Category Archives: God

Hagar – A study in pain and joy

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2003

I have a story to share if you care to listen. It might help you if you find yourself in a jam like I did. You see, I worked one time for a very wealthy man. Actually, I was his wife Sarah’s slave. It was traumatic at first, being separated from my home and family at such a tender age. Memories of Egypt still haunt me daily. It was hard getting used to new food, strange customs, and slavery. I cried aloud for the first week, and in my heart for the first year, but eventually I adjusted to the fact that I’d never see my mother again. After Dad died, we just couldn’t keep food on the table, and I offered to sell myself to some traders rather than become a further burden to my mom. Sometimes I regret the decision. Perhaps I should have stayed and helped take care of her.

Anyway, back to my story. As I was going to say, being a black slave woman to a wealthy family isn’t all bad. My mistress seemed to enjoy my company; I got all the food I could eat and the luxury of a place to lay my head at night in comfort and protection. Abram was a kind man, usually pretty fair, but sometimes I wondered about his relationship with my mistress.

I mean, take the time he claimed she was his sister. A half-truth for sure! But isn’t a half-truth the same as a whole lie? Even my mom taught me that! I’ll admit Sarah was gorgeous, even at her age. No wonder Abram was attracted to her, but sometimes I wonder what he saw in her. Ok, maybe that’s not entirely fair either. She did show me favor—probably because I kept my mouth shut and did what she told me without complaining. It was easier that way. Hmm. Maybe that’s how she felt. No way out, just give in. But I think if I’d been in her position, I would have stood my ground and refused to go along with the lie. But then, maybe that’s why he liked her—she kowtowed to him. On the other hand . . . but here I am getting ahead of myself again. I could tell you a lot about the inside scoop on them, but this is my story, so here’s what happened.

Sarah wanted a baby, and she wanted it BAD, but nothing was happening. By the time I came along, she was too old to have a child. The trouble was, she claimed that Abram had heard from his God that she was supposed to have gotten pregnant, and here she was well into menopause! I kinda felt sorry for her at this point. But then something snapped in her. She decided if SHE couldn’t have a baby, then she’d just have to get one another way. And that’s where I come in.

Now I have to tell you—Sarah may have been beautiful, but I was quite a looker myself! I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve got eyes. I saw the way the young men looked at me while I worked. Anyway, imagine my surprise the day Sarah pulled me aside and told me to wash carefully and put on my best robe. Then she gave me some of her most expensive oils to rub on my body. You should have seen my ebony skin shine! While another servant girl brushed out my long hair to begin the corn rows, Sarah informed me this was my wedding day!

Excuse me?! Now I know that slaves have no say in the matter, but couldn’t she have at least given me some warning? I hoped it was Ami, that handsome hunk of a sheep herder that brought the daily ration of meat to Sarah’s tent every morning. But get this—you’re not going to believe it—she finally informed me my new husband would be Abram himself! I nearly choked!

I’ll skip all the hairy scary details, but you can guess what happened. Before long I was pregnant with his kid. Now what? My mistress kept looking at me like I’d done something wrong. Like it was my fault! Who did she think she was? I didn’t ask for this. I must admit it was kinda neat carrying a child inside me, however, and really Abram had been nothing but gentle with me, albeit a little aloof. But I was still a slave. Not much had changed. I rather had hoped my status would be elevated somehow. I suspect the poor lady was jealous. Sigh. Served her right, I guess.

Anyway, I had to laugh the day Sarah claimed that Abram was “responsible for the wrong she was suffering.” Huh? The nerve of her! Claimed I was despising her. Pretty soon she was making my life so miserable, I decided the only choice was to run away, and so I did.

I slipped out in the night after the two of them were in bed and headed down the road to Shur. I knew if I could just make it to the spring in the desert, I’d be safe. Maybe sell myself to one of the traders there. After all, a pregnant slave is two for the price of one.

