Rust, AKA, Destructive Distractions

“My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; my tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” – Psalm 45:1

The Goal

Psalm 45:1 is certainly a lofty goal, and one I aspire to – in theory.

Friends and supporters have asked if I’m working on a new book. It’s been a year and a half since Belabored hit the “shelves” of Amazon, and my cheering squad (without whose encouragement and prayers this novel would still be languishing on my computer) is understandably curious about my next project.

My answer is always the same.

Not yet.

Or, more accurately, I haven’t felt led to take on another major writing commitment at this moment.

To put it another way, I’m rusty in the writing department.

I did, however, recently add an item to my authorial resumé: my piece, “Jesus Christ, the Same Yesterday, Today, and December 26^th,” appears in ’Tis the Season, a compilation of Christmas essays benefiting Samaritan’s Purse. And I have taken several steps to expand my social media output and presence. Discourse, after all, isn’t found only between the covers of books or relegated to print media in these times of virtual productivity.

It never was, actually. That’s why journals and speeches and correspondence hold such great interest for biographers and readers.

So, in what way, exactly, am I deeming myself rusty?

The Problem

Well, folks, it’s the age-old problem of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair. To put it bluntly, I’m exceptionally good at distracting myself right out of the writing game.

Oh, I haven’t just been stringing dandelions into necklaces (with no disrespect intended to physical crafters, whose dexterity and fine motor skills far outweigh mine). For sure I’m accomplishing some valuable things. It’s just that, to paraphrase someone wise, the good can often be enemy of the best.

I will credit myself with one thing, though. I've been ingesting huge amounts of other people’s writing, which is often touted by those who know as a vital step to improving one’s own. That being said, after studying others’ styles, at some point one needs to pick up one’s pen, sit down at one’s keyboard, or at the very least, dictate into one of the myriad text receptacles available these days.

But, truth be told, it’s a bit painful to reengage with the writing craft once one has interrupted the habit. That’s actually been my lifelong problem – staying engaged in written pursuits. I scribble in spurts, journaling or blogging with ferocity when I’m going through some sort of life challenge, then going dormant for months on end. That’s why it was so hard for me to complete a novel.

In contrast, one of my authorial heroes, Louisa May Alcott, used to fall into what she called a vortex when creating. She would hole up for hours/days on end, frantically inking (and I mean inking by hand) pages and pages until her manuscripts met with her satisfaction. Then, off to the publisher and back to the outside world she would trot, until the next bolt of inspiration chained her to her desk again. Between bestselling novels, though, Alcott constantly journaled and wrote short stories, effectively honing her skills for the next blockbuster.

The Eye Opener

Despite human frailties, God has ways of forcing an issue.

Last night He saw fit to visit me with a terrible dream. The particulars aren’t important; the message is. In this nightmare, I was UTTERLY DISTRACTED. I had one paramount goal, but it kept getting sidelined by details that were irrelevant. In addition, I was trying to meet some other people’s needs – demands that cropped up along the way to accomplishing my agenda – but in my futile attempts to assist others, neither their needs nor mine were getting met.

Don’t misunderstand me. Some of the urgencies trumpeting in my ear were PRETTY DARN BIG. A dying woman. The safe transport of children. Treating other people’s property respectfully. But – and here is a major BUT – in trying to tend to everyone’s needs (all at once, I might add), I was tripping all over myself and MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE.

Here’s the really important part (well, the whole dream seemed important, but this piece is especially noteworthy). Several well-meaning friends stepped in, suggesting solutions that held potential to yield smidgens of success. Even as those kind souls were offering time and energy to steady the course of my floundering vessel, the captain of that sinking ship took matters back into her own bumbling, distracted hands and capsized the boat once and for all.

As I reread that last sentence, I identify a huge part of the problem. I am not the captain. There is only one Captain, and His name is Immanuel.

I take orders from Him and would do well to remember that.

Even as I type this article, which has been patiently hanging around on my hard drive for a week, another diversion sirens me. Friends, I’ve been awake since the wee hours of the morning after having that disturbing dream, knowing FOR SURE God is giving me yet another opportunity to Sit. Down. And. Write.

