It is, I suppose, one of the highlights of most every parents lives. As we raise our children there are many highlights and milestones, but to watch our children fall in love, date, and eventually marry, has to be among the greatest. My wife Jacquie and I experienced it as her daughter Susan stood in our living room and spoke her vows to her husband Nate. We experienced it again as my son Ben stood before me on the shores of Lake Superior, and took Katie as his wife.
My eldest son, Josiah, did it differently. Since he is the child filled with wanderlust, it was to be expected. Not content with all that Pine County and the State of Minnesota has to offer, his life is one devoted to seeing as much of the world as possible, and witnessing first hand the cultures that most of us are only occasionally exposed to via television. It's the way he lives, and so when he called and told us that he was planning to marry Diana in the U.S. embassy in Egypt, it was not a big surprise. A Minnesota man marrying a woman from Mexico in distant Egypt is not something that I would have imagined when he was a child. But, as an adult, it fits him perfectly.
We are used to Josiah making his annual pilgrimage home in the summer to visit us for a hand full of weeks. This summer is different. This summer he will bring home his bride and, as his father, it is a greatly anticipated visit. Mind you, I have never met this young lady my eldest has chosen as his wife, but he has told me so much about her, I feel as if I do know her. This summer, she will be in our home and we will see her face to face. It is something that we are certainly looking forward to with joy.
And we are making preparations. I'm thinking of the meals we'll have, get-together's with family, and evenings sitting in the yard just visiting. I'm planning food, dates, times and, in general, preparing for their visit. The annual spring things we traditionally do around the house and yard to prepare for the summer have taken on an additional underlying motivation. I want things nice for the time Josiah and Dianna will be at our home.
While I perform some of the more mundane tasks such as raking and fertilizing the lawn, my mind wanders to other things. It is hard for me not to compare my anticipation and preparation to the spiritual.
It occurs to me that my heavenly Father is making preparations for his Son to bring home his Bride as well. Throughout scripture the church is referred to as the, "Bride of Christ." I am not wise enough to picture the form this will take. My mind cannot wrap itself around what it will look like. I do not know when it will happen, but I do know that there will come a time when my Father will turn to his son, Jesus, and say, "Son, bring home your bride."
And, "The Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive and remain will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and so we shall always be with the Lord." 1 Thessalonians 4:17 (NASB)
In that instant, my Savior, Jesus Christ will bring his bride home. It will happen whether you believe it or not. It will happen whether you are ready for it or not. It will happen because the Creator of all things has set a time for his Son to bring his bride home. Somewhere in eternity, even before he spun this universe into being, and before there was a heaven and earth, the Father envisioned that day. Even before the first flower bloomed, or man drew his first breath, the Creator had chosen his Son's bride, and set a time for him to bring that bride home.
And, on a somewhat larger scale than my preparations for Josiah and Diana, my father has been making preparations for that day since he first envisioned it in the eternity before time. He's been preparing a wedding banquet. He's been preparing a home. He's been preparing a glorious eternity for the day when time ceases to exist, and the Son and his bride are by his side.
As a believer, part of the church and part of the bride, all I can do is bow before him and humbly pray, "Come Lord Jesus." I long for the day when I will see him face to face, to know him as he knows me, and to know the complete contentment that comes from truly being home.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Best Part of Waking Up
I have recently observed a daily period of my life that, I assume, has always been there, but for some reason I have never paid it much attention. It is a phenomenal experience, and I am surprised that I have never noticed it before. Perhaps, with age, I am becoming more aware of the passing moments, and have become more appreciative of each passing second. All I know is that I experience this feeling every morning. It lasts for maybe a second....perhaps two. It may actually be a nanosecond. It truly is hard to measure the length of time, but it's there when I take the time to absorb and appreciate this daily fraction of a moment.
There is this instant, as I pass from being asleep to waking, that there is complete peace. I mean complete peace. Not a thought about what the day may hold, not a whisper about the challenges that life brings, or concerns about issues that may surround me. Just complete serenity. Quiet, all encompassing peace. It is a beautiful second or fraction of a second, or whatever length of time it may be.
Now, as Christians, I understand that we are to live our lives surrounded by the peace of God, and I am aware of the peace that the Holy Spirit gives us when we choose to walk in it. I feel a little of it as I walk along the Kettle River with my dogs praying. I feel a small portion of it in the occasional church service. I am aware of God's peace as I walk through the often mundane tasks of living. But this early morning instant is a deeper peace, a more amazing tranquility, a wonderful hush that envelops my soul. Short lived for sure, but marvelously perceivable none-the-less.
Even as I write this, I realize that perhaps this instant each morning is the measure between my body waking and my mind becoming active. When the mind kicks in....well, the deep peace is gone, the tranquility lifts, and the soul begins to absorb the work that will be required just to keep breathing. It is about this time each morning that I almost inaudibly whisper, "Lord, I give you this day." My father is faithful, and he gives the peace and strength necessary to walk through life, but nothing matches the peace of that waking moment.
Here's my thought. Perhaps, in that instant of serenity each morning as I exit my night of sleep, the Father is giving me just a small taste of the serenity that comes when we enter the final sleep of death. My waking from sleep is a small reminder of what awaits me when I enter that eternal rest. If it is just a small morsel of what awaits. If it is just a split second appetizer of the tranquility and peacefulness that is to come....then bring on the banquet and come Lord Jesus.
There is this instant, as I pass from being asleep to waking, that there is complete peace. I mean complete peace. Not a thought about what the day may hold, not a whisper about the challenges that life brings, or concerns about issues that may surround me. Just complete serenity. Quiet, all encompassing peace. It is a beautiful second or fraction of a second, or whatever length of time it may be.
Now, as Christians, I understand that we are to live our lives surrounded by the peace of God, and I am aware of the peace that the Holy Spirit gives us when we choose to walk in it. I feel a little of it as I walk along the Kettle River with my dogs praying. I feel a small portion of it in the occasional church service. I am aware of God's peace as I walk through the often mundane tasks of living. But this early morning instant is a deeper peace, a more amazing tranquility, a wonderful hush that envelops my soul. Short lived for sure, but marvelously perceivable none-the-less.
Even as I write this, I realize that perhaps this instant each morning is the measure between my body waking and my mind becoming active. When the mind kicks in....well, the deep peace is gone, the tranquility lifts, and the soul begins to absorb the work that will be required just to keep breathing. It is about this time each morning that I almost inaudibly whisper, "Lord, I give you this day." My father is faithful, and he gives the peace and strength necessary to walk through life, but nothing matches the peace of that waking moment.
Here's my thought. Perhaps, in that instant of serenity each morning as I exit my night of sleep, the Father is giving me just a small taste of the serenity that comes when we enter the final sleep of death. My waking from sleep is a small reminder of what awaits me when I enter that eternal rest. If it is just a small morsel of what awaits. If it is just a split second appetizer of the tranquility and peacefulness that is to come....then bring on the banquet and come Lord Jesus.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
A Christmas Rose
As dogs go, he wasn't much of one. Part Newfoundland Hound, part Springer Spaniel, and all ugly. And, sadly, by any standard, he wasn't smart, but he had a smile that the little boy loved. For as long as the boy could remember...nine years to be exact...the two had been inseparable. The dog adored the boy, the boy loved the dog and, until this Christmas, life had been good for both of then.
When the boy's father was drinking, which was often, he had a tendency to become a theologian of sorts. He had a particular fondness for the prophets of the Old Testament and two hours after his birth, as his father was toasting the happy occasion for the sixth time, he decided on a name. On the birth certificate, the boy's name was listed as Amos Ezekiel, but since his mother did not have quite the same regard for the prophets as his father, everyone called him Bud.
Standing outside the flower shop window, the dog watched the boy as he admired the roses through the glass. With his hand on the shaggy, black head, Bud pictured himself walking to his mother's bed and laying the flowers in her hand. He only needed two...maybe three. It would make her Christmas so special and yet, the price was so much more than the few quarters jingling in his pocket.
There had been a time when he simply would have asked his mother for the money and she would have given it to him without much of a thought. That was before his father had left, and it was before the cost of medication and treatment for his mother had swallowed what little money they had. So, it was the dog, the boy, and his mother....and he had overheard the doctor tell his mother that this would likely be her last Christmas.
Running his hand through the dog's thick coat, Bud tried to envision life without his mother. The thought brought tears to his eyes, but he had to stay strong, for he was the man of the family now. His mother had told him that many times, and he tried to be brave, but Christmas without his mother....well, he just couldn't imagine it. If this proved to be her last Christmas, he wanted to make it a good one. The flowers would help, for his mother loved roses, but they were a luxury, and one thing they couldn't afford this year was luxury.
Using his coat sleeve to wipe the tears welling in his eyes, Bud took one more look at the flowers, and slowly walked on with the gray muzzled dog a step behind. He glanced back, and the dog was looking at him with his tongue hanging out, displaying his typical lopsided grin. The grin usually brought a warm feeling to Bud, but on this day before Christmas, even his dog's grin could not stop the cold fear growing in him.
