Standards

I wish that being a doctor was more like being a pilot. A pilot is "good" as long as the plane doesn't go down. As a physician, I am held to a higher standard-- kind of like the 6 Million dollar man-- stronger, faster, smarter. I must be the best I can be at what I do. "Meeting expectations" at my job is simply not good enough. I must exceed expectations. Regularly.

I do hold different entities to different standards. I expect my Christian friends to behave better than my unsaved relatives. I hold mainstream music artists to a higher moral standard than pagan metal bands. I just assume that profanity, drug references, and sexual immorality come standard when I turn the XM on 'Octane,' but somehow, I am offended when I hear it from 'The Pulse'.

Perhaps this is some worldly judgmental attitude that has crept into my life. Shouldn't stardards be just that? Standard? Equal? Maybe there shouldn't be standards at all. Or expectations.

I wonder what God's expectations are of me. Does He expect me to live up to the model of perfection that His Son lived? Or at least expect me to strive to live up to that? Or does he expect me to fall far short of the glory of God, over and over? Maybe His expectations meet me right where I am now. Maybe he has no expectations. I mean, why would one have expectations when One is omniscient? I don't think Jesus had expectations of others. He knew exactly what others were up to, and what their motives were. "Go and stop sinning." "I tell you the truth: this very night, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times." "Friend, do what you came for." There were no divine expectations being conveyed. Jesus confronts people at face value. Mankind certainly has expectations of Jesus, however. "Only in his hometown and in his own house is a prophet without honor." "Who do you say I am?" Ultimately, Jesus fell short (in the worldly sense) of the Jews' expectation of a Messiah. Ultimately, he was crucified for it. What expectations do we have of Jesus and his workings in our lives today? Does He "fall short"? Perhaps we crucify Him all over again when we hold Him up to our sick, sad, little worldly standards.

Voices

My head is often a flurry of voices and thoughts. 'Quiet reverence' is not an attitude that my spirit stumbles upon very often. I find myself thinking on many different topics simultaneously, often solving many problems on different levels of my psyche. This does create some difficulty with attention to the world around me. I often drift off mid-conversation, since there is a whole other mental discourse in my head. For those who know me, I frequently am thinking or speaking along some tangent, which admittedly can become rather annoying when one has someplace to be (other than talking with me).

Having been immersed in my own thoughts for the last 35 years, I am fairly sure I recognize the timbre of my mental voice. I know the content of my thoughts, and my thought patterns. I am familiar with my methods for reasoning, and also recognize when my emotions may divert from that logic.

In recent years, however, I have sensed other thoughts in this head of mine. I can't say I've heard 'voices', but I have thoughts and ideas that I don't necessarily think are my own. I can recall now two distinct moments in this life when I've sensed what I describe as the Voice of God.

One such occasion was the morning in June 2005, just before Jon and I found that we'd lost Camille. I was headed in for a routine OB appointment at 40 weeks, anxious about the impending delivery. I prayed a quick prayer in the car on the way to work that morning, and I distinctly remember 'hearing' the phrase, "Everything is going according to plan." I felt at peace, figuring God was sending me reassurance and endurance for those final days of pregnancy. Little did I know, His plan was to bring Camille home before we ever had the chance to say hello.

The other possible occasion was just this last week. Jon had undergone his reconstructive maxillary/mandibular osteotomy and was in the first few days of recovery. Jon's family was here, and although I had the week off, I stayed even busier than usual, with preparations around the house, caring for Jon, for the kids, and trying to be a decent host to Jon's grandmother and mother. Fourteen inches of snow drew me to the driveway, shoveling several days in a row to keep up. (I'd had an unfortunately encounter with our snowblower and finally just decided upon shoveling our steep driveway and walk.) Feeling a little underappreciated, I arose that morning at 5:30 am and hit the pavement. Literally.

After about an hour of arduous but satisfying shoveling, I reluctantly headed to the steepest part of our driveway, and sure enough, I stepped on a slick icy patch and down I went. My feet seemed to go over my head (at least that's how I remember it), and the pavement broke my fall, and possibly my tailbone. I let out a grunt that could've woken the neighbors, but thankfully none of them were up yet. The pain in my sacrum was brutal, and I laid on the driveway and writhed for a minute or two before trying to get up. There was much driveway yet to clear, so I got back to work once I could steady myself. That was when it hit. The full weight of burden came upon me, and this one seemed to be the straw that broke the Chele's back. I had to shovel snow through the tears that I could no longer hold back. In the dark, cold morning, I begged for God to ease this burden. "Well done, good and faithful servant" is what entered my head. This time, I'm not sure that God actually spoke those words to me, or whether I was so desperate to hear them that I meditated them into my own brain.

