I think she stopped dreaming. That’s why she laughed.

Those who dream are seldom surprised by the extraordinary. A Dreamer lives hoping for the dream. Looking for it. Anticipating it. She holds her breath waiting for her breath to be stolen. And is thoroughly delighted when what she knew would happen, does. “Nothing is impossible with God” is her motto. Each day passes like a treasure hunt in search of the mysterious impossible just so she can sit and watch it’s undoing at the hands of a Real God.

But for 89 year old Sarah, too much time and disappointment transformed her lush dreams to a starving desert. By the time The Visitors found her, she’d long since stopped looking for the impossible to happen. The years spent dreaming dreams of children laughing and playing at the hem of her skirts seemed like wasted energy. When foggy imaginings failed to become reality, she gave up dreaming altogether, and lived, instead, with two feet fully planted in harsh reality.

“‘I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.’ … So Sarah laughed to herself as she thought, ‘After I am worn out and my master is old, will I now have this pleasure?’ Then the LORD said to Abraham, ‘Why did Sarah laugh … Is anything too hard for the LORD?’” (Genesis 18:10-14)

Do you stand with both feet in reality, scoffing dreamers and their dreams as the immature imaginings of idealistic youth? OR do you dare to keep one foot dancing on the floor of the impossible? For there is One who waits to take you for a spin, and with a wink and a smile says, “Wait until you get a load of this…”

Better not to laugh at such an invitation. Only faith in the impossible will take where you’ve always wanted to go.

Bring it on.

Eve scares me. We have too much in common.

No doubt about it, she’s fully educated on what’s right. “God did say…” (Gen. 3:3). But the fruit looked good, and the promised wisdom irresistible. In the briefest of moments, the hard truth flew out the window in lieu of soft compromise, set up by a series of seemingly insignificant justifications. Read all of Genesis 3, if you don’t believe me.

Eve’s story could just as easily be my personal biography. How many times have I ended up sick to my stomach because I came up with creative ways to justify a little tasteful temptation? I’m an expert at excuses. The truth is, we all are.

We permit gossip under the guise of concern.

We flirt with infidelity because “God wants me to be happy.”

We justify a judgmental spirit in an exercise of standing up for what’s right.

We disrespect in the spirit of being honest about our feelings.

We savor unforgiveness because we “have a right to be angry.”

We’re stingy with love because we can’t condone wrong behavior.

We feast on self-indulgence because, after all, “life is short.”

Eve didn’t set out to blatantly disobey God. I doubt she woke up that morning with any clue that it would be her last sunrise in the garden. But a series of small decisions, which SHE MADE, including allowing one very unhealthy relationship with a snake, led her right out of the garden of true intimacy and into a world of harsh reality.

Every morning we wake up with the opportunity to move toward the garden-like relationship with God or toward an existence based on half-truths and false intimacy. The path between the moment you wake up and the moment you go to sleep is littered with little, seemingly inconsequential decisions that will (REPEAT: WILL) set your course toward one destination or the other. Don’t be fooled into thinking a little tasteful temptation is harmless.

Truth fruit will feed your soul. The fake stuff, though sweet at the time, is poison.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; On those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.” Isaiah 9:2

The week sandwiched in between Christmas and New Years is a weird one. The hype over Christmas is over. The shopping frenzy is done (or at least it’s winding down). Family returns home. Decorations seem out of place. And time seems to halt in eerie silence as a new year full of the unknown stands at the door. Though there’s a sense of accomplishment or relief that one year is complete, there is also apprehension at the unknown in a new one: What do the next 12 months hold? And will I be able to handle it?

Yes, I believe we will. As long as we allow the light of Christmas to shine long after the boxes are put away. Christmas isn’t a December 25th thing. It’s a whole year thing. It’s not a Hallmark holiday. It’s a Divine Pronouncement. Earth-shattering news for which shepherds and wise men and old priests and small children had been waiting for so very, very long. News that so many still search for today.

Without a doubt, the light of Christmas holds enough power to illuminate 2009, whatever it holds. IT DOES. And, we mustn’t be selfish. The light isn’t just for us. It’s for the real people we encounter every day. From family members who greet us at the breakfast table to checkout clerks who bags our groceries. The light ignited within the heart at Christmas is meant to spill out on the surrounding darkness every day that follows. Our words, smiles, demeanor, grace, attitude–ALL of this can be a source of light and hope and connection and relationship. And our passion for living has the potential to inspire those who despair to allow the light of Christmas to change their lives with good news, too. Hope is powerful. More powerful than we realize. And if we dare to carry hope like a lantern, there’s a good chance we’ll end up shining as a beacon of real truth to real people looking for someone to illuminate their way.