The boy and the dog walked to the end of the block, crossed the road, and sat on the bench facing the Cathedral garden. It was a small but beautiful garden, and a place where Bud would often come when he needed time alone. The dog sat with his head on the boy's lap, as the boy gently rubbed the graying nose. His eyes followed families rushing to finish their Christmas shopping, and people entering the Cathedral to prepare for the evening service. But in his mind, he saw the roses in his mother's hand....only two or three....and they would make his mother so happy, for she loved roses.
A woman plopped down on the bench next to him. She was the choir director from the Cathedral and Bud could tell that she was angry. "Two months," she mumbled, partly to herself and partly to the boy. "We've worked on it for two months, and they still can't get it right...it will be a disaster! The tenors are tone deaf, the altos can't count, and the soloist is working up a great case of laryngitis. This is the last year I'll ever do this."
"I'm sorry," said the boy, for he knew nothing about choirs and really didn't know what else to say. "I'm sure it will go well."
"There's no possible was that it's going to go well!" the lady almost shouted. "Christmas will be ruined and I'll never be able to show my face in that church again." With a sigh, she lifted herself from the bench and started back toward the building. As an afterthought, she turned to the boy and said, "Have a good Christmas, young man."
Bud forced a weak smile and watched her walk away, but in his mind he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses....only two or three...and they would make her so very happy, for she loved roses.
"It's going to be the worst sermon I've ever preached!" the larger of the two approaching men shouted in a loud baritone voice. He was addressing the chairman of the deacon's board and the two had stopped at the street corner next to the garden bench. "I just haven't had time to work on it, and it reads like a bad novel. It'll be a catastrophe! Maybe I need a vacation."
"I'm sure it will be just fine, pastor," came the reply. "What really worries me is the music. Have you heard that choir? And even worse, Viola misses half the notes when she sings, 'What Child is This?' She used to have such a wonderful voice, but she should have stopped singing years ago."
For the first time, they noticed Bud. "Smile, my boy, it's Christmas Eve!" boomed the pastor. "Why are you sitting here with that glum look? You should be home with your family."
"I'm a little sad," said the boy as he looked away from the men and down at his dog, "My mother's not feeling well," was all he could say.
"Why don't you and your mom come to our Christmas Eve service tonight?" offered the deacon. "It might cheer you up."
"Splendid idea," said the pastor, as he reached into his coat pocket for a flyer. "All the information is on here," he said as handed the paper to Bud. "Now, I really must get to work on my sermon."
"And I need to pick up a few things before the stores close," added the deacon as they hurried away in opposite directions.
The flyer slipped from the boy's listless fingers and settled in the snow. He barely felt the dog lick his chin. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy....for she loved roses.
Two women walked from the church and crossed the road. "The tree started to die a week ago. There will only be brown needles left by tonight," one whispered to the other, as they waited at the corner. "And have you ever seen such pathetic looking wreaths?"
"I told you they started decorating too early," came the reply. "The whole thing was poorly planned from the beginning. Well, I'm tired of telling them. Just let them be embarrassed tonight. We'll be a laughingstock, but maybe they'll do it right next year. If I wasn't so busy, I'd do it myself!"
A whine from the dog, drew their attention to the boy. Bud was absentmindedly scratching behind the dog's ear, and the dog loved it. He whined again, completely content with life.
"What a cute dog," the lady lied. "But shouldn't you be home getting ready to open your presents? All you kids seem to think about these days is what you'll get for Christmas. You've lost sight of what the season is all about."
Bud sat quietly, staring at his hands. He hadn't even thought of what he might get, but he did know that it wouldn't be much. Before he could say anything, the woman was digging through her purse. "Here," she said, handing him a tract she had pulled from the bag. "This explains what Christmas really means."
"Thanks," was all the boy had a chance to say before the women hurried across the road. Bud read the title, "Putting Christ Back Into Christmas," but he couldn't get much further. He just didn't feel like reading. The tract soon found a place next to the flyer. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy, for she loved roses.
A man in an expensive suit hurried across the road and collapsed on the end of the bench. "Two months," he almost shouted at the startled boy. "For two months we've been shopping...we have dolls, doll houses, doll dresses, and doll cars....we have board games, computer games, CD's, DVD's, and clothes....we can barely walk through our bedroom. And this afternoon, the brat decides she wants a puppy for Christmas. A puppy! My wife chases me out of the house and tells me not to come back without a puppy. Why am I telling you this? You're just a kid and all you kids are just alike....spoiled rotten and always after something for nothing."
Bud looked at the grinning dog on the ground next to him. An uncomfortable thought was inching its way into his mind, and it kept advancing, regardless of how hard he tried to push it back. He stared at the stupid, lopsided smile, but all he saw were the roses...the roses in his mother's hand. Oh, how his mother loved roses, and he only needed two or three.
"Mister," the boy's voice was barely audible, as he kept his eyes on the ground away from the dog. "I'll sell you my dog."
Laughter burst from the man and the belly beneath the expensive suit jiggled. "Son, I appreciate the offer, and I'm sure he's a fine animal, but if I brought that mutt home, my wife would divorce me." He looked at the dog and giggled again. "Where can I find a puppy on the day before Christmas?" he spoke to himself as he stood and began to walk away. "Have a merry Christmas, kid."
Bud was ready to go home, but the dog had climbed up with him, and was sleeping soundly with his head in the boy's lap. Just as he was about to wake him and leave, an old man staggered across the road and dropped unceremoniously onto the bench. Fumes of whiskey enveloped the area as the ragged man shouted with a smile, "Merry Christmas, youngster," and gave him a slap on the leg. The drunk ran his hand through the thick hair of the sleeping animal and told the boy that he had a unique looking dog. "What do you make him out to be?" he questioned.
"I guess he's pretty much of a mutt," the boy answered. "But over the years, I've grown kind of fond of him." The dog was dreaming and his grin grew even more goofy and lopsided. Bud rubbed the nose as he had so many times over the years. Again he saw the roses in the hand of his mother, and almost without thinking, he turned to the man, "Mister, I'll sell him to you for six dollars.
"Now, why would you want to sell a fine dog like that for six dollars?"
The question caused words to flow from Bud like they had never flowed before. He told the inebriate about his mother...about her illness....about the roses, and his mother's love of roses.
When the boy had finished, the gray haired old man had a far away look in his eye. Somehow, through his alcohol muddled mind, he had traveled back more than half a century. Clearly, he saw his mother and he saw a child handing the woman a small bouquet of wild flowers. He recognized the child as himself, before the world had beaten him into the man he was today, living from drink to drink, waiting only for death to remove the pain.
His hand went to his pocket and he felt the well worn ten dollar bill he had hoarded to buy the whiskey that would make Christmas Eve and Christmas Day bearable, or at least help him sleep through it. He looked at the dog, then at the boy, and he saw himself all those years ago.
Standing slowly, and with much effort, the grizzled old man took the bill from his pocket and laid it on the bench. "Keep the dog," was all he said, as he slowly walked away. Bud jumped to his feet startling the dog. The boy grabbed the bill, and ran after the retreating figure. When he caught up to him, the old man smiled through the tears in his eyes, "You'd better get to the flower shop before it closes."
In his joy, the boy hugged the old man and turned toward the store. The man watched him go. "Kids nowadays," he said to himself as he turned toward his little shack on the edge of town.
Bud raced into the house with the grinning dog close behind him and three beautiful roses in his hand. Slowly he walked to his mother's room, looked inside, and made his way to the side of the bed. Her eyes opened slowly, and a smile crossed her face as she saw her son place the roses on her arm. She was to weak to speak but the smile, and the tears slowly moving down her cheek told Bud that his gift had touched her. He went to the other side of the bed, crawled in next to her, and held her hand. As he began to doze, he dreampt that the hand would always be there for him to hold. The peacefulness of the dream shattered when his eyes slowly opened. To him, she had always been the most beautiful woman in the world, and in death she remained so. While he had slept, she had pulled the roses onto her chest, close to her face as if to catch their fragrance. Her other arm was around Bud's shoulder, pulling him close. As he looked at her, through his tears, he pushed a wayward strand of hair back into place. He kissed her cool forehead and let the tears flow freely. The dog put his head on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the boy, and for the first time the boy could remember, the stupid grin was gone. In the background he heard the gentle music from the radio, "So this is Christmas....and what have you done...another year over....and a new one's begun..."
On the edge of town, the old man lay under his blanket on a small, rickety bed. He was starting to shake as his body demanded whiskey that he could not supply, and he knew it was just the beginning. The night would be a sleepless one and Christmas Day would be dreadfully long, but he remembered the joy on the kid's face and had no regrets.
