A Change of Plan

One thing this COVID chaos has done for us: it's made us very good at changing plans!

From my observation, people are a lot more understanding of last minute changes; they're more willing to go with the flow; they know now that some events really ARE beyond our ability to forecast and out of our hands to control. We're embracing in new ways Proverbs 16:9: "The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps." (ESV)

Not to brag, but I feel like I'm really getting good at the whole handling changes in my plans. I'm a planner, so not that long ago, last-minute changes made me CRABBY! But, take Thanksgiving for instance: our first THREE sets of plans all had to be scrapped before we were able to see a plan through to fruition! Friends, it's not often that I have to wait for my fourth round of planning to see some results! Talk about disappointing.

But it was still a good weekend.

We spent Thanksgiving as a family. We used Preston's extra day off (which was supposed to be used to go out of town) to decorate the entire ground floor (and most of the the second) for Christmas. We had lots of time with our precious daughters. I washed the van on the nice Saturday after Thanksgiving (after our third set of plans hit the dustbin). We even started Christmas baking. We had a lovely time, one we would have missed had our first few rounds of plans succeeded.

Yet, often, I fear the change of plans. I think of it as a malicious swipe at my happiness. I have my life laid out in the manner I want it to proceed, and anything that looks like it might change that is a threat. Yet, when God intervenes to "establish" our steps, we know that for the child of God, that can only mean good things (not necessarily pain-less things, but that's another topic...).

I came across an old Christmas hymn a while back called "Creator of the Stars of Night." The second verse has captured my mind the last twenty-four hours:

"Thou, grieving that the ancient curse

Should doom to death a universe,

Hast found the healing, full of grace,

To cure and save our ruined race."

Did you catch it?

Christmas is a celebration of a change of plans!

Back in the garden, Satan saw the crown of God's creation as a chance to wound God. He planted a doubt, fed it with a lie, nurtured a fear. And then humankind, in all our infinite wisdom (we thought), shucked God's rule for our life.

(Yes, it was Eve's hand that reached for the fruit. Yes, it was Adam who was "with her," yet did nothing other than acquiesce. But that seed of sin has woven itself deeply into your heart and mine. We are guilty in our DNA. Do you doubt it? When given the chance, we repeat the sin of our forebears. We, too, wave our fist in the face of the One who made us and scream, "I'll do it my way!")

God said don't, but we thought having knowledge like God couldn't be so terrible, so we ate that fruit. We had plans to be like God, to know good and evil, to take charge of our own existence. What a wonderful thought! What a titillating promise!

And it killed us. Our heart charted its course for damnation.

But (praise be to God!) He had a change of plan in mind. There were other steps He would establish for His children.

When Christ was born in the manger, it was under the shadow of the cross and with the promise of the resurrection. A baby in a manger does NOTHING for anyone without the rest of the story. If our hope of peace on earth and goodwill to men doesn't last past December 25, we're still just as doomed as we were the instant the juice of that fruit hit Adam and Eve's tongues. But if we consider advent as the anticipation not only of Christmas but also as an introduction to the entire church calendar of December through Easter, we see a path charted for us that ends not in death but in life as it was meant to be.

Where our attempt to rule ourselves spelled destruction for us, Christ stepped down and into earth, entered as one of His own creations, and stood in the path of God's righteous wrath. The locomotive of justice that was rightfully headed our way struck the only Son of God full force, entirely satisfying the demands of the law we could never keep.

So what is left for us?

Forgiveness from a holy God; reconciliation with Him, others, creation, and ourselves; the ability to walk in newness of life; an existence ransomed to serve God and enjoy Him forever!

Praise God for changes of plan!

"To God the Father and the Son

And Holy Spirit, Three in One,

Praise, honor, might, and glory be

From age to age eternally!"

Preparing for the Resurrection

No one prepared for the first resurrection.

We look through the Biblical record now, with the perspective of centuries, and see Jesus plainly telling His disciples of, preparing them for, His death and resurrection.

Yet when He came bursting out of the tomb, His followers were still in mourning. Mary Magdalene looked an angel in the face as he told her, “He is alive,” and she still sought His mutilated body.

“How could they have missed it?” we wonder sagely. With the exception of the extravagantly generous woman of Mark 14:3-9, no one saw Calvary - or Easter - coming. Defeat didn't fit their picture of the expected messiah. There was no room for humiliation and death in their version of what the christ would achieve.

