Category: Devotionally Speaking

“Every man will sit under his own vine and under his own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid.” ~ Micah 4:4

One of the most common questions asked at this time of year is often answered in a way that might seem benign, even noble.  “What do you want for Christmas?”  “I just want to be happy.”  Who can argue with that? It’s certainly more agreeable than being presented with a laundry list of material desires.  But more and more I find myself wrestling with the way the world prioritizes the pursuit of happiness as an ultimate life goal.  This is not to say that I don’t enjoy things like hearing my son’s belly laugh, biting into a fresh-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookie, or feeling the ocean breeze on my skin.  Those things make me happy, but they are not the source of my Hope.

Recently I have recognized a pattern in my thinking that has shifted my focus away from the truth of what Hope in God really means.  I tend to get caught up in checking the boxes on my list of things to do, with the goal in mind of seeing results, feeling accomplished, arriving at peace and rest.  In doing so I am putting my hope in all the places that it doesn’t belong – my job, my home, even the list itself.  How diminishing it is for me to live as though the gift of Jesus’s birth, death, and resurrection was to create space for my lists and my own earthly priorities.

The blessed Hope of Christmas is so much bigger.  The gift of Jesus is mercy, grace, access, forgiveness, and the promise of living in God’s presence for eternity.  This is where Hope originates.  In his description of the last days the prophet Micah tells of a peaceful place where “every man will sit under his own vine and under his own fig tree, and no one will make him afraid…”  It is foolish for me to seek that place on this side of heaven. While the deliverance we receive through the miracle of Jesus’s birth does benefit our lives and experiences, that benefit is only part of the gift.  The bigger part is bright Hope for tomorrow, which is not dependent upon what I see or how I feel today.  So while the world settles for “happy,” I’ll choose Hope in the One who holds the future.

Just saying the word Christmas sparks joy in the hearts and light in the eyes of many.  Thoughts of Christmas often bring us back to a time of childlike wonder and inspire us to look forward to the light, love, and warmth of this season year after year.  It seems fitting then that so many of the favorite songs we sing at Christmas time are full of joy and triumph.  We are, after all, celebrating the birth and life of our Savior.

But our feelings and experiences surrounding Christmas are not always merry.  Grief, broken relationships, financial burdens, and any number of private personal struggles don’t simply disappear because the calendar turns over to December.  That’s why I love this song so much – it speaks directly to the heart of a people who desperately need the Son of God.

The song addresses those in captivity, in mourning, in exile, in need of rescue and comfort.  And after each verse recognizes these people in need, it returns to this sweet refrain of promise – “Rejoice!  Rejoice!  Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel.” Jesus never invalidates our feelings, he knows them intimately.  He loves us right where we are, in whatever state our hearts are found.  We don’t have to put on a brave face or pretend – He comes to us just as we are.  That is the blessed hope of Christmas.  We are who we are, we’ve done what we’ve done, and yet He came for us.

“This mystery is that through the gospel the Gentiles are heirs together with Israel, members together of one body, and sharers together in the promise of Christ Jesus.” ~ Ephesians 3:6

I often marvel at the simplicity and clarity with which God speaks to His people – even more so at the way we overthink and complicate what He says.  The end result is usually steering ourselves off course and in the opposite direction of His holy intention.

Inevitably the root cause of a scenario like this is always the same – we take our eyes off of God.  Pastor Dsane said it in the first week of our People of God sermon series – “It’s not about you.”  And he’s right, the minute I look away from the source of the gospel and the promise of Christ, my heart and its seemingly altruistic motivations are revealed to be more about what I can do for God than what He’s already done for me.  This message has stirred me.  It drives me to my knees in repentance and makes me ask myself repeatedly if I believe what I say I believe.  Do I know that God is working when it seems that everything is falling apart?  Do I trust that He has a greater plan than the one I’ve poured myself into?  Can I rejoice in the struggle of transition and being stretched outside of my comfort zone in an effort to point people to Jesus?  These are hard questions mainly because despite our best intentions, what the answers should be and what they are often do not align.