In another house, closer to the center of town, a little girl had brought two months of shopping to an end in fifteen minutes. Wrapping paper and half used toys were scattered everywhere. The mother carried the little girl to bed while the father went to the kitchen to make a place for the puppy. It would be a long night for him as well.
As the Cathedral bells chimed, people began to file from the church. It had been an extraordinary service, by all accounts. The pastor had preached one of his best sermons in years, and was receiving the congratulations due him. The choir absolutely brought the music to life, and even Viola sounded twenty years younger. In the candlelight, the oldest members had to agree that the setting was the most beautiful they had ever seen in the church. It had been a most memorable Christmas indeed.
On the first Christmas Eve, a young woman prepared to give birth to the greatest thing to ever set foot on this spinning pile of dirt. The Creator God, wrapped in human flesh and taking human form would step from eternity into time. The Creator touching his creation. Some two thousand years later, as pastors preached, choirs sang, and gifts were exchanged, that same Creator was still touching his creation. He was gently wrapping his arms around a little boy....a boy holding three beautiful roses and hugging an ugly dog, as they sat through the darkest of nights. And, perhaps to the dismay of some of the more religious, He was also in a lonely shack on the edge of town, sitting close to the bed of a shaky old man who had given a few moments of Christmas joy to a young stranger.
When the boy's father was drinking, which was often, he had a tendency to become a theologian of sorts. He had a particular fondness for the prophets of the Old Testament and two hours after his birth, as his father was toasting the happy occasion for the sixth time, he decided on a name. On the birth certificate, the boy's name was listed as Amos Ezekiel, but since his mother did not have quite the same regard for the prophets as his father, everyone called him Bud.
Standing outside the flower shop window, the dog watched the boy as he admired the roses through the glass. With his hand on the shaggy, black head, Bud pictured himself walking to his mother's bed and laying the flowers in her hand. He only needed two...maybe three. It would make her Christmas so special and yet, the price was so much more than the few quarters jingling in his pocket.
There had been a time when he simply would have asked his mother for the money and she would have given it to him without much of a thought. That was before his father had left, and it was before the cost of medication and treatment for his mother had swallowed what little money they had. So, it was the dog, the boy, and his mother....and he had overheard the doctor tell his mother that this would likely be her last Christmas.
Running his hand through the dog's thick coat, Bud tried to envision life without his mother. The thought brought tears to his eyes, but he had to stay strong, for he was the man of the family now. His mother had told him that many times, and he tried to be brave, but Christmas without his mother....well, he just couldn't imagine it. If this proved to be her last Christmas, he wanted to make it a good one. The flowers would help, for his mother loved roses, but they were a luxury, and one thing they couldn't afford this year was luxury.
Using his coat sleeve to wipe the tears welling in his eyes, Bud took one more look at the flowers, and slowly walked on with the gray muzzled dog a step behind. He glanced back, and the dog was looking at him with his tongue hanging out, displaying his typical lopsided grin. The grin usually brought a warm feeling to Bud, but on this day before Christmas, even his dog's grin could not stop the cold fear growing in him.
The boy and the dog walked to the end of the block, crossed the road, and sat on the bench facing the Cathedral garden. It was a small but beautiful garden, and a place where Bud would often come when he needed time alone. The dog sat with his head on the boy's lap, as the boy gently rubbed the graying nose. His eyes followed families rushing to finish their Christmas shopping, and people entering the Cathedral to prepare for the evening service. But in his mind, he saw the roses in his mother's hand....only two or three....and they would make his mother so happy, for she loved roses.
A woman plopped down on the bench next to him. She was the choir director from the Cathedral and Bud could tell that she was angry. "Two months," she mumbled, partly to herself and partly to the boy. "We've worked on it for two months, and they still can't get it right...it will be a disaster! The tenors are tone deaf, the altos can't count, and the soloist is working up a great case of laryngitis. This is the last year I'll ever do this."
"I'm sorry," said the boy, for he knew nothing about choirs and really didn't know what else to say. "I'm sure it will go well."
"There's no possible was that it's going to go well!" the lady almost shouted. "Christmas will be ruined and I'll never be able to show my face in that church again." With a sigh, she lifted herself from the bench and started back toward the building. As an afterthought, she turned to the boy and said, "Have a good Christmas, young man."
Bud forced a weak smile and watched her walk away, but in his mind he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses....only two or three...and they would make her so very happy, for she loved roses.
"It's going to be the worst sermon I've ever preached!" the larger of the two approaching men shouted in a loud baritone voice. He was addressing the chairman of the deacon's board and the two had stopped at the street corner next to the garden bench. "I just haven't had time to work on it, and it reads like a bad novel. It'll be a catastrophe! Maybe I need a vacation."
"I'm sure it will be just fine, pastor," came the reply. "What really worries me is the music. Have you heard that choir? And even worse, Viola misses half the notes when she sings, 'What Child is This?' She used to have such a wonderful voice, but she should have stopped singing years ago."
For the first time, they noticed Bud. "Smile, my boy, it's Christmas Eve!" boomed the pastor. "Why are you sitting here with that glum look? You should be home with your family."
"I'm a little sad," said the boy as he looked away from the men and down at his dog, "My mother's not feeling well," was all he could say.
"Why don't you and your mom come to our Christmas Eve service tonight?" offered the deacon. "It might cheer you up."
"Splendid idea," said the pastor, as he reached into his coat pocket for a flyer. "All the information is on here," he said as handed the paper to Bud. "Now, I really must get to work on my sermon."
"And I need to pick up a few things before the stores close," added the deacon as they hurried away in opposite directions.
The flyer slipped from the boy's listless fingers and settled in the snow. He barely felt the dog lick his chin. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy....for she loved roses.
Two women walked from the church and crossed the road. "The tree started to die a week ago. There will only be brown needles left by tonight," one whispered to the other, as they waited at the corner. "And have you ever seen such pathetic looking wreaths?"
"I told you they started decorating too early," came the reply. "The whole thing was poorly planned from the beginning. Well, I'm tired of telling them. Just let them be embarrassed tonight. We'll be a laughingstock, but maybe they'll do it right next year. If I wasn't so busy, I'd do it myself!"
A whine from the dog, drew their attention to the boy. Bud was absentmindedly scratching behind the dog's ear, and the dog loved it. He whined again, completely content with life.
"What a cute dog," the lady lied. "But shouldn't you be home getting ready to open your presents? All you kids seem to think about these days is what you'll get for Christmas. You've lost sight of what the season is all about."
Bud sat quietly, staring at his hands. He hadn't even thought of what he might get, but he did know that it wouldn't be much. Before he could say anything, the woman was digging through her purse. "Here," she said, handing him a tract she had pulled from the bag. "This explains what Christmas really means."
"Thanks," was all the boy had a chance to say before the women hurried across the road. Bud read the title, "Putting Christ Back Into Christmas," but he couldn't get much further. He just didn't feel like reading. The tract soon found a place next to the flyer. In his mind, he saw his mother, and pictured himself handing her the roses...only two or three...and they would make her so happy, for she loved roses.
A man in an expensive suit hurried across the road and collapsed on the end of the bench. "Two months," he almost shouted at the startled boy. "For two months we've been shopping...we have dolls, doll houses, doll dresses, and doll cars....we have board games, computer games, CD's, DVD's, and clothes....we can barely walk through our bedroom. And this afternoon, the brat decides she wants a puppy for Christmas. A puppy! My wife chases me out of the house and tells me not to come back without a puppy. Why am I telling you this? You're just a kid and all you kids are just alike....spoiled rotten and always after something for nothing."
Bud looked at the grinning dog on the ground next to him. An uncomfortable thought was inching its way into his mind, and it kept advancing, regardless of how hard he tried to push it back. He stared at the stupid, lopsided smile, but all he saw were the roses...the roses in his mother's hand. Oh, how his mother loved roses, and he only needed two or three.
"Mister," the boy's voice was barely audible, as he kept his eyes on the ground away from the dog. "I'll sell you my dog."
Laughter burst from the man and the belly beneath the expensive suit jiggled. "Son, I appreciate the offer, and I'm sure he's a fine animal, but if I brought that mutt home, my wife would divorce me." He looked at the dog and giggled again. "Where can I find a puppy on the day before Christmas?" he spoke to himself as he stood and began to walk away. "Have a merry Christmas, kid."
Bud was ready to go home, but the dog had climbed up with him, and was sleeping soundly with his head in the boy's lap. Just as he was about to wake him and leave, an old man staggered across the road and dropped unceremoniously onto the bench. Fumes of whiskey enveloped the area as the ragged man shouted with a smile, "Merry Christmas, youngster," and gave him a slap on the leg. The drunk ran his hand through the thick hair of the sleeping animal and told the boy that he had a unique looking dog. "What do you make him out to be?" he questioned.
"I guess he's pretty much of a mutt," the boy answered. "But over the years, I've grown kind of fond of him." The dog was dreaming and his grin grew even more goofy and lopsided. Bud rubbed the nose as he had so many times over the years. Again he saw the roses in the hand of his mother, and almost without thinking, he turned to the man, "Mister, I'll sell him to you for six dollars.
