Where the Illustration Breaks Down...

 Where the Illustration Breaks Down

So I was talking to a very good friend the other day and she was being the great friend that she is and encouraging, challenging me and using scripture to spur me on to righteousness.
Gotta love her.
Honestly, there is nothing in this world that comforts me like the Word of God, even though it is sometimes the last place I go.
So in my conversation with her, I was likening my life to those of the Israelites. Jacob's decendents, just being freed from Egyptian slavery, watched God part the Red Sea. Time after time impossible situations came up and God, in all His glory, showed up and did something amazing. Whenever a challenge came up, instead of getting excited about how God would show up, they fussed and grumbled! He changed bitter water...those from Odessa know about gross water...into sweet water (I know, crazy, right?). They grumbled and fussed about food, God gave them Manna and Quail.

 My friend said that what may come is manna, not the Promised Land. Then we joked about how instead of steak and onions (or salmon and asparagus), we might just get manna. Crackers and poultry.

 My WHOLE LIFE I have thought that Manna was just like the pathetic Lords supper crackers we eat every few months at church. Teeny tiny small white squares of dry cracker. Usually, it made me cough. And washing it down with a sip of stout grape juice didn't help much.

So that’s what I though Manna was. Dry little squares. They put it in jars and had the tasteless cracker for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I guess maybe they crunched it up and breaded the quail at dinnertime with it?

Just to be honest and upfront, the last several months have been marked with disappointment for me.

Lol.. Just wanted to throw that in. It will make sense in a minute.

Matthew and I have been married for ELEVEN years now and by this time I am, WAS, sure I knew everything about him. Until last night.

As many of you know, Matthew and I like to talk. And we never go to bed at a reasonable hour. So in our midnight musings, we were reviewing our day and significant conversations therein when I recounted the friendly, encouraging conversation with the above mentioned friend (the one from the beginning of this blog). :)  I asked Matthew (innocently, I thought) "What do you think about when you think about manna?" His answer:

"CINNABON"

"No, seriously, honey. What do you think the manna was?"

"Cinnabon!"

"Sweetie, its late, quit messing with me."

"Ok, to be more precise, sweet rolls. I always think manna was like sweet rolls!  I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME!"

Two amazing things happened to me in that minute. I actually learned something completely new about my husband (clearly, I thought we were passed that) and I learned something about GOD.

As we kept talking, entirely too far into the night, I realized that manna couldn’t have been this nourishment-free, unleavened, crummy cracker. For one thing, unleavened bread was special, and used at special times to remember the Lord freeing them from slavery overnight. God doesn’t make common that which is special. God’s provision isn’t just saltines. It is sweet nourishment, fortified with all the vitamins and minerals we need. It might be flaky, but so are croissants,  and it is filling and abundant and just what we need for today.

God gives us manna for life on this earth as we know it. The Israelites were on the way to the Promised Land. What comes next for me in this life will never be the Promised Land and so I will, until the day I die, need nourishment from the Lord. I will need manna, everyday, from now til I die. Until that day, I will try to think of the Old Testament manna as more like Cinnabon, and less like saltines. Gods encouragement and provisions are sweet and miraculous and plentiful and nourishing. Instead of grumbling, I am going to try to curl up in my Saviors lap and cry a little, talk to Him anout these tough times and remember that the Lords glory is near, and he cares about his people. He cares about me and isn’t just going to give me crackers when I need His holy yumminess.

stuffy noses

A few nights ago, very late at night, I was crying. Not the silent, one tear running down your face, cry you sometimes get in a movie (confession: I cried at the end of Toy Story 3), but the sobbing, wetness coming out of every opening on my face, nose so stuffed that I couldn’t breathe kind of crying. I was lying in bed with Matthew, and he was holding me as the tragedy of this broken world caved in on me.

But here’s the thing, I felt bad that I was getting Matthew’s chest all wet. My tears, snot and slobber were making a pool on his chest so I closed my mouth, and to sort of stop the flow from my eyes I closed them, too, and then just laid there still. It was comfortable. I fit so perfectly in the place where Matthew’s shoulder meets his chest. This is the best place to be when I am sad (or happy for that matter, or asleep.) Well, so what’s the problem, right? Well, remember how when you cry your nose runs but also gets all stopped, right? Well, mine was stopped up completely, and even though I really needed to blow my nose, my tissue box was too far away and to get it I would have to get out of this very peaceful place I was in. So I just laid there, eyes closed, mouth closed, and holding my breath cause my nose didn’t work. 

Finally the pressure was too much and I had to move. Blah.

Many more tears landed on Matthew’s chest, and then my pillow that night.

This morning the call came. I was lying in bed, waiting for a decongestant to kick in, when my phone rang and Matthew answered it.

