The Surprising Thing about God's Christmas List

Nutmeg-flecked eggnog rises in sweet slow-moving waves to my tongue. I smile with closed-lips and mull it around my mouth. On this last day of December, our Christmas tree still sparkles red, green, orange, pink, despite olive green rigor mortis setting in.

Photo Credit: Flickr user Anne, Creative Commons, cc license

You probably saw glimpses of it this Christmas too? The delight that breaks across faces in smiles and gleeful laughter. It hovered in my eight year old's eyes this first year that he remembers choosing and giving gifts of battered candy bars from his Halloween stash.

"Dad will like this candy, right?" he had asked earlier, with pensive eyebrows raised, wrapping paper poised.

"Dad'll love anything you give to him, bud," I assured him.

And then on Christmas morning, Daniel and his brother passed out the presents, reading Daniel's handwritten recipients.

"Mmmm, thank you, Daniel," Mark grinned to him, and Daniel sighed happily.

This week, a grey charcoal plastic bag arrived by mail. Twenty-one year old John snatched it up eagerly after work.

"Morgan! Come see your present," he yelled to his sister downstairs.

Squeals and shrieks followed. Morgan bounced up steps and stood with arms out, wearing a t-shirt specially ordered for her. "They're my favorite characters," she said, pointing them out to us.

And this desire to study loved ones, to wonder about and seek out gifts that will please them and be for their joy is what captures me this week, because I saw it in God too. 

The words caught me as I traced finger across Bible pages and smooth-rolling gel pen across my journal. Words in the Bible book of Hebrews describe the Godhead pausing to study his people, reflecting on the best gifts to give them, and then moving with joy and delight.

The image stopped me, and my pen stalled as well. Could it be? Did God stop and reflect when choosing gifts for us in the same way that we wrestled and reflected on the presents we wanted to give loved ones around us?

I re-read it, seeing the words, "distributed according to his will." Will: having to do with desire, having an opinion, reflected in something you wish, rather than not wish; connected with "This is what I choose, want, decide, desire." According to his will, the Holy Spirit looked at us, knew us, and chose what presents to give us -- for our delight and his glory. 

I underlined it and pulled my journal nearer to reflect on it and talk with my God. "You are alive and active, God-Spirit, and you willed, desired, wanted to, had opinions about which gifts you gave me. Thank you! Help me continue to hone and use them for your glory, for others' good, and in humble joy each time." 

God has thought about you and deliberately chosen gifts for you. As 2017 strides in, join me in remembering and reflecting on what this means for you and me, will you?

And the delight that crosses his face every time we enjoy our gifts, it must be brilliant! 

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Those Life Adventures You're Excited For -- Guess Who's In the Wings?

Fifty cents for a refill of the house coffee after hugging Amy and Tasha goodbye and I'm back at Coffee Talk. Sitting at an outside round glass-topped table on the front porch, the table trembles as I write and the 9:20 am sun is just cresting a tall pine tree to my left. Cars, trucks, and Harley Davidson motorcycles rumble and roar their way past, and inside the coffee shop, tourists and locals mingle and shake out newspapers.

When we bought our coffee earlier, a pink-shirted blonde-haired woman left her companion at a table and slipped behind the counter, washing her hands.

"Are you sure it's okay with you?" she asked the white-haired barista-owner as he handed Tasha her mocha.

"Sure," he said, and she cashed Tasha's ten dollars, handing back change. They bantered more as I handed over my twenty and ordered a tall house coffee.

"Helping on your day off?" I asked.

"No, I'm his sister," she smiled. "I just step over from my table when it looks like he can use a hand."

Back at my table alone now for a leisurely devotion time, I scribble in warm sunshine, steadying the table with my left hand. A light breeze flips my Bible pages, and a vivid yellow Daytona car parked on the road behind me contrasts beautifully with the tall white steeple behind it. Six blackbirds -- no, ten-- soar and arc in the clear blue sky above the steepled cross.

A ripple of peace and renewal loosens my shoulders and tickles my neck. A night of tenting and wood smoke fire beneath a forest of yellow trees, and dozens of timed group photos beside the fast-flowing glassy brown St. Croix River has blanketed rest deep within me. I can feel it in my long breaths, deep sighs, and sunshine-warmed shoulders and back as I work.

