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Friday, December 30, 2022

God Remembers

Disappointment

Reflecting on 2022. Feeling disappointed. I’d had such high hopes twelve months ago. Hopes for healing.

The three years from 2019 through 2021 had been tough. In addition to the trials and tribulations that we’d all experienced—the fears and disruptions in everyday life from the COVID pandemic, the increased violence, the devastating fires and natural disasters, the bitter political atmosphere—I’d been through painful losses and heartbreaking conflicts in my extended family and a new health issue that wore me down for many months before going away completely. On a lesser level, but still somewhat overwhelming at the time, I’d had an infestation of seemingly indestructible weeds in my backyard.

I described in an earlier post how, as my stress level increases, it takes a progressive toll. First physically (even lower energy than usual), then mentally (more brain fog), then emotionally (increased anxiety, plus negative and obsessive thinking). Due to the difficulties of the previous three years, I’d entered 2022 with discouragingly low reserves in these areas.


A New Year’s resolution

My good and gracious God had been with me through it all, supporting me, growing me spiritually, and using my pain to minister to others, even while I stumbled along. But I was ready for a change. So as 2022 began, I’d resolved to make it a year of self-care. I vowed to watch my time and energy more carefully, to say no to activities and commitments that would drain me too much (no matter how fun and attractive they might be), to fulfill my need for down-time (no matter how boring that might be).

I’ve reached an age where it would be reasonable for me to expect my health to continue declining, rather than improving. Many of my friends are experiencing that for the first time in their lives. Some of the doctors I’ve seen reinforce it. When I’m at my worst, that’s one of the dark places where my fears take me—believing that it’s all downhill from here.

However, I had a precedent for thinking that I could still return to my pre-2019 energy level. Back in 2017, I’d been through two of weeks of unusually intense daily stresses. It had taken three months to recover from those two weeks. But I did recover.

So at the beginning of 2022, I was pretty sure that if I just stuck to my boundaries as much as possible, I’d bounce back at some point. I knew it would take longer than it had in 2017, but I was hoping it would only be six months or so.

Now 2023 is almost here, and I’m still waiting.

I’m doing better than one year ago. I can look back on the brokenness I was feeling at that time and praise God that I’ve experienced so much improvement.

I still have a long way to go, though. At my current rate of progress, it’s likely to be another whole year before I return to “normal.”

Feeling disappointed and discouraged. Sending up a complaint to heaven, knowing that my Lord understands, that He cares, that He hears me.


Answered prayer

The next day, doing a review of my blog. Reading through a few old posts to decide whether to add a new tag to some of them.

Taking a look at “Study Break,” published in August, 2018. The gist of the article: I was trying to persuade God that I needed a break from some of the suffering I was going through at that time, just as I’d needed an occasional break from studying during my high school and college years. A few days later, I’d seen His answer in a couple of unexpected ways.

Now I’m thinking about that same request. And seeing another answer, four years later.

In a way, 2022 was one long study break for me. Time to rest and relax as much as I needed to throughout the day at least five or six days a week. Few interruptions in my me-time.

Of course there were some stresses. Continuing family conflicts. A bout with the flu. Travel, which always throws me off. Another new health issue that will hopefully be resolved soon. But over all, the last twelve months were nothing like the intense, long-drawn-out, shattering attacks of the previous three years. I’d had a study break.

A delayed answer to my prayer.


God remembers

I’ve always been intrigued when the Bible says God “remembered” someone, like Noah in the ark (Genesis 8:1). Of course He never literally forgot Noah. That would be impossible for an all-knowing God. So what exactly does it mean?

According to the Compelling Truth website, when God remembers someone, He turns His attention to them and acts on their behalf. When a psalmist asks to be remembered, he’s not requesting a passive thought or two from God. He’s praying that God will actively rescue him from his troubles.

