Category Archives: Scripture

Bagfuls of Prayers

Posted on by under God, Prayer, Scripture

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans. (Romans 8:26 NIV).

From my 2013 Journal. As I pray a bullet list of requests for God to grant, He hands me a fistful of bags, heavy as gold but light as fairy dust, in which to carry the requests. First, I hand one to Alan for his trip. He accepts it and thanks me for it.

Next, I hand a bag to Betty. She shows me the needy children she cares for. I don’t have to drum up compassion. I have to walk the path God put me on and follow His leading in humble obedience. He will show me who I am to care for, and Betty will care for the ones in her care.

After that, I give one to Cherie. She drops it in her pocket, but I urge her to carry it next to her heart where the holes are.

Deidre comes next, but she wrinkles her nose, holds it at arms’ length and drops it. God instructs me to empty the contents over her head. Pretty sparkles of light and flower petals rain down.

I hand one to Edith, who cries with gratitude and eats it for strength, absorbing the nutrition for her mind, soul, and body.

Fran asks for one, too, but she’s too weak to hold the container. I empty the contents onto her reclining body and gently massage it into her skin—a healing balm. The prayer covers her like a mud bath to remove all the impurities and draw out the shame and inadequacies and fears. Next, she must choose to dip into the Salt Sea. My prayers cannot force her to do it. But in the spirit of adventure, I know she will leap in and be cleansed. Just don’t wait too long, dear one, or the mud will dry, and you’ll feel itchy and ugly. Go wash and be clean!

Gina begs for a double-triple portion—afraid that only one bag won’t be enough. I laugh and assure her that God’s power is immeasurable and His grace sufficient. Like Peter, she begs to be washed all over. But I’m instructed to squeeze only one drop from her bag onto her index finger. I don’t understand why, but I obey. She’s curious too. What to do with it? Jesus tells her to rub the ointment into her eyes so she can see clearly!

These bags of prayers (all alike I thought) from my lips change into different forms and substances, according to the needs of the receiver. How amazing is that!

Who’s next? I have so many bags left. I want to distribute them all, but they seem to be multiplying like the loaves and the fishes. I hurry over to offer one to Helen. She thanks me, smiles, and says good for me for handing them out and then carefully places it on her shelf, next to her idols. Sigh. Maybe her idols will topple over in the presence of the Holy One like the Philistine god Dagon.

One for Ira, who gladly accepts it and carries it around with him wherever he travels. He’s grateful for it and recognizes its power—ready for use at a moment’s notice.

Next I offer one to Janine. She thanks me, declares it smells good, and tosses it into the back of her car. I decide that’s not good enough, so I secretly toss a bagful, like fairy dust, over top of her house. Curiously, the particles dry up and dissipate before they touch her roof. I try a second time, and it happens again. What gives? There seems to be an impenetrable shield over her house that deflects my prayers. And now I know why. Instead of a believer’s bag, I need to hand her the red one—the one that contains the blood of Jesus. Sprinkle that one . . . no . . . use a hose! Cover, saturate, flood that home! It’ll force her to exit and look up. I happily spray her with it as well. She laughs. She tastes it on her lips. She wants more. She wants to drink it, dance in it, twirl like a little girl before she first got hurt. Jesus says, “Just hold the hose, Karen, just hold the hose.” Then she grabs it from me and sprays her neighbors who have come out to see what the commotion is all about. More laughter.

I box up two bags with extra padding and send them off to China. Though I don’t know their addresses, God safely delivers them to the doors of Kang-Chun and Liang-Lee, two persecuted pastors. There’s healing ointment in the one, I see, along with some bandages. I can’t tell what’s in the other box. The pastor isn’t home. Oh, there’s bread and wine and cheese and rice (of course!) for the starving wife and children. Like the widow’s oil, it keeps replenishing itself. Splendid!

I set down the rest of the bags. M through Z will have to wait for another day.

And now, Lord, I need one for myself. It’s in pill form, easy to swallow. I don’t need to know what’s in it. God’s work/word is unseen as it nourishes my body, gives life to my brain, feeds my arms and my legs, my liver and my heart. Nothing gets wasted or eliminated. “Drink,” He instructs me. “Drink deeply of Me, of My presence, My Spirit, My love. Let it cleanse your every pore. Let it wash through you and make you clean . . . strength for today and always. Breathe deeply. I’ve given you the breath of life itself. It’s My breath. I breathed into you to make you a living soul. Your very being is a testament to My power and creativity.”

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Sabbath Rest

Posted on by under Choices, God, Scripture

From my 2016 Journal. Every Sunday, my missionary parents practiced Sabbath rules according to their own definition. We did not enter a restaurant or store, travel, cook, play table games, or indulge in handwork on that day. I began to question this logic when I discovered that Jewish Sabbath occurred from sundown to sundown Friday to Saturday, and never mind that we didn’t keep the rest of the Levitical laws.

