Tag Archives: the Word

the disciple that Jesus {loved}

by

Learning to walk like Jesus walked is no easy task. I realize this as pages turn to the book of John, the writings of the disciple that Jesus loved. The words glow on the page.

…the Word was with God and the Word was God…

And what does the Word do?

  • He explains the way of Salvation
  • He baptizes those who believe
  • He is active in purifying the church
  • He reaches out to the outcasts and broken
  • He gives living water to the thirsty
  • He “eats and drinks” the will of the Father
  • He ignores religious requirements in favor of loving responses
  • He calls people to a life without sin
  • He testifies to what is coming
  • He took what he had and gave thanks, knowing that it was more than enough no matter what he could see
  • He teaches the hard things (eat my body, drink my blood)
  • He offers grace instead of condemnation
  • He plainly tells the truth, “if you do not believe you will die in your sins”
  • He gives thanks even in the face of pain
  • He washes feet and forgives sins
  • He reflects the Father
  • He loves
  • He protects his disciples
  • He loves his enemies

Lord, I want to live this way! I want to do these things. I want my life to reflect Jesus in every way possible.

Yet, it seems so removed. How does living the way that Jesus lived apply to my every day life? 

How do I apply it when the cows are making me furious and I want to just crawl into a hole instead of milk them?

How do I apply it when I am sitting across from a man who is no longer in fellowship with believers because of legalistic opinions? What do I say? How do I say it?

How do I apply it when my little boys are trying every ounce of patience that I have left? How do I discipline properly when what I really want to do is scream?

How do I apply it when I am stressing about money? Wondering how we will pay the bills and keep groceries in the house?

Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within them.

John 7:38

In the middle of my questions I hear the words of John. The disciple that knew, deep down, that Jesus loved him. The one that understood yada in a desperately real way. 

The living water that flows from within. The Holy Spirit in us. This is how we know. This is how we love. This is how we keep moving.

We whisper prayers and listen hard and try to walk as he walked. Even in confusion. Even in pain. Even in sorrow. Even in tears. Even in laughter. Even in joy. Even in failure.

For knowing that we are loved has nothing to do with knowing that we are doing things perfectly. 

I snapped pictures of two little princesses today. Beautiful little girls who smiled, frowned, danced, laughed and disobeyed. And I loved them. I taught them. I disciplined them for wrong behavior. I danced with them. I laughed with them. And nothing changed the love. 

It never does.

Keep me listening, God. Keep me humble. Keep me close. Keep me desperate for You. Keep me striving to walk as you walked. Help me remember that no matter what trials I face today: nothing changes the love.

And nothing ever will. 

[left.over]

by

I was working my way through barn chores when I began thinking about it again.

I think I noticed it the first time I ever read the whole Bible through. It’s there, over and over again. Somehow it captured me and since then every time I see it in a passage- I underline it and cherish it.

I mentioned it one time, in passing, to a group of people and some laughed. They didn’t understand the joy I claimed at that single word.

Remnant.

The technical meaning is a small part of something that remains after the rest has gone. I had one person tell me, “it just brings to mind a scrap of material that isn’t useful for anything.”

The word is spattered here and there throughout the Old Testament and then, in the New it emerges again.

The first is in Ezra. The Israelites are nothing like the great nation that God made them in the days following the exodus from Egypt. Instead they are prisoners, slaves, servants of great kings that care little for their plight. Then, God moves.

“the Lord moved the heart of Cyrus king of Persia” 1:1

He suddenly decides to rebuilt the temple in Jerusalem. No earthly reason for such an undertaking. What did he know of the God of the Jews? Yet, the call goes out and the remains of the houses of Benjamin, Judah and Levi crawl out of their hidden places and travel to the city that once was boasted as the most glorious place on earth and is now in ruins.

The men who had been more numerous than the stars in the sky were reduced to a mere page of names. Yet, in those numbers we find some of every part of Jerusalem. The Priests, The Levites, The Singers, The Gatekeepers, The Temple Servants, The Servants of Solomon…

Then it comes… there in ninth chapter. Ezra is praying and he uses the term.