We can fill hours with the prophecies they missed, misinterpreted, and overlooked. Starting in Genesis, God prepared His people for a Rescuer who would be bruised (3:15). But they wanted a rescuer who would fill the stomachs of his followers with food, who would drive out their oppressors in the vein of the Maccabees, and who could raise his army from the dead if need be.

Jesus didn't fit their ideal. And if their ideal wasn't fulfilled, they concluded, He must not have been The One.

Which is what makes the High Holy Days of the Church calendar an excellent time to ferret out our own beloved idols. Certainly, if the very people who walked the dusty roads beside Jesus missed His true nature, we who are distracted by books, screens, and thousands of voices bombarding us daily might also have some false ideas of our Savior.

• Maybe you've bought into the idea of a god who dispenses favor for those who check off all the items on his holy to-do list.
• Maybe your version of idolatry is a god who leaves you alone as long as you live a decent life.
• Maybe you think god is out to get you, just waiting for you to give him an opening to zap you.
• Maybe your god made you the way you are and would never dream of asking you to change a single aspect of your life.
• Maybe god made you basically good and wants you to follow your heart.

This isn't a comprehensive list, so if you're sweating over whether or not I'll mention your pet misbelief, don't let my omission quench the Spirit of conviction. I can identify a few, mostly because they've had to be weeded out of my own life. (I've still got plenty. I know, because the Holy Spirit tends to let me know about them from time to time, usually when I'm feeling most comfortable and smug with myself.)

Does it matter? Don't our little beliefs comfort us?

But if they're false ideas about God, we are in fact worshiping a false god. We form God in our image, and wonder why He doesn't perform to our specifications. We can even find Scriptures to support our beloved baals, for heaven's sake! So don't think, because you can give a reference that backs you, that you have an exclusive claim to understanding an aspect of God.

This Lent, and in your celebration of Easter, ask God to show you where you have worshiped an idol rather than the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

He will answer, because He is in the business of revealing Himself.

It's why we have Easter, after all.

Gratitude as an Attitude

Gratitude has been the single most radical attitude adjustment I've ever experienced.

Once upon a time, I had the time and energy to be a volunteer Bible camp staff member. One year (I don't remember how it started), a couple of us girl staffers found a way to stay positive: if any of us seemed to be sliding toward complaining or a sour attitude, one would call out, "Attitude check!" and we would respond, "Praise the Lord!"

A bit trite? Maybe. But it worked. Every time.

Try being negative while giving thanks.
Try complaining when you're busy thanking God for His blessings.
Try holding a grudge when you're remembering what you've been forgiven.
Try coveting while taking note of the abundance of your possessions.
Try ruminating on all your failings while hearing God's truth spoken over you.

Lord, I can't see you. I feel so hopeless. Where are you in times like this? Do you see me here?
I see you. I know you. I know your circumstances; not one of them is outside my awareness.

Father, they've hurt me. Every time I try to forgive them, what they did rises before my eyes and blocks my prayers. How can I move past this?
Look at what I've forgiven you. Love them with the love I've given you.

I've had enough! This isn't fair. This isn't what I signed up for. I have my rights!
Do you remember what I did with My rights?

Gratitude - thanksgiving - sings with the joy of salvation and revels in the riches lavished upon us.

Think of your salvation story. Someday, maybe I'll put mine on here. I've shared bits with those around me as I felt it would be beneficial, but my husband is probably the only one who's heard the whole, ugly truth of it. I don't know about you, but when I think of the ick that's in there and what I've been saved from, my heart kneels in awe. To consider that God could use my story in His kingdom plan is nothing short of miraculous; remembering that gives me a whole lot more grace for those around me.

Thanksgiving colors the air around you when you breath it in and out daily. It changes how you see people and situations, and it affects how others see and respond to you.

It's not a stretch to say that gratitude could fix a lot of what is wrong with this world.
Prejudice.
Debt.
Hoarding.
Adultery.
Family squabbles.
Materialism.
They - and a host of others - all have the potential to fade into nonexistence when people are busy thanking God.

Thanksgiving...
So much more than the fourth Thursday in November.



"And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." Colossians 3:15-17 ESV, emphasis added

Go Do Your Job

This post could be part 2 to the one I wrote last Saturday. Not in that this comes after it, but in the sense that this is the bigger picture, the other side of the topical coin, the driving force, or whatever other similar cliché you'd like to insert here.

Our pastor challenged us a while back with a thought which I'll paraphrase, since I didn't note his exact phrasing. The idea was this: If your church suddenly disappeared, would the surrounding, secular community notice? Would they care? Would your church be missed?