But then BLAM! I had this incredible experience! Ever seen an angel? I hadn’t. Can’t even tell you how I knew it was an angel, but this was not the product of an overactive imagination. First, he asked me where I’d come from and where I was going. I told him I was running away from my mistress because she was mistreating me. Blew me away when he said I had to go back and submit to that woman! But somehow it seemed okay after he assured me that God had heard of my misery, and I was to bear a son. He even said to name him Ishmael (“God hears.”) Imagine that! I decided to name the place “Beer Lahai Roi” meaning “You are the God Who sees me.”

He told me some other stuff, too, about how Ishmael would turn out, and surprise surprise, that’s exactly what happened! Wow! That’s another reason I know he was an angel. Anyway, I agreed to go back to Sarah, and when Abram was 86 years old, I gave birth to Ishmael. You should have seen Abram’s face! He was ecstatic. But Sarah? Well, we’d stayed on uneasy terms, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. I just kept remembering the angel’s promise, and it kept me going.

Now I gotta skip a few years to get to the next part. Ishmael was about 14 years old when the miracle happened. Remember I told you about how Abram’s God had promised him a baby? Well, hold onto your hat—it actually happened! Really! It was weird seeing old Sarah getting bigger and bigger carrying that child. And I started to fret. If she carried this baby to full term, that meant my Ishmael could lose his favor with his father. Abram had grown to love Ishmael, and though my son was still a slave, he treated him almost like a son. Well, he WAS his son, but you know what I mean.

Anyway, my fears were soon realized. Isaac was doted on and pampered and made such a huge fuss of, it was nauseating. Things came to a head the day of the big party. Sarah was planning a feast for the day Isaac was weaned. I just couldn’t take it anymore. I opened my big mouth and told her to her face what I thought of her.

That did it. She went bawling to Abram and demanded he “do something about that slave woman and her son.” What could he do? He had to side with his wife and his real son. I knew he didn’t want to do it, and it really did distress him, but early the next morning, he slipped into my tent. He placed on my shoulder some food and a skin of water and sent us on our way.

Now I have to tell you, I hit a new low. First it was the grief of losing my dad; then the sorrow of leaving my mom and my country behind. Next, it was enduring slavery followed by being given in marriage to someone I didn’t love, only to be mistreated by his first wife. Putting up with that woman for 17 years was the biggest trial of my life. But being thrown out on my ear by the man who’d shown me kindness felt like the ultimate betrayal. What was I to do now? I was getting too old to be bought at full price, and if anyone saw Ishmael, we’d be separated for sure. We’d have to stay away from the trade routes.

My thoughts were driving me crazy. I didn’t pay attention to where we were going, but Ishmael didn’t seem too worried. He was free at last, he claimed. We walked and walked and walked in the desert until neither of us could take another step. Pretty soon our food ran out, and then our water. Shall I describe for you what it’s like to run out of water in the desert? It’s not a pretty sight. When I finally woke up to the fact that we couldn’t survive out there, it was too late. We didn’t have any energy left to make our way back. Ishmael had fainted with the heat. I dragged him to the only bush in the area and then crawled away from him so I wouldn’t have to watch him die. Talk about reaching the end of one’s rope!

I lay there panting and sobbing. What had I done to deserve this? How could I have handled myself differently? What had I done wrong? Where was that God that Abram claimed kept talking to him? I covered my ears. I could hear Ishmael sobbing, and I didn’t even have the energy to comfort him. I started to hallucinate. Terrified, I thought I saw an angel standing there. Was it time to die?

Then I heard, “What is the matter, Hagar? Don’t be afraid.” A feeling of strength began to spread through my body. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “God has heard the boy crying as he lies there. Go over and lift the boy up and take him by the hand, because God is going to make him into a great nation.” And then I swear on my father’s grave that this is what happened next. A well appeared right beside me. I quickly lowered my water skin and ran to give Ishmael a drink. He started to revive, sat up and hugged me. And the rest is history.

