Their Watch

By the world's standards, they were old maids. Never left home. Worked in the family business. One was rejected by the man she loved, losing out to a rival. The other was in such frail health that she gave up any hopes of becoming a wife and mother, the highest aspirations for women of that era.

Yet history will never forget the courage and sacrifice of these two "unwanted" women.

Corrie ten Boom and her sister Betsie lived quiet lives in Holland while Hitler waged war in Europe. They contented themselves assisting their elderly father in running his watch shop: Corrie found she had a knack for working with time pieces; Betsie was better suited for keeping the home fires burning.

Then came the day they had to face what was happening around them. Hitler's henchmen were rounding up Jews in an effort to exterminate the entire race. The three watchmakers, along with extended family, embraced the role of "underground" workers, making their home a way station for Jews being relocated to safety. They created a secret room - a hiding place for their "tenants" in the event of a Gestapo raid.

When betrayal occurred, all four of the Jews hidden in that tiny space survived, while an equal number of the ten Boom family lost their lives as a direct result of their rescue efforts and subsequent capture by the Nazis. The ten Boom Museum in Haarlem, Holland, where the family took in Jewish refugees, estimates that as many as 800 Jews were saved through the ten Boom family's courageous actions.

According to societal norms of the time, Corrie and Betsie did not measure up. They stood on the sidelines as their siblings entered into marriage and parenthood. Surely they longed for the embrace of a husband and the blessings of offspring; yet these joys were denied them by a Bridegroom who, centuries before, had promised countless children to a childless man named Abram/Abraham, and would later entrust hundreds of those children into the care of these spinsters. During their watch, they would follow their Bridegroom into an earthly hell while protecting His chosen children. They willingly laid their lives and prospects for worldly happiness onto an eternal altar, only to take up gifts greater than any temporal happiness could afford.

My prayer is to be just as faithful - and content - with whatever life situation He ordains for me.

"Though the fig tree may not blossom,

Nor fruit be on the vines;

Though the labor of the olive may fail,

And the fields yield no food;

Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,

And there be no herd in the stalls—

18 

Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

I will joy in the God of my salvation."

Habakkuk 3:17-18

Obstacles vs. Treasure

I keep bumping up against walls. Not figurative ones, either. These are real, honest-to-goodness, car-scratching walls that might just as well be made of concrete, instead of the "powdery" (yeah, right) snow they're really composed of.

By now we're all sick of winter. My wonderful neighbor is doing all he can to lighten the load for everyone, chugging up the street with his snow blower, leaving straight paths on pavements and smiles on faces. He is a true godsend, especially for the elderly and ill who can't do it for themselves.

What I can't figure out is, how come I keep making the same mistake over and over again? I try to ease my car in and out of the driveway carefully, striving to avoid the granite-like walls of heaped up snow on either side. Invariably, though, I miscalculate, or there's a giant Hummer parallel parked just where I need to be cutting my wheel, blocking my otherwise perfect escape route. I can't wait to see the nicks in the paint when all the salt finally washes off.

It's the way of nature. What appears beautiful and harmless at first glance often morphs into something with jagged edges when overindulged in. Most of us marvel at the softly falling snow, especially when its descent is framed by lacy window treatments alongside a roaring fire. But - on the day after (sometimes only hours later) - it creates problems that have to be dealt with laboriously and at great expense.

Sin is like that. It always looks enticing. It promises everything and usually delivers a payoff, however temporary. There's got to be something in it for us, or we wouldn't keep falling for it. It may appeal to one of our five senses, or some intangible need that no one and nothing else seems to be meeting. We turn a blind eye to - or don't even foresee - the perils, and advance full speed ahead. The next thing we know, we're walking around with indelible scars, wondering how we missed the turn trajectory yet again.

The only solution I've found (and I by no means always win over wayward impulses) is to walk arm in arm with the Almighty. I measure progress by frequency and duration of obedience. I look for an inverse relationship between time spent with Jesus and time spent on sin. It's that simple (and that complex). When I'm enjoying "down time" (such as snow days stacked up like ice blocks in an igloo), am I banking time with Jesus to draw on when my schedule gets frantic again? Does a hectic life pace mean I must rely only on past "savings"? Of course not! Even small deposits of prayer and Bible study, proportionate to daily demands, can add up to big earnings in the long run.