Now, I can't control everything my church does or doesn't do, but I certainly have a significant role in determining my own actions and pursuits. After all, as the people go, so goes the church, right? A church of inert believers isn't going to do much moving and shaking outside its own walls.

So, my question for you today is this: What sort of skin does your faith have?

Does it have bones and muscles?

Is it the type of faith that scrubs toilets, waits tables, and washes feet?

Is it practical?

Does it change those around you?

Does it change you?

Wait a minute, you might say to me, my faith is a private matter! It's an inward relationship. This isn't your business and I certainly don't have to prove myself to you to be a valid Christian!

You're right; I'm not the judge of authentic faith for believers. But you do have to reckon with a couple very persuasive, first-century teachers. One, for example, says that a faith that does not show itself by outward works is useless. Another seems to think that we've all received special abilities to serve, and so we should use them, and he even includes a list of ways to do just that! They're persuasive, and they're right, because they were divinely inspired to write those sections of Scripture.

So, stop and think.

On Monday morning, when your alarm rings, do you check your faith into "daycare" and make a mental note to pick it up again in time for church next week?

Is church just something you do because it's what you've always done?

Is it a place to be seen, like a club?

If your pew neighbor had never come to your church but ran into you on the street or met you at work, would they still assume that you're a Christ-follower?

Do you look like, sound like, act like Jesus, and more and more as the years tick by?

We're good at the head part of the Gospel, but let's not lose the heart. It's the heart that moves us with pity; it's the heart that cares for our neighbor; it's the heart that reaches out to the lost.

But - 

Maybe you're more on the social justice side of the Gospel. You advocate for the trafficked. You donate to the shelters. You volunteer. You give to the Christian radio station. You have people into your home for meals and conversation. You might even pray out loud in church.

Where's your head?

Remember, faith is not simply actions, it is conviction, attitude, a grasp of a belief. Don't think that you can busywork yourself into God's good graces. Matthew 7 records Jesus' own thoughts on the matter, and they're frightening.

Ephesians 2:8-10 may be one of the most famous Scriptural explanations of salvation. It reads,

"For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them." ESV

Do you notice that faith comes first? We have salvation through faith [by grace], with no merit through or from or by our doing.

But - 

Because of that salvation, we have good works to do, works God made us to do, which we can now do because of what Jesus did.

So, in other words, I could have just quoted those three verses and left out the rest of the blog post.

As you celebrate the death and resurrection of our Savior this weekend, remember that we celebrate the finished work of Jesus Christ. You can't add to it or take from it by what you do or do not do.

But - 

If it is truly a part of your life, shouldn't that flow out in gratitude through your good works? "Walk in them." Get off your duff and go do what God made you to do.

A Christmas Miracle

It's snowing. Cinnamon raisin bread bakes in the oven behind me. N is upstairs in her crib - not sleeping, but content.

It's a rare moment to sit and reflect in the middle of holiday preparations.

When did Christmas start to mean making so many plans you meet yourself coming and going? We've got parties and presents, gatherings and goodies, cards and church. Preparation consumes days, evenings, lists, budgets.

Historically, Christmas was a mass, maybe with stockings stuffed with oranges and chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. People didn't plan holiday schedules months in advance. Sometimes, there weren't any gifts at all. Did they not know that Christmas is about the joy of giving and family togetherness? I guess Hallmark hadn't gotten that message to them yet.

Of course, if you want a party, you could go back to that first Christmas: the actual evening Jesus was born. There weren't shiny baby announcements printed by an online printer; but there were angels announcing his birth. There wasn't a baby shower; but there were those really rich guys who came months late with a fortune - not an exaggeration - in gifts.

Something big happened. Something to trigger heaven's hosts to sing. Something that would cause people - even people who don't actually profess faith - millennia later to pause their usual lives and acknowledge a peculiarity in the day.

It wasn't family togetherness. Joseph and Mary don't seem to have been welcome with their families back in Nazareth.

It wasn't the joy of giving. Those smelly shepherds who showed up that night probably didn't leave anything behind them other than a pungent odor.

It was Emmanuel. "God with us."

What's the big deal about that?

Do you realize that every other religion on the face of the earth is an attempt by man to reach god(s)? Hinduism, Buddhism, Islam . . . even some that borrow language from Christianity and encourage their people to read the Bible, they're all a story of men striving to make themselves right. People trying to approach God through working, praying, fasting, denying themselves, traveling to holy places. They know something stands between man and God, and they do everything humanly possible to get past that or to outweigh it with "good" things so God will approve of them.