Thank you, God, for your beauty! For miles of curving roads in the Wisconsin Interstate State Park campground, for tall grey bluffs and craggy cliff faces, and for spongy green moss against a backdrop of brown and yellow leaves. Thank you for red-tufted mushrooms caps and rope-harnessed lithe rock climbers who make me want to exercise too.

Thank you for close friends to struggle to start campfires with, and to sip cool drinks around glowing embers deep into the night, our stomachs full of tinfoil-roasted chicken, onions, sweet potatoes, and peppers. Thank you for sticky marshmallows right before bed and sleepy conversations until 11:30 when we could no longer fight tiredness. Thank you for cozy sleeping bags, and more padded mats each year for our forty-one-year old bodies, and for a deep night's sleep inside a green and orange tent; for clear stars in a dark night, a full white moon; and the desultory drops of dew from the trees this morning and crackling chipmunks in the brush.

Thank you for your word open to 1 Corinthians 12, and the sun on my face, warm enough for a t-shirt in late September. "Now about spiritual gifts..." you begin, and you talk about giving us talents, skills, passions. "Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good."

Thank you that you are a God who steps in, saying, "Let's work side by side. You don't mind, do you?" And we get to stand shoulder to shoulder in life's adventures.

And It's In You Too...

Photo: Martin Beek, Creative Commons, cc license

Photo: Rodney Campbell, Creative Commons, cc license

Yellow, black, and white goldfinches flit and dart about the sunflowers. In the mad jungle of ragtag red, orange, and yellow sunflowers, a crowd of goldfinches has moved in. With circus precision, the finches hang upside down, bobbing on the gangly stalks, thrusting hungry beaks into the flower. Limbless, their beaks strip petals, tear away the center fluff, and burrow for each seed. In tireless one-by-one fashion they duck and pull, duck and pull. A tiger tangerine and black butterfly saunters past, catching my attention out the window, and the splashes of color and audacious life woo me.

In the last two weeks I am finding myself drawn into, walking alongside, and wrestling with several authors, as I read their books. In Micha Boyett's Found: A Story of Questions, Grace, and Everyday Prayer, I imagined myself picking up a coffee mug and sidling into her San Francisco flat or standing with her on California playgrounds as she studied the essence of prayer and delved into Benedictine monk disciplines. Micha pondered intimacy with God, wondering how to best walk face-to-face with God through the laundry piles, dirty dishes, and toddler tantrums of a mother's life. She asks bare naked questions to the Creator about her worth and her desire to live a grand life for God, and what that ultimately looks like. Her discoveries ring with calm peace and freedom that move me into my next book.

Emily P. Freeman's book A Million Little Ways: Uncover the Art You Were Made to Live is one I am only halfway through. She tiptoes into life's passions with gentle questions, finally stripping aside any excuses, apprehensions, or hesitations from the full life God wants us to live in him. This Artist God who created crackling fire and ice, who calls the stars out by name each night, and who spins galaxies in motion, holding all things together --This is the Artist God who designed us, who crafted and molded us in unique ways, and whose perfect plan is to see us experimenting with and using the skills and passions he placed in us for his glory. And the art that splashes out of us in a million little ways isn't really about us. It is his glory and beauty reflected, refracted, and ricocheting out of us, in a million darkness-shattering ways. Emily intrigues me, calling out gentle tears. She declares that art isn't only swirled paint on canvas, or words curling up a page -- although it can be-- art is whatever brings us most fully alive and what is screaming to come out of us, the image-bearers of the Artist God.

Emily whispers, "As a fellow image bearer, I want to whisper wake up words into your spirit, where your life is joined with God's. Wake up to the life of Christ within you and see how he wants to come out. Wake up to your unique calling and live out the truth of who Christ is and who you are in him. Uncover the art you were born to make. Release the art you were made to live" (Freeman, 36).

"...You were designed to reflect the glory of God" and you were "made in the image of God for a purpose" (Freeman, 36, 37).