These two instances were during times of significant duress, distress, and stress. I'm sure they could be explained away by some stress-induced psychosis, or dissociative identity disorder. In my case, however, these thoughts do not cause any functional disability. Rather, they ground me.

Interestingly, both of these instances occurred when I was alone. In the case in 2005, I had the radio on (it was playing U2's Beautiful Day). In the case last week, I was in the dark, quiet of the morning, in a way, practicing the presence of God.

There have also been other brighter moments when I've certainly felt the presence of God. I describe them as "resonance," since it seems that time slows, and it is as if my frequencies/wavelengths align with God and nature, in a kind of divine moment. These occur more often, but strangely enough, they also typically occur when I am alone, surrounded by the creation itself, which seems to speak to me in ways that I cannot describe, but not with 'words' per se.

Nonetheless, I treasure the dark moments I mention above, as I feel they are among the closest I have ever been to my Creator.

Why is it that resonance is sweeter when juxtaposed with dissonance?

Stirred

²⁴And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, ²⁵not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.

--Hebrews 10:24-25 (English Standard version)

I was thinking on this verse today after hearing it in morning class. As a Texan, I like the NIV translation, substituting the word "spur" for "stir". To spur someone is to poke them with a sharp stick. Now that's just not nice. (Although in true Texan style, I freely admit that I commonly refer to the sensation-testing pinwheel I use in my clinic as a "spur".)

Nonetheless, I think I prefer "stir". When I am stirred, I am beyond words, emotionally moved to savor something resonant and beautiful. According to an online dictionary, to stir is also to rouse, as if from indifference, and prompt to action. (Wow one could blog all day on that one!)

On a more obvious note, stirring is something done to paint, coffee drinks, and farm-fresh milk. It restores homogeneity to a mix of ingredients. Therefore, to "stir" is to agitate and dig up that which has settled to the bottom, in order to recreate wholeness. However, unless the stirring continues, the mixture stagnates and separates.

Perhaps my joy is buried beneath the cream-top layer of life's busyness. My love for others sinks below the weight of judgment. I should fill my vessel with the wholeness that only God provides, skim off the excess, and get an regular stir to keep me whole. Fellowship with believers does that very thing for me. It stirs me up, empassions me, and digs me up from under what is covering the better part of me (thank you, Incubus). Paul speaks of this in verse 25 when he focuses on meeting together. We become more of the body of Christ when all the members of the body come together.

I had opportunity this weekend to be part of something much bigger than myself. Not surprisingly, it took place in the midst of that very fellowship. My little part, combined with the actions of so many others, was multiplied into something that truly reflects the glory of God. I was prompted and stirred to step out from inaction and serve. And it was indeed stirring.

Capital I

I often sing in the shower. It is truly the perfect locale for a little morning tune. The steam instantly warms up the pipes, and the tight quarters promote a certain resonance.

What was I singing, you ask?
Sadly, I was singing a little ditty I learned in elementary school. 

This is the way I remember it:

We all live in a Capital I,

in the middle of the universe,

the center of the skies.

And all day long, we polish on our 'I'

to keep it and bright and shiny

so it lightens up the sky.

LeFou, I'm afraid I've been thinking. (A dangerous pasttime, I know.) Different song, nice segue...

I was thinking about what a silly song that was, but got to thinking that the letter I is actually in the middle of the 'unIverse' and the center of the 'skIes'. I was congratulating myself for finally picking up on some poetic nuance of the original composition, only to discover later upon Googling the song, that I had the lyrics all wrong. (For those of you who know me, this does not come as much of a surprise.) So much for deeper meaning. 

Then again, the letter I has experienced a certain resurrection in recent years. It was once only a little Greek iota, the smallest and least significant, a veritable mustard seed among letters. Apple thrust the once-oblivious vowel into utter stardom with the creation of the iPod. Now we also have the iMac, and various applications: iWork, iBank, etc. Our small group recently went through a video series on the "iMarriage". Nintendo spun it right round and added a second vowel for impact, creating the Wii system. Even the little i's do a nice bow. Then again, without 'I' we'd be devoid of ice cream, and pi (π) would just be p. That could make math a little more comical. 