Christmas is a big deal because that is when God gave us the gift we never saw coming: He came to us.

Emmanuel.

God with us.

No more striving. No more analyzing whether we've done more good than bad. No more comparing and wondering and worrying. God reached down, became a man, so he could die. So he could rise. So he could obliterate death and sin.

Not so the good works would outweigh the bad, but so that the bad would die - poof - gone.
Not so we could get to God, but so that God could live in us.
Not so we could do good things, but so that God could act through us.
Not so we could have a good life, but so that we could live eternally.

If that's not a Christmas miracle, I don't know what is.

The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.

John 1:9-13 ESV

He Cared Enough to Give Us Christmas!

Having an infant gives me a whole new appreciation for Christmas.

I've believed for as long as I can remember that Jesus, the God-Man, came to earth as a baby about 2000 years ago. Now, though, as my own child nears five months old, I realize that at one time, Jesus, the Word of God through whom the galaxies burst into existence, was Himself nearing five months old. (How can the age of the Eternal be measured in mere months?)

His mother was young, younger than me. His world was chaotic and scary.

Was Mary frightened at times, raising a baby? I am. It is a vulnerable thing to have so much of my soul wrapped in such a helpless bundle. I hope the best for her, pray that she will seek the heart of God and be kept far from evil men and women, but I know she will feel pain in some form someday. No wonder Simeon told Mary that a sword would pierce her own heart; her son had a certain future of pain, far beyond what I might realistically expect for little N. (But who ever claimed a mother's ruminations are realistic?)

Every time I read a book or watch a movie where a child is endangered or suffering, I immediately see my child there, feel an inkling of the desperation I imagine I might feel if that were my baby there, going through that. (A vivid imagination can be both a blessing and a curse.)

Or I wonder if I may inadvertently hurt her; there are certainly enough ways to fear doing so. Sometimes it seems there are so many options for fear surrounding a child that it is hard to know which is the lesser: Do I fear vaccines, or do I fear not vaccinating? Do I fear co-sleeping? letting her sleep on her belly? creating a dependency by holding her while she sleeps? risking the health effects of her not getting adequate sleep? (I don't think the "experts" mean to be cruel or manipulative as they encourage parents to avoid or embrace certain behaviors, but it's hard not to hear, "If you don't do as we say, you are knowingly endangering the very life of that little person you love with every fiber of your being . . .")

Sorry if you're tired of my going on about fear lately . . . it's just what is on my mind lately.

I heard a pastor on the radio recently (I wish I could remember which one so I could give proper credit) who said that Satan wants us to live either in the past through our regrets or in the future via our worries, because we can only worship God in the present, and that is the last thing he wants us to do. (Obviously, I've been having more trouble with the one, lately.)

But look at young Mary: she sure had plenty of things she could have feared. She was young, unwed, and pregnant. Her intended was planning to divorce her, which was the better of the two most likely options for her, the other being death. Her world didn't value life, especially the lives of the most vulnerable. Her options as a single mother weren't good, poverty and disgrace at best.

And yet, this remarkable teen chose praise.

"May soul magnifies the Lord," she said, "and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."
She rejoiced? In her trouble? In her uncertainty? I would have expected her to feel forgotten or even picked on. But instead, "he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. . . . from now on all generations will call me blessed."

Now there's perspective for you. But she wasn't done yet.

"He who is mighty has done great things for me."

Is He mighty? Do I really believe that? Or is He really strong, but just not strong enough for this problem this time? Do I live like I think my problems - or potential problems - might just be the ones that surpass the limits of His abilities?

Yes, He has done great things for me. Why do I keep assuming His works are in my past but not for my future?

Maybe it's because I am forgetting to worship.

After all, this isn't just the God of the universe sitting upon His heavenly throne. He also isn't just the man who touched the untouchables. He is the One who inhabited the womb, the arms, the heart of a young mother.

He knows. He understands. He came with all the frailties and vulnerabilities of the baby sleeping across the room from me now.

Why? Who forced Him into this Christmas thing? What Being with that sort of power would simply hang it all up for the chance to go through diapers, learning language, puberty?

Someone who cares.
Someone who cares a lot.
Someone who cares a lot about me.
Someone who cares a lot about my life and my worries.
Someone who cares a lot about this precious little girl of mine.

Thank God that He cared enough to give us a Christmas.