Mosaic Law gave general rules for Sabbath (Shabbat) observance: no lighting fires in your house or cooking (Exodus 35:3) and limited traveling (Joshua 3:4-5). The ancient Pharisees interpreted and refined Sabbath rules according to their own parameters, and today their legalism extends to not pushing elevator buttons, turning on electric lights, or using any device-driven means of transportation.*

Jewish law prohibits work on Shabbat, but while resting is implied, the word Shabbat literally means “to cease” or “to sit.” God didn’t need rest after creating for six days. He simply ceased.

Reform Judaism says, “One should avoid one’s normal occupation or profession on Shabbat whenever possible and engage only in those types of activities that enhance the joy, rest, and holiness of the day.”

With this in mind, if I were trying to “keep the Sabbath” I would avoid housework, computer work, and the business end of my ministry. It would not preclude ministry itself according to Jesus’ example. He preached and healed all week long. You’d think He’d refrain on the seventh day and take this day off, but apparently His work wasn’t classified as labor.

I may not be Jewish, and yes, Jesus is my Sabbath rest, but I do need to “cease.” I need the change of pace, the chance to recoup, refresh, and recharge my body, mind, and soul.

So . . . once a week, I often turn off my computer, refrain from cleaning house, and occupy myself with things I enjoy doing—guilt-free, such as reading, doing a puzzle, or golfing with my husband (after church of course!)

What does your Shabbat look like?

*How far am I allowed to walk on Shabbat? – Shabbat (chabad.org)

*Laws of Shabbat for Beginners (aish.com)

How Can I Help You?

Posted on by under Scripture
What’s in your hand?

From my 2013 Journal.

When someone shares a problem with me, Miss Fix-it here tends to jump in with a solution. I’ve learned, however, it’s better to find out what the person wants or expects first, or I may get a rebuttal. Sometimes people don’t want a solution; they just want a listening ear.

The prophet Elisha asked the prophet’s widow, How can I help you? What do you have in your house?

God asked Moses, What do you have in your hand?

And Jesus asked the disciples, How much bread do you have?

We need to start with what we have and work from there. This is a principle I learned from the book When Helping Hurts by Corbett and Fikkert regarding poverty—start where a person is, using the resources they already have. Don’t just jump in to fix it. Let them be part of their own solution.

A 2021 Update. I’m reading The Power of Moments by Chip Heath. In section II, the author suggests a better question for a health professional to ask than “What’s the matter with you?” is “What matters to you?”

Sometimes the solution lies in asking the right question.

Need help?

Unbalanced

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, Peace, Scripture

From my 2015 Journal.

I have been working at breakneck speed for too long. I neglected to rest after an Intensive Retreat with a client, and when I finally found half a day to myself, instead of relaxing, I trudged right up to bedtime. Drowning in over-commitment and pulled in too many directions, my stressed body and chaotic mind won’t shut down. I keep writing lists and the lists keep growing. My mind’s hard drive is full and, with no margin, I’m afraid it will crash. Meanwhile, any quality time with family and God suffers.

Currently, I’m planning two reunions, five trips, editing a magazine, teaching Sunday school, and preparing for two Bible study groups. And in the midst of these commitments, the floodgates for ministry opportunities opened wide. I crave peace and quiet, but drama reigns. I must cease striving and be still, put down my calendar and to-do list, set aside my goals (for now) and return to my priorities.

Visual: I see a picture of me as a teacher with her pupils (i.e. my to-do list). I delight in seeing a room full of wiggly children, but I have tolerated an unruly, chaotic classroom for too long. I place each child in her own cubicle—a cylindrical tube with a lid. I can keep the lids latched, but that takes away the fun away of watching little fingers waving in the air for attention. I instruct them to raise their hands for permission to stand and be recognized before speaking. The others must sit still and wait their turn. Okay . . . which child wants to go first?

Oh! Now I see Jesus behind me, directing their order. I don’t even have to worry about choosing.

Suddenly, a curtain descends in front of the group, the noise in my head stops, and I am alone with Jesus. Whew! I needed this. Refresh, refocus, return.

Be still before the Lord (Zechariah 2:13).

Keeping a Dream Alive

Posted on by under Emotions, God, Scripture

From my 2013 Journal.

Reading a biography or memoir may be interesting, entertaining, or even inspiring—but rarely life-changing, unless it intersects with my own—when I identify with the character in some way.

This morning I read Caleb, the spy’s story in Joshua 14. At age 40, he saw a piece of property he wanted in the land of Canaan, but because of the Israelites’ rebellion, he had to wander with them for 40 years in the desert. At age 85, he asked leader Joshua for that same territory, determined to rout the inhabitants with God’s help. Talk about keeping a dream alive!