During this week's sermon, we touched on the subject of evil impersonated. Upon reading Isaiah 14, I was struck by the number of times Lucifer claims, "I will." With unabashed pride, he claims equality with God, nay supremacy over God: "I will ascend to heaven, I will raise my throne above the stars of God...I will make myself like the Most High." 

I am also struck by the number of times I claim, "I will" (minus the obligatory "Lord willing" recommended in James 4). Granted, I recognize my clear inferiority to Elohim, but when I choose my own path, I am making myself into my own God, usurping the authority of the great I am. Nontheless, many of my conversations hinge upon my communicating my thoughts, my questions, my ideas, my fears, my, my, my. My generation truly is the "I generation". Even my prayers may start focused on God, then on others, but somehow my mind, like a log adrift on a wave of the sea, lands right back onto the beach of my own needs, desires, wants, and anxieties.

Dying to myself requires a constant reminder, and not just a day-to-day, but moment-to-moment sacrifice. It represents the most challenging aspect of my Christian walk. Galatians 5:24 says: You cannot belong to Christ Jesus unless you crucify all self-indulgent passions and desires.
 
I think we better put our capital I on the market. I'm sure there are plenty of buyers.

Nostalgia

Funny word: nostalgia. As I was returning from my recent trip to Bryan/College Station, Texas, I got to thinking about the word. My medical mind recognized "-algia" as the root word for pain, and suddenly I understood.

Texas A&M University in College Station, Texas is where Jon and I spent undoubtedly the best years of our young lives. This particular trip was to attend a Medical School reunion. For those unfamiliar, Texas A&M is unique in its ability to engender a sense of tradition, community, family, and lifelong loyalty. For example, former students used to wear their class rings on the ring finger of their left hand, since their spouse was the only one closer to their heart than their school. It is tradition that departed Aggies have their names read aloud in memorium at the annual Aggie Muster ceremony. Let me clarify, I am no 'Texas-Ex'. I am and always will identify myself as a Texas Aggie; I am simply a Former Student. But what a strange thing to do: to return to the locale of some of the most meaningful years of your life.

I arrived in College Station at the ripe age of 17, and it was at A&M where I learned who I really was as a person, and began to blaze a path of my own, apart from my parents. It was at A&M that my life's pursuit to serve as a rehabilitation provider was nurtured. Texas A&M taught me academics, but also taught me to be a good neighbor, citizen, benefactor, and made me part of something bigger than myself. More importantly, it was the location of my first encounter with God (at Research Park, of all places). My fellow students at A&M witnessed my decision to become a follower of Christ. It was at A&M that I met my husband Jon, along with some of the most influential people in my life. We celebrated our engagement with a trip to the Memorial Student Center and took pictures in the Flag Room. Along the columns of A&M's Administration Building is where my bridal photos were taken. We were married at the A&M Church of Christ, which will hold a precious place in my heart until I depart this earth. The Aggies For Christ planted the seed of evangelism in my heart, and I learned the pure joy of service with fellow Aggies at my side, whether at Tuesday campus devotional at the foot of the Academic Building, at Cherokee Home for Children, singing a capella atop Petit Jean in Morrillton, in a cold tent in the Grand Tetons, or at Ramkhamhaeng University in Bangkok, Thailand. To this day, I have the AFC to thank for giving me a heart for foreign missions, and for giving me a warm reunion to look forward to. We in the AFC joke that we will someday meet our fellow Aggies For Christ at "the 12th Gate." The six years I spend in Aggieland were rich. We were sure poor, but we were rich in relationships, rich in meaning, and rich in purpose.

Those riches have not diminished over the last 15 years. I, however, cannot return to that treasure chest of memories. The A&M Church of Christ has changed buildings. A new generation has stepped into my footprints. Some faces remain, but few of them recognize mine. Even College Station has morphed into a new city, one that I hardly recognized as I struggled to navigate my way past places I once called home. Campus is distinctly different, but so am I.

The reunion I had last weekend was not with my long-lost classmate acquaintances, but a reunion with the person I once was, recognizing the many steps I've taken since then. Following my departure from A&M, I weathered a lonely couple of years in my medical school clinicals, and four grueling years of residency which marked the spiritual low of my life. At Jon's side, we've stood the test of nearly 13 years of marriage, and learned a lot of lessons along the way. We've seen the birth of three children, and the death of one. We've seen friendships, faith, and family bloom here in Scottsbluff, which has strangely and unexpectedly become home for us. What a blessing it was for my worlds to collide recently, with my Aggie friends and my Scottsbluff friends meeting together in Vegas for Jon's 40th birthday.

