When You Take a Vow

I have a particular pet peeve that centers on what I believe is a very selfish and flippant attitude that people hold regarding commitments they have made. I have always fastidiously held the position that Solomon hit the nail on the head when he stated, "It is better not to vow than to make a vow and not fulfill it." (Ecclesiastes 5:5). Jesus hammered it in even more with, "Simply let your 'Yes' be 'Yes' and your 'No,' 'No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one." (Matthew 5:37)
I suppose this becomes even more of an issue with me because in my job I depend on those who have committed to being part of a specific event. Whether it is serving kids at a local apartment community of delivering meals to a senior citizen, if someone says they will do something, and then doesn't do it, somebody else surely suffers for it. Generally the ones who endure the fallout are the very ones who have been responsible to show up and then have to shoulder not only their commitment, but also the extra work of the one who isn't there to do their part. Oh, I'm not talking about the rare cases when something unavoidable and out of control comes up - stuff happens. I'm talking about the inclination to blow it off when the time comes to do something you've promised to do and you just don't feel like it, or something else seems more compelling at the time. After planning and coordinating hundreds of outreach events, I have witnessed over and over the fallout of unfulfilled vows. 
At the same time, and even more significant, the weakness of human character has allowed me to witness the strength of the character of God. God has yet to call me to a task that, with or without the compliance of others, He has not provided the means to accomplish. Where I am weak, He is strong. When I strive in my own strength, or even depending on the strength of others, He backs off. But when I, in total humility, admit my utter frailty and dependency, He shows up in glory and gets it done. He has proven that He is able....time and time again. It is my saving grace.
Nevertheless, we are interdependent and we need each other.  So, if you've said you would do something, please think twice before you change your mind. Chances are, someone is really depending on you to follow through. And, when you don't, you are placing your share of the load on already overburdened shoulders. 

Cloudy Days and Sunshine

It was dark and dreary when my alarm violated a vivid dream state at 6 am on this Saturday morning. But once I was up and on my way, it was well worth the aggravation and discomfort. I drove through a temporary rainfall to get to my destination at Centennial Village, where a dozen churches are collaborating to build three Habitat homes for three deserving families. The family for whom my church toils is a Katrina-displaced mom, grandmother and son. The mom cried as she tried to thank everyone for making it possible for someone from the tiny island of Grenada, by way of New Orleans, to be receiving a new home after all the suffering. And I'm reminded that God doesn't call us to a life free of pain. How in the world would we ever learn to lean on Him if it were easy? And He does love it when we give it up, realizing our own weakness that bows to His strength. I am finally getting to the place where I can join Paul in appreciating the hard times. Heartache and affliction help strip away all the superficial ways I try to justify and compromise what matters to God. They draw me to the heart of a Savior who took all the filth the world could throw at him, horror far worse than I could ever begin to fathom, and bore excruciating pain for every sin I would ever commit. A million tongues could never sing enough praises to honor that sacrifice. At the Habitat site today, as a pastor prayed that every hammered nail would be a prayer, the sun broke through. That perfect gesture on God's part was certainly not lost on me.

Covered

Life is a great journey, but I sometimes fear I should be farther along the road than I am. I read my daughter's words and have to admit I swell with pride at seeing her progression as an artist. But more than that I am grateful for her astonishing maturity and beautiful spirit. I think of myself at that age and the contrast is shameful. We share the same introspection and pick-it-apart view of the world, but at 24 years old, I had so much less depth. She is grounded in her faith, in her belief system and in what she wants. I was a Christian who didn't get it, one who never opened her Bible and was thus existing in prolonged infancy. Paul addressed me as one tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by whatever came along. I look at this child of mine and see so much more. I thank God that I had partially figured things out before she came along; at least enough so that I may have had at least a small part - through my constant prayers if nothing else - in her becoming a seeker of Truth. I read her words - her poems - her prose - and I admit my envy. I used to write poetry, I used to dream of my words carrying that kind of weight, of being that profound. Now I write a blog that no one reads and compose great Christmas letters. The dreams are still there, but lack the ambition and the energy to propel them into reality. I have let life suck that zeal out of me like a slowly leaking tire and I find myself too flat to carry the load. I used to be the driven person that I see in my daughter now. And that is partly why I am her biggest cheerleader. I see her eyeing her dreams with purpose and I want to scream, "Go for it my beautiful, talented daughter!" When I read her words about castles in the sky and building stairways to them I am brought to tears by the poignancy. My staircase got sidetracked by my love of a boy who ended up betraying me, by self-preservation and by focus on the wrong things. She is too smart to seek her essence in the wrong places and so I am thankful that perhaps her DNA holds some of the good parts of me and escaped those parts that tend to seek short-lived gratification in destructive ways. I see the hand of God on this child of mine and my heart soars. Odd as it seems, she is living the life I was supposed to have, and that lovingly affirms my belief that the One who created us both is indeed the Master of second chances. The amazing grace that covers us is as comforting now as the childhood blanket - her "bah" - that my daughter wouldn't leave home without. She has exchanged that emblem of childhood security for the true Comforter. And knowing she is covered still is my greatest joy.