We made it to the next oasis, and there I found peace at last. Ishmael grew up to become a skilled desert archer. He’s a wild donkey of a man and at odds with everyone. He seems to be carrying a lot of anger in his heart over what happened to us. But me? I spend my days taking care of his little ones. Oh, did I forget to mention? I found a wife for him from guess where? Egypt, where else! My mom had something to do with that, but that’s another story.

And so, you see, when you think you’re done for, when life hands you what you don’t think you deserve, when you’re all alone or angry or sad, there’s a way out. “You are the God Who sees me.” Truly He does!

God’s Job

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2017

I [Paul] planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the increase. So then neither he who plants is anything, nor he who waters, but God who gives the increase. (I Corinthians 3:5-9 NKJV)

Several days a week as a senior in high school, I bicycled through an industrial park to arrive at my first-ever job at an aerosol packaging plant. On the way home, I felt compelled to stop and share my faith with anyone who would listen. It was my duty to obey God’s command to fulfill the Great Commission, and I wanted no one’s blood on my head.

All my life I had heard guilt-grip preaching for not evangelizing, testifying, and making disciples. It was always about me, what I’d done or not done for the kingdom. And more often than not, it was driven by fleshly works—fear, pride, and “shoulds.”

I can plant, but I didn’t make the seed. I can water, but I didn’t make the rain. And I certainly have nothing to do with the plant bursting forth into life and growing.

I can hear the “buts” arising. If I hadn’t planted or watered, would there have been a chance for life to sprout?

I have one job in life and one only: love God with all my heart and love others. My responsibility ends where His command ends. He didn’t tell me personally to plant or to water. He told me to be an agent of healing. I cannot heal. But I can point people to Jesus and introduce them to the Healer.

“Each one will receive his own reward according to his own labor” (v. 8).

A 2024 Update: Questioning what we were taught in childhood is a healthy exercise, especially when life’s experiences don’t match those words. Throwing away every word, however, is not necessarily helpful. Evangelism and discipleship training is important, and we all must be ready to give a testimony for what God has done in our lives. My struggle to shed the shoulds, however, led me to a deeper understanding of how God wired me and what He has called me to do with my time here on earth.

A Genesis Parable, Part 2

Posted on by under Choices, God, Scripture

I got to thinking about all the fun God must have had creating the world, and I saw a visual of my three girls building a dollhouse together, placing it on their little blue table, and forming little people (LP) to inhabit the dollhouse. The miniature figures might resemble their creators, but they are a far cry from Sharon, Cindy, and Katie who tower over their creation. My girls are living, breathing, intricate beings. Their dolls are lifeless, crude in comparison, tiny. When the girls tire of moving the pieces around, they decide to breathe life into them. But no longer can they control and manipulate the Little People because now they have a mind of their own!

[Side note: When one of our clients asked God the heart-wrenching question, “Why did you let my perpetrator hurt me?” Jesus’ response was: “He had free will. But he could only do so much. I sent angels to protect you from further danger and keep you from death.”]

Part 2

One Little Person, head down, is about to step off the table ledge. So, the girls gently blow on the LP, and he looks up, notices the danger, and turns away. But another LP comes to the edge, ignores the breath above her, and in determination and stubbornness to overcome the “obstacle,” steps over the edge and into “eternal destruction.”

[Side note. One client asked, “Why was there a breach in the wall of protection at the mission boarding school?” (Other staff didn’t see or stop the abuse). Jesus’ chilling answer: “Someone failed to pray, and there was also someone failing to listen.”]

Another LP takes off running and is about to trip over a log. Cindy reaches down and quickly moves the log out of the way. But the person is oblivious to her benefactor’s deed and never looks up to give thanks or acknowledge her creators’ hands. Another LP, who is aware of the girls, looks up, recognizes the source of the rescue, and gives thanks.

But the favorite Little Person of all three girls is “Dolly.” She not only knows that K & C and S exist and are involved in her life in the dollhouse, but she lifts their arms for hugs when the girls gently pick her up and hold her and cuddle and rock her. She responds to their love, and the girls giggle and smile with pleasure.