I have no idea what the next 15 or 30 years will bring, but I can only press forward. Meanwhile, the sense of nostalgia hangs over me like a melancholy ache. I sometimes wonder if there will be 'rooms' in Heaven where we can revisit those times of joyous past. Some part of me hopes "The 12th Gate" is real, and there will be familiar faces there to greet me. I'll stand again atop that crosswalk and breathe in the strange mix of sidewalk food vendors, heat, sweat, and fumes that reminds me of Thailand. We'll summit peaks and run marathons together, laughing and singing along the way, without tiring. We'll all hike Petit Jean and sing that four-part a capella version of "May the Lord Bless You and Keep You" with the Sevenfold Amen that always makes me cry. And there will be great fellowship.

1 THESSALONIANS 4:13-18

13 Brothers and sisters, we do not want you to be uninformed about those who sleep in death, so that you do not grieve like the rest, who have no hope. 14 We believe that Jesus died and rose again, and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. 15 According to the Lord's word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. 16 For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. 17 After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. 18 Therefore encourage one another with these words.

My debt

There is a passage in Acts where Peter, shortly after the ressurection of Christ, tells the good news of the gospel to a crowd of people. They suddenly realize that they've crucified the Son of God, and the scripture says,

"When the people heard this, they were cut to the heart and said to Peter and the other apostles, 'Brothers, what shall we do?'"

Peter replies with "Repent and be baptized every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. The promise is for you and your children, and for all who are far off-- for all whom the Lord our God will call."

This was a call I answered one Sunday morning in February 1992, after almost two decades of self-declared atheism. I am grateful for the gift of salvation that has been offered to me.

I do struggle, however, with reclaiming that sense of gratitude, and recognizing my ongoing need for God. I tend to be fairly logic-driven and unemotional, and I am not often "cut to the heart." When it does happen, though, I've made a habit of writing down a reminder of my shortcomings, that I may revisit it in my prideful moments. I actually keep it in my Blackberry that I may refer to my debt (logically). A good friend asked me to post it:

Without Jesus, I am:

quick to anger, prone to rage, harsh, hurtful, unkind, judgmental, prone to curse others, self-serving, jealous, headstrong, unforgiving, critical, confrontational, an instigator of conflict, exasperating, impatient, ashamed, guilty, arrogant, proud, condemning, and condemned.

With Jesus, I am:

forgiven, beautiful, a daughter of the king, loving, worthy of love, patient, kind, a servant to others, humble, clean, new, equipped, filled with joy, at peace, and ready for departure.

I only hope those who know me will see less of me and more of the reflection of God and His Son.

Something worth fighting for

"There's a storm comin' Harry, and we best be ready when she does."

--Rubeus Hagrid to Harry Potter, The Order of the Phoenix

The family and I have been catching up our Harry Potter moviewatching, in eager anticipation of the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince this week. [Shameless plug, I know.]

Harry Potter is one of those film series that stirs up controversy in church circles. I am not quite certain why. I, for one, am a rabid fan. I plan to see Half-Blood Prince in the theater, and will savor every minute.

Mind you, I do not intend to attempt witchcraft, sorcery, or magic spells (nor do I believe in any such thing). Power that is not from God is usually from man (which is not truly power at all). Instead, when I watch the Harry Potter films, I identify with distinctly-Christian themes. Harry the not-so-young-anymore orphan, is isolated, troubled, and persecuted, and yet, finds mentors, family, friendship, and purpose, often in the most unusual circumstances.

Fans have witnessed Harry's character development from The Sorcerer's Stone (The Philosopher's Stone, for all you Brits out there) to The Order of the Phoenix. The blooms of innocence and wonderment have faded, and true character has begun to grow. Harry embraces outcasts, appreciating the true beauty that lies beneath a battered exterior or an eccentric reputation. He endures torture without complaint. He wrestles with expelling evil from his own mind and soul. He is willing to sacrifice himself for what he knows is right. He shows great respect for authority figures, at least those who are deserving of it. He resists fascism, questions the power-hungry, and seeks justice with an attitude of defense. He is not overtly vengeful to his enemies, sparing the life of a murderer, although he hates and pities the Dark Lord, the personification of evil.