(My comment on this definition: Just as God never forgets someone, He never actually turns His attention away from anyone and therefore has to turn it back as He remembers them. The wording above is more of a human expression than a precise description of what occurs in the spiritual realm. The Lord of the universe is always attentive to every one of us. All eight billion. All the time. He can do that. He’s God.)

Rereading my old post, I get a sense that at the beginning of 2022, God remembered my long-ago prayer for a study break and said, “Okay. Yeah. I’ll do that now.” (I also have to look back at the irony that less than a year after my plaintive plea for some relief from my sufferings, I began being bombarded by one new hit after another. What was that all about?)

And so, once again, my complaint turns to praise. I can honestly thank my gracious and loving God for this past year. Despite its disappointments it was far, far better than anything I’ve experienced in a long time. He remembered me in the biblical sense of the word. He acted on my behalf.

There is hope. 2023 could be another study-break year, bringing additional healing and strength. Even if it’s not, the powerful love of a compassionate God will be with me every day. I can voice my complaint when I need to, knowing that doing so will lead me back to giving Him the praise He deserves, just as it did for the writers of the psalms of lament.

 


Friday, December 2, 2022

Bringing Joy

John brings joy

I always think of John the Baptist as a harsh, critical, angry kind of guy. Some of his earliest recorded words were, “You brood of vipers!” (Luke 3:7). He scolded the crowds who came to hear him. His language was so sharp, so judgmental that it led to his imprisonment by Herod, followed by his execution. Quite a contrast to the gentle baby Jesus lying in a manger.

And yet the angel of the Lord, when announcing John’s coming birth to his father, Zechariah, says John will bring joy to those around him (Luke 1:14). I can see how he might do that in a very limited way. Of course he’ll bring joy to his parents, who had pretty much given up hope of ever having a child. Zechariah’s friends and relatives will rejoice with him, too, over the miraculous event.

But I just can’t imagine the fiery John the Baptist bringing joy to anyone else. Conviction, yes. Sorrow, yes. Joy, no.

Then I read on in Luke chapter 3, looking for hints of bringing joy. Once again, his comments sound harsh and critical to my ears. He’s demanding self-sacrifice from his hearers. That’s never easy for us naturally self-centered and fearful creatures.

If you have two tunics, give one to the needy. (But what if something happens to the one that I have left?)

Share whatever food you have with those who are hungry. (But what if I don’t have enough for tomorrow? Or next week?)

To the tax collectors: Don’t collect any more money than you’re required to. (I’ve been told that they didn’t have a set income. Their wages consisted of whatever they could gather beyond the amount they sent to Rome.)

To the soldiers: No extortion, no false accusations, be content with your pay. (Sounds like they were poorly paid and desperate for ways to use their positions of power to compensate.)

Life was uncertain back then. John’s listeners were much more at the mercy of the elements than we are today. And at the mercy of their Roman conquerors. Yet John is telling them to give up what little security they have. Who could find joy in that advice?

It takes a minute, but then I realize the obvious. John’s teaching would bring joy to many. To the poor. The vulnerable. The abused. The recipients of the extra tunic and food. The taxpayers. The potential victims of extortion and false accusations. The ones who learned to find true contentment in their current circumstances. If it spread, the kinder, gentler attitude of John’s followers would bring greater joy to the entire culture.


Jesus brings joy

At this time of year, we focus on the baby Jesus and the message of joy that He brings. Is there anything more likely to trigger joy than a sweet, harmless, helpless little baby? God created us this way. As moms and dads snuggle their children shortly after birth, the parents’ bodies release hormones that generate good feelings, helping them bond with their new little ones.

And we remember the greetings that the angels brought to the shepherds. Our Christmas carols proclaim peace on earth, good will toward men.

But, like John the Baptist, Jesus could also be harsh. He echoed John’s words in calling the Pharisees a brood of vipers (Matthew 12:34). In Luke 12:51, He declared very bluntly, “Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.” He said families would be divided by His message. The entire Jewish culture would be split in the debate over whether He was truly the Messiah that they’d been expecting for millennia.