Christmas Lights

Hooray for Christmas decorations!

They are undoubtedly my favorite of all my home decor items. I love to decorate for Christmas!

But, of all the Christmas paraphernalia, mini white Christmas lights are my favorite.

After decorating this year, I had to sheepishly ask my husband to help me move the piano so I could plug in another extension cord, so I could spread out the five strings of white lights that I currently had on a single extension cord. I know, not the best idea to be loading them all on one like that, and, yes, I got that incredulous, husbandly look that says, "My wife may be losing it," but they are so pretty! I have them twisted into a wreath and twining through a rustic basket of pinecones and peeking through lettering in a little tin box that reads, "Peace on Earth." They're peaceful and bright and cheerful and cozy.

They wouldn't be nearly as nice in the middle of the summer.

The weather pulls us outside then, and the sun shines brightly through the windows nearly all our waking hours.

But in the winter, oh ho!, the winter is perfect for decorating with light. As we cuddle in for a dark, Midwestern evening, those little points of light are enough to gently brighten an entire room.

I don't think it's an accident that we use lights to make our homes ready to celebrate the nativity of our Lord. John 1:4 says that the life He brought was light. Light shines best in the dark. What a dark world He came to save:

the people were oppressed, conquered by a ruthless, godless emperor; that nation was stretching its tentacles of control into every corner of the known world, creating one world empire, and allowing no place to hide; taxes were oppressive; infants were slaughtered at a whim; regional rulers were suspicious and groped for power; pleasure was king, and those who refrained were eyed suspiciously; human life was cheap.

It sounds a bit like a world I know today.

Maybe all these crises and issues of the last century are not as original as we think.

Maybe all our panic over controversies and emergencies should be put on pause to give us a little time to reflect on His light.

For surely, the light that pierced the darkness in that stable in the shadows of Bethlehem in the depths of Israel in the blackness of the Roman Empire still shines brightly today. Indeed, it is multiplied exponentially in the Spirit-filled Church He left behind on earth!

John 1:5 says, "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." Another way to read this is "the darkness has not understood it." We should be the most misunderstood people on the face of the earth. In a world of deep despair, self-gratification, and false worship, Christianity does not make sense. We die to live, lose to gain, glory in suffering, have peace in chaos, and hope in an unseen reward. 

We look like madmen, yet we claim to have the cure for what is wrong with the world:

Wholeness for the broken;

Healing for the sick;

Light for the darkness.

Oh, What a Beautiful Morning!

The sun is finally shining in southwestern Minnesota, and spring seems only a breath away. I don’t want to think about all of April still waiting, always holding the possibility for one more blizzard before winter finally gives up its hold.

The warmth is all the more welcome thanks to temperatures that can’t seem to make up their mind. Old man winter has been taunting us with unusually warm spells in strange months, followed by a return of the cold that seems to want to make up for its absence through sheer brutality of temperature and wind.

The kindly sun gave such welcome reprieve from the natural coldness of the land I live in. He came when I least expected it, letting me revel in his smile, coaxing me out of my natural environs and out into his beautiful world. So, when the sun was hidden, when he was taken away and the world was plunged back into cold shadows, everything seemed twice as dark, twice as bitter, as it would have without the warm interlude. Who could know that the sun was not gone forever, only hidden for a while?

But, yesterday morning, the sun was back! The breeze was soft, and all creation called me to celebrate.

I jogged to the corner of two county roads and felt like flinging my head back and my arms wide, offering a laughing embrace to the sun, the budding trees, this world of renewed life.

What a perfect time of year to celebrate the return of the sun!

Now go back to the paragraph that begins, “The kindly sun…,” and replace every u in “sun” with an o, for the significance of this time is not only in the return of summer.

Jesus had been walking the land of Palestine, ministering, teaching, leading, blessing, rebuking. His faithful followers included not only the twelve disciples, but others who believed, men and women, some of whom ministered to the Lord through financial support and the provision of life necessities. Here was a group of people who knew little other than that their lives had been burst in upon by a light that they hadn’t formerly known was lacking. They had lived the drudging day-in and day-out of an occupied people, wresting an existence for themselves somewhere between their land and their rulers.

And then, Jesus came.

He came preaching abundant life, offering water that quenched all thirst forever, bread that filled to the uttermost. He lived the prophecies of old, embodying all they had watched for since the time of Abraham and Moses. Here was a man with enough compassion to be a king, enough deity to serve. He was the sun on their faces and the relief of the burdens.