"Now, why would you want to sell a fine dog like that for six dollars?"
The question caused words to flow from Bud like they had never flowed before. He told the inebriate about his mother...about her illness....about the roses, and his mother's love of roses.
When the boy had finished, the gray haired old man had a far away look in his eye. Somehow, through his alcohol muddled mind, he had traveled back more than half a century. Clearly, he saw his mother and he saw a child handing the woman a small bouquet of wild flowers. He recognized the child as himself, before the world had beaten him into the man he was today, living from drink to drink, waiting only for death to remove the pain.
His hand went to his pocket and he felt the well worn ten dollar bill he had hoarded to buy the whiskey that would make Christmas Eve and Christmas Day bearable, or at least help him sleep through it. He looked at the dog, then at the boy, and he saw himself all those years ago.
Standing slowly, and with much effort, the grizzled old man took the bill from his pocket and laid it on the bench. "Keep the dog," was all he said, as he slowly walked away. Bud jumped to his feet startling the dog. The boy grabbed the bill, and ran after the retreating figure. When he caught up to him, the old man smiled through the tears in his eyes, "You'd better get to the flower shop before it closes."
In his joy, the boy hugged the old man and turned toward the store. The man watched him go. "Kids nowadays," he said to himself as he turned toward his little shack on the edge of town.
Bud raced into the house with the grinning dog close behind him and three beautiful roses in his hand. Slowly he walked to his mother's room, looked inside, and made his way to the side of the bed. Her eyes opened slowly, and a smile crossed her face as she saw her son place the roses on her arm. She was to weak to speak but the smile, and the tears slowly moving down her cheek told Bud that his gift had touched her. He went to the other side of the bed, crawled in next to her, and held her hand. As he began to doze, he dreampt that the hand would always be there for him to hold. The peacefulness of the dream shattered when his eyes slowly opened. To him, she had always been the most beautiful woman in the world, and in death she remained so. While he had slept, she had pulled the roses onto her chest, close to her face as if to catch their fragrance. Her other arm was around Bud's shoulder, pulling him close. As he looked at her, through his tears, he pushed a wayward strand of hair back into place. He kissed her cool forehead and let the tears flow freely. The dog put his head on the edge of the bed, his eyes on the boy, and for the first time the boy could remember, the stupid grin was gone. In the background he heard the gentle music from the radio, "So this is Christmas....and what have you done...another year over....and a new one's begun..."
On the edge of town, the old man lay under his blanket on a small, rickety bed. He was starting to shake as his body demanded whiskey that he could not supply, and he knew it was just the beginning. The night would be a sleepless one and Christmas Day would be dreadfully long, but he remembered the joy on the kid's face and had no regrets.
In another house, closer to the center of town, a little girl had brought two months of shopping to an end in fifteen minutes. Wrapping paper and half used toys were scattered everywhere. The mother carried the little girl to bed while the father went to the kitchen to make a place for the puppy. It would be a long night for him as well.
As the Cathedral bells chimed, people began to file from the church. It had been an extraordinary service, by all accounts. The pastor had preached one of his best sermons in years, and was receiving the congratulations due him. The choir absolutely brought the music to life, and even Viola sounded twenty years younger. In the candlelight, the oldest members had to agree that the setting was the most beautiful they had ever seen in the church. It had been a most memorable Christmas indeed.
On the first Christmas Eve, a young woman prepared to give birth to the greatest thing to ever set foot on this spinning pile of dirt. The Creator God, wrapped in human flesh and taking human form would step from eternity into time. The Creator touching his creation. Some two thousand years later, as pastors preached, choirs sang, and gifts were exchanged, that same Creator was still touching his creation. He was gently wrapping his arms around a little boy....a boy holding three beautiful roses and hugging an ugly dog, as they sat through the darkest of nights. And, perhaps to the dismay of some of the more religious, He was also in a lonely shack on the edge of town, sitting close to the bed of a shaky old man who had given a few moments of Christmas joy to a young stranger.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Reflections of a Prodigal
With even a cursory evaluation of fifty-eight years of living, one fact rapidly rises above all others. I have relentlessly been stalked by the grace of God. I have waited all summer to type those words. The thought has been running through my mind as we worked our way through a hectic summer. One of my kids made his annual pilgrimage home from a distant land. Another stood before me with the woman he had chosen, and spoke the vows of matrimony. Through it all we were surrounded by family, and trying to pull the most from the few short months that Minnesota summers reluctantly yield to it's inhabitants. Like I said, hectic. As I experienced and absorbed it all, the intense realization that my life has been one that has been ferociously pursued by God's grace became so very real to me.
Perhaps that is why I was so touched when I first heard one of Matt Redman's most recent songs, "Your Grace Finds Me." If you have never heard it, stop reading right now...find it...and listen to the beautiful words of truth the brother penned. I'm serious. Here's a link to help you out.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mqd8MoiCbcI. What did I tell you? So I write the thought that has occupied my mind for months....the thought that I have been unceasingly stalked by God's grace....and I'm more than impressed with the way Matt Redman fleshed the thought out in that wonderful song of praise. I just need to testify of the truth of his words. I do realize that it's not a unique observation. Indeed, it is the very core of God's Word to us, but the truth of it has surrounded me this summer. I just need to say that God's grace has pursued me with reckless abandon, and I suspect that I will be praising him for all eternity for that fact.
Along with it, Jesus' Parable of the Prodigal Son has also been brought to my attention. I mean it's shown up at every turn for the past few weeks. In my daily bible reading, a couple times in a book I've been reading, and even in an article on the CNN website. So, spiritually, my mind has been dwelling on God's persistent grace, and his abounding love. Just a little side note. The Parable of the Prodigal Son could more aptly be called, "The All Consuming Love of a Father", or something like that. I'm just saying.
This parable is the longest of all of the parables of Christ and, I am fairly certain, it is probably the most well known. You know the story. A father has two sons. One basically says to his father, "I wish you were dead. Give me my portion of the inheritance now." The father gives him his portion of the inheritance, the son gets out of the country, lives a wild life style and wastes the money. He ends up hiring himself out to a man to slop his pigs. Jesus says that the young man was so hungry that he would gladly have eaten the pods that were in the pig's slop.....but no one was giving him anything to eat.
Here's how the Message describes the next part:
"That brought him to his senses. He said, 'All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I'm going back to my father. I'll say to him, Father, I've sinned against God, I've sinned before you; I don't deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand. He got right up and went home to his father."
"When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: 'Father, I've sinned against God, I've sinned before you; I don't deserve to be called your son ever again.' "
"But the father wasn't listening. He was calling to the servants, 'Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We're going to feast! We're going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!' And they began to have a wonderful time." (Luke 15:17-24 MSG)
Turns out, the older son was not at all impressed with the party. He was disgruntled that his father treated his brother so well after he had squandered his inheritance and treated his father so poorly.
I just love the father's response: "His father said, 'Son, you don't understand. You're with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours— but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he's alive! He was lost, and he's found!' " (Luke 15:31-32 MSG)
Perhaps the reason this parable of Christ's is so well known....so popular....is because we can all relate to it. I know that I can relate to it from every angle. I can put myself in the role of each of the characters.
From a human perspective, I can place myself in the role of the father. As I mentioned, one of my kids makes an annual pilgrimage home from a distant land every summer. He's not a prodigal son, but he has inherited a wanderlust from somewhere in my gene pool, and is determined to live in any country that is not the United States. But he comes home every summer, and at the beginning of the summer, I find myself sitting in the same seat at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport, watching plane loads of people walking down the ramp. It's odd that he is never in the middle of the mass of people exiting the plane, but usually comes sauntering down the walkway when it is nearly empty. He's always relaxed and never seems rushed, but when he sees me, he smiles the smile I remember from his childhood.
What happens inside of me when I see that smile can only be understood by a parent who longs for a child. I would like to say that I leap from my seat and run to him like the father in Christ's parable. But sadly, I have a Scandinavian heritage that will not allow such a display of emotion, so I walk to him, hug him briefly, and we head over to claim his luggage. Let me be clear, however. On the inside I am like the father sitting on the porch, looking for his son, and when seeing him, my heart pounds....I hike my robe up around my waist, and run to him. I can relate to the father who hugs the returning son with a hug that stifles his breath and showers him with kisses.
And for the short time he's home we gather at our home with his brothers, and we eat. It's not like I have a fatted calf ready to slaughter, but I bet we go through half a beef. Lot's of meals. Lots of time talking. Lots of time just being together. We celebrate.
So, I can relate to the father in this parable.
Spiritually, I can relate to the older brother to a degree. I am sure, over the decades, that there have been times when I have wondered how my heavenly Father can pour his blessings out on a brother or sister who has strayed from the flock. I imagine I have been one of the ninety-nine sheep who didn't stray, glancing with an air of judgmental jealously at the Shepherd carrying a lost one back into the fold. I say that I can only relate to the older brother to a degree because, more often than not, I have been the one slung over the shoulder of the Shepard as he carried me back to a place of safety.