Wouldn’t you know it? Life throws yet another monkey wrench into my plans and offers to distract me – at 5:45 AM!

An important disruption, mind you. Important enough that I could persuade myself that this latest urgency warrants interrupting my work.

But that would mean losing momentum.

Momentum which badly needs to be maintained after so many fits and starts.

The Need for Discernment

As I’m arguing with myself about pausing versus proceeding, the Lord uses Denzel Washington, of all people, to set me straight. I recall a movie he starred in years ago in which his character, Eli, had received a vital commission. Along the way, numerous troubling distractions threatened the fulfillment of that crucial task. At those fork-in-the-road moments, he audibly reminded himself, “Stay on the path. It’s not your concern.”

A case could be made that Eli should have taken a break from his calling to address some life and death situations affecting others. Perhaps that is so. But consider the following.

Corrie ten Boom told a story of being present while a fellow inmate in the concentration camp was suffering cruelly at the hands of an SS guard. Knowing she was powerless to help, Corrie allowed herself to look away and focus on the beauty of a skylark instead of the violence around her.

Was it cowardice that kept Corrie from trying to intervene? Or was it pragmatism? Had she said or done anything, she would almost certainly have been tortured and possibly killed along with the prisoner she was vainly trying to help.

Then who would have told her story to millions, giving a firsthand report of the carnage inflicted by power-driven Nazis, and offering the world hope even in the deepest of pits?

Corrie knew the horror she was witnessing that day – and it WAS HORRIBLE – was not her (immediate) concern.

The Greatest Man of Business

If that sounds callous, let us remember two things. First of all, just because something isn’t on our to do list today doesn’t mean God won’t put it there tomorrow. In the case of the beaten prisoner, the Lord guided Corrie to focus her thoughts on the glorious skylark He had provided so she could endure the unendurable in that moment. Later, after she was released, she would write about witnessing this monstrous act while performing the work God kept her alive to do.

Which brings me to my second point.

That which is not our concern is God’s concern.

Jacob Marley uttered these famous words in Dickens’ A Christmas Carol: “Mankind was my business!”

But there’s a caveat, isn’t there?

Not ALL mankind is MY business.

We know that because Jesus modeled it. He healed some, but not all. He knew when it was time to get alone with the Father and recharge His batteries. He avoided distraction so it wouldn’t destroy His overarching mission.

Getting Back to Rust

What does all this have to do with rust?

Been thinking about Matthew 6:19-20:

“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.”

During this season of overwhelming busyness, I’m realizing that distraction is often a precursor to destruction. For example, being overly distracted this past week with holiday doings wreaked havoc with my eating habits. Attempting too many projects in too little time resulted in too many bad food choices. My overeating and overconsumption of Christmas goodies made me annoyed with myself, as well as sleepy and less able to produce good results with my tasks.

What are the moths and rust in each of our lives that threaten to destroy (or at least undermine) our relationship with God? What thieves are stealing our time with Him?

They say that realization is key to change, that recognizing the problem is half the battle. I’m challenging myself and others to search for the underlying causes why we drift from the Lord during a season which is supposed to be devoted to Him, and adjust accordingly.

The Remedy for Rust

It’s a simple one. A compound sold in any hardware store.

Naval jelly.

When applied correctly, this miracle mix eats away that which is eating away our valuables.

I find it fascinating that this stuff is called naval jelly. There must be a reason why, but I’m going to resist the urge to look it up because that would be, um, a distraction.

What’s interesting about the name of this wondrous substance is that it points to a navigator. Navies rely on navigators, and navigators rely on true north. Any old salt worth his salt (couldn’t resist) knows he must consciously seek true north. He can’t rely fully on his compass, because forces beyond his control
will throw that thing – and his whole vessel – off course.

It's been said that Jesus is our true north. But, like the old seaman, we must realize the limitations of our own devices and seek that which is true.

Make that, the One who is true.

God bless us, everyone!