How are you going to light your world this year?

A Christmas without presents.

Not exactly a child’s favorite memory. Still I’ll never forget it.

Our church, grown beyond capacity, needed a bigger building. The leadership decided a three-year, church-wide building fundraiser was the necessary next step. And, as part the elder team heading up the initiative, my dad believed our family should be one of the first to make some kind of monetary investment.

Made sense to me. But I was just a kid. I didn’t expect it to impact me directly. Until we sat down as a family and started to brainstorm ideas for coming up with our contribution. Cut back on allowances. Give up extra activities. Forgo restaurant eating. Small potatoes kind of stuff. With a serious expression, dad nodded at our suggestions and then challenged us to go deeper. As he explained,

sacrifice isn’t really sacrifice unless it hurts.

That’s precisely the moment we proposed canceling Christmas. Not the holiday as a whole, but the present part. After all, what could “hurt” more than giving up gifts? Of course, seconds after suggesting it, I believe both my brother and I felt tightening of our stomachs. Regret? Maybe. Retraction? No. And just that fast, we cut Christmas from our calendar. For the following three years.

Months passed before the first holiday came. The deeper we moved into December, the more our decision “hurt.” No Christmas. Weird. What EXACTLY will we do all day? As the month wore on, and child-like disappointment grew, it became clear we needed something else to invest in. After hearing of some friends in a financial bind, we set out to surprise them with the best creative Christmas we could muster, without the extra cash. And the diversion proved to be one of the most creative and fun projects we’d experienced. By the time Christmas Eve rolled around, we were more caught up in our secret surprise than the fact our own tree would remain barren Christmas morning.

The anonymous homemade gifts delivered, we returned home on Christmas Eve both inspired and content. This is what Christmas is all about. Even us kids knew it to be true. And though the experience of Christmas without gifts held its moments of disappointment and regret, we all remained convinced of it’s worth. Today I can’t recall for the life of me what might’ve gone without. The Christmas wishes of those years have long since evaporated with time. The lesson learned–and the sheer joy of giving–however, remains as clear as as if it happened yesterday.

For it is the giving—not the getting—that truly makes Christmas something to both celebrate and remember.

“Shout for Joy to the LORD, all the earth.

Worship the LORD with gladness;

come before him with joyful songs.

Know that the LORD is God,

It is he who made us, and we are his;

we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.

Enter his gates with thanksgiving

and his courts with praise;

give thanks to him and praise his name,

For the LORD is good and his love endures forever;

his faithfulness continues through all generations.”

Psalm 100

Three thoughts:

“Know that the LORD is God…” An attitude of thankfulness and a spirit of joy is dependent on the extent to which we believe in the reality of God. If you don’t settle the fact of your origin and purpose, the resulting insecurity will rob you of any long-term thanksgiving.

Second, God calls you by name. He claims you as his own, like a groom is proud to present his bride. “It is he who made us, we are his.” Though you may find yourself rejected and overlooked by many others, God will never be one of them. He will not–can not–walk away. Even on the worst of days, this is something that leaves me both relieved and thankful.

And finally, “…the LORD is good and his love endures forever.” There are many from whom I seek love. And a few of them really do love me, as best they can. But in end, the love they pour into my life is imperfect, like trying to pour a glass of Koolaid from a pitcher with a hole in it. Most of the time the Koolaid makes a sticky mess and my glass remains half empty. I am needy and unable to reciprocate. And, still, God never tires of loving me. His love and faithfulness endure forever.

Thank heavens.

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep step with the Spirit. Galatians 5:22-25

Today marks the the final post for our blog devo series on the Fruits of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23). We have more good stuff coming your way in November (Lifestyle Thanksgiving), December (all things Christmas!) and in 2009 (purposefully vague…you’ll just have to wait and see!).