Caleb’s faith sharply contrasts with the descendants of Joseph who complained they didn’t have enough land for their families. Joshua said to them, “Go clear the forest and you’ll have enough” (Joshua 17:17-18).

“But they have iron chariots!” they whined.

I can see Joshua rolling his eyes. “You’re numerous and powerful; you can do it.”

So I try to connect with this story. What dream have I held onto? Some dreams, I know, I must grieve and let go. But if God-directed, what excuses do I use not to fulfill it? Sometimes I need patience, endurance, and perseverance to wait.

What dream have you kept alive?

Not My Calling

Posted on by under God, Scripture

From my 2013 Journal.

I sat ho-humming through yet another yearly “revival” sermon on The Great Commission (Go/going, baptize, make disciples) ending with the usual admonishment that every believer was required to “go and do thou likewise,” when I stopped to take notice of the text. Were this Baptist preacher’s carefully crafted words meant to be taken literally? Though he’d be delighted if I witnessed to my neighbor, I’m sure his face would turn ashen if I, as a woman, volunteered to baptize a convert!

And how would he handle I Corinthians 1:17 where the Apostle Paul says, “God did not send me to baptize, but to preach the Gospel”? Would this preacher berate Paul for not following orders? Or the Apostles who declared, God has called us to preach, not to wait on tables? Can you tell I was feeling triggered!

God has called me to something specific, and if I focus on that, I will fulfill His great commission for my life. Why do I keep questioning this? Because of the voices from outside. As I sat quietly listening to God’s voice, I sensed Him saying, “Read the rest of the passage.”

. . . as the Lord has assigned to each his task. (I Cor.3:5-9)

I have an assigned task. I can quit worrying about whether I should be doing other tasks. Just do the one God assigned me to!

Each one should retain the place in life that the Lord assigned to him and to which God has called him. (I Cor. 7:17)

This verse refers to our position at the time of conversion:  whether slave/free, circumcised/uncircumcised. But the wording implies that God is the One Who places us in our position. I want to be faithful and content in the place God has assigned me and, call me a heretic, but I don’t think that includes a literal fulfilment of the three parts of The Great Commission.

Big Pants, Small Heart

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

From my 2013 Journal.

As I passed near the men’s clothing aisle of a new Goodwill store in town, I noticed a large woman, weight mostly distributed around her waist and thighs, holding up an enormous pair of pants that would have fit someone one-and-a-half times her size. “Can you believe this?” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen pants so big! I’ve never seen anyone who could actually fit these! Wow! These are huge! Look at this!” she reiterated to her shopping companion.

Several thoughts raced through my mind:

  1. Why did she disbelieve that someone could actually fit them? I’ve seen people this large in person and on TV.
  2. She, herself, was (ahem) larger than average.
  3. Why was she making such a big deal about it—loudly—in public?
  4. Did comparing her large frame with someone larger make her feel better about herself?
  5. I felt more compassion for the large-pants man and less compassion for the lady. Why?

And then it hit me. I recognize myself in her. I do the same thing (sigh)—I make the biggest fuss about what triggers me the most. When I roll my eyes at someone else’s words or deeds, I recognize some unfinished business in my heart—some lack of compassion, some unresolved hurt, or some judgmentalism. The woman’s words simply revealed what was already in her heart. I don’t judge this woman—because I am too much like her. Perhaps I need to practice more grace . . . toward myself!

For out of the overflow of his heart he [a person] speaks. Matt. 7:15-23; Luke 6:43-45

How Much Evidence Do I Need?

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

From my 2016 Journal.

Jesus’ death left pain in its wake, and His followers stubbornly refused to believe the women who reported seeing Him after He had risen (Mark 16:14). I wonder what lie the disciples believed that kept denial in place?

  • Too good to be true.
  • I can’t let myself feel hope for fear I’ll be disappointed.
  • You can’t trust a woman’s word.

Jesus doesn’t need to dig around in their psyches to help them discover why they’re being stubborn. (That’s what I would have done.) He knows their hearts and rebukes them for their refusal to believe. God is patient with our struggles and fears and doubts, but He’s not so patient with stubborn disbelief. How many times did He say, “O ye of little faith?” There’s no pointing fingers here. I’m plenty guilty myself.

The women at the tomb believed as soon as the angels spoke truth to them. The men, however, continued to doubt when presented with the evidence (others’ testimony and an empty tomb). The disciples on the road to Emmaus couldn’t seem to grasp the truth, and Jesus rebuked them. Even when the disciples saw Jesus in the room where they gathered, and the joy center of their brain activated, they had a hard time believing.