My mom used to say, "Pay yourself first." What she meant, of course, was that any paycheck, regardless of size, could spare even a tiny amount to be put into savings. My parents were neither rich nor savvy investors, yet they died with more than a small nest egg that helped their offspring pay off mortgages and send kids to college.

If this basic principle can make such a huge difference in the temporal world of finance, how much more can we expect when applied to the heavenly realm?

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." 
Matthew 6:19-21

Crankiness...

I am - ahem - full of it. No comments from the peanut gallery, please. While these snow days are lovely, I find myself having more time to take others' inventory (after I finish sleeping in, of course). 

                                                    

This person ignored my correspondence. That person can't be pleased, wants everything her own way, showing no gratitude for all my efforts. This one over here is (gulp) constantly critical of others; no wonder she's lonely. Someone else is high maintenance (now how is it I can so easily recognize that failing, hmmm?).

 All this grumbling, even as I'm reminding my son to overlook          others' faults and keep his side of the street (well, driveway at    least) clean.


Why can't I suffer in silence? Why do I have to rail against things    I can't control? Why do I look at others' faults, yet find my own        so easy to tolerate?

  A little bit of patience would go a long way.

"What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through 
Jesus Christ our Lord!"

Romans 7:24-25

The Thick of It

Today I visited a church I attended for many years. How wonderful to see so many familiar faces and growing families! One group in particular struck me. Their four beautiful kids were sprawled all over the pew in various stages of activity. Two sat alongside Grandpa, clutching both of his hands. One sang with Mom, both of them smiling and swaying to the music. The littlest planted herself firmly in Dad's arms, resting her head on his shoulder as he alternately sat and rose according to convention. Downstairs, their newborn lay cradled in someone else's arms.

Afterwards in the parking lot, I caught up with this gang as they piled into their minivan. I complimented Mom on how happy they all seemed together. She replied wryly, "Sometimes it comes across that way!"

My own experience as a parent is much further along; my sons are nearly 22 and 17, while the eldest in the above-mentioned family is under ten. I couldn't help but wonder what trials they are in for. Raising children in this country at this point in history is challenging at best and hair-raising at worst. I'm in the thick of it, and so are many of my contemporaries. Worry and fear can get the best of us, unless we combat them with faith and prayer.

The good news is, God isn't going away.

"Before they call I will answer; while they are still speaking I will hear." Isaiah 65:24

Dumped On, AKA, Winter Wonderland

It’s been an atrocious winter. We’ve had just about every mix of precipitation known to man since before the calendar even turned to the first day of winter. Schools have been closed, leaving parents scrambling to find child care at the last minute. Power outages abound, causing families to hunker down in unheated houses, while food spoils in stocked refrigerators. People all over the East Coast are muddling through but in truth, we’re starting to feel dumped on.

Yet, in the midst of all this inconvenience, the scenery is magnificent. The trees glisten, but with heaps of frozen snow that threaten to sever limbs from trunks, forcing us to contend with downed wires and damaged property. The landscape is truly grand, a silvery marvel, but at the same time, it makes traveling hazardous and unpredictable. There surely are two sides to this wintry weather.

In contemplating these paradoxes, I find parallels in my attitudes. I have so many blessings in my life, yet I’ve been taking others’ inventory (12 step program-speak for passing judgment) on a frequent basis. A neighbor who has come through in the clutch on numerous occasions criticizes rather than showing appreciation for my kindness; nothing new, it’s her usual M.O, as if she would somehow be diminished by expressing thanks. So why am I dwelling on it? A friend is a bit demanding; yet this same friend has been a godsend when my heart has needed it most. Why don't I focus on that? A car wash business does a shoddy job, then refuses to make good on it; there is no up side to this one, but must I let it ruin my day?

I guess my point is that it’s way too easy to miss the good stuff for the muck.

