striving: 40 words in 40 days

Once upon a time, I planted some zinnias outside my back door. Actually, I planted quite a lot of zinnias. And  you know what grew up? Weeds. 

At the time, God was teaching me quite a bit about striving. He used this illustration of the weeds to show me that toiling and striving produced weeds. Striving is a fixation on doing things to bring about a certain result.

Now planting some seeds from a package labeled “zinnias” with beautiful bright pictures of zinnias on it - well, that is a reasonable expectation. Sometimes I study the Bible, pray, share with others - and it seems reasonable to expect that God would bless me. 

The Pharisees shared a similar misconception of how this spiritual growth takes place. Jesus turned it all upside down when he said, “The first shall be last and the last shall be first.”

When those weeds came up in droves, I plucked one up out of the ground and took it to a seasoned gardener. “These are not zinnias,” I brilliantly postulated. 

“No. No, they are not. Those, my dear, are weeds.” 

Well, I repented. I confessed to striving. I told the Lord I had been expecting X, Y, and Z to happen because I did A, B, and C. I asked the Lord to surprise me with some zinnias.  Not 2 days later, I spent the night at the hospital here in Williamson County. Matthew had an emergency appendectomy. There on the nurses’ station counter in a make-shift vase of a water bottle stood my zinnias.

And I saw the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living.

PS The surgery was four years ago. Matthew recovered quickly. I have never successfully grown zinnias from seed.

communion: 40 words in 40 days

Believers gather on Sundays to worship. We partake of communion representing the body and blood of Christ, our Savior. He commanded us to do so when he returned after his resurrection. 

Communion means sharing. It is from the Greek word meaning fellowship.

My oldest son Matthew (21) visited this weekend. He had minor surgery on Friday. All weekend I doted and nursed. And hovered. And finally asked, “do you want to be alone?” 

On Friday I had the honor and horror to sit in on the surgery. I’ve been taught that not all people appreciate gruesome detail, so I will spare you here. It was a strange surreal experience seeing the surgeon putting things where they should not belong. I kept telling myself, “He is ok. He is safe.” I tapped alternately one leg then the other. Tap. Sway. Chant. He is ok. Only weird medical-types do this. 

Today we decided to get another hour of rest and to “stream” church on our computer. Matt, Matthew and I gathered round the large screen and folded clothes. Bill Wellons preached on “The Place of the Skull.” As we snail through Luke, we have finally reached the last chapters. Jesus is on the cross. Bill paused to pound nails in wood. The sound called us to the scene. My Lord hung naked on a cross for me. His body, mutilated. He was mocked and folks sneered at him. And I am among the mockers. 

As we reached the close of the service, Bill mentioned communion. Matt shot down the stairs. I heard clanging. Matthew looked at me, “He’s getting communion.” We laughed. I love this about your dad, I said. 

He made it back up just in time. We sat among folded laundry. The dog napped in a spot of sunshine. We shared the body, the blood. 

This is communion.

be: 40 words in 40 days

“Be still and know that I am God.”- Psalm 46:10

“Be.” What does that mean? The focus is not on doing. It is on who I am inside. Who am I? The scary thing about being is that you have to face the question, “who am I?” In “doing”, we are satisfied with being defined by what we do. Sometimes we use the things we do to avoid the question of who we are. “Who am I” looks beyond the tasks, the image, the roles and gets at the very soul. 

When we cease to be defined by what we do, we have to face the darkness of our own souls – the insecurities, the sin, the addictions, the compulsions. 

Our identity in Christ is the key to our conundrum. In Beloved, Henri Nouwen writes

 “Being the Beloved is the origin and the fulfillment of the life of the Spirit. Becoming the Beloved means letting the truth of our Belovedness become enfleshed in everything we think, say or do. As long as ‘being the Beloved’ is little more than a beautiful thought or a lofty idea that hangs above my life to keep me from becoming depressed, nothing really changes. What is required is to become the Beloved in the commonplaces of my daily existence and, bit by bit, to close the gap that exists between what I know myself to be and the countless specific realities of everyday life. Becoming the Beloved is pulling the truth revealed to me from above down into the ordinariness of what I am.”

I want to wrap up who I am - my “be”- in belovedness.

unexpected: 40 words in 40 days

We sat around a bouquet of tulips each plate adorned with hearts. Matthew returned home for the night to get his car tags renewed. Rarely are we together, all five of us, around the table.

Someone suggested we make a video like the ones we had been watching on YouTube. The song Harlem Shake has become a video viral craze. All kinds of folks claim 30 second stardom by uploading their version. The template 15 seconds of calm followed by 15 seconds of bedlam.

How would we film it? What would we wear? How would we dance? All these and more became the topic of our Valentine’s dinner. Our family is not prone to performance - at least not on camera. And so it began and grew in momentum - this crazy idea to do something we have never done before.

We sketched out a rough picture board. Everyone found costumes. Sam found a fake cigar. And we were up and running. Twenty minutes later our debut is posted on Facebook. I dug out my YouTube passwords. Voila! We are on the air.

What makes this so amusing is the level of surprise. Never in 22 years of marriage have I seen Matt McMurray dance on camera. Never. He has danced - just plain danced - maybe 20 times. Why did he acquiesce to this strange phenomena? I have no idea.

Control freaks everywhere shriek at the mention of “unexpected.” Yet we humans crave it. This blows my mind about God: you can never predict what He’s going to do. Unless He’s promised it in His Word, you cannot know what He will do. Now if He has promised it, it’s as good as done.

Delight flows from the unexpected. What will God do next that will blow my mind? What areas in your life need His touch of the unexpected?

surprised by mercy

You have never disappointed me.

The words rang through the phone receiver and melted my fears calming my soul. She spoke those words right after I had delivered some news that would disappoint many. Did she know that 22 years later they would define our relationship and continue to echo?

Her name, Zelda Bernice, means Woman Warrior Brings Victory. She looked like anything but a warrior. Mess with any of her family and you would quickly find out. Her eyes twinkled mischief. Many times I ran to her when the world caved in and I needed comfort. As the first-born grandchild, I named her Momice perfectly combining Mama and Bernice.

If mercy means to be freed from the consequences of sin, she showed me mercy and love. Over and over and over. Her home offered a haven from the war between my parents. She only lived a mile or so from us. Beulah, the bus-driver, would often ask me “your house or your grandmother’s.” At her house, my favorite  after-school snack was melted cheese. She sliced it thick and placed it on a cookie sheet. Then popped it in the oven long enough for it to melt a little. We ate it with a spoon. 

When disappointment or hurt has marred a relationship, few will continue to pursue in love. The Love of Our Father pursues relentlessly, always standing looking toward the horizon for us to return to the Shepherd of Our Souls. She showed me this on human terms. It’s how she lived. Her arms ready to receive, to wrap me up in love and mercy.

At 23 years old, I expected her to be hurt. I thought she would maybe lecture me. For sure, I assumed she would withdraw. Instead she said those words that will live with me my whole life.

You have never disappointed me.