And then he died.

Don’t skip ahead. Before there was a Sunday resurrection, there was a Friday crucifixion.

Oh, there had been warnings. The religious leaders had been wanting Him out of the way for a long time. He had even tried to let them know what was coming, but they hadn’t believed Him. Surely, this was another of His teaching devices, another parable or parallel. Surely He wouldn’t waste everything He had accomplished by letting His enemies catch Him! He had already avoided their grasp numerous times, almost as if He had closed their eyes or weighted their arms so that He easily eluded them, much like Elisha had when the king of Aram sought tocapture him. Could not the one who opened eyes also close them, who gave movement to limbs also take it away?

But, oh!, that Thursday night, in the garden, betrayed by His own! Surely the heartsick disciples ran back and told the women all that had happened. Their Lord, caught! Arrested! On trial!

All that long night, surely they clung to the hope of His acquittal.

Yet, as Friday dawned, He was still under arrest.

The one who raised the widow’s son from death was Himself condemned to die.

But can you kill one who gives life? they must have wondered. As He dragged that wooden beam down the Via Dolorosa, back torn from the whip, face bloody from the thorny crown, eyes swollen nearly shut from beatings, did the inevitable begin to weigh on their souls?

As the women watched, as nails pierced the hands that had healed them, as another was driven through feet they had washed, did they still look to the heavens, watching for the justice that would surely come on the wings of angels?

The skies were silent.

Silence above, but not beneath, as other bystanders began to curse Him, taunt Him. “He saved others; can He not save Himself?” How cruel are the jeers that echo aloud those silent questions that had already taken root in their own spirits!

And He died.

The earth shook with the calamity. The sun fled. The creator had been killed. The light had been extinguished.

They went home, those brave, broken-hearted women, but not before they had seen where He was to be safely entombed. They had before gladly found a place for His head to rest; they would not neglect this final duty for His broken body.

How long and dark is the night where there is no hope! How heavy the soul of those who resent their own hearts’ persistence in beating life through the body. How restless the person who cannot sit, cannot stand, but must only lie prostrate in wordless supplications of mind-numbed grief.

Where the sun has warmed, the cold of its absence is most keenly felt.

That following Sabbath day must have been the longest of all Sabbaths.

Did they attempt to follow the prescribed rituals? Did they seek comfort through the familiar? Or did they see a reminder of Him and His teaching in every hour of that day?

However they spent those interminable minutes and hours, at last the sun relented and went down, announcing the departure of their holy day. Maybe then they sought the blessed relief of unconsciousness, or maybe they knew that sleep would once again elude them and they instead began to prepare for their final ministry to their Lord. Whichever they chose, “while it was still dark” they were ready.

I can hear the most cautious of them – perhaps Joanna or Mary, the mother of James – cautioning against going too early. Danger lurked for a woman (or even a group of women) in the night shadows of first-century Palestine. Finally that dear, careful woman was convinced, “It is as safe now as it will be at mid-day,” her guarded mind at last giving way to the urgent pleadings of both her anguished heart and grieving friends.

They clutched their anointing spices to their tunics, arms prickling from the chilly morning air, hurrying in groups of twos and threes through the shadowed streets and out toward the last place they had seen their Master and Teacher.

They had heard many stories in the past three years from those who sought out the Lord. They knew of families who had traced Him simply by listening to stories of healing and asking which way He had gone. Those families wanted to hear His words or to beg His cure for a daughter, a son, a sibling, spouse, or parent. How many times those families had heard the disappointing words, “You just missed Him!”

But today, this Sunday morning, those words were given to them, “He is not here."

What? How can He not be here? Where does a dead man go? If the dead are not in the tombs, where are they to be found?

And then, the joyously unthinkable.

“He is risen!”

Risen?

The word tugged at a string of memory, of his sayings regarding His death and, yes!, His resurrection! Those words that they had dismissed in the glow of His health and had forgotten in His last gasp of life – were they true? Did they mean even what He had said?

From the time of Adam’s sin, death had had the final word. Even the Shunammite’s son, though once brought back from its clutches, had eventually died again. How were they to understand when death itself worked backwards?

They did not grasp all the theological points, all the ins and outs and ramifications of their discovery, but they knew that their beloved Shepherd lived again.

Later, as He appeared to one of their own, to the disciples, and to the other believers, later they would reflect on all this meant.

Later, they would see the world-reaching implications of what had been revealed to them.

Later, they would look back on this first Easter morning as the brightest of their lives.