Jesus didn’t bring joy to the religious leaders of His day. He didn’t bring joy to the rich young ruler. He didn’t bring joy to the self-righteous.

Again like John, though, Jesus preached a message of concern for the poor, hope for the vulnerable, and relief for the victims. Yes, He set high standards—making anger comparable to murder, and making lust or remarriage after divorce comparable to adultery. He advised his hearers to tear out the eye or chop off the hand that offends the righteousness of God. But He also proclaimed blessings on the poor in spirit, the meek, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted. (All these teachings are found in Matthew chapter 5.)

The Baby brings joy

I know we inherit original sin at conception. Even a newborn isn’t entirely innocent. He’s a bundle of selfishness, demanding that his needs be met without lifting a finger to minister to anyone else. But in his newness and neediness and naivety, that baby is a symbol of the poor in spirit, the meek, and the pure in heart.

Maybe that’s one reason God sent Jesus to us as an infant. In His first appearance, He reminds us of the good, the pure, and the hope that we hold. He touches the hearts of those around Him, softening them by His very presence.

So I’ll take some time this Christmas season to find joy in Jesus the baby. During this period of busyness, I’ll occasionally turn my eyes from the pain and suffering around me without accusing myself of denial or escapism. I’ll receive that joy as a gift from God to be remembered and celebrated at least once a year. Later, I’ll recall the sorrow and the injustice in my world. But right now I’ll rest in the joy and peace and hope that the angels declared to the shepherds and that the Baby stirs in the hearts of all who come near to Him.

 

 


Friday, November 4, 2022

A Blended Family

Mixed marriages

The annual Thanksgiving Eve service at my church will be starting soon. I’m volunteering in the Children’s Department. Most of the kids are attending the service with their parents, but the pastor wanted to offer birth-to-fifth-grade child-care for those who prefer it.

As a retired teacher, I miss being around these young ones. I don’t even know most of the children in my own church. That’s why I’m here. To get a dose of kid-time and maybe build some new relationships (as well as lending a helping hand, of course).

The first two people walk up to the sign-in desk. White mother. Asian child, nine years old, named Molly. The last name sounds Chinese. Cool. A mixed marriage. In these days of racial division and strife, mixed marriages remind me that peace can prevail, at least within one family.

The next group arrives. White mother. Eight-year-old African-American girl named Connie. Two-year-old blond girl named Cherry. Another interracial family. This is what the church should be. A place where people with different skin colors can have intimate relationships.


Confusion

We’re meeting in the gym so the children can have some play time before we start more structured activities. With a bouncy ball and plenty of space, the kids spontaneously begin a game, making up the rules as they go along. The older children adapt to the limited skills of the younger ones when their turns come up. I smile at the close connection between Connie and Cherry, as they talk and laugh and hug each other, even in the middle of the game.

Eventually, Molly looks at them with a puzzled expression, seeing their special relationship. She asks how they know each other. “We’re sisters!” they both exclaim with pride and joy (and another hug).

“But. . . but. . .,” Molly stammers, glancing back and forth at the two of them, then looking around as if it should be obvious to everyone that they couldn’t possibly have the same parents. No response from anyone else. A close scrutiny of their name tags, then a triumphant expression. “But you have different last names!”

All three girls look puzzled now. Connie and Cherry honestly don’t understand what the problem is. I hesitate for a minute, allowing the girls a chance to sort it out among themselves. But they remain silent, so I ask, “You have the same mother but different fathers, right?” They nod. The game begins again.


Heaven and the first Thanksgiving

I love this living illustration of the holiday we’ll be celebrating tomorrow. As we chow down on our turkey and stuffing and sweet potatoes and pumpkin pie, the most basic reason for our rejoicing tends to get lost—the coming together of two different races, with two very different sets of life experiences, to share a meal in peace and harmony.