“But now, for a brief moment,

the Lord our God has been gracious in leaving us a remnant

and giving us a firm place in his sanctuary,

and so our God gives light to our eyes

and a little relief in bondage.” 9:8

God, in his graciousness, leaves a remnant. A “scrap of material that isn’t useful for anything” and gives them a firm place in his sanctuary. He puts light in their eyes and gives them relief in their bondage.

That is just the beginning. You can catch glimpses of it throughout Scripture.

“a remnant will return, a remnant of Jacob will return to the Mighty God.”
“in that day the Lord Almighty will be a glorious crown…for the remnant of his people.”
“let them glean the remnant of Israel…”
“O Lord, save your people, the remnant of Israel…”

Some may hear hopelessness in the word but I hear the sweet melody of redemption. Redeemed. Remnant. The words even look similar, don’t you think?

This brings to mind a song that I fell in love with a few years ago. “Wallflower” by Laura Woodley. The chorus says,

Wallflower come dance with me,
Left over you’re just what I need.
Broken one,
You’ll be the Queen of my heart.

This, then, is the message of the word. Remnant. Left over. Useless. Broken. And then, God moved.

No earthly reason for the undertaking. Yet, He took that worthless inadequate thing and said,

You’re just what I need.

You’ll be the Queen of my heart.

You. The Remnant of Israel.

Scattered to the ends of the earth.

I will gather you together and build within you a stunning bride.

My priceless remnant.

Now, every time I see that word, nestled in amongst the thousands of words in the English language, I can hear him whispering in my ear…

Come and dance with me. You’re just what I need.

I choose you. Beautiful One. You belong to me.

And I think if you listen closely you’ll hear it too.

Maybe for you it’ll be in the sound of the wind or the warmth of the sun. Maybe you’ll find it in the laughter of a child or in the quietness of your morning devotions. But I urge you to listen.

For I truly believe that inside all of us there is a remnant of God’s perfect counterpart… the thing we were created to be. And he is waiting, longing, to gather you to himself.

[edited re-post]

[life.rambles]

by

Indian summer is upon us. The warm November sun, fresh bales of fourth and fifth cutting hay all giving bursts of energy. Maybe this year, maybe, we can be ready for snow.

My red Ford “car-truck” as my husband affectionately calls it, is piled high with firewood. The combine, the hay wagons, the baler… they are all being lined up on the side yard (where we dream of someday having a tool shed to keep them all indoors).

There is meat in the freezer. Vegetables and fruit in jars. The trees are bare. The long, long rows of hay bales wrapped in white plastic line the edge of our property.

My store of books and skeins of yarn are piled in the corner of my office- to keep me busy through the winter months.

We only have one treated cow in the barn. Soon, I hope, there will be none and milking can fly by and I can be relaxed and enjoy the warmth of the barn with the smell of hay and corn and oats.

My desk is littered with Christmas present ideas. Torn pages of magazines. Stacks of pictures. A 1963 Good Housekeeping cookbook. A NIV Bible and a NLT Bible, both open to 1 Timothy 4.

Watch your life and doctrine closely.4:16 NIV

Keep a close watch on yourself and on your teaching.4:16 NLT

Day by day I read the words of Scripture. Day by day I cling more closely to them. Make me more like You, Father. Write Your words on my heart.

We are hoping to go back to Haiti this January. Just for a few weeks. Help build a church. Visit dear, dear friends. I want to snuggle my little Haitian babies. I want to talk to my brothers and sisters in Christ. I want to take a walk through LaColline and hear again, “Alo, Madam Amos!” And see the glint of white teeth against black skin.

"Rosie"

My husband and I say, almost daily, “If the Lord wills.” Yes, yes. Only if the Lord wills. For it is His will that we desire above all else.

The house is being decorated for Christmas. Twinkle lights. Candles. Jingle bells. The smell of cinnamon. And soon there will be piles of snow at my door. And I will be thankful. Lord, keep me thankful in all things. 

the windowsill

 

[the.real.thing]

by

He gets these crazy ideas sometimes. Walking into my kitchen with that look in his eye. “New York Pizzeria.” He says. “I’ve had a hankering all day.”

I glance at the clock. Milking time. Right now. It would be crazy. But I shrug. After tomorrow I will frown on such thoughts (since I will be on a strict diet for thirty days, at least) but tonight, today… let’s be crazy. 