But now, at this moment, as they rushed back to the city as the first carriers of the gospel, now all they knew, all they cared about, was that this was indeed an oh-so-beautiful morning!

Getting Antsy

Did you know that this time of the year is not actually the Christmas season?

Nope.

I have been reminded in a couple of ways lately that this part of our yearly calendar is actually Advent.

Now, before you yawn and close the page, bear with me. I know, it's a boring word, and most of us don't know what it means and perhaps couldn't care less. "Cut the chatter; I've got 15 gifts to buy and wrap, 3 Christmas programs to prep for, and 70 dozen Christmas goodies to make, so I really don't care that I use the wrong semantics when I tell people goodbye."

I get that, really I do - but there's something worthwhile to realizing the difference, something that could revolutionize the way you experience this holiday. I know this because it is happening to me.

So, Advent. What is it?

Wikipedia, the almost-all-knowing, says, "Advent is a season observed in many Western Christian churches as a time of expectant waiting and preparation for the celebration of the Nativity of Jesus at Christmas. The term is an anglicized version of the Latin word adventus, meaning 'coming'."

Or, in normal English, "a coming into place, view, or being; arrival; the coming of Christ into the world." (Thank you, Dictionary.com!)

Traditionally, this is symbolized through the lighting of candles, more being lit as the celebration of Christ's birth draws nearer, showing the light of the Word coming into a world dark with sin.

It's a nice little exercise, but like a lot of churchianity, it can become rote when we get too busy to think about what's going on around us - or even what it is that we are playing an active role in.

Think about the world that Jesus came into:
There was no New Testament. The people of Israel had their stories of God's Creation, passed down from Adam (he probably got it from God's own mouth!), canonized by Moses. They knew the who and where of where their people had come from, how God had called them as a nation out of Egypt, given them the law, and promised the beautiful gifts of His presence. They had learned, from the cradle, of the judges and kings; of idolatry and exile; of prophets of doom and hope and warnings and promises. And then? And then there was nothing. For three- or four-hundred years, there was a heavenly - yet how lonely - silence. The Romans swept through on the heels of the Greeks and became the most recent model of oppression. The proud Jewish people once again had to bend to the will of an earthly power rather than their all-powerful God and had to submit to the indignity of the conquered rather than living up to their dream of independence and freedom. I have to think that somewhere in there, children watched parents and grandparents living their faith and yet receiving no compensation, no assurance of being heard, and started to wonder if maybe God had forgotten to listen, forgotten His promises, forgotten His people. But they kept trying, kept waiting, kept hoping.

And then.

And then God came. He showed up in a way that few expected, but He was there all the same. He rescued them from chains they did not know they had but that had consequences extending far beyond the reach of the Roman empire. He brought freedom from sin rather than from earthly problems, and He formed a people out of all peoples rather than regathering anyone with a drop of Hebrew blood in their veins.

He didn't meet their expectations, but how far better was His plan! Salvation for all, not some; blessing for the many, not the few.

And so we have Advent, anticipation leading up to the full-blown presence of God on earth, the Divine becoming tangible, the Creator amid the creatures.

But that's not all!

Think about our world today:
Here we are almost 2,000 years since the final "Amen" was written, and we have the 66 books. We know God's great story. The Holy Spirit indwells us while Christ Himself intercedes for us before the Father who has good planned for us. But how dark it can be here in the day-to-day! The present is so real, so demanding, so all-consuming, that our mansions in the New Earth acquire the feel of a fairy tale - it feels good to think about it, but it doesn't seem to make a difference in our cleaning and laundry and jobs and vacations. Besides, faith is rapidly leaching out of vogue; the public mention of Christ is being ground out of what is permissible and decent - even during the Christmas season! Say anything except that Christ came to save us, the voices scream, Love anything rather than the Trinitarian God!

And then.

And then, God will come again. Someday, we will look back on it from a beautiful future, but for now we get to live in the anticipation of divine intervention. The story was begun in the Old Testament and brought to fruition in the New. We were even told the ending. But today, we get the privilege of living in the tension of the already-not yet. We are already saved; justice is not yet fully wrought. We have already seen God on earth; He has not yet come to make His final dwelling here.

Remember Christmases as a little tyke? Recall that feeling of nearly jumping out of your skin to see those presents under the tree! And you knew that some of them, a few of them, were wonderful gifts just waiting for the moment when you could unwrap them and then they would belong to you! There were the ones that filled out the paper in a shape suspiciously like the doll/Legos you'd been begging for; then there were the ones that gave no hint of their contents, yet beckoned promisingly with bows and bright paper of the excitement they contained.