I do not say it with pride, but of the three characters in this parable of Christ's, I can most readily relate to the prodigal. I suspect that is true of most people, but it is especially true of me. Pride, ego and self-sufficiency have a tendency to run rampant in me. As a result, I often find myself slopping the pigs, longing to feed my hunger with the pods or corn husks scattered among the slop.
That is why I need to testify that through fifty-eight years of existence, I have relentlessly been stalked by the grace of God. That is why the song "His Grace Finds Me," strikes a chord deep in my soul.
In those distant lands....far from home.....far from the Father....metaphorically slopping pigs....God's grace finds me even there. Like a fog gently covering the landscape, his grace envelops me, reminding me who I really am. Reminding me who my Father is. Reminding me of where I belong.
In the Parable of the Prodigal Son, two people moved. One walked. One ran. We prodigals are always the walkers. Actually, I am usually limping. But our Father, whose grace never lets go of us, is always scanning the horizon and, when we move toward him, he runs. He runs, unashamedly, toward his limping, wayward kids and showers them with love. And then, according to Jesus' story, he throws a party. We deserve rebuke. We deserve punishment. We deserve condemnation. But we are shown love. We are shown acceptance. We are shown compassion. That, my friend is grace. And my Father's grace never lets go.
Perhaps that is why I was so touched when I first heard one of Matt Redman's most recent songs, "Your Grace Finds Me." If you have never heard it, stop reading right now...find it...and listen to the beautiful words of truth the brother penned. I'm serious. Here's a link to help you out.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mqd8MoiCbcI. What did I tell you? So I write the thought that has occupied my mind for months....the thought that I have been unceasingly stalked by God's grace....and I'm more than impressed with the way Matt Redman fleshed the thought out in that wonderful song of praise. I just need to testify of the truth of his words. I do realize that it's not a unique observation. Indeed, it is the very core of God's Word to us, but the truth of it has surrounded me this summer. I just need to say that God's grace has pursued me with reckless abandon, and I suspect that I will be praising him for all eternity for that fact.
Along with it, Jesus' Parable of the Prodigal Son has also been brought to my attention. I mean it's shown up at every turn for the past few weeks. In my daily bible reading, a couple times in a book I've been reading, and even in an article on the CNN website. So, spiritually, my mind has been dwelling on God's persistent grace, and his abounding love. Just a little side note. The Parable of the Prodigal Son could more aptly be called, "The All Consuming Love of a Father", or something like that. I'm just saying.
This parable is the longest of all of the parables of Christ and, I am fairly certain, it is probably the most well known. You know the story. A father has two sons. One basically says to his father, "I wish you were dead. Give me my portion of the inheritance now." The father gives him his portion of the inheritance, the son gets out of the country, lives a wild life style and wastes the money. He ends up hiring himself out to a man to slop his pigs. Jesus says that the young man was so hungry that he would gladly have eaten the pods that were in the pig's slop.....but no one was giving him anything to eat.
Here's how the Message describes the next part:
"That brought him to his senses. He said, 'All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I'm going back to my father. I'll say to him, Father, I've sinned against God, I've sinned before you; I don't deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand. He got right up and went home to his father."
"When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: 'Father, I've sinned against God, I've sinned before you; I don't deserve to be called your son ever again.' "
"But the father wasn't listening. He was calling to the servants, 'Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We're going to feast! We're going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!' And they began to have a wonderful time." (Luke 15:17-24 MSG)
Turns out, the older son was not at all impressed with the party. He was disgruntled that his father treated his brother so well after he had squandered his inheritance and treated his father so poorly.
I just love the father's response: "His father said, 'Son, you don't understand. You're with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours— but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he's alive! He was lost, and he's found!' " (Luke 15:31-32 MSG)
Perhaps the reason this parable of Christ's is so well known....so popular....is because we can all relate to it. I know that I can relate to it from every angle. I can put myself in the role of each of the characters.
From a human perspective, I can place myself in the role of the father. As I mentioned, one of my kids makes an annual pilgrimage home from a distant land every summer. He's not a prodigal son, but he has inherited a wanderlust from somewhere in my gene pool, and is determined to live in any country that is not the United States. But he comes home every summer, and at the beginning of the summer, I find myself sitting in the same seat at the Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport, watching plane loads of people walking down the ramp. It's odd that he is never in the middle of the mass of people exiting the plane, but usually comes sauntering down the walkway when it is nearly empty. He's always relaxed and never seems rushed, but when he sees me, he smiles the smile I remember from his childhood.
What happens inside of me when I see that smile can only be understood by a parent who longs for a child. I would like to say that I leap from my seat and run to him like the father in Christ's parable. But sadly, I have a Scandinavian heritage that will not allow such a display of emotion, so I walk to him, hug him briefly, and we head over to claim his luggage. Let me be clear, however. On the inside I am like the father sitting on the porch, looking for his son, and when seeing him, my heart pounds....I hike my robe up around my waist, and run to him. I can relate to the father who hugs the returning son with a hug that stifles his breath and showers him with kisses.
And for the short time he's home we gather at our home with his brothers, and we eat. It's not like I have a fatted calf ready to slaughter, but I bet we go through half a beef. Lot's of meals. Lots of time talking. Lots of time just being together. We celebrate.
So, I can relate to the father in this parable.
Spiritually, I can relate to the older brother to a degree. I am sure, over the decades, that there have been times when I have wondered how my heavenly Father can pour his blessings out on a brother or sister who has strayed from the flock. I imagine I have been one of the ninety-nine sheep who didn't stray, glancing with an air of judgmental jealously at the Shepherd carrying a lost one back into the fold. I say that I can only relate to the older brother to a degree because, more often than not, I have been the one slung over the shoulder of the Shepard as he carried me back to a place of safety.
I do not say it with pride, but of the three characters in this parable of Christ's, I can most readily relate to the prodigal. I suspect that is true of most people, but it is especially true of me. Pride, ego and self-sufficiency have a tendency to run rampant in me. As a result, I often find myself slopping the pigs, longing to feed my hunger with the pods or corn husks scattered among the slop.
That is why I need to testify that through fifty-eight years of existence, I have relentlessly been stalked by the grace of God. That is why the song "His Grace Finds Me," strikes a chord deep in my soul.
In those distant lands....far from home.....far from the Father....metaphorically slopping pigs....God's grace finds me even there. Like a fog gently covering the landscape, his grace envelops me, reminding me who I really am. Reminding me who my Father is. Reminding me of where I belong.
In the Parable of the Prodigal Son, two people moved. One walked. One ran. We prodigals are always the walkers. Actually, I am usually limping. But our Father, whose grace never lets go of us, is always scanning the horizon and, when we move toward him, he runs. He runs, unashamedly, toward his limping, wayward kids and showers them with love. And then, according to Jesus' story, he throws a party. We deserve rebuke. We deserve punishment. We deserve condemnation. But we are shown love. We are shown acceptance. We are shown compassion. That, my friend is grace. And my Father's grace never lets go.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
God's View of You
"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." (1 Peter 2:9-10)
The pitcher stretches and hurls the ball toward home plate. The catcher catches the pitch. The batter turns to the umpire with the question, "Was it a ball or a strike?"
The umpire says, "It's nothing until I say it's something."
Seems like an obvious truth, doesn't it? The fans in the stands see one thing. The pitcher and catcher both have their own thoughts. Each dugout is filled with various opinions. But, the reality is, the pitch is nothing until the umpire says it's something. And, it will be what he says it is.
Friend, that is the ultimate reality for the believer as well. In the end, we are whatever God says we are. And, if you are one of his, the Father says that you are righteous. He says that you are holy. He says that you are blameless in his sight.
Just as with the pitch in baseball, there are going to be many other opinions. The enemy will continually try to get you to define yourself by your mistakes. His goal is to cause you to characterize yourself by your failure rather than the position you hold as a child of God through Christ. It's his job. It's what the slimy, little weasel does.
But it's not just Satan. Each of us are surrounded by people much like the spectators in the stands. They have seen the pitch. They have formed an opinion based on some of the good things we have done, as well as some of the bad things. And, depending on their evaluation of what they have seen or heard, whether they are true or not, they begin to place describers around us. They characterize us by adjectives, some of them positive, and some negative.
That is just the way it is in the world we live. Satan is going to continue to remind us of our failures since he is the accuser, and he lives to accuse. And, people are people. It seems to be the nature of humankind to magnify the faults of others in order to minimize our own. I imagine that is why the bible speaks so often against judgment, slander and gossip. Just the other day I read Tony Campolo's take on the old Christian mantra, "Love the sinner, hate the sin." Tony claims, and I just love this, that a more accurate description of Christ's teaching would be, "Love the sinner, hate your own sin."