I will bow down toward your holy temple and will praise your name for your love and your faithfulness, for you have exalted about all things your name and your work. -Psalm 138:2

I have been pondering a recent conversation I had over lunch with a friend from church. Inevitably the topic wove its way to a critique of the worship service - the music, the order of worship, yada yada yada. I tried to be patient and understanding and not too critical of the criticizer. And I listened and responded in what I hope was a gentle way. But the exchange left me unsettled and not a little bit disturbed about the attitude so many Christians have about worship in general. Since when did it become about us? What is it that makes us think we go to church to get fed and fired up enough to survive another week until we can come back and refuel and start the weary cycle all over again? Has it never registered with some people that worship is simply and purely about God? And God doesn't care what songs we sing or the order in which we sing them or whether the choir wears robes or jeans. He's not the least bit concerned about whether we use hymnals or power point, or anything else we get ourselves so worked up over. God is more concerned about our hearts and where they are, not just during this one hour on Sunday, but also during the other 167 hours of the week. Worship is just the chance to come together corporately and lift the name of God....to love Him and let Him love on us in a group setting. But true worship has everything to do with God's enjoyment, and little to do with us. I'm no theologian, but, to me, authentic worship is letting the Spirit of God within us connect with the one who created us purely for His good pleasure. We were created to worship Him in everything we do, and it is so much more about surrender than it is about self. That's not to say that we don't derive joy from the process. Oh, we do! But that joy is more from experiencing His presence in a powerful way. It is more internalized than it is for show. We should be far more concerned about whether God is pleased with our praise than we are with ourselves.

Lapse

I'm obviously not very good at this blogging stuff, as evidenced by the huge lapse of time between posts. I'll admit I'm much more comfortable with a pen in my hand and a journal in my lap. My favorite and most creativity-inspiring spot is sitting upon my bed at the cabin, cup of coffee on the bed side table, kitty on my feet, music playing, and sunlight dappling through the lacy curtains. That seems to be my place to meet with the muse. On most days......I'll admit - I got nothing. And I'll further admit, it puts a little pressure on me to think I've started yet another venture that lacks follow-through. The story of my life. And it's not like - as is true of most of us - I don't have things to say. I do. It's just that taking the time to translate thoughts to fingers to keyboard is an exercise I get lazy about. Physical exercise comes easy ... I love my trips to the gym and thrive on the sweaty euphoria that follows a good workout. If only I could train myself to be as agile mentally. The good feeling that follows equates to the endorphins summoned by physical exertion. It comes from the realization that you have been able to translate innermost thoughts into words that express something that might resonate with a fellow sojourner. And so I am making the following vow to self: I will exercise the craft of transposing thoughts into written words, if for no other reason that to sort them out for my own well-being. If someone else might happen by and benefit, I would consider that a divine appointment affirming my efforts.

Servants of Light

It  is one of those rare, lazy days when I have nothing that presses with the tyranny of the urgent. It is a cherished gift that allows breathing space - a chance to ponder and sift recent events and allow myself the luxury of staying in my pj's, being a slug. The past week included the funeral of a gentleman five years my junior, a seminar on the ponderous subject of child sex-trafficking in Atlanta and a meeting on the resolution of a ministry to the homeless which is faltering. Heavy, weighty, real-life issues that press down on the psyche like an anvil. It's good to be able to take a step back, gather in a lung-full of air and offer it all to the One whose burden is light. When I think it is all too much to bear, I am reminded of what He bore for all who inhabit this befuddled, ragtag planet. I know it is just as important to embrace the pain and suffering as the joy. Henri Nouwen said, "Faith is the deep trust that God's love is stronger than all the anonymous powers of the world and can transform us from victims of darkness into servants of light." If I can just strive to keep the beat to that unforced rhythm of grace that is uniquely mine, that is authentic, then I am on my way to becoming that servant of light. If I can be quiet and still long enough to hear that still, small voice that speaks straight from the heart of God to my being, then I am making a modicum of progress. The question, as always, is am I listening? Am I trusting? And, above all, am I being obedient? 

Unforced Rhythms

I have always loved the water. As a child I spent hour upon hour plumbing the depths of the backyard pool or the lake...twirling, spinning, an astronaut untethered - a free-form dance with sparkling overtones. I didn't realize at the time, but in retrospect, God has granted me the grace to recognize the pure, unfettered joy of that freedom.... of having my being at one with what Peterson terms the "unforced rhythms of grace." I didn't know I was being wooed by the Creator of light and water and air and every cell that motivated muscle to move. I only knew sunlight that penetrated the water and captured a thousand diamonds on the water's surface, inviting me to a sense of security and loveliness. All was right with the world - the way it should be. As if floating on the wind or drifting on a cloud, or dancing with God. I felt a palpable Love in that underwater blue haven, as secure as the womb. And, from the safety of that place, the whole world lay before me, sparkling and bright and inviting.