That is what Advent is. It's knowing that there is a future planned for you full of good gifts. It's knowing that soon, God is going to break in on our humdrum life. It's knowing that these little glimpses we get now are just general shapes and shadows of the glories to come.

He has come, and He is coming again.

That is Advent.

Christmas Decorating

I was so excited to start Christmas decorating this year! Putting up our own ornaments in our own home . . . wow! It felt like an adventure to figure out where I wanted what, and my husband was so kind as to participate - it made for a relational memory that did my feminine heart good.

Except, I knew we were going to have a bit of a problem with the Christmas tree. The problem looked something like this:

Yes.

I had pulled our tree up from storage a few days earlier to see how Louis would interact with it, and it wasn't long before he let me know.

He had so much fun scratching that "bark" and rolling its papery substance around in his mouth! And of course he had to climb it once and tip it (I was surprised that it was only once, actually).

As you can imagine, I was starting to see visions of broken, bitten, scratched, and otherwise destroyed Christmas ornaments that represented many happy memories in my life.

Houston, we had a problem.

Well, as my husband is so fond of proudly saying, I am an engineer's wife, and with a little thought and a little of his muscle, we engineered ourselves a solution.

Ladies and gentlemen, our cat-proof Christmas tree!

You may notice in the foreground a small, carpeted structure meant for cats' enjoyment and relaxation. Louis had never paid it a whole lot of attention, but it is now his favorite place to sit, eye-level with the lace tree skirt, looking wistfully at what he cannot have.

Of course, I supervise his visit with the tree (he's already stolen one of the pine cones from off the skirt), but - all things considered - I do believe we have found the best of both worlds: that of owning a cat and an intact Christmas tree!

Turkey Wrastlin'

We are hosting Thanksgiving at our very own home this year. My parents and some friends and relatives will be present, and I am having a blast planning and prepping! I keep feeling like I am four years old again, playing house with my sister, pulling Mom in to sample our “supper” on plastic dishes with plastic spoons and – if we were really getting into it – real, actual water poured from a plastic tea pot into plastic cups.

Now, I’ve never cooked a turkey, and everyone knows that Thanksgiving needs a turkey.

My experience in that arena of cookery includes watching my dad prepare a turkey and reading the how-to page from a Google search on the topic. But when I hauled the fifteen-pound, semi-frozen bird from my fridge into the kitchen sink to begin ministrations upon it, I was only partially daunted.

I originally planned to just bake the fowl – the KISS principle for my original foray into this art. But then I found a page online about dry-brining a turkey. That sounds easy enough, I thought, and the plan got just a little more elaborate.

Back in my kitchen, having freed it from its plastic jacket, I stared down the naked bird. Pull out the neck and giblets, the website had said.

Ok.

The first hiccup came in the form of a metal band holding the ankles (do turkeys have ankle? It was the part of the legs where the ankles would be) together. I pushed and pulled and pried and prodded.

No dice.

I thought about calling my husband for help. But he had a cold, so I didn’t want him to have to get too close to the cooking. But it would be thoroughly baked after all, and it’s not like I need to worry about the turkey catching it! I smiled at the thought.

But I decided that I could – I would – conquer this beast.

Finally, as the bird slipped and slid around the sink, as the band weakened or as I got the right leverage, I bent it enough to force one leg out and then the other.

Victory!

I reached into the carcass, giving a tug to what looked like a neck. It didn’t move. Gingerly moving further in, trying to keep my shirt sleeve raw-bird-free, I pried around it with my fingers, loosening what was still frozen until the bird stood before me empty.

I rinsed him (her?) until he was nearly guaranteed to be the best-rinsed bird served up this Thursday and laid him in his final resting place foil pan.

Loosening the skin was surprisingly easy, and I felt masterfully culinary-ish as I administered the salt and spices per the recipe’s recommendations.

Having been thoroughly conquered, he now awaits baking in my fridge, getting (the recipe claims) marinated in the spices and tenderized by the salt.

We’ll see come Thursday.

Anyway, when I was standing by my sink, yanking and tugging and prying and becoming altogether too familiar with a partially frozen fowl, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for turkeys, what with getting bumped off and their neck shoved in strange places.

I guess the moral is that if you absolutely have nothing else to be grateful for this Thanksgiving, I have one for you: be thankful you’re not a turkey!