I think the mystery that Paul speaks of in Ephesians 3 has little to do with God’s complexity and everything to do with His offering of grace and perfect love to a very imperfect people.  While we complicate and separate, Jesus bridges the gap to bring us together with the magnificent opportunity to be called and become His people.  We need only to keep our eyes on Him and follow His lead to step into our identity as “The People of God.”

“After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.” ~ 1 Kings 19:11-12

If you were to ask the people who really know me to describe me using three distinct words, “gentle” would not be one of them. In school I was the loud kid, always making people laugh.  The teacher comments on almost every report card accurately reflected my personality – “Excellent student – talks too much.”  Every day when I got home from school I started in right away on my homework so that I would have time to change into my play clothes and roll around in the grass with my dog.  There were no princess dresses or tea parties, I was pretty rough and tumble.

Not much has changed in thirty-something years.  Sarcastic, talking when I should be listening, powering through to get things done instead of sitting in consideration, that’s all me.  And none of it screams “gentle,” primarily because by my own actions and in my own strength that’s exactly what I do.  I try to scream gentleness.  I go about it the completely wrong way. Like Elijah standing on the mountain looking for the presence of God, I seem to be more comfortable in the chaos.  I tend to keep my focus on the wind and the earthquake and the fire, powering through and calling out loudly to the Lord that I need Him.

But the Fruit of the Spirit – God’s gift of gentleness – comes in the gentle whisper…so gentle that I often miss it.  He wants me to know that I don’t have to scream for Him to hear me.  What is so amazing about God is that He waits for us to be still.  He invites us to keep our eyes looking heavenward, to quiet our hearts and to wait for the whisper. While we run around getting caught up in the noise of this world, He waits to lead us to gentleness so that we can be nourished by it and learn how to bless others with the fullness of this gift.

“Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.” ~ Psalm 116:7

Once when I was listening to the radio I heard the voice of an angry man asking a question that I’ve heard asked countless times before.  There have been books written about it.  We’ve all asked this question ourselves at one time or another. “Why do bad things happen?” On this particular day it was clear that no answer would suffice. The man speaking was unwilling to hear any answer at all.  His anger stood in the way of truly allowing for the opportunity to explore the question.

As he busied himself with argument and continuous questioning I realized that he wasn’t really seeking an answer.  He just wanted someone to listen to his tired heart.  He didn’t want to be subjected to the pain of whatever had caused him to ask this question in the first place.  He wanted to feel good again.

It’s this desire to feel good that fools most of us into thinking we know what goodness is. We long for what makes us feel good, the things that please our senses.  So we move forward step by step seeking to get from one good feeling to the next, hoping to swiftly and painlessly move past the bad things that happen in between.  I know I’m guilty. I forget that goodness exists even in the bad things – in the things that don’t feel good.  I fail to account for the good that God is doing as He refines, heals, grows, nurtures, and loves us through the darkness.

In times like we are living now, when we are surrounded by tragedy and suffering, it’s easy to ask “Where is God?”  It’s easy to point the accusatory finger at Him.  The harder questions come when life is going well and we are feeling good – where am I? Am I honoring Him with my words, my actions, and my life? Am I faithful to Him? Or am I too busy looking for the next thing to make me feel good? Thankfully God is not like us.  He doesn’t look for us only when we are on our best behavior and He doesn’t tear us down when we stumble. He doesn’t just do good works or create good feelings, He IS goodness.

Kindness stands out. Often it’s noticeable because I’ve become accustomed to experiencing its adversaries. Anger, hatred, bitterness, greed, contempt, jealousy, and selfishness are on full display all around me. Some days I don’t have to look any further than my own mirror to find them. When I do look beyond myself I see and hear everyone racing to be the first, the best, and the most successful. Slammed doors, angry words, and stolen parking spaces – they aren’t hard to find. Amidst this much noise and darkness, a simple kind act from one human being to another shines brightly and sings sweetly.