[Do I delight in my Savior? Does He delight in me?]

Photo by Polesie Toys on Pexels.com

A Genesis Parable

Posted on by under God

Once upon a time, there were three little girls named Sharon, Cindy, and Katie. One day, they decided to build a dollhouse together. After discussing at length what size and shape they wanted, each girl added her own special skill and talent to the job. Katie would design the frame, Cindy would create the furniture, and Sharon would crochet tiny little rugs to add to the floors. They got busy over the next six weeks gathering materials, collaborating over color, and giggling over their plans. Slowly the dollhouse took shape upon their little blue table, and when it was done, they sat back and declared, “Wow! We did a good job!”

It was then that they realized something was missing. What good is a dollhouse without Little People (LP) to go in it? And so, after collaborating for a week, they fashioned a mommy and a daddy, just the right size to fit their furniture. Carefully they positioned them in the living room, one on the recliner, the other on the sofa. And they sat back and exclaimed, “We’re done! Let’s go take a break!” And they did.

A week later, when they got tired of shifting the LP from room to room, Cindy said, “Wouldn’t it be fun if our people were alive?” So, the three girls held hands and made a wish, and when they opened their eyes, the LP sat up and looked around. Fascinated, the girls watched as the Daddy picked up his briefcase and walked out the door. The Mommy began to stir around the house, cooking, cleaning, and straightening.

Later that day, while the girls were playing in the living room, they thought they heard a commotion in their bedroom. They rushed in to find the Daddy and Mommy arguing. The girls looked at each other in dismay! What had happened to their perfect creation? They were throwing things around and destroying the beautiful furniture. “Stop it!” they cried. But the LP did not listen. Soon the Daddy stomped out of the house, and the Mommy flung herself down on the bed sobbing.

Pretty soon the Mommy sat up and noticed the sad girls looking down at her. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, but that man you gave me is driving me crazy!” That’s when Cindy smiled gently and said, “You need to forgive him.”

“I don’t know how!” the Mommy answered.

“Give me your anger,” replied Cindy.

And she did. Pretty soon the Daddy came back and apologized for his behavior, and they kissed and made up.

It wasn’t long before they had a baby on their hands, and then life in the dollhouse got even more fun to watch.

To be continued . . .

Battling Dis-ease

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Peace

Journal 2017

I just read the autobiography of Tig Notaro, a lesbian standup comic who faced several debilitating trials: she got C-diff, her mother died, and then she contracted breast cancer. Her response to each event was extreme fear and despair.

When people face bad news, I expect them to react negatively, to fall apart, lament, battle, and struggle. So, it intrigued me when I listened recently to the testimony of Walter Wangerin, Jr., author of 40 books including The Book of the Dun Cow. He said that when he heard the diagnosis of cancer, surprisingly he had immediate peace and thought, “This is the next grand adventure.” He also said he does not embrace the war metaphor of battling cancer. It’s his own body, not an enemy, and he wants to work with it, not against it.

I know several others who faced mortality with peace. My friend Peggy submitted to brain surgery with great grace, giving God the glory, and lived to share her faith. I watched Holly L’s final public testimony at church as she faced a terminal illness. She admitted to the struggle, but she was victorious.

I watch others melodramatically declare they’re dying when they get a hangnail. What makes the difference in how we handle pain, bad news, or losses in life? Some of that may be temperament or the lies we believe or the depth of past trauma, but I believe a lot has to do with our walk with the Lord. I just know that when my time comes to face a trial, I pray I will embrace it and live with a testimony that God is in control.

Character Flaws

Posted on by under Choices, God, Inner Healing

Journal 2017

Abraham, a man of faith, chooses deception with Sarah and bows to her wishes for Ishmael. The next Patriarchs, Isaac and Jacob, also practice deceit. David, a man after God’s own heart, succumbs to adultery and murder. Noah, who saves the world, overindulges in alcohol. And on it goes. Every human on earth has a character flaw. And so, I need to examine my life. Where have I failed to be true to myself and to God?