We know that the brain is a complex organ—different parts are responsible for different functions: the occipital for eyes, the amygdala for emotion, the frontal cortex for logic and reasoning, and memory in a different part. Since God created the human brain, He knows what part gets activated during fear (like Peter sinking in the sea of Galilee). He knows that the frontal cortex shuts down during a fight/flight/freeze situation. Yet He seems impatient: Why do you doubt, Peter? Why do you have so little faith? Why don’t you men believe when the evidence is in front of you that I’m alive? Stop doubting!

What makes us doubt? Is the emotion center too strong? Are there lies imbedded in that emotion? Those with D.I.D. (Dissociative Identity Disorder) maintain strong denial parts, for if they believe trauma happened, then they’d have to admit it was real. Once truth enters the brain, however, and they experience an encounter with the living Lord Jesus, doubt and fear flee. Jesus knows all this, so is He really impatient . . . or is He challenging His disciples to accept HIM, the way, the truth, and the life?

Sometimes it’s hard to believe someone else’s testimony, but everyone (including Mary, the ten disciples, and eventually Thomas) believed when they saw the resurrected Jesus with their own eyes. Why? Because they experienced it for themselves. Truth experienced in the right brain translates into left-brain belief.

When evidence stares me in the face, what makes me dig in my heels and refuse to see truth? [2021 update: I’m not talking about political opinions on whether or not to wear masks!]

On the Subject of Music

Posted on by under Emotions, Peace, Scripture

From my 2015 Journal. I was raised on the great hymns of the faith at church, Gospel choruses at boarding school, Pioneer Girls camp songs (thanks, Miss Pat), and my mother’s favorite Gilbert and Sullivan record albums. (I memorized all the lyrics to “I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major-General” by the time I was 10.)

We had no electricity in our little African village, so record players had to be hand-cranked or run on low-quality batteries. I wasn’t exposed much to secular music or American culture until I was in high school.

Is it any wonder, then, that I struggle with contemporary worship music here in the USA? As hymns have been tossed out of our churches like old, worn-out socks, I find myself also tuning away from Christian radio stations and gravitating mostly to classical music when I’m alone in the car. Unlike the repetitious lyrics (I kid you not, I counted 38 repeats of one phrase this Sunday*), my preferred music soothes my soul and draws me upward.

I try not to judge you for your taste in music. Life would be boring if we were all alike. My eldest daughter sings along to every tune played over the intercom at Wal-Mart (there was music playing?). I respect your desire to listen to what matches your mood and gets your foot tapping and draws you into worship. But I prefer music that makes my soul relax. Am I weird? Is this temperament, personality, or a cultural or generational footprint that stamped itself on my soul?

As the music wars play on, I ponder what kind of music we’ll hear in heaven.** What will God’s voice sound like when “He quiets me with His love and rejoices over me with singing” (Zephaniah 3:17 NKJV)?

I do know that our churches would do well to vary their worship styles to draw more people in—from different generations, yes, but also for different temperament types. Not all of us are sanguines. We melancholies need something different for our souls. Just sayin’. (Though I’ll make an exception today and let you sing “Happy Birthday” to me.)

*A 2020 update. Recently our worship leader addressed the repetition issue. He explained that some people need positive reinforcement to solidify a truth in their heart—the same principle but opposite effect of writing lines for punishment at school (I speak from experience). For those of us who already know this particular truth, we can use the extra time praying for those who still need to hear it. I can now give more grace to my fellow worshippers instead of harboring a critical spirit.

**I just finished reading Imagine Heaven by John Burke, amazing accounts of near-death experiences. These people were incapable of describing the sound of angels singing or the thousands of human voices in many languages blended in harmony. There will be no music wars in heaven!

Character Flaw

Posted on by under God, Scripture

From my 2013 Journal. I’ve always pictured Joshua, son of Nun, as a flawless character. But the Bible records one mistake that he made—a treaty with the Gibeonites (Joshua 9). Not an evil thing, not a disobedient decision, but a neglectful act: he forgot to consult with God.

This is a scary thought to me. I don’t (usually) blatantly sin, disobey, or rebel against God. But how often have I been neglectful, and—horrors—deceived. It happens to all of us. Joshua was one of the best—a man of faith, courage, and integrity. If he could be deceived, who am I to claim it will never happen to me?

Once Joshua realized his mistake, however, he rectified it.

  1. He confronted the deceivers.
  2. He kept his oath.
  3. He found a creative way to redeem his error.
  4. He learned from his mistake. He listened to God the next time!

God responded, “Don’t be afraid,” and then He gave the Israelites great victory over their enemies. God listened to Joshua’s prayer to make the sun stand still—a once-in-history experience.

There never has been a day like it before or since when the Lord listened to a man (Joshua 10:14).

Joshua’s story gives me hope. My mistakes do not have to define me or bind me.

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