, O God, and know my heart today!
Try me, O Savior, know my thoughts I pray.
See if there be some wicked way in me;
Cleanse me from every sin, and set me free. —Orr

Someday the scales of justice will be perfectly balanced.
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The weekend awaits....time to go to bed....Scruffy is already snoring.

Reverence

Good weekend. Retreat Friday-Saturday, Kelli in on Saturday evening--heat was not working so we started a fire and sat before it and listened to a tape from the retreat. Tape was good and the fact that we needed heat was even better--I love this time of year.
Church on Sunday-which I almost didn't go to--so glad I did. Sunday night we started the billard league--I really liked it. They play "9" ball which is different from what I played years ago ut it is fun.

Would have liked to sleep longer this morning.

Dentist tomorrow at 7:30AM!! Joy joy.


It is the Lord your God you must follow, and him you must revere. Keep his commands and obey him; serve him and hold fast to him.
--Deuteronomy 13:4
New International Version

THOUGHTS ABOUT TODAY'S VERSE...
So many people want us to follow their lead and obey their voice. But God has proved himself faithful and loving through the ages. In his might he is to be revered. But rather than seeing reverence as a "church thing," we are reminded by Moses it is a "life thing." We are to obey and keep his commandments, and we are to serve him and depend upon him in our daily lives. Rather than silence in the assembly, reverence is action to his glory!

MY PRAYER...
Holy and Righteous Father, help me take my worship outside the church building into my day to day life as I try to live what I sing, practice what I say, and pursue what I pray. In Jesus name. Amen.

Time

I have entirely too much time that I am not putting to good use. I procrastinate. There are things to be done but I need this extra push to get started.

Going to go to my Mom's this weekend.

Good morning world!

Faith

Sept. 28, 2005

My Struggles Are About Him
by Max Lucado

What about your struggles? Is there any chance, any possibility, that you have
been selected to struggle for God's glory? Have you "been granted for Christ's
sake, not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for Him, but also to suffer
for His sake" (Philippians 1:29)?

Here is a clue. Do your prayers seem to be unanswered? What you request and
what you receive aren't matching up? Don't think God is not listening. Indeed he
is. He may have higher plans.

Here is another. Are people strengthened by your struggles? A friend of mine can
answer yes. His cancer was consuming more than his body; it was eating away at
his faith. Unanswered petitions perplexed him. Well-meaning Christians confused
him. "If you have faith," they said, "you will be healed."

No healing came. Just more chemo, nausea, and questions. He assumed the fault
was a small faith. I suggested another answer. "It's not about you," I told
him. "Your hospital room is a showcase for your Maker. Your faith in the face
of suffering cranks up the volume of God's song."

Oh, that you could have seen the relief on his face. To know that he hadn't
failed God and God hadn't failed him-this made all the difference. Seeing his
sickness in the scope of God's sovereign plan gave his condition a sense of
dignity. He accepted his cancer as an assignment from heaven: a missionary to
the cancer ward.

A week later I saw him again. "I reflected God," he said, smiling through a thin
face, "to the nurse, the doctors, my friends. Who knows who needed to see God,
but I did my best to make him seen."

Bingo. His cancer paraded the power of Jesus down the Main Street of his world.

God will use whatever he wants to display his glory. Heavens and stars. History
and nations. People and problems.

Rather than begrudge your problem, explore it. Ponder it. And most of all, use
it. Use it to the glory of God.

Through your problems and mine, may God be seen.



The above is from one of my devotional readings but I believe it originated in Max Lucado's book "It's Not About You". It is once again a reminder to me to stop looking at what is going on around me and keep my focus on Jesus.

I see my home situation gradually returning to what it once was. I am not the same person I was so some of my reactions and feelings are different but mostly I need to be reminded that it is not about me. It is about God and His glory.

Help me Lord to be who you want me to be. Thank you for being faithful to me even when I walk away from you.

Be still, My child, and know that I am God!
Wait thou patiently—I know the path you trod.
So falter not, nor fear, nor think to run and hide,
For I, thy hope and strength, am waiting by thy side. —Hein

If we have hope, we can go on.

Life is full of challenges. I have found over the years that what has occurred before is a building ground so that each new situation you face has the advantage of past experiences.

I am not who I want to be, I am not what I am going to be but thank God I am not what I used to be.

Kelli is in for the weekend. Just the nights actually. In a little bit I hope to start cleaning my windows--fall cleaning. The weather is just right for it. Nice and cool. But first I think I will take a short nap--it is Saturday and I can choose my schedule.

Blessings to all who may read this.

Happiness

There is no true happiness apart from holiness, and no holiness apart from Christ.

Why Me?

Why Me?

Read:
Luke 17:11-19

One of them, when he saw that he was healed, returned, and with a loud voice glorified God. —Luke 17:15

Bible In One Year: Ezekiel 31-33

A few years ago, an unkempt, poorly adjusted youth named Tim (not his real name) was converted to Christ in an evangelistic crusade. Several days later, still unkempt but bathed in the love of Christ, he was sent to my home so that I could help him find a good church. And so it was that he began attending with me.