I have been told that a person's self esteem is directly related to how the most important individual in their life views them. The image we have of ourselves directly corresponds to how we perceive the person closest to us evaluates us. It can be seen most clearly in children. When a parent continually berates and runs down a child, that child will most likely develop a poor self image. It is most obvious with small children, but it is equally true with adults. The way we see ourselves is directly related to how the most meaningful entity in our lives sees us.
That is probably one of the reasons we're such a fan of dogs. By and large, your dog is going to think you're the greatest thing that ever existed regardless of what might have happened the day before, or even the hour before. If I yell at my dogs one day for not responding when I call them...maybe I even grab them and give them a little shake...they are over it in minutes. The next time I walk past their kennel I can guarantee that they will be at the gate with their tails wagging a hundred miles an hour and smiling their stupid dog smiles. They think I'm the most wonderful thing that ever breathed. If they were the most important things in my life, my self image would be god-like.
Here is the good news for the believer. If Jesus Christ is the most important person in your life, he thinks you're great....he thinks you're wonderful. He not only thinks it, but he proved it by carrying the cross up Calvary, and punctuated his desire for you by allowing the spikes to be driven into his hands and feet. His love for you is indescribable, his pursuit of you is relentless, and his patience toward you is never ending. That should be a daily esteem booster for every child of God.
And, dear believer, never forget that you are what God says you are. Who you really are is not defined by the whisperings of the enemy, or the opinions of those in the stands, regardless of how close to you they may be. Who you really are is not even defined by the image you have of yourself, or the describers you place on yourself because of past sin and failure. You are what God says you are and, through Christ, he says you are perfect.
Let me give you just a few of the adjectives the Father uses to describe his children:
Your are forgiven: "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John 1:9)
You are righteous: "For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." (2 Corinthians 5:2)
You are holy, blameless, and beyond reproach: "Yet He has now reconciled you in His fleshly body through death, in order to present you before Him holy and blameless and beyond reproach—" (Colossians 1:22)
You are a child of the Creator of all things: "Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is." 1 John 3:2
You are a sanctified (set apart) brother (or sister) of Christ's: "For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers...." Hebrews 2:11
Your are a citizen of the kingdom of heaven: "But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ..." (Philippians 3:20)
You are qualified as an heir of God: "And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise." (Galatians 3:29)
You are joint heirs with Jesus Christ and a child of the living God: "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ..." (Romans 8:16-17)
"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him." (1 John 3:1)
And, of course, "You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." (1 Peter 2:9-10)
Friend, if you belong to Christ, you are what God says you are....and he chooses to see you as marvelously perfect. Don't allow yourself to be defined by anything apart from that regardless of what the enemy may whisper in your ear, or the adjectives that may come from the spectators in the stands.
The pitcher stretches and hurls the ball toward home plate. The catcher catches the pitch. The batter turns to the umpire with the question, "Was it a ball or a strike?"
The umpire says, "It's nothing until I say it's something."
Seems like an obvious truth, doesn't it? The fans in the stands see one thing. The pitcher and catcher both have their own thoughts. Each dugout is filled with various opinions. But, the reality is, the pitch is nothing until the umpire says it's something. And, it will be what he says it is.
Friend, that is the ultimate reality for the believer as well. In the end, we are whatever God says we are. And, if you are one of his, the Father says that you are righteous. He says that you are holy. He says that you are blameless in his sight.
Just as with the pitch in baseball, there are going to be many other opinions. The enemy will continually try to get you to define yourself by your mistakes. His goal is to cause you to characterize yourself by your failure rather than the position you hold as a child of God through Christ. It's his job. It's what the slimy, little weasel does.
But it's not just Satan. Each of us are surrounded by people much like the spectators in the stands. They have seen the pitch. They have formed an opinion based on some of the good things we have done, as well as some of the bad things. And, depending on their evaluation of what they have seen or heard, whether they are true or not, they begin to place describers around us. They characterize us by adjectives, some of them positive, and some negative.
That is just the way it is in the world we live. Satan is going to continue to remind us of our failures since he is the accuser, and he lives to accuse. And, people are people. It seems to be the nature of humankind to magnify the faults of others in order to minimize our own. I imagine that is why the bible speaks so often against judgment, slander and gossip. Just the other day I read Tony Campolo's take on the old Christian mantra, "Love the sinner, hate the sin." Tony claims, and I just love this, that a more accurate description of Christ's teaching would be, "Love the sinner, hate your own sin."
I have been told that a person's self esteem is directly related to how the most important individual in their life views them. The image we have of ourselves directly corresponds to how we perceive the person closest to us evaluates us. It can be seen most clearly in children. When a parent continually berates and runs down a child, that child will most likely develop a poor self image. It is most obvious with small children, but it is equally true with adults. The way we see ourselves is directly related to how the most meaningful entity in our lives sees us.
That is probably one of the reasons we're such a fan of dogs. By and large, your dog is going to think you're the greatest thing that ever existed regardless of what might have happened the day before, or even the hour before. If I yell at my dogs one day for not responding when I call them...maybe I even grab them and give them a little shake...they are over it in minutes. The next time I walk past their kennel I can guarantee that they will be at the gate with their tails wagging a hundred miles an hour and smiling their stupid dog smiles. They think I'm the most wonderful thing that ever breathed. If they were the most important things in my life, my self image would be god-like.
Here is the good news for the believer. If Jesus Christ is the most important person in your life, he thinks you're great....he thinks you're wonderful. He not only thinks it, but he proved it by carrying the cross up Calvary, and punctuated his desire for you by allowing the spikes to be driven into his hands and feet. His love for you is indescribable, his pursuit of you is relentless, and his patience toward you is never ending. That should be a daily esteem booster for every child of God.
And, dear believer, never forget that you are what God says you are. Who you really are is not defined by the whisperings of the enemy, or the opinions of those in the stands, regardless of how close to you they may be. Who you really are is not even defined by the image you have of yourself, or the describers you place on yourself because of past sin and failure. You are what God says you are and, through Christ, he says you are perfect.
Let me give you just a few of the adjectives the Father uses to describe his children:
Your are forgiven: "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness." (1 John 1:9)
You are righteous: "For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." (2 Corinthians 5:2)
You are holy, blameless, and beyond reproach: "Yet He has now reconciled you in His fleshly body through death, in order to present you before Him holy and blameless and beyond reproach—" (Colossians 1:22)
You are a child of the Creator of all things: "Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is." 1 John 3:2
You are a sanctified (set apart) brother (or sister) of Christ's: "For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers...." Hebrews 2:11
Your are a citizen of the kingdom of heaven: "But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ..." (Philippians 3:20)
You are qualified as an heir of God: "And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise." (Galatians 3:29)
You are joint heirs with Jesus Christ and a child of the living God: "The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ..." (Romans 8:16-17)
"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him." (1 John 3:1)
And, of course, "You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." (1 Peter 2:9-10)
Friend, if you belong to Christ, you are what God says you are....and he chooses to see you as marvelously perfect. Don't allow yourself to be defined by anything apart from that regardless of what the enemy may whisper in your ear, or the adjectives that may come from the spectators in the stands.
Friday, May 10, 2013
All Things Reconciled
There are, to be sure, many things of which I am uncertain. I believe that I have a very sound theology but, at the same time, understand that my beliefs and the way I comprehend my God are probably not one hundred percent accurate. When I find areas where my understanding of who the Creator really is, and how he relates to his creation need to be tweaked, or even completely restructured, my theology evolves to accommodate the new-found knowledge. As a result, the way I perceive the Father today, is different from the way I perceived him thirty-five years ago.
The point is, I readily acknowledge that there are many things of which I am not certain. The one thing of which I am certain, however, is that God is going to complete what he has started. When God spoke into existence this incomprehensibly vast universe, he had a plan. The plan has not changed. His blueprint has not been altered. And God is going to finish what he has started. I am equally as certain that when he does complete what he has ordained from eternity, and his blueprint becomes reality, I will blush with embarrassment for ever pretending to understand even a fraction of what he has purposed. "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12) I Have to admit that if Paul sees dimly, then I barely see at all.
The word of the week for me has been "reconcile." Actually, reconcile, reconciled, reconciling, reconciliation....particularly as they relate to Colossians 1:20. But, before I get to that scripture, I need to back up.
In looking back on my life, in the light of my understanding of God's word, I realize that there was a time when the Spirit of the Creator breathed life into my spirit bringing the revelation that there was a God. He brought the revelation that there was something greater than myself from which every portion of the universe, including the being that was me, drew it's existence. Something came to life in my very core which convinced me that I was not a product of some spontaneous random act of nature, but rather a part of a deliberate, purpose driven action of a Creator God.
