A Cosmic Wager: A Dare Thrown Across the Galaxies

 And that's the cosmic wager. A dare thrown across the galaxies, between two ethereal spirit beings. Like dice in a cup, the stakes are set, and humanity tumbles into the bowl. With swift inhales, the invisible spirit world leans in for a better angle.

Before this, the parameters were set. Striding into God's throne room, the devil laughed off God's invitation to see his human friend, Job.

"He just loves you, God, because his life is good. Take it all away, though, and he'd curse you to your face" was the wager.

And poor Job. He gets to be a token human to answer this cosmic wager. Will Job only thank God for the good things, the easy things? Or will he still trust God's heart when all of life falls apart?

I was wrong before, by accident. Well, incomplete, maybe...

In an earlier post about "How Do I Thank God For That?" we wrestled with the hard things, you and I. We accurately explained I Thessalonians 5:18 which says "IN everything give thanks" but I forgot about a verse in Ephesians...
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His teeth glint red from the light of the tiny black palm recorder shoved against his mouth. Thumbing the record button, my son growls and chirps phrase after phrase into the plastic device, then grins at the playback feature. Garbled and staticky, his words ring out each time. There's a sense of satisfaction in that for him, this five year old, to have his story spoken aloud. He giggles and whispers more.
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I finished a new book today, a slim blue memoir fresh off the shelves from a Minnesota author. I was curious to read her work. Addie Zierman writes vulnerably of a teen journey of faith, of aching loneliness and depression, and of disappointments in the church community. I respected her candor and wished that we had had the chance to meet then, in those twists and turns she wrote of. The youth pastor's wife heart in me tore for the adolescent version of her and wanted to take her out for coffee. I took note too of how to compassionately reach out to teens and young people in similar circumstances. Zierman writes at the end of her book, "So I began to write about all of it...and, in the writing, I found structure... I saw connections I hadn't seen before..."
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Two years ago I started scrawling out thankfulness lists in a gratitude journal, counting gifts from God-- both the easy good gifts, and the hard gifts, in which I remember that God is big enough to use even this, and that his heart can be trusted. My list soon spiraled inconsistently into any writing surface: my journals, here on this blog, and in the Gratitude Notebook itself.

Last week, I pulled out Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts again, reading it anew, wanting to learn and relearn the habits of finding joy in the everyday life, of seeing even more intimately God's heart and love for the people he made. Ann dares us "to live fully right where you are" and to know that joy is always possible.

I've lost that daily practice of naming gifts and lost my original Gratitude Notebook, so today I grabbed pen and paper, and started a new list. In her arguments for retraining the mind in this way to stop, see, and name the gift, Voskamp compiles quotes from:

- the apostle Paul where he twice says, "I have learned how to be content...  I have learned the secret of living in every situation..." (Philippians 4:11-12).

-Erasmus who said, "A habit is overcome by habit" and

-Writer Annie Dillard who wrote, "Seeing is, of course, very much a matter of verbalization. Unless I call my attention to what passes before my eyes, I simply won't see it. It is ... 'not merely unnoticed, but...unseen'... I have to say the words, describe what I'm seeing...If I want to notice the lesser cataclysms of valley life, I have to maintain in my head a running description of the present" (Voskamp, One Thousand Gifts, 127, quoting Dillard).
                         
Words are powerful. They shape our perceptions, our memories, our identities. I choose how to see and frame my day, my family, my life, by how I stop, notice, and summarize my feelings, and by my response to the things around me.

Like five year old Daniel who is emboldened and authenticated by hearing his words repeated back to himself; like Zierman who found greater structure and connections in her life from the perspective of seeing it written out; and from my renewed challenge to see all of life as a gift from God, I'm writing it line by line.

Because what I missed last time? What I forgot, was this cosmic wager and this command in Ephesians: "Always give thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ" (Ephesians 5:20). FOR everything, not just IN everything. This is new territory to me, a truth I forget all the time, and work to re-learn.