I can see the roots of my compromise in Grade 12 when my parents returned to Africa without me. My authority, my protection, was gone. The tempter came in the form of “Uncle J,” a broken man who desired to do right but carried too much pain inside. Couple that with my own rebellious and hurting heart, insecure and vulnerable, and I began to lower my moral standards and boundaries. There is no one but me who can claim responsibility, but Satan took advantage of my innocence.

I am who I am today because of those broken places in my heart. I may not have committed fornication or murder like David, but I kept a secret from preschool days where the seeds of guilt and shame were planted, took root, and grew.

Redemption is available to all, no matter what our character flaw. The past has been washed clean. I am free of guilt and shame. Yet I know the depravity of my heart. I know when judgmentalism and criticism and self-righteousness flit into my brain and I have to “take captive every thought” of unrighteousness. I see, I know, I recognize my bent toward self. Lord, have mercy. Keep me close to You so that I don’t stray.

Time Management

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Inner Healing, Peace

Journal June 7, 2017

There are seasons and rhythms of our lives when things go dead and sometimes when they sprout to new life. Years, months, weeks, and days cycle round and round. What I do this day may seem very insignificant, yet small habits yield big results and can set the course of my history.

I seem to be in a special season right now, however brief, without clients daily clamoring for my time. For three days my husband will be golfing, and I have potential alone time. I think of all the things I could do with this precious gift, and I feel conflicted. I know what my heart wants to do, and that is to write. And so, I indulge myself. It feels like pure joy and delight to organize thoughts, rearrange them, and make them permanent by recording them. I asked the girls about writing a blog, and I got a resounding yes! Is this a priority? Do I have the time . . .?

VISUAL: I’m a disciple in the boat on the Sea of Galilee, and Jesus is about to walk by. I call out to Him, “Will you join me in the boat?”

He is more than willing. He climbs in, sits, and hands me some bread. It’s just the two of us.

“You’re worried,” He comments.

Yes, I suppose I am. I wait for Him to tell me what about, but I know Him well. He will pause to let me figure it out.

“I’m worried that I will not use my time wisely. Time is a finite commodity.”

I find it easier to function with a predetermined schedule, decisions in place, and brain on autopilot. It reminds me of scheduled time at boarding school with bells and sirens that dictated our routine. Decisions were made for us. Summers, on the other hand, were wide open with no expectations, and laziness was sure to follow.

“Go on,” He prompts.

“I don’t want to waste it.”

“Are you wasting it?” He asks.

I don’t think I am. Then what’s the issue? It’s a matter of portioning it out to match the allotted time I have at my disposal.

“You’re feeling rushed—like you want to do what your heart wants to do, but your head is giving you alternative coulds and shoulds.”

Yes! That’s it! So how do I silence those words and voices? I want to write, but my head says, “You need to file and exercise and clean house and visit neighbors.” This issue is about alone time—there are certain things I can do best when I’m uninterrupted.

Jesus leans back, hands behind His head and smiles at me. “You have a problem, then, don’t you?”

I know He’s teasing me. I’m way too serious and stressed over this.

“What do you want to do?” He asks.

“Write!” I exclaim.

“But . . .?”

I feel rising exhilaration . . . and guilt.

I ask Him for a visual. He shows me a row of boxes, some smaller, some larger, each containing one task on my to-do list.

During my time allotted for each box, I have permission to compartmentalize and block out all the other thoughts that belong to other boxes.

And so, just for today, I’ll write, uninterrupted, without guilt or remorse. I’ll seize the precious time that I have and just focus. The dirty dishes can wait.

A 2024 Update. I smile as I read back on this journal entry. I feel no guilt now whatsoever over taking time out of a busy (or not-so-busy) schedule to write. It’s one of my default activities along with sitting at my dining room table arranging jigsaw puzzle pieces. Reading a book in the middle of the day, though—now that feels decadent. Perhaps I need to address any emotion behind that thought!