I love it when crazy ideas turn into God-ideas. Or maybe they were all along but we just didn’t know it.

We’re driving down the road when the phone call comes. He’s in the free-stall, working (I think for a moment, like we should be). Husband says, “Pizza”, and I hear laughter through the phone line. Seems this love of mine is not the only one craving Italian.  Our trip just got longer.

We walk into the pizzeria and there are only workers. We order. Large pepperoni, with sausage on half. (those farmers like their meat) The owner is sitting there. He speaks with a thick Italian accent. We sit and chat.

First the weather. Then business. It’s been slow. Then the taxes. Yes, taxes. What else could there be to talk about?

We talk of our ideas to reform society. [we all have ideas, right?] And when it is all said and done, as the pizza is being handed over… it happens.

That man of mine, he says the words- “In the end, there is only one thing that matters…” And the gospel story spills out. We just need the blood. Need to be forgiven. Need so desperately, Him, Jesus Christ.

The man listens. Nods his head. Did he understand? I don’t know. Perhaps it is not my business to know. Not part of my story. But here is a story I do know, spoken by Paul…

 I planted the seed, 

Apollos watered it,

but God has been making it grow.

So neither the one who plants

nor the one who waters is anything,

but only God,

who makes things grow.

1 Corinthians 3:6&7

And the thing I am most thankful for today, on this Thanksgiving Day? That I know the story. That I know the thing that matters in the end.  

A few minutes later we are standing in the free-stall, giving pizza to a hungry farmer. We’re laughing and talking and I’m remembering… this is another story I do know.

This farmer-friend. The one who grew up without knowing. The one who now knows. Because someone, somewhere, at sometime- told him about the only thing that matters in the end. And the seeds were watered and they sprouted. And God made this one grow. 

Maybe today we planted. Maybe watered? But there was a time that we harvested. And as I watch these men of God- these great warriors [dressed up as farmers] I am, again, thankful.

—————————————–

[week.of.thanks] do you know The Story? [read it here] 

May this Thanksgiving be a time of blessing to you, your family, your friend and neighbors. And may all know what matters in the end. 

[like.eden]

by

[from my journal, September 2011. This is slightly reminisce of the blog series I did earlier this month on my journey through infertility-- but I find that it is a continual battle. So, I'm sharing another story of another day when I had to look carefully at life and death and all its messy tangles and choose life.]

 

One Thousand Gifts is sitting open on my kitchen table beside the piles of sliced tomatoes and the sweet smelling Vidalia onions.

Somewhere in the pages, God spoke again. Truth echoing around my kitchen. Maybe it is her story being in words that I can understand. Maybe it is that God has been molding and changing and now I’m ready… the soil has been plowed, tended, seeds sown, water pouring in great gushing streams and gentle fragile rains until the truth has grown and produced and all is ready to harvest.

Regardless of the reason, I’m here.

The lessons on thankfulness and blood and salvation have hit their mark and my pen is lifting- my Bible opening- my heart accepting.

I wanted to begin simple. To gently dip my toes in the waters as the author did. But I know my story is different. This isn’t the beginning- not for me- God has been working and changing for some time- this is simply the naming of what I have learned.

It’s time to jump. Not holding my breath or plugging my nose, afraid of drowning. It’s time to breathe deeply, opening, surrendering to the waves that crush and mold and change, and allow my shore-lines to be redefined. So my pen scratches on my journal page the number.

1.

And for some time I stare at the blank beside it. Is it true? Will this be the completeness, the fullness, the wholeness of salvation that God has been promising? I know there is only one way to tell but I attempt this last time to be reassured, to be promised. And as I whisper prayers in my heart, I hear the repeating of the story.

“the Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed,

took bread, and when he had

given thanks he broke it…”

2 Corinthians 11:23-24 emphasis mine

Given thanks in the moments before the blood-bath begins. Before the pain that rips and claws and scrapes. The sorrow so deep it drowns and fills and leaves holes of emptiness. The promise that only in the emptiness can we be filled.

Truth calms me again. I’m already drowning. Why do I fear the water? I am jumping from one ocean to the next. Except this new water carries the hope of life! My pen lifts again and the painful writing begins.

  1. no, let me begin earlier. Let me do this right.