Yellow and black goldfinches zip past my window, alighting on the caramel and crimson flowers. There are only two of them now, bold males in black capped heads who pause to see my movements in the glass above them. The flowers sway in silence for a moment. Their art drips from them, decadent colors on tiny plum-sized birds. God's extravagance seems almost wasteful, and yet it refreshes and inspires me. Our Cosmic Artist paints with limitless colors, creating in endless ways, urging us to follow suit.

How to Be Unstoppable

Photo: Eric Drost, Creative Commons, cc license

I don't remember them being at all the games, but they were at the home games. Me, jumping around in my red and white cheerleading skirt, or hidden away inside a red Cardinal bird mascot, cheering on the junior varsity basketball and football teams, and Mom and Dad in the stands. In small Midwest farming towns, middle school cheerleaders pulled double duty for both junior varsity boys' sports.

Lanky and gangly in girls' basketball shorts during other parts of the year, I guarded my side of the court, and tried to have my stubborn defensive skills make up for my petite frame. My parents joined the town in the stands while my siblings stood in line at the concession stand or joked with their friends. Throughout my short-lived 7th and 8th grade basketball career, I always felt my parents' love and support. Those memories sprang to mind today.

The call comes and it's been expected. It's a higher counter-offer than we'd hoped for from the seller, but oddly, it's okay. I woke up thinking about it last night, and my husband and I talked more this morning, knowing our range and determined to stick within it.

In my time reading the Bible this morning, I read stories of prison breaks, wild miracles, God at work, and the compelling lines from Acts chapters 4 and 5.

"For we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard."

"They did what your power and will had decided beforehand should happen."

Then an angel ordered the men to "Go, stand in the temple courts and tell the people the full message of this new life."

What new life was this? A life of boldness, trust, peaceful calm and joy despite occasional circumstances that seemed against them. A life story of rescue, love, and a fullback hero. And the real kicker? They were on the winning team. Their Abba God Dad was the Coach, and he was unstoppable.

Side-liners and spectators weighed in,
        "If their purpose or activity is of human origin, it will fail.
         BUT if it is from God, you will not be able to stop these men;
         you will only find yourselves fighting against God."

These verses grab me, and I underline the nearby phrases too. "They chose men known to be full of the Spirit and wisdom," including Stephen, "a man full of faith and of the Holy Spirit," "full of God's grace and power." And "no one could stand up against his wisdom or the Spirit by whom he spoke."

And this is no longer really about houses for me, but about a lifestyle, a life focus of wanting to be used by God in bold ways. May I be so filled with Him that he floods from me.

Want to be unstoppable? Your God already is. Reach out, and let him pull you up into the fray and the adventure.

Photo: Ed Yourdon, Creative Commons, cc license

Your dreams, passions, and goals? If they are of God, they'll be unstoppable. He made you and has plans beyond what you can imagine.

In the Aftermath of Mach Two Speed

Photo: Adikos, Creative Common, cc license

 "Learn from my mistakes," she wrote vulnerably. "I wish someone had shared this with me years ago."

I dished up a slice of sour cream lemon pie and poured the last marginally-hot dregs of coffee into my yellow and brown striped mug. Setting them beside the Ipad screenshot of a "Couch-to-5K" jogging plan wasn't incongruous to me.

It was the jogging that was hard. Getting back into running after a year of not looked different than I thought it would. Determined at first to just practice mind over matter, to simply tie up shoes and make myself run the prescribed amount twice a week had some surprise setbacks mixed in with success at smaller goals. After a week of rain, some offset schedules, and a discouraging half-run in the mist, though, I returned home Monday afternoon soaking wet and disappointed.

My sister's email arrived early Tuesday morning, with no knowledge of Monday night's run.

"Learn from my mistakes," she'd said and gone on to speak of injuries. "Our bodies need time to ease into running in order for the ligaments, tendons, and joints to get into shape. I never realized that before. ...Running can be enjoyed for years and years if you get into it wisely."

She attached a schedule interspersed with running and walking, growing incrementally over six weeks. It was wise and true, and I find myself pulling up the email again today and looking for similar running plans.

My husband and a teaching colleague from church have been working on a three-sermon-series on the effects of an immediate-gratification society. In a world with instant internet searches, fast food drive through's, microwaves, no-wait theme park lines, on-demand products, and quick-fixes to most problems, we have been conditioned for speed and efficiency. And I love the ease of these modern conveniences.