My Grandmother has died.

All day today I have at times had this pang in my chest, like an alarm saying “You didn’t say goodbye!” But I did, I remind myself. A few weeks ago, while she was just barely well enough to still be at my Mom’s house, we went to see her. I encouraged her to finish drinking a glass of tea, then lay down for a nap. I sat there and chatted with her and rubbed her back and head. Mom used to do that to me, and it made me feel better, so I figured it would help Grandmother feel better, too. She groaned and said “You know how to do that just right! You are a good rubber-er!”

We sat there for a long time. We talked a little, but also just sat there quietly. I remember her hair in my fingers, smoothing it, then re-fluffing it. When it was time to go, I kissed her cheek and told her I loved her. And “See you later.” She told me she loved me, too.

 She has been my Grandmother my entire life. She came to the house when I was little for my birthday. She gave me a pretty pink and white dress.

She was always old and she would always laugh at us.

She had a specific aroma. Later in high school, I realized that that smell was really just dust, but she gave me a large orange pillow that had been in her house for ages, and I loved it because I could burry my nose in it and smell her. I miss that pillow, but I can still remember how she smells. I hope I never forget that.

Not for me

Good morning!

 Since I was in here last I have been half way around the world and lived to tell about it.

We have entering the Easter season now, as you can tell by the chocolate bunnies, pink and white dresses in the little girls section, and the same Cadbury audition commercial that has been on the air for 20 years!

Easter time on our home is marked by “Resurrection Eggs:” 12 plastic eggs that contain items to talk about every day leading up to Easter.  These is a donkey, a bowl and towel, a cup (which, thanks to the movie Cars, has now been dubbed the “Piston Cup”), a nail, a miniature crown of thorns, a rock, and one that might be my favorite: the empty egg! There is nothing inside because Jesus is no longer in the grave, he has taken on our guilt, our sin, our shame, paid for them with his own blood and by the mighty power that only He has, Jesus the Messiah has defeated death and lives again!

Along with watching my chocolate intake and explaining that rabbits don’t lay eggs, I have the opportunity to remember, evaluate and think upon what Jesus did for me that weekend many, many years ago.

 Sometimes, I feel like what Jesus did was so long ago that is hardly real. Sometimes I need a reminder that Jesus is a real person, that he lived a real life, really walked on this earth, really ate and drank, and really died for me. I think the hardest reality that I face is that Jesus really did do all this and he really really did it to save me. I am just too small. I screw up too much. I just don’t deserve this amazing act, and I sure don’t the relationship Jesus wants to have with me.

This past weekend, I had the privilege of teaching the ladies class at our church. The text we covered actually really helped me with this. For the first time in many years, I can face up to my salvation without insecurity. Here’s what I took away from the Word…I know, I’m telling you the conclusion before we even get started! But hang with me anyway…

Ok, here’s what it is: Jesus didn’t save me for me. He saved me for Him.

There is no arguing that I am important, or treasured, or special to Jesus, I am, more so that I, will ever understand. But my salvation didn’t happen for me, it happened so God would be glorified.

This understanding took the pressure off me in so many ways, I am so undeserving of God’s grace and I so misuse it and I sometimes feel like such a disappointment, that I feel like sometimes I want to deny any kind of relationship with him, just put my head down and serve him.  I’ll just serve, I don’t need a relationship, just let me do his laundry, I’ll watch kids, clean the dishes, just don’t count on me to hold my own in any type of relationship. I can’t maintain it and I don’t deserve it.

But then I get in God’s word, and he speaks to me almost audibly and He tells me, He’s not in this for me, He’s in this for Him and He can handle a rollercoaster relationship with me, and He wants the world, the nations, all of them, to know what an amazing God He is, and He wants to do it by saving me from despair, and destruction.

I don’t know if you have ever felt the way I do. But if you have, let me tell you there is HOPE.

Isaiah 61

The main idea is this: God has a plan to display His glory through the restoration of His people, of all nations through His messiah, Jesus Christ.

We are going to unpack this idea, so let’s start at the beginning…

1.      Who? GOD I like it when stuff starts with God.

2.      Has a plan and he is in control: from the time Adam sinned in the garden, through Abraham, and Moses, and David we see God progressively revealing His plan to restore the world.

3.      To restore his people..Jesus, the Messiah does this by making exchanges.

We see this ultimately on the cross…, we’ll, get to that…

            but here we see,  the exchanges God makes in order to restore us, his people.

Let’s read and find the first list of exchanges, in verses 1 and 2 the

            broken hearted get bound up

            captives get freedom

            prisoners get released

When I first read through this, I thought that captives and prisoners were kinda the same thing, and passed this redundancy off as a literary tactic, but after prayer and some time, the Lord helped me see a difference.