Though Tim needed and received much loving help in personal grooming and basic social graces, one characteristic has remained unchanged—his untamed love for his Savior.

One Sunday after church Tim rushed to my side, looking somewhat perplexed. He exclaimed, "Why me? I keep asking myself, why me?" Oh, no, I thought, he's become another complaining Christian. Then with arms outstretched, he went on to say, "Out of all the people in the world who are greater and smarter than I am, why did God choose me?" With that he joyfully clapped his hands.

Over the years I've heard many Christians, including myself, ask "Why me?" during tough times. But Tim is the first one I've heard ask that question when talking about God's blessings. Many were converted the same night as Tim, but I wonder how many among them have humbly asked, "Why me?" May we ask it often. —Joanie Yoder

I know not why God's wondrous grace
To me He hath made known;
Nor why, unworthy, Christ in love
Redeemed me for His own. —Whittle

Gratitude should be a continuous attitude.


The above is from Our Daily Bread devotional. Lately what has kept coming to mind is that it is important what I allow to come into my mind--through my eyes, my hearing etc. It reminds of the little children's song that we used to sing in children's church--Oh be careful little eyes what you see... There is so much out there to influence and confuse--I have a choice what I allow to influence me. It is important for me to remember that this is not "IT". This is only a small blip in time compared to eternity. To remember who God is and be in awe of Him. Oh Lord thank you for allowing me to have glimpses of who you are and to feel your presence.

the room

The ROOM

17-year-old Brian Moore had only a short time to write something for a class. The subject was what Heaven was like. "I wowed 'em," he later told his father, Bruce. "It's a killer. It's the bomb. It's the best thing I ever wrote.." It also was the last.

Brian's parents had forgotten about the essay when a cousin found it while cleaning out the teenager's locker at Teary Valley High School. Brian had been dead only hours, but his parents desperately wanted every piece of his life near them-notes from classmates and teachers,his homework.

Only two months before, he had handwritten the essay about encountering Jesus in a file room full of cards detailing every moment of the teen's life.. But it was only after Brian's death that Beth and Bruce Moore realized that their son had described his view of heaven. "It makes such an impact that people want to share it. You feel like you are there." Mr Moore said.

Brian Moore died May 27, 1997, the day after Memorial Day. He was driving home from a friend's house when his car went off Bulen-Pierce Road in Pickaway County and struck a utility pole. He emerged from the wreck unharmed but stepped on a downed power line and was electrocuted.

The Moores framed a copy of Brian's essay and hung it among the family portraits in the living room. "I think God used him to make a point. I think we were meant to find it and make something out of it," Mrs. Moore said of the essay. She and her husband want to share their son's vision of life after death. "I'm happy for Brian. I know he's in heaven. I know I'll see him."

Brian's Essay: The Room...

In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endless in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was.

This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching.

A fi le! named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers." Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in My Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents.

Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived Could it be possible that I had the time in my years to fill each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature

When I pulled out the file marked "TV Shows I have watched", I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, shamed, not so much by the quality of shows but more by the vast time I knew that file represented.

When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content.

I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and bu rn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it.

Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh.

And then I saw it.. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand.

And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that they hurt They started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide th e key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him.

No, please not Him. Not here... Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own.

He seemed to intuit ively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me.

Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no," as I pulled the card fr om Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side...

He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."-Phil. 4:13 "For God so loved the world that He gave His only son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life." If you feel the same way forward it to as many people as you can so the love of Jesus will touch their lives also. My "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger, how about yours?

It's as though a sinister stranger comes knocking on your door. You must let him in, for he knocks insistently and will not go away. He is sorrow personified.

You believe no one sees your tears and you feel all alone—but God sees them and He understands. "All night I make my bed swim; I drench my couch with my tears," David said in Psalm 6. "The Lord has heard the voice of my weeping" (vv.6,8). "You number my wanderings; put my tears into Your bottle; are they not in Your book?" (56:8). Though "weeping may endure for a night," it is a transient houseguest, for "joy comes in the morning" (30:5).

We remember, as David did, that God's love and favor last for a lifetime. He has promised never to leave us nor forsake us. When God's love comes into our thoughts, our feelings of sorrow and dread flee. Our mourning is turned into dancing, our garments of sackcloth and sorrow are stripped away and we are girded with gladness. We can rise to greet the day with shouts of ringing praise for His mercy, guidance, and protection. We rejoice in His holy name (30:11-12).

No matter our circumstances, let's sing to the Lord once again! —David Roper



Praise is the voice of a soul set free.

Although there is much we have no control over----our soul can soar despite what is going on around us.