Self-control is a good subject on which to close. Honestly, I like the word. Self-control implies that I have some. Control, that is. Whether a result of my history or just part of my personality, I like to feel in control (dare I say I need it???). Chaos scares me, and I slip into an easy panic if life is beyond my ability to manage. My insecurity meter hits the roof and everyone around me pays for it.

I’m a roll-my-sleeves-up-and-tackle-any-project person. I welcome any challenge as long as doesn’t leave my world spinning out of control. Therefore, the word "self-control" sounds like my kind of fruit.

UNTIL I unpack the events of the past few weeks. The comments I made and shouldn’t have. The conversations I initiated which should’ve never been started. The verbal vomit I spewed in a moment of frustration. The unforgiveness I nurtured in my heart, and the retaliation fantasy I played out in my mind (yes, I have a sinister side). I may be disciplined in many areas, but honest self-eval reveals I’m really NOT "in control" of my flesh. I am a woman who is always just a few small decisions away from major disaster. Though I desperately want to believe I am ultimately good and righteous, I have teetered close enough to the edge of destruction to know better.

That’s why self-control is a fruit of the Spirit, and not a "Fruit of Michele". True self-control is beyond me. It is a challenge bigger than I am equipped to tackle. The fruit I bear of my own rolled-up sleeves is nice, but fleeting at best. And, quite honestly, my flesh pulls me down a slippery slope of carnality every day. There really is no point to being anything but transparent here: I’m out of control. Paul agreed:

For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do–this I keep on doing. Romans 7:18b-19

Whether we’re talking about the fruit of love, joy, peace or even self-control, we will always far short of the ideal without a working of the Spirit. That’s the whole point of this devo series: to consciously allow the Spirit of the Living God greater access to our everyday moments. The Spirit then becomes our solid footing on the slippery slope, allowing us to climb higher and stronger than would be otherwise possible.

I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. Ephesians 3:16-17a

Amen!

Self-control took on new meaning today. For anyone who’s ever spent a good chunk of their day on the phone with the phone company, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Perhaps I should be grateful they are affording me opportunity to hone my self-control skills. However, it was all I could do not to reach through the phone to find a neck around which I could wrap my clawed fingers. It started nearly a month ago, when I dialed the 800 number:

"Hi, thank you for calling. How may I assist you?"

"Our family is in the process of moving and we’d like to transfer our phone and internet to the new address."

"Okay, no problem." This was the first in a long line of inaccuracies. After rattling off all pertinent info, I heard the tap-tap-tapping of the keys on the other end of the line.

"Ma’am, I’ve taken care of your phone transfer. Now let’s set up your internet." Apparently, the internet transfer was more complicated, as I heard, "Uh-oh" and "Hmmmm…" enough times I started to wonder if my dentist intercepted the call.

With a sigh, she launched into grim news about DSL unavailability, higher prices, different technologies, slower speeds and all other sorts of ominous forebodings. I was stuck in the "Uh-oh" and "Hmmmm" vortex of impossible scenarios. I quickly got off the phone, promising to speak with my husband about our options, make a decision and call back.

That was a mistake. I called back a week later:

"Hi, thank you for calling. How may I assist you?"

"Our family is moving, and I already set up our phone transfer. However, I still need to transfer our internet."

"Okay, what is your phone number?" I slowly listed the 10 digits and waited for the now familiar tap-tap-tapping. What I didn’t expect was:

"I’m sorry, ma’am. We have no record of that number."

"We’ve had this phone number with you for nearly 17 years. Could you please check again?" I restrained my exasperation.

After another few minutes, she again said the number wasn’t coming up in their system. We went back and forth, me adamantly defending our home telephone number while she refused to acknowledge that we had, indeed, been a customer of theirs for nearly two decades.

"Ma’am, are you sure that is your number?" 

Face red and head ready to explode like a burrito in the microwave, I nearly shouted, "Check your caller ID–I’m talking on it RIGHT NOW!"

The phone number fiasco resolved (her life temporarily spared), we moved to the issue of internet.

"I’m sorry, Ma’am, but there is no internet in your neighborhood."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"That’s impossible. Just last week one of your co-workers said we had a couple different options. And we’re in the 21st century, for heaven’s sakes–how is it possible there isn’t internet?"

"I don’t know, Ma’am." She put me on hold, during which time my oldest son left for college and my youngest started driving. Okay, not really, but it was a LONG time. And if she calls me ma’am one more time, I’ll…

"Ma’am, there isn’t internet at that address. What would you like to do?"