Above all, I admire the tender fellowship that exists between Harry and his fellow Gryffindor classmates (much like Jesus' Twelve apostles), and Ron and Hermione truly represent Harry's 'inner Three'. Harry is shown loyalty, protection, and love by his friends and his professors alike. Sounds like the church. [OK, now I'm certain to be disfellowshipped...equating Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with the Church.]

Obviously, as an adult, I am able to grasp the analogy and symbolism, but I've heard others raise concern about the impact Harry Potter might have on a juvenile audience. My nearly-7 year-old daughter understands the concepts of good and evil, death and life, justice, and perseverence, and we've allowed her a glimpse into the 'PG' world of the early HP movies. (Some of the more disturbing images of the latter 'PG-13' movies may need to wait a few years.) She recognizes that magic is not real, and played with a "magic wand" more readily after watching Cinderella than she did after the Harry Potter movies. When the time is right, I will offer my children the opportunity to watch this epic unfold. These stories reinforce many Biblical Christian attributes. I hope that my children can take their own misfortunes and create triumph, and stand up for what is right, while hating that which is evil and embracing the outcast.

It is all about perspective: one can look up at the night sky and see the majestic and glorious creation of God, or alternatively, bow to powerless nonsense in the name of astrology and superstition. When I look at the Harry Potter series, I do not see a dark magic that threatens to usurp the power of God over his creation. Instead, I am stirred at fellowship, humanity, love, family, and "something worth fighting for".

Truly the storm for Harry has only begun. I can't wait to watch it roll in.

Efficiency

I truly admire efficiency.

I'm not talking about miles per gallon, energy ratings or carbon footprints, or anything green or earth-friendly. I'm talking about the ability to complete a task in record time; minimizing waste. In physics, efficiency is defined as "useful work per unit of energy." I smile at that.

Honestly, I don't just admire efficiency, it is a personal mantra; I seek it out.

For example: I consider EVERY Walmart trip an experiment in efficiency. List in hand, I analytically map out my path through the store in logical order, as if guided by Garmin. I whiz through the aisles, well-versed in the fastest, least-travelled routes, so as to avoid the lollygaggers and the indecisive, loitering in the aisles. I even go so far as to LOOK DOWN on the inefficient. "Silly slow people. Honestly, how do they get anything done in a day?" I mutter to myself.

At our trip to Disneyworld years ago, we traversed the parks in clockwise fashion, as most Americans tend toward a counter-clockwise approach. I load the dishwasher while I cook (the cooking suffers, I admit). I have finely honed the ability to speak at break-tongue speed, so as to dictate my clinic notes in rapid auctioneer fashion. I even figured out how to simultaneously use the Medela double breast pump and apply makeup, one-handed and without a mirror (yes, eyeliner, by feel).

I do recognize that there are significant drawbacks to seeking efficiency:

1) the careless error-- I remember thinking about this blog topic while in the shower one morning, proverbially patting myself on the back for fine-tuning my future composition: I shower; I blog, ha HA! The shower is admittedly a common location for my habit of multitasking. I like to wash my face while the conditioner ages on my hair, like fine wine. This particular morning, whilst mentally composing this very blog, I completely lost track of my sequence and accidentally shampooed with my Neutrogena anti-blemish anti-wrinkle face wash. Nice.

2) clumsiness-- when one walks at TOP speed everywhere, there are bound to be a few stumbles (See asterisk, below).

3) annoying others-- perhaps you are in this category; if so, I do apologize. When one is intently focused on his/her ability to compete a task in record time, one tends to ignore, disregard, or dismiss others.

Bordering on pathology, huh? Manic? Selfish? Funny thing is, no one gives out any medals for efficiency: "most streamlined" is no senior superlative. (*I actually was awarded "most uncoordinated" among my own senior class.)

The sad thing is that this world indirectly rewards this behavior. The expiditious are more productive at work, and, consequently, earn more. Completing more tasks results in promotion: further monetary reinforcement. Then again, getting more work done in less time results in more home, personal, and family time. There are some honest benefits.

I must admit that I truly enjoy a hectic work schedule. I get a rush from feeling pressured, raced, and well...rushed. Adrenaline. Energy. Rhythm. Drive. Determination. Ambition. Focus. (Now I sound like one of those cheesy "teamwork" business posters with the skydivers.)