If immediate gratification is the notion that anything can and should be had now, and that waiting is unnecessary, tiny questions begin to gnaw at me. What dangers lie in unconsciously applying this concept to other areas of life? More important than the effects of immediate gratification in my exercise life,  

How might the expectations of immediate gratification:
- affect my relationships?
- affect my approach to sin struggles? 
- affect my character?  

How does this expectation of immediacy impact my interactions with God? 

Resisting the desire for a tidy wrap up, I'm going to instead let the questions hang in the air here with us, and go lace up my sneakers.

What God Never Assumes About You

Photo: Flickr User Tripu, Creative Common, cc

 Pool waters sparkle against grey stone. Always the gentleman, he stoops low to ask.

"Do you want to get well?" 

That was the question. And in fact, it really was the issue wasn't it? Because for as much as we gripe and complain about whatever is broken in our day, in our situation, in us, or in a relationship...

...that is always the question. "Do you want to get well?"

Pool waters sparkled against grey stone, as Jesus approached the man with the atrophied legs. He never assumes, this godhead. Because the man hadn't asked Jesus for healing, didn't even seem to know who was standing there before him.

All the man saw were the hurdles -- those obstacles blocking him from healing, from wholeness, from a different life --keeping him back.

Always the gentleman, Jesus stooped low and asked, "Do you want to get well?"

"Sir," said the invalid, "I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me." 

Then Jesus said to him, " Get up! Pick up your mat and walk." At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked. 

"Do you want to get well, Jen? ...Of your bad attitudes, your tension and concerns? Do you want to get well, Jen, from this thing here?"

Yes, please. Yes, thank you.

"Do you want to get well?"

Then do the actions that show that. Stop, get up, walk in that way.

At once the man was cured.

This God who slippped politely up to the man at the pool of Bethesda is the same God who asks us. "Do you want to get well?"

At our response, he will reach in, take our faltering, paralyzed situations, and make them well. He is the God who can grow atrophied muscles, hearts, and relationships. He is the God who transforms brokenness into wholeness. 

"Do you want to get well?"

How Do I Thank God for THAT?

 I pour myself another cup of coffee and hear a semi truck's rumbling exhales on the road outside. A friend's question has been tumbling through my head this last week and a half.

"I know I can thank God for even the hard things in my life -- and with hindsight now, I can see where he's brought beauty in those things -- but in my child's life?" she types. " To thank him for abuse in her life? How do I do that? Am I supposed to?"

The question hangs in cyberspace as I read it, ponder it, and then walk away to give it the thought it deserves. In the busy two weeks that follow, it tickles my brain.

At two women's retreats, I join other lovely speakers to talk on the theme of "Chased by Grace." In my sessions on Nehemiah, we walk through hope-infused stories of a refugeed people standing up from the rubble in their lives, strapping on swords, and rousing to "Fight for your brothers, your sons and daughters, your husbands and wives, and your homes."   "...And our God is fighting for us!" Nehemiah yells. Again and again in that historical account from the 400s BC, we see God's huge hand bringing beauty from rubble. An expert Architect, he rebuilds the ruins of a city and the ruins of peoples' lives. And he did it in such a way that the enemies and surrounding nations realized that "this work had been done with the help of our God." 

Back home from the retreats, a blonde-haired friend and I text about an upcoming informational breakfast against human trafficking. In addition to going, we decide to sponsor a table, rallying more people to fight against human trafficking and to rescue women and teens. (Want to join us? Nov. 2 in Minneapolis. It's free! Let me know.) We talk details and I slip my red phone back into the wooden bowl on the counter. Thinking of young girls and guys trapped in sexual slavery sinks sadness into me. Even that, God? What does it look like to give thanks in everything?

Curled up on the couch with my Bible and study materials, I come across the familiar verse in 1 Thessalonians 5:18 ("...in everything, give thanks...") and suddenly a grammar preposition changes everything. It didn't say "FOR everything, give thanks" but "IN everything" -- like through everything, in all circumstances, not for all circumstances.

