I Am Peter

Feet of clay.

That's what I'm walking around in, again.

I suppose it's good for me, as I've been accused more than once of being self-righteous. Holier than thou. I've protested vehemently, of course, citing my attempts at self-honesty and transparency, my refusal to be one of those Christians who wears a perfect face (far from it), while underneath the mask, temptations and dark emotions abound.

I found out recently just how far from perfect I am. The situation, in broad terms, was that I participated in a transaction with several other people, none of whom were professing Christians. Therefore, this was the perfect opportunity to shed some holy light, right? Wrong. Instead of acting honorably, this child of God suggested, shall we say, shortcuts that made the other parties uncomfortable. When objections were raised, I politely argued my position and persuaded the others to go against their better judgment - and I do mean better judgment - and dance to my tune.

Shortly after the business was completed, the Lord prompted me to step back and evaluate my behavior. I didn't like what I saw. How, I wondered, could I make this situation right, after I had led others down a wrong path? The deed was done. To fully rectify the situation might have put the others involved at risk; I knew that wasn't the way to go.

I repented, even as I walked around for several days with a layer of guilt the size of  the Sahara (and feeling about as barren). I asked God how I could fix this mess that I and I alone had gotten myself into. I kept feeling like the offender in Matthew 18:6, the one who would be better off taking a swim with a millstone anchored to his neck than to lead innocents astray.

After much prayer and soul searching, the answers came. I apologized to both parties and admitted I was wrong. I also committed in my heart to pray for a third person who may have been collaterally damaged as a result of my dealings in this matter. I'm asking God to provide bountifully to meet this person's needs. Finally, since I couldn't undo what had been done, a couple of dear Christian sisters helped me arrive at a quiet way of making amends to the Lord (for it was He whom I offended most).

Many lifetimes ago, a fisherman in the Middle East made a terrible decision. Like me, he strived to be faithful, but came to a crossroads where following Christ might lead to suffering. Like me, he  denied the one who could deliver him and instead tried to save himself. That same fisherman later penned this heartfelt plea, which now resonates with me more than when I held myself in Pharisaically high esteem:

 ^"For this very reason, make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness;  and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love. For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ. But whoever does not have them is nearsighted and blind, forgetting that they have been cleansed from their past sins."

2 Peter 1:5-9

I also feel the impact of 1 John 1:9 as never before.

Check out: Morsels for Meditation...: I Am Peter Part 2

Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today, and December 26th

My father-in-law used to say the heaviest thing for him to pick up was a pen. That was back in the days when people used such outdated implements to correspond with each other. Nowadays, we might say the hardest things to un-stick are the keyboard letters. Either way, we're talking about writer's block, and mine has been  noticeable these last few months.

I must acknowledge and dedicate this post to my dear friend René, who has been gently nudging me for several weeks now to get back on the proverbial horse and ride. A faithful reader of my blog, she has been dutifully checking for the latest posts, only to find there were NONE! I've been blaming my reticence on the old standby, Christmas busy-ness, but René was having none of it.

"It's been well over a month! It is time!" was her last admonition to me; so René, this one's for you.

We do make Christmas ridiculously busy in our culture. Not surprisingly, we become tired and cranky, and turn what should be a joyous celebration of imperial birth into a time of stress and often emptiness. My own cycle goes something like this:

I begin to get the Christmas spirit before Thanksgiving. I wait anxiously for B101 and oldies 98 to start playing round the clock Christmas music, and wade through my disorganized collection of CD's to supplement the radio's somewhat limited offerings. I gradually decorate the house until one day I walk downstairs and realize my vinyl Christmas tablecloth is just too much, and secretly look forward to stashing it away till next year. When my children were younger, I read Christmas stories and the Christmas story to them at bedtime; now that they're more or less grown, I read heartwarming yule tales to myself, without telling anyone (till now). Our family lights scented candles that make our artificial tree seem more piney, while watching Nick at Night's Christmas marathon, circa 1994, for the thousandth time, and munching cheater's Pillsbury cookies out of the freezer (they don't necessarily have to be baked; we don't believe in wasting time).

As our family is of mixed lineage, we celebrate Hanukkah as well as Christmas. This is one of my favorite parts of the holiday celebration, as it reminds me of my dear father, whose menorah (wax-encrusted and in dire need of polishing, but nevertheless quite functional) almost makes it seem like he's still with us. I send out holiday cards in batches, wending my way through two dilapidated personal address books and several church directories. Throughout the month I package up homemade goodies (often "ghost-baked" by my fairy godmother, Anita, whose banana bread is listed right next to nectar and ambrosia on the official menu for the gods), and deliver said treats to deserving service providers, whose good will I hope to maintain in the new year.

Somewhere around the 20th I start to panic, realizing I haven't wrapped a thing, let alone finished shopping. I make one last trip to the mall and begin wrapping with abandon. Towards the end of the Scotch Tape (and my patience), I switch over to bagging, which is more sensible anyway, since my boys have zero appreciation for ribbons, bows, or Thomas Kinkade-themed paper.

December 24th is probably my favorite day of the year, and I try to enjoy it to the fullest. I finish whatever is left to do in the way of gifting or cooking, often visit with family and friends, and generally savor the expectancy of the day. I treasure going to church on Christmas Eve, feeling the warmth in my heart glow brighter with the singing of each cherished hymn. After circling the tree with gifts, I settle down to watch Scrooge or George Bailey evolve into the men God intends them to be, while offering up silent thanks for the many blessings in my life.

 

Before I know it, Christmas day has arrived, with all its wonderful chaos. Some expectations are met, while other longings remain. One thing I can always count on: it goes too fast. While I'm always relieved that the mad rush is over, I usually also feel a sense of loss of excitement and forward-looking. The realization that winter is upon us, with all its dark, dreary days, that financial aid forms and tax season loom, and no amount of twinkling lights can make those realities go away. In short, a sense that the fun is over, and it's time to get back to work.

No matter how old I get, I can't seem to make the after-Christmas doldrums go away. I count the days till it's time to go back to work, and bite my nails the night before vacation ends. I usually try to stretch out the last day as much as possible, pretending the dawn won't come, and with it, the inevitable jolt back to ordinary life.

Through it all, I try to stick close to God, remembering it is He whose Son we are celebrating. Still, I wake up the day after New Years tired, over-stuffed with food and frolicking, till one thing catches me up short.

Jesus is right where I left Him.

    "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever."  Hebrews 13:8

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Third Time's Not the Charm