My thoughts also turn to heaven. I smile as I realize that in the next world no one will see two girls who look so different on the outside and wonder how they could possibly belong to the same family. It will be more like those two girls themselves—unable to understand why anyone would question their relationship.

The blood of all the races and ethnic groups will be blended together in one Father and His children. We’ll be so intimately united that we’ll understand each other perfectly and love each other perfectly. Nothing as superficial as skin color, and nothing as deep as vastly different life experiences, will ever separate us again.

And yet we’ll each retain our own unique identity. When Jesus was confronted with the question of life after death, His response was that God is the God of the living, not the dead, specifically naming Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Matthew 22:32). He implied that the three of them are still living their own individual yet transformed lives in another realm.

Revelation 7:9 says, “After this I looked and there before me was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people and language, standing before the throne and in front of the Lamb.” It sounds like there will still be some distinguishable differences among members of different nations, tribes, peoples, and languages even in heaven. I’m not sure exactly what that will look like, but the Bible is full of hints that we’ll each retain our own unique identity there, in perfect harmony with a wide variety of equally unique brothers and sisters.

We don’t handle our differences very well in this life. I need to remember to pray more often, “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” in regard to race relations in my country. But sometimes, such as when I look at these two families within my church or when I see children of mixed ethnic and racial backgrounds playing together happily, I get a glimpse of the life to come, with its perfect blend of unity and diversity. The same glimpse that was clearly visible on that first Thanksgiving.

 

 

Friday, October 7, 2022

Readers' Comments

 So I went to leave a reply to a comment on my last article, and I got an error message.

Oh no!, I thought. Is that what’s happening to readers who try to submit comments?

I did some troubleshooting, and I think I found the answer. As you can see, it worked for me. Every article I read confirmed that my settings were where they should be, but couldn’t explain why I couldn’t get through.

Then there was that one last article. Someone else had discovered that one of those highly-recommended settings was creating the problem. I changed the setting, and was able to submit and publish my own comment. (It might also be necessary to click on the OK button to accept cookies.)

If you’ve tried leaving a comment in the past, only to be frustrated by an irritating error message, I hope you’ll try again. If you’re still having trouble, please contact me at anomaly2134@gmail.com.

Thank you!

Ann

Friday, September 30, 2022

The Body is More Important

My body is important

Noticed something for the first time today in Matthew 6:25. Jesus says, “Is not . . . the body more important than clothes?” (my emphasis). Jesus Himself is actually calling my body important. Never really thought about that before. In verse 33, He promises to provide for it. When He walked this earth, He spent much of His ministry healing physical bodies. Sounds as if our bodies matter to Him, as if He has a special affection and purpose for them.

I know the Bible tells us that we’re created in God’s image (Genesis 1:27). But God is a spirit, so I’ve always spiritualized that idea. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the possibility that my physical body somehow represents God.


Rebelling against my culture

As a young Christian, there were times when I was absolutely dogmatic about the unimportance of the body. I’d seen the idolatrous way many believers were bowing down to the god of appearance and I’d gone to the opposite extreme.

Well, not quite all the way to the opposite extreme. I still showered and washed my clothes. I didn’t wear rags everywhere I went. But I chose a less-than-fashionable, easy-care hairstyle and inexpensive outfits. I gave up on makeup, and I went through one period when I no longer shaved my legs even though I wore shorts in the hottest weather. Here in America, that seemed pretty radical. It made me feel holier than the Christian women around me who spent hours doing their hair and faces, and big bucks financing their wardrobes.

Have I ever mentioned that pride is one of my greatest spiritual challenges?

If I’d been honest with myself, I would have had to admit that my response to America’s insane emphasis on appearance is actually more nerdy than spiritual. I’d probably overreact to it just as much even if I wasn’t a Christian.