I am realizing that efficiency is a deeply-ingrained, distinctly worldly concept, and that there is ABSOLUTELY no Biblical foundation for it. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, faithfulness, goodness, gentleness, self-control, efficiency, right? WRONG. The Bible does warn against idleness, but it does not praise efficiency.

In fact, consideration for others may stand in direct contradiction, and I find myself wrestling with my calling to serve others, and my need to be as efficient as possible. As a physician, I've learned that maintaining frequent eye contact with my patients goes a long way, while my hands perform physical exam and testing procedures as if on autopilot. Personal and efficient? Maybe. I also consider it a personal achievement if I can hit 5th gear on 5th Avenue en route to work, but when I pass the elderly walkers on the sidewalks at the nearby Village independent living facility, I downshift and "drive neighborly" until I round the corner. Out of courtesy, I wouldn't want to disrespect or upset my elders. Despite this, I sometimes wonder if I am the 'bad Samaritan.' Am I the one crossing the street to avoid the slow-downs, the diversions, the needy? Or perhaps efficiency affords more opportunity for good? Time will tell...but only if I use it wisely.

Profanity

This last week, I've reached completely new levels of cruelty with my kids.

Let me be perfectly honest: I have a growing parent-monster, fed by a multitude of behaviors: yelling, verbally attacking, and tearing down. I have an overall lack of compassion, often conveyed to my daughters that they need to "buck up". At times, I also have little restraint, as if thoughts take the red-line straight to my tongue and lips, and the words are out there, like a derailed train.

I entered into a new arena this day. I actually swore at my own child. In the wake of a wonderful vacation (with alot of freedoms) last week, our family was returning home. As is typical after a family vacation, we were redefining boundaries and re-drawing the line in the sand for our kids. As is typical for kids, the line was crossed. ALOT. Head to head we went, and, unfortunately for me and my oldest, I have a will and determination that is not bested by much of anyone, except those who inherited it from me. (I have been fairly accurately identified in the TRAPT song "Headstrong"). Granted, these are tendencies which I seek to suppress, ignore, or overcome. Suffice it to say that self-control and gentleness are not in-season fruits on my spiritual tree.

It was the "H" word. It occurred after several run-ins with my oldest (there had already been much yelling, followed by much whining and crying). We made a pit stop en route home from our vacation, and we happened by a Build-A-Bear. This particular child is infatuated with Build-A-Bear. Sadly, we almost always say "no." This time, however, she had the audacity to ASK us to stop, despite the black clouds already circling in the car. My response was not a calm, "No, we will not stop because your behavior has been unacceptable." I instead replied with a fiery "H*LL NO!" Now, I admit I've cursed under my breath at/about my kids. I've also cursed about them to my spouse, not in their presence. This, however, was sheer face-to-face profanity.

She seems to behave so well for teachers, babysitters, and grandparents. I accused her of treating me worse than any other person (aptly quoting the "honor thy mother and father", which I am learning, does not work well in our family). After the blowup, in the silence I got to thinking and realized that I treat HER worse than anyone else. I cannot remember the last time I blew up at anyone at church, and can think of only one example at work (which suitably did not involve profanity).

I am convicted. I did apologize to the kids, and they forgave me. I am thankful for the grace that covers me. I seek to be obedient and be a reflection of the character of Jesus, but I am certain this will not be my last offense. I pray that God will plant gentleness and self control in the garden of my life.

The tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire. --James 3:5-6

Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up, according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen." --Ephesians 4:29

Rain

"He sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous." --Matt 5:45b

Given its location in Matthew chapter 5, the famous "Blessed are the..." chapter, I suspect the rain depicted in that verse is considered a blessing. Taken literally, it is a dose of moisture in a dry land to produce a harvest. Figuratively, the verse implies that earthly blessings fall on the obedient and the disobendient, the just and the unjust.

I don't know about you, but I view rain as dreary. As a popular Christian songwriter says, "into every life a little rain must fall..." He depicts rain as burden. Refreshing? More like depressing. Rain rain go away, come again some other day.

You see, there are good things to be done out there, many of which have been thwarted by our recent rainy (and hail-ridden) weather. The logical question is this: "What purpose would nasty weather serve, if only to postpone those good deeds?" The best answer is that the rain falls on the just and the unjust.