With the revelation that there was a God who gave me life, also came the revelation that there was something in me that was inherently hostile toward him. That there was enmity between the Creator, and the part of his creation the world knew as Jim Laposky. The Spirit that breathed life into my lifeless spirit gently whispered the words Paul wrote to the Corinthians, "....on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. (2 Corinthians 5:20)
God's Spirit softly spoke those words to my inner man, and my spirit responded. Through the work of that same Spirit, the ministry of God's word, and the leading of the people the Father surrounded me with, I grabbed hold of Christ's sacrifice and was truly reconciled to my Creator. I learned the truth of Paul's words to the Romans:
".....but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God.
"For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son,
much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life.
More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation."
Romans 5:8-11
There is so much that can be said of that scripture, but what I praise my Savior for today is that I have been reconciled to the Creator of all things through his shed blood. I have received reconciliation through the life Christ lived, his sacrifice on the cross, and his ultimate victory over the grave and the power of death. God's Spirit now bears witness with my spirit that I am one of God's kids. I love the Message's paraphrase of Paul's words in Romans 8:16, "God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children."
That is wonderful news for a rebel like me. The Greek word we translate as reconcile (apokatallassso) is bigger than just reconcile. It is an intense reconciliation. It is to reconcile completely and fully. It pictures the total, complete and full restoration of relationship to the Father through which he becomes Abba (Daddy) to us. It is great news for helpless, ungodly sinners like me, and I rejoice because I am no longer defined by the things I have done, but by to whom I belong.
So I understand, in part, the reconciliation that has taken place that allows me to be in relationship with my Father. But what has been occupying my mind for the past week is the reconciliation that is to come. The scripture that came to mind as I walked the dogs one morning last week was Colossians 1:20 which reads:
"For in him (Christ) all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,
And through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Colossians 1: 19-20)
It is an amazing thought. Everything....on earth and in heaven....will be reconciled under Christ. All things means, surprisingly, all things. It encompasses every nook and cranny of the whole universe. All things material, all things spiritual, and all things created will be reconciled completely and fully through him. Every atom. Every particle. Every molecule. Every action of man. Everything will be intensely and perfectly reconciled under Christ.
Again, Eugene Peterson's paraphrase of that passage in the Message is marvelous:
"So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding.
"Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe—people and things, animals and atoms—get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the Cross.
I cannot picture what that will be like, but I long for it. Come Lord Jesus! As believers, God has reconciled us to himself through Christ, but he is not finished. The day is coming when he will turn to Jesus and say, "Son, bring home your bride." And the Messiah will. In that instant, in a fraction of a blink of an eye, my reconciliation with the Father will be complete. I will see with my eyes what I now know as truth in my spirit. But, in the same breath, the reconciliation of all creation to the Creator will become a reality....all the dislocated pieces of the universe-people and things, animals and atoms-will get fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies....
I love the words, "vibrant harmony." The image they paint is not one of God taking broken, jagged pieces of a fallen creation and fitting them together as best he can to make something functional. Rather, it is a picture of a masterpiece, eternal in design, in which the great Designer majestically touches and weaves together every flaw, each imperfection, and all the imperfect blots into a tapestry containing the whole of his creation. This universal tapestry, reconciled under Christ, will not only be perfect in it's perfection, but vibrant harmonies will spontaneously flow from it, singing for all eternity the beauty of all the glories of God.
Today, I find rest in the reconciliation of all things under Christ, and I pray with certain hope and expectancy with all of creation, "Come Lord Jesus!"
The point is, I readily acknowledge that there are many things of which I am not certain. The one thing of which I am certain, however, is that God is going to complete what he has started. When God spoke into existence this incomprehensibly vast universe, he had a plan. The plan has not changed. His blueprint has not been altered. And God is going to finish what he has started. I am equally as certain that when he does complete what he has ordained from eternity, and his blueprint becomes reality, I will blush with embarrassment for ever pretending to understand even a fraction of what he has purposed. "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." (1 Corinthians 13:12) I Have to admit that if Paul sees dimly, then I barely see at all.
The word of the week for me has been "reconcile." Actually, reconcile, reconciled, reconciling, reconciliation....particularly as they relate to Colossians 1:20. But, before I get to that scripture, I need to back up.
In looking back on my life, in the light of my understanding of God's word, I realize that there was a time when the Spirit of the Creator breathed life into my spirit bringing the revelation that there was a God. He brought the revelation that there was something greater than myself from which every portion of the universe, including the being that was me, drew it's existence. Something came to life in my very core which convinced me that I was not a product of some spontaneous random act of nature, but rather a part of a deliberate, purpose driven action of a Creator God.
With the revelation that there was a God who gave me life, also came the revelation that there was something in me that was inherently hostile toward him. That there was enmity between the Creator, and the part of his creation the world knew as Jim Laposky. The Spirit that breathed life into my lifeless spirit gently whispered the words Paul wrote to the Corinthians, "....on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. (2 Corinthians 5:20)
God's Spirit softly spoke those words to my inner man, and my spirit responded. Through the work of that same Spirit, the ministry of God's word, and the leading of the people the Father surrounded me with, I grabbed hold of Christ's sacrifice and was truly reconciled to my Creator. I learned the truth of Paul's words to the Romans:
".....but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.
Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God.
"For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son,
much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life.
More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation."
Romans 5:8-11
There is so much that can be said of that scripture, but what I praise my Savior for today is that I have been reconciled to the Creator of all things through his shed blood. I have received reconciliation through the life Christ lived, his sacrifice on the cross, and his ultimate victory over the grave and the power of death. God's Spirit now bears witness with my spirit that I am one of God's kids. I love the Message's paraphrase of Paul's words in Romans 8:16, "God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children."
That is wonderful news for a rebel like me. The Greek word we translate as reconcile (apokatallassso) is bigger than just reconcile. It is an intense reconciliation. It is to reconcile completely and fully. It pictures the total, complete and full restoration of relationship to the Father through which he becomes Abba (Daddy) to us. It is great news for helpless, ungodly sinners like me, and I rejoice because I am no longer defined by the things I have done, but by to whom I belong.
So I understand, in part, the reconciliation that has taken place that allows me to be in relationship with my Father. But what has been occupying my mind for the past week is the reconciliation that is to come. The scripture that came to mind as I walked the dogs one morning last week was Colossians 1:20 which reads:
"For in him (Christ) all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,
And through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross. (Colossians 1: 19-20)
It is an amazing thought. Everything....on earth and in heaven....will be reconciled under Christ. All things means, surprisingly, all things. It encompasses every nook and cranny of the whole universe. All things material, all things spiritual, and all things created will be reconciled completely and fully through him. Every atom. Every particle. Every molecule. Every action of man. Everything will be intensely and perfectly reconciled under Christ.
Again, Eugene Peterson's paraphrase of that passage in the Message is marvelous:
"So spacious is he, so roomy, that everything of God finds its proper place in him without crowding.
"Not only that, but all the broken and dislocated pieces of the universe—people and things, animals and atoms—get properly fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies, all because of his death, his blood that poured down from the Cross.
I cannot picture what that will be like, but I long for it. Come Lord Jesus! As believers, God has reconciled us to himself through Christ, but he is not finished. The day is coming when he will turn to Jesus and say, "Son, bring home your bride." And the Messiah will. In that instant, in a fraction of a blink of an eye, my reconciliation with the Father will be complete. I will see with my eyes what I now know as truth in my spirit. But, in the same breath, the reconciliation of all creation to the Creator will become a reality....all the dislocated pieces of the universe-people and things, animals and atoms-will get fixed and fit together in vibrant harmonies....
I love the words, "vibrant harmony." The image they paint is not one of God taking broken, jagged pieces of a fallen creation and fitting them together as best he can to make something functional. Rather, it is a picture of a masterpiece, eternal in design, in which the great Designer majestically touches and weaves together every flaw, each imperfection, and all the imperfect blots into a tapestry containing the whole of his creation. This universal tapestry, reconciled under Christ, will not only be perfect in it's perfection, but vibrant harmonies will spontaneously flow from it, singing for all eternity the beauty of all the glories of God.
Today, I find rest in the reconciliation of all things under Christ, and I pray with certain hope and expectancy with all of creation, "Come Lord Jesus!"
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Ramblings on Being Human
Last week I read an account of cosmologist Stephen Hawking's address to a group of people at the California Institute of Technology. It truly is hard not to be impressed with the man's brilliant mind, and his very determined battle with the devastating disease of ALS. It came as no surprise to me that when he spoke at Caltech he outlined a concept of creation which does not include a creator. The article from NBC News stated that Hawking believes that, "Time began at the moment of singularity, and this likely occurred only once." It is not clear to me how, "The moment of singularity," and, "In the beginning God created," differ, but I am not a cosmologist, physicist or any type of scientific thinker, so that is to be expected.
Apparently, according to the article, he also discussed something called the M-theory which, "posits that multiple universes are created out of nothing,with many possible histories and many possible states of existence. In only a few of these states would life be possible, and in fewer still could something like humanity exist." Again, mine is not a scientific mind, so I don't pretend to understand it.....but that is apparently what he believes.