I don’t really get fashion. My style has always been more practical than pretty. And it doesn’t help that my proportions aren’t what they’re supposed to be for a woman. I’ve got wide shoulders, a long body, and short legs. The latest fads usually look all wrong on me. (Think shoulder pads.)


The negative impact of my church

It also didn’t help that the youth pastors in my church chose the most popular, best-looking students for leadership positions. Not the ones most dedicated to Jesus. The pastors’ hearts were in the right place. They thought that the attractive kids would be more likely to bring large numbers of friends to our youth group. More souls saved. But they weren’t following a biblical model.

Where are those formerly popular kids now? Most of them are experiencing the effects of shallow roots and choking weeds (Matthew 13:3-23). Few of them are still professing their faith. Almost all of them are divorced or have live-in lovers, suffer from poor relationships with their adult children, and appear cynical and unhappy.

They’d had their reward many long years ago in the attention given to them by the youth pastors, rather than storing up treasures in heaven (Matthew 6:1-21). I didn’t know it at the time, but all through high school they were leading double lives. They put on an appearance of obedience while filling important roles within our group, but when no one was looking they were rebelling against God’s commandments in their lifestyles.

I was deeply dedicated to Jesus as a teenage baby Christian. But within my church, I was a nobody. The youth pastors snubbed me in favor of the good-looking kids. The pain that I experienced in my church as a new believer was a powerful factor in turning me away from a biblical view of my body.


My body is a temple

But Jesus tells me that my body is important. Paul even says that it’s a temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19). Sounds mind-bogglingly important when you put it that way.

As I try to grasp this incredible concept, two aspects of the temple come to mind. The first one has always been emphasized by evangelicals: The demand to keep God’s temple pure. During my high school years, this idea was used to support all the rules on how to live. Don’t smoke, don’t have sex outside of marriage, don’t do drugs, don’t get drunk, and so on.

That’s one way that our bodies are important. They should reflect the purity and holiness of God.

But the body is more important than those don’ts. We should also be reflecting His image in our positive behaviors. Treating others with love and kindness and respect. Reaching out to those who are hurting. Being peacemakers. It takes a physical body to feed others with the spiritual fruit growing inside us. By placing all the emphasis on the negatives, my youth pastors failed me in this area, too. They didn’t have, and therefore couldn’t pass on to me, a biblical view of the body.

The second aspect of the temple relates to its physical design. In the Old Testament, God gave David and Solomon detailed instructions on how to build a temple filled with beauty (see “Joy From Sorrow”).

Humans everywhere demonstrate a desire to make their bodies look better. We have a natural tendency to decorate, to bring beauty, to everything within our reach. Just as God does. He wasn’t content to create a practical but plain or ugly universe. By His very nature, He dressed it up in loveliness. We’re imitating Him, acting as His image-bearers, when we care for and decorate our bodies.

So maybe it's okay to wear a little makeup and jewelry and to spend some time choosing outfits that look good on me. Maybe I’m simply enhancing my body as God enhanced His universe. Taking delight in creativity and beauty, as He does.

The challenge is to treat my body as a temple, a dwelling place for the Creator of this vast and beautiful universe, without turning it into an idol. To value it as something important and precious in His sight, but to seek God first and to worship Him alone.

 


Friday, September 2, 2022

Walking, Running, Soaring, Dancing

 Running

“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us” (Hebrews 12:1).

“Run in such a way as to get the prize” (1 Corinthians 9:24).

These are the verses I often hear when someone is teaching about following Jesus. Run. Use all your energy. Push yourself. Anything less would be slacking off. Show your excitement and enthusiasm.

Most of the time that admonition just makes me feel discouraged and hopeless. I’m not often capable of running. I look back on my life and see my own slowness, especially during times of suffering. If life is a race, I’m like one of those marathon runners who struggles over the finish line hours after the winners have all gone home.

I tend to think that my negative reaction to the preaching and teaching about running is mostly based on my low energy level. But then I turn to God’s Word and realize that my gut feeling about slowing down as we follow Him has a lot of biblical support.