 

Giving Birth

“I'm scared!” I told my husband in the delivery room. It was go time. We were awaiting the arrival of our first son over 30 years ago. I had longed for this moment, prayed, like Hannah, for God to favor me with motherhood, yet there I lay, unable to corral my fears of the moment and beyond.

“I'm scared of the whole thing!” I whimpered. “Scared of having the baby. Scared of raising the baby. I don't think I can do this.”

Shortly thereafter, the nurse came in with pain medication, which calmed both body and nerves. I turned to my husband with full sincerity and wondered, “What was I so afraid of?”

All these years later it's just a whimsical story that every expectant mother can probably relate to. But back then, in the heat of the moment, at the finishing line, those fears were very real and loomed impossibly large in the face of what was to come.

I'll be giving birth in just a few days. It's a planned delivery, one that's well overdue. Pregnant women, when their gestation time waxes long and perhaps goes into overtime, become cranky and uncomfortable. Quite bluntly, they want that child out! Having endured sleepless nights, a contorted body shape, and too much time to think about the what ifs, they want to see their baby, hold him, hear his tiny cries. At the same time, there's a panic button that sounds at the moment of truth, and the whole thing just seems impossible.

Like I said, I'm at that point in my maternity journey. Exhausted from labor and uncertain of the outcome. I want this baby dearly. I've longed for her, prayed for her, spent grueling hours planning for her arrival. Still, now that the moment has arrived, I feel a hesitancy that's hard to put into words. 

Maybe it's because this birthing process has been hugely different than my other two. For one thing, it's been 10 years in the making. There were many false starts and false hopes. I endured plenty of losses along the way, disappointments that made me despair of ever trying again, yet somehow, I lived to fight another day for what I felt sure was God's will for me.

Enough suspense. I suspect my astute readers have surmised that I'm not talking about welcoming a rosy infant; rather, at the end of this month my novel, Belabored, will hit the proverbial shelves via Amazon in both eBook and paperback forms. There have been innumerable fits and starts in this arduous process, but the big moment has finally arrived. The eBook is currently in pre-order status, meaning it can be ordered in advance of its actualization, which will be June 28. The paperback is slated to be available on June 30.

Woo hoo!

So, why am I so nervous?

Could it be because I've never done anything like this before? Because the anticipation may not live up to the reality? Because the pre-birth process is only the beginning of a lifetime commitment?

Let's face it – some things in life don't lend themselves well to do-overs. I've worked and reworked this book, to the point where I'm almost sick of it. But there's something terrifying about knowing this is it. My finished product will be in readers' hands; any sentences phrased awkwardly, or concepts delivered poorly, will be permanently etched in black and white. I get that authors update their publications, but realistically, how many readers can be expected to revisit a botched first effort for further consumption?

Belabored is being brought to bear via “indie publishing”. In short, I am self-publishing through Amazon's Kindle Direct platform. The pro side of this process is that it: a) costs nothing; b) removes the pressure traditionally published authors face to maintain a high-volume social media presence; and c) eliminates the marketing commitments traditional publishers expect of their authors. On the cons list is the fact that their publishing software is proprietary and therefore, doesn't readily interface with the word processing program I used to create my book. I wrongly assumed that, after making my final edits (famous last words) to the Kindle Direct document, I could download the same into an easily retrievable Word document, then with minimal effort transfer the manuscript into a print version.

Um, not so much.

I was prepared for this wrinkle, though, because I have at my disposal a wonderfully talented web developer/designer who is affordable, personable, and has a positive knack for being able to untangle my most daunting computer problems. This dear girl had no prior experience with Kindle Direct, but she has oodles of programming know-how. After first digging my blog out of the technical abyss which had swallowed it, she turned her attention to helping me navigate the ins and outs of Amazon publishing.

If we're following the birth analogy, the Lord conceived this “baby”, I carried it to term, and my tech guru “midwife” helped Belabored emerge from my hard drive into the light of day.

A true labor of love all the way around. I pray my audience finds the book worth the wait and worth their time. To God be the glory.