I recently witnessed just such an act while out for dinner. A mother and her two daughters were finishing up their meal and took notice of a man sitting alone at the back of the room. I had seen him too.  He wasn’t eating, just watching the ballgame on TV.  The mother motioned to the man and asked if he would like to have some bread and chicken. “We’re not going to eat it, would you like some?”  He looked surprised and then his face softened to a smile. He was hesitant but the woman encouraged him to come and eat. He walked over and joined them, sat down and they all talked for about half an hour.  At the end of their time together I couldn’t tell that they had been strangers just minutes before. I was captivated by how simple but powerful this exchange was, and I felt thankful that I was there to witness it.

I thought about why kindness is considered a gift and not just an act.  I never spoke a word to these people and had nothing to do with their interaction, but my spirit was lifted and my heart encouraged. I received the gift of a kindness that had nothing to do with me.  But the truth is every kindness that I experience has nothing to do with me and everything to do with God.  He is the origin of kindness.  We are the vessels by which kindness is given and received, if we’re willing.  Knowing this truth convicts my sinful heart and nurtures my longing to be more like the heart of God.

“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” ~ Matthew 6:21

Raising a soon-to-be-teenage boy seems to have increased the frequency of conversations in our home about value.  He’s earning his own money now and the list of what he wants to buy with it grows ever longer.  These conversations require me to keep coming back to the basics of what I value in my own life.  What really matters to me?  Am I living in a way that reflects what my heart truly values?

These questions were on my mind today as my husband and I spent the afternoon browsing through a few of our favorite antique stores.  He knows that he’s sure to lose me to a section of antique books.  I’m immediately drawn to the volumes so worn and frayed that the spines are unreadable.  Those are the books I pick up first. Most of the editions I’ve added to my collection are like this – old, dusty, and fragile.  They don’t have any particularly notable monetary value and they’ve probably been passed up by hundreds of people before finding a home on my shelf.  But for me the value of these books is beyond what’s printed on their pages.  I feel connected to the hands that held them before me and I long to know more about those stories.

When I opened the cover of this 1906 publication of Robert Louis Stevenson there was no question that it was soon to be mine. Handwritten on the endpapers is a primitive genealogy of the family that owned it.  Each name is marked by a date of birth and death. Time paused for a moment as I read of Carl Arzberger, written in his wife’s hand, that he died Jan. 19, 1946, at 7:15pm.  There’s no wondering if Carl’s wife loved her husband or how much she valued his life – she recorded it right down to the day, his last moment in her arms.

This is but a glimpse of God’s love for us.  He chooses us first, no matter how worn and frayed our lives may be.  He finds us worthy to do His work despite our weakness.  While others may disparage and pass us by He invites us to be in His arms for the entirety of the time we are given.  God’s love inspires me to reflect His value in my life every day.

Sand and surf.  Ice cream and road trips.  Swimming and stay-cations.  Anxiety.  Job hunting and uncertainty.  Not the ideal list of words that I would typically associate with summer, but it’s been reality for me this year.

Two weeks ago I quit my job without having something new lined up. This act did not align at all with my personality or fall anywhere close to my comfort zone. Yet the truth is that I should have done it sooner.  God had made it very clear to me that my season there was over, He didn’t want me in that situation anymore, but I was holding on out of fear.  How would I pay the rent?  How could I provide for my family?  It was a simple conversation with my mother-in-law that completely shifted my perspective.  She said, “You do realize that you’re not the one doing all of this, right?  You’re not the one providing for your family, God is.”

And there it was, truth spoken into my life.  A spirit-lifting, liberating, and humbling truth. I have nothing, God has it all.  The more that I run around frantically trying to pull all of the strings the further my gaze turns from Him and the more I rob myself of the blessing of knowing that God cares for me. Psalm 8:4 says “What is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?” This scripture begs me to ask myself who I really am and to sit still long enough to receive the answer. I am a daughter of the King and I am cared for by Christ. There is no room for fear in my identity.

I’m adding a few things to my list of summer words, like peace, faith, and expectancy.  If I’m honest with myself I know that it will likely include some chaos, disappointment, and surprise (in both directions) along the way, but the word that will hold me this summer and every season to follow is love.  Hallelujah for the summer of God’s perfect love.