Walking

God walked in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:8). He promised to walk among His people if they remained faithful to Him (Leviticus 26:12). He describes His followers as walking with Him (e.g. Genesis 5:22, 6:9), commands His people to walk in His ways (e.g. Deuteronomy 5:33, 1 John 1:7), and promises them blessings when they do (1Kings 3:14).

Why do we stress the verses that say to run and practically ignore the idea of walking? Maybe we’re simply imitating the culture around us. A culture that tells us to go for the gusto, break free from all our shackles, make an exuberant bucket list and check off every item one by one. A culture that no longer values patience and persistence.

Jesus refers to running in many ways, but never as an illustration for following Him. He describes pagans as running after the wrong things (Matthew 6:32). He assures us that those who know Him will run away from a false shepherd (John 10:5). He warns us about running after those who claim to come in His name, but who don’t actually know Him (Luke 17:23). John urges his readers to continue in Jesus’ teaching, rather than running ahead (2 John 9).

Obviously, running in itself isn’t wrong, or Paul wouldn’t encourage us to do it. Maybe the problem lies in our tendency to lose control or go our own way once we get our momentum up. It’s harder to follow God’s minute-by-minute leading when we’re moving too fast. Harder to avoid an obstacle or turn a sudden corner. Easier to crash. And more deadly when we do.


Soaring

Many years ago, I heard a sermon on Isaiah 40:31, “Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” Prior to that morning, every lesson I’d ever heard on this verse stressed renewal, soaring, running, no weariness, no fainting.

That teaching appealed to me. I desperately wanted all those blessings, especially during my first depressive episode, when I had very little physical or emotional strength. I treasured this promise for the hope it provided.

But this sermon broke the usual mold. This time the pastor stressed that we all have different experiences at different times in our lives. Sometimes we’re soaring and sometimes we’re running. But there are also times when all we can do is walk. God promises to be with us and help us even then. I liked this pastor’s approach. He had a heart for those who were hurting.

I have some negative thoughts related to walking, though. When I hear that word “persevering,” my mind doesn’t leap to Hebrews 12:1 and envision the joy of running freely. Instead, my mental image tends to be one of trudging along, painfully grinding through my trials, dragging my feet, putting up with whatever’s happening, but longing for things to get better.


Dancing

I want to run, I want to soar, right now. I want to dance, as David did before the ark of God (2 Samuel 6:14). I want the exhilaration that comes with running and soaring and dancing. But I have to stop and ask myself: Am I seeking God? Or am I seeking that exhilaration? Am I just looking for an emotional experience? Or do I long for the true joy of the Spirit, which cannot be manufactured by my own efforts but grows like fruit as I walk with Him?

I’d like to think that even when my body is struggling to make it through the day, my spirit can still be active. I can run and soar and dance on the inside. Sometimes that happens, but not very often.

When I’m physically weary, my mind also slows down. And my spirit. I have a hard time focusing on God’s promises and His character and the amazing things He’s done for me throughout my new life. Prayer takes an extra effort. He keeps me from fainting, and there are occasional breakthroughs when my spirit soars in spite of Satan’s attacks. But I’m usually just crawling along, even on the inside.


Waiting

There are also times when He asks us to stand still. Several psalms talk about waiting on the Lord, as in Psalm 37:7, “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.” Isaiah says, “Blessed are all who wait for him” (verse 30:18). Some translations use the word “wait,” rather than “hope,” in Isaiah 40:31 (above). The waiting comes before the soaring and running. It even seems to be a condition for being able to soar on wings like eagles, to run and not grow weary, and to walk without fainting.

Father, help me to wait when I need to, and to follow You step by slow step when I’d much rather break free and run. Help me to take those steps with joy, rather than trudging along gloomily. Help me to resist the world’s view that my life should be one of constant, excited motion. And please, oh please, let me dance.