“My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I recite my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.” – Psalm 45:1

Primrose Path

Hey readers! I'm back in the blogging business after a long hiatus working with my tech guru to iron out some bugs. As you will note, some bugs - such as formatting - are still present and accounted for (not the fault of my tech person, but glitches in the program). What I find most annoying is that the whole piece looks wonderful when I preview it, but upon publication, things go awry.

It's interesting, though, that one of the lines of text that refuses to stay "inside the lines" is the incredible promise from Scripture, "Death is swallowed up in victory!" Upon noticing that, I decided to stop fighting with the format and let the Lord emphasize and, indeed, shout this amazing news.

As always, to Him be the glory.

Welcome to my garden, such as it is!

My neighbor, Anita, AKA, “the little old lady down the street”, AKA, my fairy godmother, planted this colorful primrose several seasons ago. No special soil, no complex instructions. Just a mild suggestion to keep the ground hydrated and fingers crossed. It hasn’t always bloomed “on schedule” – spring, summer, on a good year maybe even fall. Matter of fact, I thought it was dead last summer when its pretty purple petals did a noticeable no show.

 Fast forward. Here we are, several years and not a few weather misfortunes later. Our little slice of the country has endured strong winds, drenching rains, and most recently abundant snow in the many moons since Anita inserted that tiny plant into my Pennsylvania clay. It’s the end of February, folks (well, it was when I started writing this piece)! Winter is definitely not part of the primrose bloom cycle. When I took the photo below, the thermostat read 25 degrees with snow on the ground.

Some contend that climate change is responsible for such erratic behavior. I’m not a science expert, so I’ll sidestep that one. That being said, I am well acquainted with the Fellow who holds sway over climate, weather, and all things seasonal. The Entity that created my pretty primrose wields dominion over its blooming or lack thereof.

Consider the following passage from 1 Corinthians 15:

But someone will ask, “How are the dead raised? With what kind of body do they come?” You foolish person! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. And what you sow is not the body that is to be, but a bare kernel, perhaps of wheat or of some other grain. But God gives it a body as he has chosen, and to each kind of seed its own body. For not all flesh is the same, but there is one kind for humans, another for animals, another for birds, and another for fish. There are heavenly bodies and earthly bodies, but the glory of the heavenly is of one kind, and the glory of the earthly is of another. There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars; for star differs from star in glory.

So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body. Thus it is written, “The first man Adam became a living being”; the last Adam became a life-giving spirit. But it is not the spiritual that is first but the natural, and then the spiritual. The first man was from the earth, a man of dust; the second man is from heaven. As was the man of dust, so also are those who are of the dust, and as is the man of heaven, so also are those who are of heaven. Just as we have borne the image of the man of dust, we shall also bear the image of the man of heaven.

 I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: “Death is swallowed up in victory.”  “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

I know this is a mouthful, so let’s clarify a bit. The apostle, Paul, is writing in the parts highlighted in yellow about what occurs when believers are resurrected. After their physical bodies die, they receive new, resurrected bodies. The teal references to first Adam/man, last or second Adam/man, man of dust vs. man of heaven describe the difference between humans, who are flesh and blood like their earliest ancestor, Adam, and Christ, who was both human and God. Just as mankind differs enormously from the perfect Man, so our resurrected bodies will differ from our earthly ones.

Now that we’ve got those ideas nailed down, let’s dig into the big picture. Since I’m the farthest thing from a gardener (I appreciate those who grow flowers and veggies more than I can say – just as I am humbly grateful to those who transform cows into burgers – but please don’t ask me to do the dirty work to make those things happen), I looked up the idea behind Paul’s assertion that a seed dies before becoming a plant. As far as I can discern from the various sources I consulted, this is more metaphorical than literal. The idea is that the seed takes on a whole new form and physicality when placed into the ground. It morphs into something totally different from the way it started out. In essence the seed “dies” to its old being and transforms into a new and different entity, i.e., the plant.

The key point here is the process. The seed doesn’t transform immediately into lush, magnificent, rain forest-quality greenery. These things take time.

Phew! What a relief.

Like my fickle primrose, I frequently “bloom” at all the wrong moments and fail to do so at the appointed times. When I’m reading Scripture or praying at church or at home, it’s easy to delineate between right and wrong and postulate about the right course of action in moral dilemmas. But when push comes to shove and it’s time to actually stand on what I say I believe – sadly, I sometimes wilt.