But none of this should surprise me. We humans are nothing if not shortsighted. God created a glorious garden, and our first parents tossed it away for a piece of fruit. Esau traded his firstborn privileges for a bowl of stew.  Moses’s newly freed campers looked back longingly on the provisions they received while living in merciless Egyptian servitude. If the world’s a stage, as Shakespeare postulated, we actors keep rerunning the same play. We let grumbling supersede gratitude, and gain only misery.

"Now godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and we can carry nothing out. And having food and clothing, with these we shall be content.” 

1 Timothy 6:6-8

Grief

"Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable; if there is anything excellent or praiseworthy, think about such things." Philippians 4:8

I'm writing this post for my beloved sister Jane, who doesn't know it, but kept me from hiding under the covers today.

I've been in a bad place for a few days now. It started when I learned of the untimely death of a friend's young husband just two days before her birthday. The day before, a woman at church lost her husband suddenly. To top it all off, another friend just buried his sister after a murder-suicide. This is the THIRD family I know personally who have lost loved ones to violent crime - all within two years.

I'm beginning to think I'm a lightning rod for foul play.

In addition, my precious nephew Josh is on his way to Fort Benning to begin a three-year hitch in the military. It's essentially the beginning of his adulthood, the fulfillment of a dream he's had since he could talk. I'm not even his mother, but having a hard time of it. Feeling the empty nest syndrome, just as I did many years ago when his oldest sister left for college. When my son and visiting sister both went out last night, I could hardly stand the emptiness in the house (something I often cherish). 

So I tried to remove my mind from sorrowful thoughts through entertainment. I viewed two fact-based movies, both of which contained bittersweet elements. In my current state of mind, I'm dwelling on the heartbreak the characters experienced, rather than their joys. 

There is a healthy middle ground between empathizing with others' losses and wallowing in their misery. As a young girl, I found myself almost going through grief when friends did. When the mother of a high school friend died suddenly, I felt very bereft for some time. This might have been understandable if I had enjoyed a deep relationship with the woman, but I only knew her peripherally. My friendship was with her daughter, whose pain should not have overwhelmed me as it did. To counter this tendency, I learned to steel myself against heartbreak that was not my own; I could almost turn off the sadness of others, go beyond it back into my own life. Perhaps it's a positive sign that I'm returning to a more compassionate state of being, but I dare not let the sufferings of others engulf me as they once did. That is neither healthy nor productive.

I recall years ago when my own life was in a shambles and I had been trying in vain to find comfort. I made phone call after phone call, seeking consolation from every strong shoulder that came to mind. Exhausted, I wondered why my hours of yammering hadn't netted the relief I had prayed for. A voice spoke to me in my anguish, suggesting I call someone whose weak shoulders I might be able to shore up. As I obeyed, some of my own heartache began - ever so slightly - to ease.

All of which leads me back to my dear sister's entrance into my room this morning. I was frankly using the covers like a bomb shelter, trying vainly to deflect agony and pretending I would feel better if I allowed my mind to dissolve into unneeded sleep (which experience has taught me usually has quite the opposite effect). Jane interrupted my contemplated cop-out to ask me to pray for something that's been troubling her, and as we raised our worries to heaven, Philippians 4:8 began to take shape. We surely can't avoid pain, our own or others'. It finds us, as evidenced by my fruitless attempts yesterday to escape it. Yet, we can do something with the pain, rather than running from it.

Sure enough, as I was typing that last paragraph, the phone rang with a call from another dear soul who's also hurting on behalf of others. Together we laid our burdens before the great healer, who alone can bring solace both to those who grieve, and to those whose task is to help others grieve.

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Grief 2

Clipped Wings Part 2

Upon reading my post from December 8, my friend Rene` offered the following feedback:

Rene` claims the reason for clipping a bird's wings is to restrict its natural tendency to fly away. The goal is to protect rather than confine the creature, and this necessitates restraining its wayward impulses. Wing-clipping also serves to bond the pet to its owner, on whom it is dependent due to its decreased flight ability.