This freedom, then, to not have to say thank you for abuse on children, for cancer in healthy cells, for poverty around the world-- for whatever hard things wait for you back home.

This injunction, this invitation, to-- in all circumstances-- still thank God: 
-that he is big enough to handle even this
-that he can be trusted to rebuild this ruin and bring beauty from even this
-that he has a track record of restoring and redeeming the broken fallout of other humans' bad choices. 

This tremulous release of opening hands to say, Okay, even in this, even in this, somehow...

-That even in our dark moments, in our hurt and pain, we can cry out like David in the Psalms, "Lord, slay the wicked!" and you get even that, God.

-That you are the Perfect Judge before whom we must all stand one day and give an account for every word and deed.

And that you are in the business of restoring lives, rescuing the widows and the orphans, and you call us to "Stand up and fight (alongside you)." Fight for your brothers, your sisters, your sons and daughters, your husbands/wives, your nieces and nephews, your grand-kids, and neighbors. "Our God will fight for us!" 

And, in this, I can give thanks and unclench my hands.

I love hearing from you. What hard things can you list in the "even this..." pile? (Those getting this via email can click here to join the conversation.)

(Linking with Emily.)

Photo credit. 

 Note: Perpetrators still need to be reported, processed, punished; survivors still need to be believed, rescued, counseled. For a helpful poignant book on surviving abuse, I appreciated Mary DeMuth's book "Thin Places."

How to Be the Mom They See

Lemon and cherry tulips stood in vases tall when I walked into the kitchen, gifts from my man and my look-alike man-child too. "We biked to the store since you had the car," they breathed heavily, grinning, hair tousled by the gusty wind.

"Can we play a game of Speed Scrabble together?" my socialite son asked, dumping plastic tiles across the scuffed table top.

Four year old Daniel had carefully guarded a smushed cupcake and hand-print flower art-piece since nine am Sunday School. Pushing it into my hand now, he offered it to me.

"But Daniel, this is your special cupcake. Are you sure?"

"Mmhmm," he nodded, "It hurts my feelings, and I don't want it anymore."

The red frosting licked off, a chocolate cupcake peeked through inside the zip-lock bag. He must have meant that he didn't want any more of it. I grinned and thanked him. He smiled, and rocked back and forth proudly.

"Mom, can I serve you?" she asked, my willowy daughter, shiny hair bobbing at her chin and catching the light.

"Wow, thank you. That feels odd," I admitted. "Thank you. What do you have in mind?"

Her handwritten card offered babysitting as we took a nap, and then a hand massage and manicure. Later that afternoon, I followed her out to the back yard where towels marked off a lounging area in the grass. Nail polish, moisturizing coconut oil, and manicure items were arrayed nearby. Shyly, I sank back into terrycloth, closed my eyes, sought out the bird calls amidst the sound of passing cars, and slipped into peace.

"I love you so much, Mom," she stated quietly, grinning self-consciously.

"I love you too, Morgan. I am so thankful to be your mom. I'm so sorry for the times I don't do a nice job at it." We talked more.

Silence fell from a pure blue sky. The wind and robins blew, and passing cars hummed.

"God, make me worthy. Make me how they see me, help me to be the best mom I can be, reflecting you." Prayers dripped from a humble heart, seeking Him. Gratitude counted gift after gift, increasing my eye to see, and learning to name them anew.

To be the mom they see --to be the mom they need-- drives me to prayer, humility, joy, and to my Father's heart. 

Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose, and Ann at A Holy Experience.

How a Singing Surgeon Shapes my Marriage

Guitar chords squeak slightly as musician Chris Tomlin sings. Sips of creamy hot coffee slide smoothly down, warming a Minnesota January.

We have been craving worship these days, my man and I. Clicking through praise songs on Youtube like addicts in rehab, desperate, hungry.

Worship seems to be both the mirror and the balm. Words that speak of God's greatness mirror my own junk back to me, flashing light into my dark corners where I need the Healer to step in with scalpel and precision. After painstaking cuts, balm is needed... and applied.

Seven weeks of intense focus on our marriage, seven weeks of choosing to invest anew and to build an even more vibrant marriage. Seven weeks of taking introspective looks at the areas God needs to fix and build in us. Seven weeks of cuddling on the couch, frequent texts, whispered midnight talks in the dark, intentional dates of sushi and read-aloud books, and fierce hugs.