Today is my chance to get ready for this cosmic wager, to train my mind to see, to note, to respond in trust. So I scrawl out thanks across the pages, thanking God for:
-sun splashing across my children's faces as they study
-hot coffee in my favorite mug
-a stable job
-9th grade science experiments at the stove with Morgan
-orchid buds swelling pregnant with life
-cars that run
- a warm house in Minnesota November

May writing out these words, these gifts, give me new perspective and train my heart to see His.

(Linking with Imperfect Prose.)

Revised: I've wrestled with this blog post throughout the night and throughout today again. My blithe easy gifts above seem incomplete and naive without addressing the hard gifts too. Hard things in our lives, and in our family's and friend's lives, like cancer, young deaths, hard marriage seasons, addictions, relationship issues, and more. And through them, I have become convinced of my God's loving hand, even while not understanding everything he allows to happen. And for that, I am stepping tremulously into thanking Him in everything, and learning to trust Him in trying to thank Him for everything. But, please extend grace, friends, as I still learn this? Maybe we can together walk this journey.

Photo credit: Creative Commons; Christmasstockimages.com 

Between the Rains

"We'll have to buy our wood before the rain comes," he mused, carrying in bags and unpacking their tools. Wood saws, buckets, and gangly narrow planks--reverberating at each step-- stacked into the garage or across the hot asphalt driveway. In-laws from the north drove down this week, kindly tackling work projects with us.

Humid air hung heavy and deliciously hot after an April winter. We piled into multiple cars, and snaked the aisles of a home repair store, our list and pencil calculations in hand. We were building shelves, for the garage and for downstairs. In the downstairs family room, years of homeschooling books and textbooks perched in precarious piles, waiting for the three long bookshelves to be completed.

Over coffee and decaf Earl Grey, we worked, sawing, gluing, nailing, and drilling. When the rains came, we inched into dry rooms and continued. Dads, a grandpa, and sons worked. Moms, a grandma, and daughters worked. We younger ones watched carefully as we followed orders, taking mental notes, seeing selfless grace and a hard work ethic. The shelves grew taller. And when the rain came again, we sank into couches for a generational movie night, dusty, sweaty, and proud.

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Friday and Saturday, I helped at a garage sale fundraiser for our France senior high missions trip. In between the rains, we stacked shoes and clothing, and arrayed toys and lawn chairs. Rain glittered on sparkly red glitter shoes, and melted cardboard boxes. Under a damp white awning, we talked with strangers, neighbors, and church friends. Teens, siblings, and family members served side by side, next to slippery rain tarps and dripping eaves. In between the rains, we dried items, sold items, and then loaded four trucks of items to give away.

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This morning, I ground espresso coffee beans, and washed up the last dishes before my parents arrived. Rain fell heavy on the deck and yard. Soon two flood pools reflected back the sky in streets and yards.

Knocking and entering, my parents slid off shoes, passed out hugs, and pulled out seeds. "I brought the strawberry plants around to the back," Mom said, bending low for a four year old's conversation. My dad's shovels, rakes, and buckets lay ready on the front steps.

We drank black coffee, catching up on news, snacking on peanut butter-topped celery and oreos. Sunshine crossed the yard, splashing on to the deck and railings. We drained our coffee, grabbed hoes, and set out across raindrop-tipped dandelions. My mom planted strawberries, transplanted white shasta daisies, and weeded. My dad and I gathered shredded bark, rolled back faulty weed liners, and reinforced weed barriers in the landscape beds.

Hours passed quickly, and black dirt clung to our faces, knees, and hands. At one-thirty, under chilled grey storm-clouds that darkened the sky, we raced raindrops to finish. In seconds, we lost and, grabbing tools, ran laughing to the door. Later, we peered through wet windows to see beautiful garden beds and new life emerging.

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Emerging now after our last rainfall, I snap photos and crow excitedly over each new life. Tulips shine rain drop jewels next to swelling alium buds, pregnant with life. Radish buds crowd in lines, elbowing each other. Pea pods emerge tiny and curled, barely noticeable in the cracked earth. Mint plants weather fierce rains, slipping up to the light. And the ones that get me most? Vivid green raspberry leaves burst from dead twigs chomped to the ground by hungry deer and gophers last fall. The green life amazes and thrills me, surging unexpected from dormant sticks and hidden underground roots.