My friend's insights are borne out by the above-referenced link from Winged Wisdom Pet Bird Magazine. According to this source, wings can be clipped in such a way as to allow the bird a bit of lift to remain "bird-like," but not so much as to afford an indoor pet access to dangers such as hot stoves or ceiling fans. The creature is born with the ability to fly and the tendency to explore, but at times these two instincts can work against each other, resulting in disaster.

These concepts shed light on why our heavenly Father may find it necessary to constrain His children, whose doings are often as unpredictable and foolhardy as any fowl's. While we have many inborn abilities, our judgment is sin-skewed, rendering us vulnerable to myriad unforeseen perils. However, when we accept the limits our loving Owner places on us, we can reach heights hitherto unimaginable.

"But those who wait on the Lord Shall renew their strength; They shall mount up with wings like eagles, They shall run and not be weary, They shall walk and not faint." Isaiah 40:31

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Clipped Wings

Clipped Wings

I am "grounded" today. Snow is keeping me from carrying out the plans on my agenda, so here I sit.

The Lord has used weather to "clip my wings," for today at least.

I'm feeling grumpy and grouchy, mostly because of control issues that I refuse to release. Saying the serenity prayer, catching up on Scripture reading, resting in God (and in bed) will all help to alleviate the stress.

It's just possible that God has grounded me in order to ground me.

"The Lord shall preserve your going out and your coming in from this time forth, and even forevermore."  Psalm 121:8

For more like this, check out: Morsels for Meditation...: Clipped Wings Part 2

The Road from Damascus

My father-in-law, Harry Williams, was a strong man of faith. He loved the Lord with all his heart, soul and strength. A good day for him included hours of paging through Scripture and marking up phrases that really spoke to him.


One of his unfulfilled bucket dreams was to write a book titled The Road from Damascus. He always thought too much emphasis was placed on the road to Damascus, which hosted the apostle Saul/Paul's conversion, rather than the events which sprang from it. I am neither a Bible scholar nor a great thinker. Nevertheless, the following is my clumsy attempt to highlight some of Saul/Paul's post-conversion activities as a posthumous gift to Pop, and perhaps bring a smile (and maybe a tear) to the faces of his progeny, who remember him as a man whose dearest possession was his salvation.

One of the things I find most interesting about Saul/Paul is that, after he became a believer, he spent three years getting to know God. My assumption is he realized he would have less than a warm reception by the early Christians, whom he had spent huge amounts of time persecuting prior to his conversion. This thinking is validated by the reaction of the Jews he preached to immediately after receiving the Holy Spirit: "'Is this not he who destroyed those who called on this name in Jerusalem, and has come here for that purpose, so that he might bring them bound to the chief priests?'" (Acts 9:21). They were quite understandably afraid and suspicious of Saul/Paul's motives. During this time of "lone wolfing" evangelism, God must have enhanced his early education as a Pharisee, and spoken His truth to him in prayer. Only after three years did he dare approach the core church in Jerusalem, and even then it took the sponsorship of Barnabas to gain him an audience with the disciples.

Another thing that resonates with me about Paul (I'll refer to him henceforth by the name he adopted after his encounter with Christ, thus distancing himself from his former life as the murderous Saul) is that he had a temper. Acts 15 records that he and Barnabas had a falling out over whether or not to take the latter's cousin, John Mark, with them on a missionary journey after being previously deserted by him. Paul chose to proceed instead with Silas, while Barnabas remained loyal to his cousin. Interestingly, Paul reconsidered his hasty decision later, as shown by his statement in 2 Timothy 4:11: "Get Mark and bring him with you, for he is useful to me for ministry." Perhaps the older Paul realized he was not so very different from Mark, in that both had to prove themselves to their brethren after committing some arguably unforgivable actions.