My walk with Christ is unnervingly sporadic, complete with fits and starts and all the inconsistency that goes with them – but like this enduring plant, I keep poking my head up into heavenly sunshine (Sonshine). Oh, there's debris in my life, much like the dried up leaves that are trying to obscure the beauty of this plucky primrose. But amazingly, my Lord stays patient and keeps nourishing me with heavenly nutrients, all the while seeing in His halting servant the potential to thrive.

What a Savior. 

For more like this, check out: Weeds  Weeds 2  Tenacity

In Defense of Fits and Starts

The Temple

"'Not by might nor by power, but by My Spirit,'

Says the Lord of hosts.

'Who are you, O great mountain?

Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain!

And he shall bring forth the capstone

With shouts of Grace, grace to it... The hands of Zerubbabel have laid the foundation of this temple; his hands shall also finish it... For who has despised the day of small things?'"

  ~  Zechariah 4:6,7, 9, 10 ~

The preceding verses quote God's challenge to the Jewish people who were returning to their homeland after 70 years of captivity. Their house of worship, the great temple in Jerusalem, had been destroyed by the Babylonians and, now under Persian rule, the Jews were being granted the opportunity to rebuild this most sacred of all buildings. The man charged with the responsibility was the governor of Judah, Zerubbabel.

Verse 10 is particularly striking because, in the midst of issuing a Herculean challenge, God refers to "small things."

The house of the Lord wouldn't be rebuilt in a day. It took seven years for King Solomon to build the first temple; realistically, then, the rebuilding process would likely take as long or longer. All things of magnificence and magnitude require much time, planning, expense and effort. 

And all massive tasks are accomplished one small step at a time.

Fits and Starts Explained

Another way of saying this is, big jobs often come together in fits and starts. One step forward, two steps back, as the saying goes. Construction crews have to pause projects when inclement weather interferes with man-made schedules. Illness sends the busiest of individuals to their beds, sometimes for prolonged periods, until God mends their ailing bodies. Disasters like September 11 and Hurricane Harvey sweep away dreams in a matter of hours, and exhausted relief workers and devastated homeowners have no choice but to deal with one catastrophic piece at a time.

Mueller’s Fits and Starts

George Mueller, the German-born pastor who preached and ministered in England during the height of the Industrial Revolution, is an excellent example of fits and starts. As a young Christian, he aspired to be a missionary. As every door in this arena closed to him, he sought instead to preach. Unsure of himself, he at first memorized others' sermons and merely recited them to his long-suffering congregation! 

His efforts to live a holy life too often yielded just the opposite, and he became discouraged. All this time, however, God was shaping this imperfect vessel, teaching him the value of a life devoted to prayer and Scripture. During a period of illness when Mueller was "laid up," so to speak, he took time to study the Bible with a fellow believer. This period of respite and contemplation proved most profitable, for it shaped his beliefs and laid the groundwork for the rest of his ministry.

This extraordinary man's life of service hinged on the word of God and prayer, prayer, and more prayer. Mueller went on to launch the Scriptural Knowledge Institution, which led him to establish the schools and orphanages for which he is best known. Because he took time to seek the Lord's will on his knees, he was ready when God placed in his heart the idea of creating safe, loving homes for countless orphans who otherwise would likely have been abused in workhouses. 

Conclusions

Two of history’s most remarkable mega-projects – the Temple in Jerusalem and George Mueller’s orphanages – emerged from humble beginnings. Displaced people returned to their homeland after decades in captivity, and proceeded to lay one stone on top of another until the Lord’s house was restored. An immigrant preacher threw open his door to thousands of disadvantaged children, teaching them to revere the God he served. Spurning setbacks, these trailblazers relied on heavenly wisdom to accomplish stunning feats.

Amazing how fits and starts can turn into faits accomplis.

Work Consulted

Pierson, A.T. George Müller of Bristol: His Life of Prayer and Faith. Grand Rapids: Kregel Publications, 1999.