Personally, I am hoping that the FIRST half of Matthew 5:45 will soon prevail and the sun will again shine. Until then (thank you Blind Melon), 'all I can do is just pour some tea for two, and speak my point of view...'

God Bless the Freaks

I actually saw a bumper sticker yesterday that read:

"God Bless the Freaks"

I searched for other stickers on the vehicle, hoping to judge the intent of the driver(s), whether serious or sarcastic, but alas there were no Jesus-fish emblems, no family stick figures, no "my child is an honor student" stickers, and likewise, no Election 2008 preferences, stickers of skulls or demonic smiles, Burton stickers, nor Indie botanical yoga-mat wanna-be designs.

Interestingly, I did a little search online, and found "Northern Sun, Products for Progressives," who sell this little item. Apparently, those who bought "God Bless the Freaks" also bought these other bumper stickers:

• "We can't cure the world of sorrows but we can choose to live in joy"
• "Treehugging dirt worshipper", and
• "Not all who wander are lost"

Hmmm. Based on those, I've decided to jump to my own conclusions. In the Old Testament, persons with imperfections (the "defective, disfigured, deformed, crippled, and diseased" a.k.a. FREAKS) were prohibited from making offerings or coming near to the altar for sacrifice. Only the unblemished sacrifice was considered holy (Lev 21). Sounds pretty politically INcorrect, huh?

Can you imagine a world where only the perfect gain access to God? Despite how unjust and unfair that sounds, those are actually the rules: "Be perfect, therefore, as your Heavenly Father is perfect." (Matt 5:48). And we're talking genuine, unblemished perfection, not just the commercialized-Christian version of pretend-perfect or surface-perfect. Of course, none of us measures up to that yardstick-- even Mary Poppins only measured as 'practically perfect in every way.'

Thank God, literally, for standing in our place: "how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God." (Heb 9:14)

So no matter how FREAKISH we are, we can have the blessings of God bestowed upon us, not when we are perfect in and of ourselves, but when we accept the perfect sacrifice of Christ. God bless us freaks, indeed!

Awakening

Well, I'm not sure this is history in the making. Of course I am speaking of my inaugural blog entry.

You see, I've been resisting the call to "blog". Blog is short for web-log, for you non-techies... kind of a glorified online journal, but "out there" for the whole world to see (in my case, feel free to place emphasis on "out there"). Honestly, I am not certain that I have either sufficient time or energy to add to the growing library of collective online chatter, but, I am realizing that I do indeed have (thank you, Dave M.) something to say. So... Vamanos:

Wake up! (That is meant as a section heading rather that an imperative. Let's hope my first blog isn't already putting you to sleep). No, I mean to discuss "awakening". What better topic to launch my infant blog into the online world?

Call me crazy, if you will, but I feel God speaks to believers. Yes, through His Word, possibly through other believers, and occasionally through a direct message. (I've been directly spoken to only once, but that is a topic for another blog entry.) Most often I hear the voice of God only through "earthly translation". This blog entry describes one of those such encounters: the Heavenly alarm clock.

I have lost count of the number of times I've set my alarm, expecting to rise early for an important event/meeting, etc, only to awaken 2-15 minutes ahead of my set alarm. This occurs most often when I must arise before the sun, which is certainly unnatural for me, let me assure you. In fact, I've been known to head to bed, with great intention to arise early and hit the ground running, only to chicken out and set a late alarm, thinking, "Well, if God wants me to get up early, He'll just have to wake me Himself." And He does.

Sometimes my heavenly alarm clock takes the form of a fussing child in the wee hours, a passing truck outside, or strangely enough, silence. What's even more amusing is that I must also have a Heavenly snooze alarm, since my reluctance to arise is almost always answered by another summons, sometimes an incessantly-chirping bird, a purring cat that will not leave me alone, or a visiting child at my bedside. In any case, I consider these little summons to be my calling to arise.

I must obey and answer the call, for there is work to be done. It is more than just a spiritual morning greeting, but carries with it the tug toward action. I may not always answer chirpily, but I always answer, even if my answer is a growling, coughing, eye-wiping, half-stumble out of bed to the bathroom. Hey, no one ever said we had to be chipper when rising from the dead.

----------

Wake up, O sleeper; rise from the dead, 

and Christ will shine on you. 

--Ephesians 5:14 

And do this, understanding the present time. 

The hour has come for you to wake up from your slumber, 

because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.

--Romans 13:11