One of my earliest memories....and I fully realize that I am not going to be able to put this into words that explain it real well... but, one of my earliest memories is of lying in bed, in the stillness of the night, trying to sense what it was that made me....well....me. Trying to feel what it was that made me different from, say, my brother who was probably in a bed on the other side of the room. What was it that allowed me to be who I was, and not somebody else? Weird, I know. Or, perhaps everyone goes through this phase and have the wisdom not to speak of it.
I knew that as I played with my friends on the playground, that we all looked different, that we all had different levels of ability and inability.....but, as a lay in the quiet darkness, I would try to touch the essence of my individuality. Although I did not realize it at the time, I was trying to grab hold of what made me human. More importantly, I was trying to grasp what made me different than every other human around me. When I say, "different," I don't mean better or worse, I mean unique. What made me unique from the kids next to me, and what made them unique from me? What was it that made us individually unique human beings? One last try. What made them....them? And what made me....me?
Occasionally, in those short moments between wakefulness and sleep, I would grasp the truth that what made me the person I was had to be defined by something more than the physical...something more than what I saw in the mirror. And, at times, I could almost grab onto it....or however a child would describe that sense.....I would come close to grasping it...close to laying hold of it. I would feel, for an instant, the part of me that was really me. But only for an instant. Then I would fall asleep, and get up in the morning to play army in the backyard. Understand, I wasn't trying to comprehend it, for that would not have been possible for a child....but something would well up within me through which I could almost touch that part of my being that made me the individual I was.
I remember the sensation. I remember the feeling. I remember, in the quietness of the night, consciously putting myself in the place to consider the uniqueness of being me. That was over five decades ago, and I have not experienced the feeling since. I can remember reaching a point, as I grew older, where I would try, but other thoughts would enter my mind, and I could never get myself back to a quiet enough state to experience the sensation.
I understand that it is weird, and I warned you that I wasn't going to be able to explain it very well, but there you have it.
I believe children have a much stronger sense of the spiritual than adults. Children in their innocence, without preconceptions , predispositions, or biases, are able to perceive the divine in its absolutely simplest form. They absorb it, without attempting to explain it. They are not afraid of it, so they allow themselves to be drawn to it.
It has been over a half century since I experienced what I have spent several paragraphs trying to explain, and with those years I have grown to understand that in my childhood innocence I had began to lay hold of my soul....to lay hold of my spirit....to lay hold of that which was divinely placed in me. I had begun to grab onto that intangible part of me that made me human. Even more than that, it was the part of me that made me unique as a human being.
I understand now that I have a body, but I am a living soul. "Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." Genesis 2:7 St. Augustine spoke of the soul as a “rider” on the body, making clear the distinction between the material and the immaterial, with the soul representing the “true” person.
Scholars like Stephen Hawking would maintain with theories like the M-Theory that there are, as I quoted earlier, "Many possible states of existence. In only a few of these states would life be possible, and in fewer still could something like humanity exist." And that without intelligent design. Without a Creator God.
I, on the other hand, would maintain that humanity exists only by the touch of the Creator. Only through the breath of God.
The problem is, the soul and spirit that gives us life.....that makes the body of clay a living being...cannot be quantified. It cannot be explained by equations on a white board, or dissected in a laboratory. It cannot be calculated with mathematics or formulas, or determined by physics or cosmology. And without grasping what it is that makes humankind human, one cannot begin to comprehend the reasons, purposes or power that spun the rest of creation into existence.
"At that time Jesus declared, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to little children." (Matthew 11:25)
Man can attempt to explain creation, and the Creator has given us minds to explore and question and comprehend. But to do so without. "In the beginning God created," or "Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul," is nothing short of folly. String theory, M-Theory, and the moment of singularity may touch on some of the physics and principles the Creator set in place when what we know as the universe flowed from the perfection of the Godhead.....but the knowledge is miniscule. It is as insignificant as a sigh in a hurricane.
I'm rambling, I know. But I do join my Savior in thanking the Father that he has hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to little children. I praise him for breathing into me the breath of life, and making me a living soul. But, more than anything, I praise him for allowing his Spirit to touch mine and allowing me to be a soul that belongs to him. A soul that is sealed by him. And, in eternity, a soul that will continue to grow in the knowledge of the depth of all that took place when, "In the beginning God created...."
Apparently, according to the article, he also discussed something called the M-theory which, "posits that multiple universes are created out of nothing,with many possible histories and many possible states of existence. In only a few of these states would life be possible, and in fewer still could something like humanity exist." Again, mine is not a scientific mind, so I don't pretend to understand it.....but that is apparently what he believes.
One of my earliest memories....and I fully realize that I am not going to be able to put this into words that explain it real well... but, one of my earliest memories is of lying in bed, in the stillness of the night, trying to sense what it was that made me....well....me. Trying to feel what it was that made me different from, say, my brother who was probably in a bed on the other side of the room. What was it that allowed me to be who I was, and not somebody else? Weird, I know. Or, perhaps everyone goes through this phase and have the wisdom not to speak of it.
I knew that as I played with my friends on the playground, that we all looked different, that we all had different levels of ability and inability.....but, as a lay in the quiet darkness, I would try to touch the essence of my individuality. Although I did not realize it at the time, I was trying to grab hold of what made me human. More importantly, I was trying to grasp what made me different than every other human around me. When I say, "different," I don't mean better or worse, I mean unique. What made me unique from the kids next to me, and what made them unique from me? What was it that made us individually unique human beings? One last try. What made them....them? And what made me....me?
Occasionally, in those short moments between wakefulness and sleep, I would grasp the truth that what made me the person I was had to be defined by something more than the physical...something more than what I saw in the mirror. And, at times, I could almost grab onto it....or however a child would describe that sense.....I would come close to grasping it...close to laying hold of it. I would feel, for an instant, the part of me that was really me. But only for an instant. Then I would fall asleep, and get up in the morning to play army in the backyard. Understand, I wasn't trying to comprehend it, for that would not have been possible for a child....but something would well up within me through which I could almost touch that part of my being that made me the individual I was.
I remember the sensation. I remember the feeling. I remember, in the quietness of the night, consciously putting myself in the place to consider the uniqueness of being me. That was over five decades ago, and I have not experienced the feeling since. I can remember reaching a point, as I grew older, where I would try, but other thoughts would enter my mind, and I could never get myself back to a quiet enough state to experience the sensation.
I understand that it is weird, and I warned you that I wasn't going to be able to explain it very well, but there you have it.
I believe children have a much stronger sense of the spiritual than adults. Children in their innocence, without preconceptions , predispositions, or biases, are able to perceive the divine in its absolutely simplest form. They absorb it, without attempting to explain it. They are not afraid of it, so they allow themselves to be drawn to it.
It has been over a half century since I experienced what I have spent several paragraphs trying to explain, and with those years I have grown to understand that in my childhood innocence I had began to lay hold of my soul....to lay hold of my spirit....to lay hold of that which was divinely placed in me. I had begun to grab onto that intangible part of me that made me human. Even more than that, it was the part of me that made me unique as a human being.
I understand now that I have a body, but I am a living soul. "Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul." Genesis 2:7 St. Augustine spoke of the soul as a “rider” on the body, making clear the distinction between the material and the immaterial, with the soul representing the “true” person.
Scholars like Stephen Hawking would maintain with theories like the M-Theory that there are, as I quoted earlier, "Many possible states of existence. In only a few of these states would life be possible, and in fewer still could something like humanity exist." And that without intelligent design. Without a Creator God.
I, on the other hand, would maintain that humanity exists only by the touch of the Creator. Only through the breath of God.
The problem is, the soul and spirit that gives us life.....that makes the body of clay a living being...cannot be quantified. It cannot be explained by equations on a white board, or dissected in a laboratory. It cannot be calculated with mathematics or formulas, or determined by physics or cosmology. And without grasping what it is that makes humankind human, one cannot begin to comprehend the reasons, purposes or power that spun the rest of creation into existence.
"At that time Jesus declared, “I thank you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to little children." (Matthew 11:25)
Man can attempt to explain creation, and the Creator has given us minds to explore and question and comprehend. But to do so without. "In the beginning God created," or "Then the LORD God formed man of dust from the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul," is nothing short of folly. String theory, M-Theory, and the moment of singularity may touch on some of the physics and principles the Creator set in place when what we know as the universe flowed from the perfection of the Godhead.....but the knowledge is miniscule. It is as insignificant as a sigh in a hurricane.
I'm rambling, I know. But I do join my Savior in thanking the Father that he has hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and revealed them to little children. I praise him for breathing into me the breath of life, and making me a living soul. But, more than anything, I praise him for allowing his Spirit to touch mine and allowing me to be a soul that belongs to him. A soul that is sealed by him. And, in eternity, a soul that will continue to grow in the knowledge of the depth of all that took place when, "In the beginning God created...."
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