Back from a great "mini" vacation to Columbus. The weather was perfect and everything went well. The zoo was beautiful--so much to see. The trip to Easton ended too quickly--lots of stores to check out--there is always next time. It was great to see how well Mark is doing and I enjoyed visiting with the people from the community.

Went back to work today rested and anticipating a full workload.

One of my readings for the day:

Sept. 7, 2005

A Good Heart, But...
By Max Lucado

(Scene-Sunday A.M. assembly; silent prayer)

Max: God, I want to do great things.

God: You do?

Max: You bet! I want to teach millions! I want to fill the Rose Bowl! I want all
of the world to know your saving power! I dream of the day-

God: That's great, Max. In fact, I can use you today after church.

Max: Super! How about some radio and TV work or ... or ... or an engagement to
speak to Congress?

God: Well, that's not exactly what I had in mind. See that fellow sitting next
to you?

Max: Yes.

God: He needs a ride home.

Max (quietly): What?

God: He needs a ride home. And while you're at it, one of the older ladies
sitting near you is worried about getting a refrigerator moved. Why don't you
drop by this afternoon and-

Max (pleading): But, God, what about the world?

God (smiling): Think about it.


It's the little things in life that are important.

Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.
--Romans 12:15
New International Version

THOUGHTS ABOUT TODAY'S VERSE...
We are not alone. God has given us each other to live our lives for him and get us back home to him. Along the way, we want to share each others' burdens, soar on each others joys, and love each others' hurts. There is no such thing as a solo Christian.

MY PRAYER...
Loving Father, lead me to the people today who need their burdens lifted and their joys shared. Let me be your presence in the world of your children today. This I ask in Jesus name. Amen.

Something I read today and it helped me so I thought I would pass it along

Psalm 116:15 says, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints." I know this is true, and I also know that Jesus weeps over our losses, and he shares our grief. But he also sees the future, and he sees the whole picture, He knows his purpose in taking Landon and Anthony and Rick and Jessi and Bob. ( these were people the author knew) And he's already seen the reunions that are yet to come. Joyful, overwhelming, celebratory reunions.

We cannot control God, and we cannot second-guess him, as much as we'd like to try. Our God has plans and purposes that are far beyond our understanding.

Sometimes those plans and purposes break our hearts.
Sometimes they require sacrifices we never agreed to make.
Sometimes they stop us dead in our tracks, turn us upside down, inside out, and paralyze us with pain.

But his comfort is not far behind. And as we climb up into his lap and weep into his chest, he whispers in our ear, "Shhh. It's okay. I did it for a reason, and some day I'll tell you what it is." He strokes our hair and hugs us tight, and cries with us. "Shhh. Just hang on. It's not that long before you'll see them again. And then you'll be with them for eternity. I promise to see you through this."

Our whys are not answered, but we trust that there is a reason. God is in control, and he loves us through our pain.
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The above was in the back of a book I just finished. It was a Christian fiction book that dealt with tradegies that befell a family who served the Lord. The author was sharing some personal events that had happened recently in her life.

So much happens that we don't understand and we question and try to figure out but we will never know why. I hear God being questioned and comments made to the effect of "if God is like that I don't want to know him" as if we the created have the right to question anything that God does or allows. Our minds have been so distorted by what we have been exposed to. Help me Lord to remember who I am and who you are.

Party Time

UpWords from Max Lucado

August 3, 2005

Why Jesus Went To Parties
By Max Lucado

Why would Jesus, on his first journey, take his followers to a party?

Didn't they have work to do? Didn't he have principles to teach?  Wasn't his
time limited? How could a wedding fit with his purpose on earth?

Why did Jesus go to the wedding?

The answer? It's found in the second verse of John 2. "Jesus and his followers
were also invited to the wedding."

Why did they invite him?

I suppose they liked him.

Big deal? I think so. I think it's significant that common folk in a little town
enjoyed being with Jesus. I think it's noteworthy that the Almighty didn't act
high and mighty. The Holy One wasn't holier-than-thou.

You just don't get the impression that his neighbors grew sick of his
haughtiness and asked, "Well, who do you think made you God?"

His faith made him likable, not detestable. Would that ours would do the same!

May I state an opinion that may raise an eyebrow? May I tell you why I think
Jesus went to the wedding? I think he went to the wedding to-now hold on, hear
me out, let me say it before you heat the tar and pluck the feathers-I think
Jesus went to the wedding to have fun.

Maybe these thoughts catch you by surprise. They do me. It's been awhile since I
pegged Jesus as a party-lover. But he was. His foes accused him of eating too
much, drinking too much, and hanging out with the wrong people! (See Matt.
11:19.) I must confess: It's been awhile since I've been accused of having too
much fun. How about you?

We used to be good at it. What has happened to us? What happened to clean joy
and loud laughter? Is it our neckties that choke us? Is it our diplomas that
dignify us? Is it the pew that stiffens us?

Jesus took time for a party. . .shouldn't we?

Barbeque here next weekend--Saturday I believe--aiming for laughter