In Galatians 2:11, Paul recounts another heated confrontation, this time with the apostle Peter. Clearly, Paul struggled in the area of patience, especially as it concerned the gospel. Ironically, though, he labels himself "the chief sinner" in 1 Timothy 1:15. In Acts 22, he holds nothing back in describing his pre-conversion activities: "I persecuted this Way to the death, binding and delivering into prisons both men and women,  as also the high priest bears me witness, and all the council of the elders, from whom I also received letters to the brethren, and went to Damascus to bring in chains even those who were there to Jerusalem to be punished... So I said, 'Lord, they know that in every synagogue I imprisoned and beat those who believe on You. And when the blood of Your martyr Stephen was shed, I also was standing by consenting to his death, and guarding the clothes of those who were killing him.'" (Acts 22:4-5, 19-20; see also Acts 26: 9-11). Paul's personality seemed to contain a hearty dose of self-assurance, tempered by a large helping of remorse. This combination could benefit many modern-day believers, whose recollections of their unregenerate sinfulness too often seem overshadowed by post-conversion self-righteousness.

The aspect of Paul's ministry with which I most identify is his way of witnessing. Rather than tracing Biblical history and quoting heavily from Scripture as Stephen and Peter did in their notable sermons, Paul often relied on his personal testimony to sway his audience. This method is encouraging to timid witnesses like me, who sometimes fear we have to be seminary graduates before we can adequately deliver the gospel. Paul, who was well-trained in Biblical studies, chose rather to personalize what God had done in his life, not only when training young believers like the Corinthians, but also when going up against "big guns" like Roman Governor Felix and Jewish King Agrippa.  While Paul's vast knowledge of Scripture comes through loud and clear in his epistles, he also understood the power of simple, heartfelt declaration of God's work in his life.

I think Pop was right. In researching these few brief points about Paul's life and ministry, I see how easy it would be to fill tomes on this apostle's contributions following his encounter with Christ. Thank you, Harry Williams, for providing the inspiration for this article.

 

Harry Williams holding his oldest grandchild, Kendra, with his wife, Betty, by his side.

The Mom Thing

Oh, the joys that come with obedience. My son "rose up and called me blessed" last night ... and oh, how I needed that.

It's been a tough few months. Trials with parenting and home ownership have been demanding and costly. As a result, I've felt my energy flagging, and have been giving in far too often to the lure of "my drugs," AKA, my escape idols - food, sleep and TV.

Last night, after a particularly grueling day, I felt legitimately entitled to zone out. I tucked in early and pondered my options. Halloween candy was calling from my son's attic room, where I had hidden it from myself. The square box siren began its trilling thusly: "You know you deserve a good movie. Even a questionable one. You're a grownup. You can handle it. At least a sitcom. One of your favorites is probably on, and maybe the language and plot line won't be too crude this time. C'mon! What're you waiting for?!"

For those who may be new to my blog, I've explained before that food and entertainment are for me snares that lead to over-consumption and lingering, hangover-like symptoms that sometimes last for days. This may seem legalistic to some, but these things are traps for me, and I know it. Romans 14 does an excellent job of explaining that what one believer finds just a tasty morsel, his brother may encounter as a gluttonous, ferocious task-master.

Ah hem. Getting back to the point. I chose to ignore the seduction of the sweets, and tune in to a Charles Stanley message rather than whatever garbage was on TV. I got maybe 20 minutes into his "Fight Your Battles on Your Knees" when the phone rang. It was my older son, Aaron, calling for the second time in one day. He's been somewhat AWOL lately, so I was thrilled with this sudden burst of attention. Get this: he was calling to thank me for the faith-filled upbringing I had given him - not over-the-top, he stated, like the religious fanatics portrayed by Hollywood, but just a strong, Biblically grounded core - and added that, despite the many stressors he's encountering, he's been counting his blessings (another principle I tried hard to instill in both my kids).

Talk about over the top! I felt like I was on a mountaintop! How would my reaction have been different, I wondered, if this call had come in the middle of a food-fest hosted by moi, attended by Tinseltown's finest. One, I wouldn't have wanted to pick up the phone, since it would have interfered with my idol worship, and I never like to be interrupted during a worship service. Two, guilt would have intermingled with the joy that this news produced. Instead, I drifted off to satiating sleep after an hour-long, praise-filled, edifying dialogue with my son.

The mom thing? With God, I think I can do this!