Do Right!

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2017

How do I respond when someone is furious with me—especially when I know I have made the right decision?

Amaziah, King of Judah (the Southern Kingdom), hired 100,000 soldiers from Israel (the Northern Kingdom), to help him fight a war (II Chronicles 25:6-10).

But a man of God told King Amaziah he needed to let the mercenaries go, for God was not with the Northern Kingdom, and “If they go with you, you’ll lose the battle.”

“But what about the 100 talents I already paid them?” the king asked.

“Not to worry,” said the man of God. “God is able to more than make it up to you.” And so Amaziah dismissed these soldiers.

Surprisingly, the mercenaries “were furious with Judah and went home in a great rage.” They’d be paid whether they fought or not, so what was the big deal? Apparently they’d lose out on the percentages from the spoils. So, in retaliation, they “raided towns belonging to Judah . . . and they killed three thousand people and carried off great quantities of plunder” (v.13).

But Amaziah stood his ground and stayed on God’s side. Good for him! No codependence there! He obeyed God in spite of man’s response.

BUT the story doesn’t end well.

Sadly, Amaziah brought home idols among the spoils of war and began to worship them. And God was furious. (I think I’d rather have man furious at me than God!)

Next, God sent a prophet to Amaziah to tell him to quit it, but Amaziah told him to shut up or he’d kill him. And so, the prophet shut up—after this one last warning: “God will destroy you.”

Now for some reason, Amaziah invited Joash (the Northern king), to join him on the battlefield, but Joash scoffed: “Your victory over the enemy has gone to your head! Stay in your palace!”

Verse 20 (NET) intrigues me: “But Amaziah did not heed the warning [why did he obey God the first time, but not the second?], for God wanted to hand them over to Joash because they followed the gods of Edom.”

God WANTED Amaziah to go to war with the Edomites (enemies) and He WANTED Amaziah to go to war with Israel (fellow Jews), but for different reasons—one to destroy and one to be destroyed. God’s choice versus man’s choice. Check and checkmate.

Sometimes God uses man to accomplish His purposes. He could have simply killed Amaziah on the spot, but He used his bad choice in order to get the job done.

This story is an amazing illustration of Romans 8:28. God will make everything right in the end, somehow weaving in man’s choices for good or for ill to accomplish His purposes. But I’d rather do right, every time!

Feasting and Fasting

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Peace, Scripture

2009 Journal.

Once more as we stuff the turkey, open the can of cranberry sauce, and bake the pies, I wonder if this Thanksgiving feast is a waste of our money. Could we not choose to eat simply and give that money to the poor? Do I need to feel guilty over our indulgence? Christmas can also be tricky. Should we give all our gifts to charity? Always? No, I don’t think so. Should we spend all on ourselves? Again, no, that wouldn’t be right either. Somewhere there’s a balance.

There is a time and place for feasting as well as fasting. God commanded and scheduled Jewish feast days. In Luke 6, Jesus is caught attending a party, a feast, and His disciples are accused of not fasting like the Pharisees.

When you’re celebrating a wedding, you don’t skimp on the cake and wine. You feast. Later you may need to pull in your belt, but this isn’t the time. As long as the bride and groom are with you, you have a good time. When the groom is gone, the fasting can begin. (From The Message)

We need permission to feast.

We need persistence to fast.

The Banquet

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Quotes

“But I’m not . . . special,” Bailey says. “Not the way they are. I’m not anyone important.” (Erin Morgenstern in The Night Circus)

My mind won’t stay still enough to focus on the Word or prayer this morning. When this happens, writing helps slow my brain. There’s something about the physical act that’s connected to my mental thoughts. Yet even as my hand puts thought to paper, my mind flies in another dimension—a dissociation of sorts. Why does my mind go on tangents, cover the days’ schedule, rehearse conflicts, recall history, and plan for future goals, instead of staying present with the Living Lord Jesus?

I see a Gatekeeper Guardian silhouetted in a doorway with heaven’s brilliant bright light behind her. Why won’t she let me get past her?