My One Thousand Gifts

Given and Now Fully Received

  1. An empty womb

In those three words an abundance of sorrow crests and falls, like a wave that stomps upon the shore. The small pile of dreamed-on baby clothes, stuffed at the bottom of the closet. The untouched toys. The moments when I stared at those two pink lines all those months ago. The blood and mountains of sorrow that came afterward.

But I said it. I scrawled it on the page.

Thank you God for…my pain.

And it is named. Just like at Eden.

My breath falls heavy and I listen to the birds outside my window. The quiet hum of the fan. Then the silence breaks as Donkey, who is trimming the front yard, lets out a bray to shake the house slightly- and I laugh.

  1. Donkey, who reminds me of Haiti and all I learned there.

How fitting that my Husband brought Donkey home on Mother’s Day. He is part of my journey. The reminder of those sweaty days in a cement house on a tiny island in the Caribbean. The days when I sat with my head bend low over Scripture, searching, longing for something to ease my pain.  The sacred God-moments when I stared at truth and felt my heart transformed.When I hurried to pull the shoes from my feet. To touch the holy ground on which I was standing.

  1. bowls of vine-ripened cherry tomatoes
  2. walking through fields to collect crispy sweet apples
  3. arm loads of green peppers
  4. handfuls of fresh cut chives
  5. canners full of water
  6. bright yellow sunflowers in glass Coke bottles

and God speaks again in the sigh after the laugh, as the world tilts back to normal…

“He who sacrifices thank offerings

honors me,

and he prepares the way

so that all may know him

the Salvation of God.”

Psalms 50:23

For more on thanksgiving in pain:  [go here]

[week.of.thanks] is there something in your life that causes you deep pain? Can you find a way to be thankful for it? To admit that you, in all your limited knowledge, can’t see the beginning or the end. To trust that the God who created you , formed you, breathed life into you… the one who chose to die so that you can live– has a plan and purpose that will prevail in spite of pain? To find healing in the fact that God allows pain- not just for you- but for himself as well?

The greatest lie that the enemy uses when we’re facing pain is that we’re all alone. You’re not alone. I promise. You’re not alone.

[of.knots]

by

It was going to be a scarf. That was the plan. Sometimes plans get changed.

He walked in the room, that strong wonderful husband of mine, looked at the red yarn dangling from my hands, and said, “You’re making me an afghan?”

Two seconds of silence beat through the room. My gaze focused on his hopeful expression, at the smile curling his mouth. “Yes,” I answered, “do you like the color?”

He responded that he did and then went back to his business. Later I told him that my plan had changed. No longer a scarf for me, instead a blanket for him. His gaze grew warm and gentle and he held me close. “Thanks,” he whispered into my hair.

A week later, I sat there again. My crochet hook slid in and out, making a series of knots—all bound together. There was quiet in the room and I stared at the cloth in my hand. For some reason it really hit home. All I’m doing is making knots. One knot after another after another.

Thank you, God… that sometimes knots become a blanket. Sometimes the messy tangles of life eventually, with enough time, can become warm and safe.

My hand reached to loosen the yarn from the skein and nothing came. I shook it again, leaning over to the see. The ball of yarn had fallen to the floor but that wasn’t the issue. The carefully wrapped green had become tangled. I pulled it up and tried to loosen the great wad. I fussed and yanked until it was undeniably worse than when I started.

My husband looked up from his spot at the kitchen table. He stood, walked over, “Here,” he said quietly. His callused hands took the yarn and gently, patiently, he began to unwind. I relaxed and continue crocheting as he handed me length after length.

Thank you, God… that when my life becomes a hopeless mess—you’ve given me a man who is patient and loving and very, very good at untangling.

“Therefore we do not lose heart,

Though outwardly we are wasting away

Yet, inwardly we are being renewed

Day by day.

For our light and momentary troubles

Are achieving for us

An eternal glory that

Far outweighs them all.”

2 Corinthians 4:16-17

————————————————–

[week.of.thanks] Have you thanked your spouse lately? Told them how much you appreciate them? So often I just march through life, focused so intently on the tangled mess around me- and I forget. I forget that my Husband has supported me, championed me, spoken grace over me and untangled my messes over and over… 

I thank God for making beauty from ashes. And I thank my husband for seeing something beautiful in me, when I’m still covered in soot.