Captives have their freedoms taken from them, but not because of something that they did. They are victims of war, refugees, something has been done to them, they are the victims.

But prisoners, prisoners have their freedom taken because of something that they did. They have wronged someone or broken the law.

So who am I? The victim, of course, right? Laughter…

No, I think we, spiritually, are both.

Adam sinned, so sin entered the world. By no choice of our own, in 21^st century Odessa, we are held captive by sin. Bad stuff has happened and bad stuff will happen to us and around us. We cannot escape the effects of sin.

But, at the same time, we sin. We, I, choose to speed in my car, choose to be snippy with my kids, to brag or gossip. For the most part, I know when I am sinning, ‘cause I am choosing to do so!

And I am held accountable.

The sentence I receive for Adams sin, and my sin, is death. I am held captive and prisoner.

But God demonstrates his love for us in this that while we were, are, still sinners, Christ died for us.

Jesus, in his love, took Adams sin, and my sin, took the shame, and filth, and lies and quarrels, and depressions and insecurity.

 He took off his splendor in heaven, and put on my ugliness in the form of a cloth that just barely covered his loins, and he took my death sentence and put it on his head as a crown of thorns and nails through his hands.

Out of my hands he took these things, but in exchange, he gave me freedom. He released me from the captivity of sin, and took on my death sentence. And he chose to do so, so He would be glorified.

Remember, that was his plan all along. He wants the Glory. He deserves the glory. If Adam had never sinned, then Adam would be Lord, so Adam’s sin leveled the playing field. Now all humans are equally messed up and in need of salvation. Only God is perfect. Only God is holy. And he gets the Glory when he saves his people.

I am going to stop here, because this blog is getting long. Sunday I had a captive audience, but you can walk away, feed the kids, have a coffee, etc. So I’ll let you go do those things. I actually do need to go feed my kids. it's national Grilled Cheese Month ya know...

Have a good lunch…

Sitting in the Bathroom at Night

Right now, as the title of this blog implies, I am sitting in the kids bathroom watching my son sleep. he is curled up, head on a folded towel, cool wet washcloth draped over his eyes and another large towel wrapped around him to keep him warm. He just opened his eyes, looked me, pointed at me, then said "that one was really good.." In all honesty, I have no idea what he is talking about. He, like his daddy, is a sleep talker.
A little over half an hour ago, he came clammering into our room, bent over with stomach pains. Having had a stomach virus a week and a half ago, I sympathize. Off to the bathroom we go to. My poor, sweet little boy is in so much pain, but aside from the little sips of water or Gatorade, I have nothing to offer him. I cannot make his pain go away. Now, having been a recent sufferrer, I know that the tummy cramps will at sometime pass and those kinds of pains are only relieved my the passing of the virus. So I just pray for Gods healing for him and wisdom for me, because as the worrying mother I tend to have all sorts of horrible things run through my head...will he suddenly stop breathing, does he have a parasite, is he going to throwup every hour for the next six hours like I did, will he suddenly spike a fever like those little girls did and will I have to say good bye to my son forever...STOP! Stop the worrying!
He made several passes at the toilet, I will spare you the details, and after several more lifetimes, uh, I mean minutes, he has settled down, on the bathroom floor, peacefully sleeping.
I remember being sick as a child. My Mother is a nurse and I have never had anything but utmost confidence in her when it comes to anything sick or hurting. It was always better to have mom around. I remember once feeling the sick churn in my stomach and instead of racing to the bathroom, into my parents room, to Mom's side of the bed I raced. That is where I wanted most to be when it all came out. Next to Mom.
Now I am Mom.
My own Mother is halfway across Texas, hopefully sleeping soundly. I decided not to call her at 2 in the morning to seek aid...
I get to do now what she did. She had medical training, but she also relied on prayer. She would rub my back, or wipe my face, hold my hair back, sweep it behind my ear, and when things calmed down, she would pray. I ALWAYS feel better when she prays for me. Even if I did throw up again, Mom had prayed, so everything was going to be ok.
So now I pray for my son, and for me. It helps.
He has been sleeping soundly now for a while, so I'm gonna try to move him to his bed. What seems to have been the problem has now passed, I do not believe it is a virus...just a product of the fibrous dinner we ate several hours ago.
Thank you Lord for a Mother who passed down a nurturing spirit. For her example to pray, for the comfort that prayer brings. Sitting up at night with my child, in some strange way is so fulfilling. Thank you Lord for motherhood, for sickness that draws us nearer to you. I ask you, PLEASE, Lord, let this little boy sleep well for the rest of the night. He wants so much to go to church in the morning. Also, while I am asking, Please let me sleep. This blog opportunity has been great, but I am pretty tired now.~