“Because your heart is not ready or prepared yet,” I hear her say. Apparently, she can read my mind. (Oh, wait, she is my mind!)

“So how do I get ready?” I ask.

“You just did,” she says, smiling and pointing inside. My eyes try to adjust to the blinding light. I can hear laughter and the clinking of glasses and utensils. It seems there’s a party going on.

“Come on in!” I hear a voice calling out.

I step forward, groping, uncertain. An angel appears by my side, takes my elbow, and guides me to a bench. I find myself seated at a lengthy table and join the revelers. I don’t know who these beings are. Angelic hosts? Parts of my heart? Or those loved ones who have gone before? I can only see the table area directly in front of me.

Suddenly, I see God the Father “up front” wherever we are in this banquet hall. He’s introducing His Son. The hall erupts in cheers and hoots and hollers and wild clapping. I stand to join them and clap politely, but I don’t know yet what we’re celebrating. When the noise subsides, He approaches the podium.

“Thank you all for coming to my banquet,” He begins.

My mind starts to wander as I look around, my eyes adjusting to the light, able now to take in more of the scene. There are rows and rows of these banquet tables, but I still can’t make out the attendees or why we’re here.

And then I spy them—different Parts of my heart are all gathered together for a great feast. I decide I better refocus on Jesus.

“And so in conclusion . . .,” He says.

I’m chagrined. I’ve missed the whole speech!

People start clapping and I do, too, till He descends the platform, takes my hand, and leads me to the front. Uh-oh. Am I in trouble?

“Everyone, thank Grandma today for coming. She’s led you well.” Jesus has a twinkle in His eye. He knows good and well I’m here because of Him. He chose me from the foundation of the world. He wooed me and kept me and pursued me. I wouldn’t be here except for Him.

“Don’t be so modest,” He responds. “I didn’t force you to come. You chose well. You have a hard time accepting praise.”

“Because I don’t deserve it,” I think. I know my heart and its potential for pride and arrogance.

“I want you to see yourself as I see you, Karen. Are you willing to do that? That’s not pride. That’s honesty.”

And so I agree. Of course I agree. How can I oppose God? “Ok, Lord, fire away.”

Canons of confetti pop and spill their contents into the air, and the crowd cheers and roars.

“That’s my girl!” Jesus exclaims. “I love her so much. She doesn’t know how much. I’m so proud of her.”

I’m blushing bright pink. I throw my arms around Him and sob. Why tears? Why now? He may have chosen me, but I chose Him!

I see the scene in Secondhand Lions when the character Walter chooses to leave his irresponsible mom to go live with two eccentric old uncles. He’s found love, acceptance, and stability. There’s no pride in his choice. It’s a response to love.

“You bet I choose Jesus!” I shout. “He loves me! He died for me! Why would I choose the unloving, unfaithful, self-centered, wounded parent (the world, the flesh, and the devil) when I can have the real thing? I’ll choose love every time.”

“Come here, Children!” I cry, and the whole room rushes toward me for an embrace.

“Thank you for choosing Jesus!” they call out. There’s laughter, love, and delight. Dancing breaks out and raucous music surrounds us. Some return to quiet conversation over their wine.

One shy little girl approaches me, and I bend toward her. “Yes, Little One?”

She stretches on her tiptoes and whispers in my ear, “I love you.” I’m not sure of her identity, but she’s a pretty little thing, a cutie. And off she skips to play.

I glance over at Jesus.

“Aren’t you glad you came to the party?” He asks.

“Yes!” I shout to the skies. “Yes!” I’m grateful for the invitation. And we join the dancing and the merriment. It’s pure joy.

It’s time for me to start my earth day with its food preparation, exercise, emails, housework, and praying with people, but I have an open door in my heart now where I can see a party going on, and I can join in anytime I want to.

That afternoon when I gave a gift to a friend, she said, “I don’t deserve it.” Ouch! Didn’t I just say that to Jesus?