[Week.of.Thanks]

by

This is the week of Thanksgiving. A holiday that I’ve been thinking a lot about this year. Well, at least the name. Thanksgiving. The act of eucharisteo.

In many ways this year was different than the years before. This was a year of new perspectives. A year of wholeness. A year that deserves a bit of remembrance.

So I am scratching out words again. Writing my story the best way I know how. Not because it is special or unique—but because it is mine and it is all I have to offer. So, take a walk with me this week, into my messy beautiful life and we’ll see what there is to be thankful for. My prayer, as always, is that somewhere in the middle of the stuff that makes up me, you’ll see a bit of you and a whole lot of God.

For everything God created is good

And nothing is to be rejected

If it is received with thanksgiving…

I Timothy 4:4

 

All of this is for your benefit

So that the grace that is reaching

More and more people

May cause thanksgiving to overflow

To the glory of God.

2 Corinthians 4:15

If you have a minute—read [this]. If you have more than a minute—buy [this book] and read the whole thing!

Posts in this Series

[of.knots]

[like.eden]

[laughter.in.truth]

[the.real.thing]

[cinnamon.muffins]

by

I love cinnamon rolls. Always have. Gooey. Sticky. Mmm…

But what do you do when you’re trying not to eat refined sugar and you’ve only got an hour and you want cinnamon rolls so bad!?

Simple. Cinnamon Muffins.

This is my revised version of the recipe I found online.

The dough:

½ c. raw milk

½ c. sour cream

1 teaspoon raw apple cider vinegar

½ c. raw sugar (I want to experiment with maple syrup but haven’t yet.)

1 tsp. baking soda

½ tsp. salt

½ tsp vanilla

1 egg

3 cups white whole wheat flour, plus more for dusting

 

Mix together and roll out.

 

Filling:

2 T. melted butter

2/3 cup coconut sugar (or raw sugar, or sucanat)

Ground cinnamon (I use a lot. Just sprinkle it over until it smells good.)

 

Roll like regular cinnamon rolls but slice them thinner. I used cupcake papers to cut down on the mess. Bake at 375 for 15 minutes.

 

Frosting:

¼ block of cream cheese

3 T maple syrup

Powdered sugar until desired thickness.

They are simply lovely. And very quick. Enjoy!

———————————————

 A little piece of real food, to share with the family as you eat:

Oh, that we might know the Lord! Let us press on to know him!

 Then he will respond to us as surely as the arrival of dawn

 or the coming of rains in early spring.

Hosea 6:3 NLT

[of.faith]

by

Cleaning the milk tank is not my favorite job. Our milk truck driver isn’t very good about washing it and the “milk stone” (where the milk has dried) can be a pain to scrub off.

This morning as I was dipping the long handled brush into hot soapy acid water and beginning to scrub, I sighed in frustration. My glasses were fogging up. I kept cleaning; waiting for the fog to lift so I could make sure everything was done right. Then the glass cleared the sparkling stainless steel came into view.

The acid did its job whether I could see in the moment or not.

So often in life there are moments when we can’t see.

Three days a week I have two little boys that come to my house. The little one arrives just as I come in from the barn. He’s a pickle. Getting into things, messing up my living room, opening cupboards and (his favorite) getting into the laundry soap. I love it. I love his little voice chattering as he plays. I love watching his face when I’m training him to not touch certain things. (We’ve got the barn boots down. Now for the laundry soap…) I especially love it when he brings me Barnyard Dance by Sandra Boynton. He dances as I read.

Then a few hours later his big brother gets home from school. We eat cookies. Play games. Big brother acts so tough when I kiss his forehead but then sits almost on top of me when we go to read books.

Then they leave. Their real mom comes and off they go.

And sometimes, sometimes, things get foggy. I start to wonder… will the day ever come when there’s a little one in my home that doesn’t get taken away?

During the day I can pretend things are good. But then night comes. What is it about darkness?

That’s when the voice starts accusing and pushing old buttons.

Of course you’ll never be a mom. Why would God give you children? You wouldn’t be a fit mother. You’re lazy and selfish. You’re constantly filled with prideful, lustful, angry thoughts. Everyday you bow your knee to idols of all kinds. There is nothing in you worthy of anything.