Dr. Willard Harley, well-known counselor and author, recommends couples spend fifteen hours a week in undivided attention with each other, and even simplifies the requirement with at least one hour of undivided attention a day, preferably more.

Wanting to continually strengthen our marriage, Mark and I are striving for this in 2013, carving time out of work, family, ministry, and homeschooling. Our teens roll their eyes or smile softly when they see us smooching in the kitchen, or hiding away from the world more often now, but we grin, text more, and see the results.

Join us this 2013? Take the one-hour-a-day challenge with us.

Start first with standing honestly before your God (and then your spouse), asking the Surgeon to perform surgery in your life, your heart, your mind. Then confess, apologize, and move forward  in gentle humility. It won't be easy or fun, but it is worth it.

Don't forget frequent doses of worship, as mirror and balm.

Sorry for my delay in posting this week, friends. My words have been fewer this season, but I am glad to have you here. God is a gentle, healing Surgeon. 

Linking with Emily. 


Photo credits

Lightning Storms and Drafting Zeke

Photo credits

He was thirty years old. 

Well-educated, articulate, up-to-date with history and current events, well-versed in foreign affairs, he was nonetheless an oddity. Forced into exile by a conquering nation, he lived thousands of miles from home and everything was unfamiliar – the language, cultures, and religion were all different. Still, he married and settled down, trying to make the best of circumstances. 

Four years into it, everything changed. Standing by the banks of the Kebar River with other exiles, he suddenly spotted a towering windstorm to the north, with an immense cloud, scattering lightning bolts. 

In amazingly vivid prose, Ezekiel went on to describe a vision of heaven and a conversation he had with God. It is wild and crazy, and hard to even imagine. What caught me this week were some lines in chapter 2 of Ezekiel. The first thing God said to this exiled man was: “Son of man (human), stand up on your feet and I will speak to you.” 

Wow! Imagine the Creator telling you to “Stand up and I will speak to you.” 

Next the Creator told Ezekiel that he was sending him with a message to his fellow Israelites. “And whether they listen or fail to listen –for they are a rebellious house—they will know that a prophet has been among them.” 

God went on to tell Ezekiel three times, “do not be afraid…” ending with “Do not be afraid of what they say or terrified by them…”   … “You must speak my words to them, whether they listen or fail to listen… But you, son of man (human), listen to what I say to you.” 

The conversation between Ezekiel and the Creator of the world continued for several more chapters, but I am still processing the first part of this interaction. 

It intrigues me that Ezekiel – can I call him Zeke? It intrigues me that Zeke is a God-follower, but hasn’t been in ministry or anything up until now. 

To recap… at age twenty-six he was swept away to a new land, uprooted to a new, unfamiliar situation. Out of his element, he strived still to follow his God in a foreign land, surrounded by people of different beliefs and ways. Praying alongside other exiles at the river, he suddenly encountered God in a brand new way. Loud, audible, visible with unimaginable creatures, lights, colors, and storms, Zeke heard his God speaking to him, drafting him into a wild assignment with his God. 

Earmarks of this were:

-four years into living in an unfamiliar area, God started something big and different with Zeke, calling him into service

-it might seem scary

-don’t listen to what naysayers would tell him; only listen to God’s words

-speak God’s words

-their response was not his responsibility; his obedience was

-a result: they would know that a prophet of God had been among them

While God hasn’t spoken to me out of a windstorm, this still convicts me. Am I taking in God’s words to me (the Bible, prayer, etc.)? Am I speaking out his truths even if the results could be scary? More convicting still, do people see God’s voice and presence in me, knowing that a God-follower was among them? 

I’m linking with Ann and Michelle today in thanking God that:

-he speaks!

-his Word (the Bible) is captivating and alive

-that he can use all of us to speak his words to the world around us, to share his love for them

-that he can grab us out of whatever setting he finds us in and draft us into wild assignments

So, what surroundings have you been in for the last four years? Is it odd to think of God calling out to you during a normal prayer time with him and giving you a vivid assignment? Do you sense him doing that now or have you felt that before?