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Rains so often seem to halt activity, yet it is after the rains that I see the most vivid life.

Between the rains, life grows. From the rain, life grows.


Linking with Ann at A Holy Experience.

It's the Doing It That's Hard

It's the doing it that's hard.

Not the dreaming it -- that comes easy.

It's the stepping up, picking up pen, shutting down facebook or the streaming movie, and setting aside the laundry expectations. Picking up pen or pulling close the keyboard, I type keystrokes, then words. Sentences follow, haltingly.

Twilight falls, blushing in the darkness before slipping quietly out of sight. Waiting for inspiration, for an intelligent-feeling brain, only leads to more time passing. Days trickle by, waiting for inspiration, and I remember the words of Jeff Goins and others to write, simply write. Show up to the keyboard, and do the time, do the work, the great ones say. Write. Every day, write.

I've been researching the ancient book of Nehemiah, a Jewish political exile in Iraq, who returns to his homeland. After a clandestine horseback ride through the city, following the line of collapsed walls, squeezing through on foot when the ruins were too extreme, he returned to speak to the people. In a broken-down world, surrounded by the rubble of their ancient lives and city, he calls the people to action, knowing that God can rebuild lives and situations. We can do this, he urges his people.

It was the doing it that was the hard part for him too. Dreaming it up after time in prayer was easy. It was the stepping up, grabbing architect plans, masonry tools, and a bullhorn that was the hard part. It was the day two and three, and forty-seven, that were the hard parts.

But he stepped up. They stepped up, grabbing mallets, stones from the rubble, and mortar. And as twilight blushed into darkness, they kept working, strapping on swords when needed, and toiling into starlight hours.

I love hearing from you. What do you need encouragement to step up and start this week? (Those in email can click here to join the conversation.)  

Linking with Emily at the Love Dare. 

Photo courtesy of Dvortygirl, Creative Commons, Flickr. 
 

Naked Trees Scrape the Horizon

Navy blue light creeps higher in the sky, allowing naked trees to scrape the horizon. Hot coffee in morning twilight, and my three year old son’s truck noises get progressively louder. For the sake of sleepers, I shush him. 

Earlier this week, my peace was eroded as well. It wasn’t the noise – that I was used to with three kids! It was internally. Two weeks ago, I resigned from a part-time job where I had served for thirteen years. It was the right decision so I could have more time with my kids and homeschooling, and we felt peace about it. On Tuesday, though, the reality of it sunk in. Whew, what had I done?! Given up a stable job? 

Grabbing my Bible, journal, and a freshly-brewed cup of hot coffee, I pulled up the kitchen chair to sit at my Abba Father’s feet. “Will you meet with me here today in your word? Will you bring fresh peace for me, Lord?” 

Here’s the kicker. Poor God. For my Bible reading I am in Isaiah, which I am loving, but the chapter I was about to start was Isaiah 28, about judgment coming on wicked kings. Now without bending the original intent of the text, how was he going to bring peace to his worried child at a kitchen table in 2011? 

The story pulled me in. God, the master Writer, wove in poetry, prophecy, play on words, historical accounts, and warnings in truth.  He told his people that he was going to rise up dramatically, supernaturally, citing examples in the past where he did miraculous things, fighting their battles in ways that only he could. The Storyteller described fields that were churned and turned upside down, plowed, threshed, plowed under again – ripping up the old, preparing for the new. The Farmer planted, waited and then threshed anew. Some crops only came through rough threshing techniques, but there was fruit after the hard work. Wrapping up the chapter and description, he spoke: “All this comes from the Lord Almighty, wonderful in counsel and magnificent in wisdom.” 

My pen scraped across lined paper, responding to him. I wrote and talked to Him, wondering, pondering, praying. Whatever God is speaking to you or me, know this. He does speak, he does bring peace, and his character is to be trusted, throughout the centuries and ages. 

What about you? Where have you been reading in God’s word lately? 

The winner of Kimberly Rae’s “Stolen Woman” book giveaway is Susan Panzica@Eternity Cafe. Susan, please email me with your address so I can mail this to you.