And sight is blinded by fog. It feels like someone is squeezing the air out of my lungs.

Here’s the painful, honest truth: It’s real. The fog is a real thing. Those accusations? Real. I am all of those things.

But it never fails. The enemy always tries to push things a little too far. He gets confidant at my weakness and goes for the object of his furry (which isn’t actually me). His voice echoes: What can your God do for a worthless sinner like you?

What can He do? Something looses within my chest and life-giving air rushes though. It’s not about what He can do. It’s about what He’s already done.

It’s true. I am all of those things. That’s why I need Jesus. That’s why I need His Spirit. That’s why His blood spilt at Calvary. So I could have Him. So I could be free.

I am all of those things and I’m covered in blood. That means that I am not judged by them. Whether or not I can ever have children has nothing to do with my own merit. Nothing to do with my own abilities. Nothing to do with anything except that we live in a fallen world.

Proverbs 30:15-16 says:

There are three things- no four!-

that are never satisfied:

The grave,

The barren womb,

The thirsty desert,

The blazing fire.

If I was to conceive this month and have a child in nine months… would I be satisfied? What if I never had another baby? I know a woman with one baby who desperately wants more. I know a woman with two children who desperately wants more. I know a woman with six who desperately wants more. At what point would it be “enough”?

Another painful, honest truth: If I’m not okay without a child, I never will be with one. 

If I can’t figure out how to stand up to the enemy’s attacks now, today- then changing my circumstances won’t change my sorrow.

And the truth drifts in. God allows fog. He does. Because He wants to build our faith. He’s working and changing- whether we can see in the moment or not. He bled and died and rose so we could be free.

It’s not enough to just say, “Okay, God, I believe in you. Save me.” Doing that might break the chains of the enemy- but we still have to walk out of the dungeon. We have to live like we’re saved.

Oh, God, build my faith. Build and build and build. I want to be solid. Not tossed to and fro by lies from the enemy.

[of.measures]

by

Morning gleams bright. Another late milking. Devotions began and ended with one verse. 

“to know this love that surpasses knowledge-

that you may be filled to the measure

 of all the fullness of God.”

Ephesians 3:19

For two hours the words swirl as I lift milkers, squat, pull, wash, scrape, move.

What is the measure of the fullness of God?

 I come up with no answers. So I go back to love. Love that surpasses knowledge. I John 4:8, God is love. Him. Christ. The One who created. The One who judged. The One who redeemed.

This I understand on a base level. There is deepness in it that I can’t even begin to touch. But the love of a Father, I understand beyond physical knowledge. Abba. Beloved. My God.

Later I stop to look up words. My green Strong’s flipped open. Fingers trailing pages.

fullness –> pleroma –> that which is put in to fill up

measure –> metron –> a portion

A thought stops me. I turn pages back.

“to know” –> ginosko –> allow, be aware of, feel, have, know, perceive, can speak, be sure, understand

The measure of the fullness of God is connected, intimately, with the knowing (allowing! being aware of. feeling. having. perceiving. speaking! being sure. understanding.) of His love. 

My portion- the piece that fills me up- is rooted in Love.

Milking will be late again tonight. Sun leaving trails of red on the barn floor. The chores may seem long. Calves fighting at feeding time. Sighs of frustration echoing in my head. My farmer/mechanic/evangelist husband may be busy with any number of things… the corn needs chopped… the oats need fed… round bales put in…the tractor needs repaired…or maybe, again tonight, someone will stop who needs to talk and he will drop all the things that [don’t matter in the end] and listen and offer words of life. 

And I will have the choice again: to be rooted in love or to be wilted in tiredness.

I pray I choose love. God, help me choose you. So I may receive the portion that is put in to fill me up. 

So much time goes by with me drifting. Being pushed here and there by storms and trials. I want to be full. Not wasting away empty and lost. I want my roots to go down deep in Christ. In love.

I’ve got floors to wash. Dishes to do. Laundry piled on my bed. But I want to dance. Know why? The next verse. The promise that follows the call to know love.

“…him who is able to do immeasurably more

 than all we ask or imagine…” 3:20