We volleyed back and forth for several more minutes, during which it became clear she was utterly and completely confused. Either it was her first day, or she needs to consider a possible change in careers. I asked to speak to a manager or someone else who might be able to determine whether or not internet exists on our planet. She refused to do so, leaving me no other option but to hang up and redial the blessed 800 number, in the hopes I might land with someone able and willing to help.

The unfortunate person who picked up my call (somehow he missed the flames spewing from the receiver) was pleasant, empathetic and completely knowledgeable about both my phone number AND the fact there IS internet in my new neighborhood.

"I have you set up for install the Monday after you move in. However, the technology is different, and so we’ll need to provide you with a new modem. Also, you will need to purchase a new wireless router, since your old one will no longer be compatible."

Of course. The sting of this didn’t phase me, however, as I was still flying high over the miraculous rediscovery of internet in my neighborhood.

Until today, that is. 9 days after the install, 9 days after purchasing a $69.99 wireless router, 9 days after reconfiguring our home network. As I settled into a hiccup-free work day, I received a phone call with this recording:

"Hi. This is your internet service provider. We are calling to notify you that effective November 3rd your current internet service will no longer be available in your neighborhood. Please call our 800 number as soon as possible to discuss your options."

Fat chance! I’m going to Starbucks.

Sometimes, circumstances (and customer service representatives) will conspire against you and every last ounce of your self-control will put to the test. When that happens (and, yes, I mean WHEN), sometimes the best thing you can do is JUST HANG UP.

"Starting a quarrel is like breaching a dam; so drop the matter before a dispute breaks out." Proverbs 17:14

"A man of knowledge uses words with restraint, and a man of understanding is even-tempered. Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue." Proverbs 17:27-28

My favorite flowers lay dying. Wilted and lifeless, the record heat and absence of rain were taking their toll. If I didn’t do something quickly, I’d lose them for good.

Caught in the midst of work responsibilities which would not wait, I called up to my youngest son: "Would you please go water my flowers for me? They don’t look so good…" Always a lover of nature, he gladly complied, slipping on his tennis shoes and heading out the front door. "Make sure they all get plenty of water, okay?" I added as the door shut behind him. Only a handful of minutes later, he walked back in the front door, shorts dripping and made his way toward the stairs and his bedroom.

"Are you finished already?" That was fast. Too fast.

"Yep." He slipped out of his wet shoes and walked up the stairs.

I remained unconvinced. "Did you water all the flowers?"

"Yes, mom." I could hear the roll of his eyes. "I watered them all. The ones in the pots, the ones on the porch. Even those under the front window."

As he went back to his Legos, I went out the front door–just to be sure. Every pot, box and planter sat drenched in water, as were the front steps, lawn and every surface within ten feet. He had watered all the flowers all right, and everything else in sight. Worse yet, he must have turned the hose to its fullest strength, effectively leaving the petals and leaves beaten and bruised. If they were lifeless before, my flowers now lay maimed and crippled.

At times, the way we approach relationships isn’t much different. A friend is hurting, but you rush too quickly and say too much, trying to fix the situation rather than just listening. A frustration is brewing in a hurting relationship. You want to resolve it and believe you have a valid case. The words pour out in confrontation, spewing with the strength of a fire hose. A neighbor doesn’t share your faith, asking provocative questions which leave you confused. You respond too strongly, trying to strong-arm a conversion rather than develop an ongoing relationship. In all these examples, the ultimate goal is to bring life back to the relationship. However, timing and delivery leave the recipient of your downpour bruised and wounded, requiring long-term tending if it is to survive.

Words have the power of life and of death. Though you may have truth which needs to be said, the delivery of this truth will decide whether or not the result will be further brokenness or new revival. Weigh your words carefully, prayerfully, and let them be a gentle rain to all those who hear.

"A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger." Proverbs 15:1

"Let your gentleness be evident to all…" Philippians 4:5

I was lost. Stuck between the idealistic, unmarred faith of my childhood and the painful reality of life’s disappointments. I believed God had failed me. Abandoned me. All the prayers of my youth seemed to have been ignored or rejected before the throne of heaven. And, so, in the grip of deep heartache, I decided I couldn’t afford to be so deeply attached to a God who could so easily reject his child.

For a year I avoided church and her people. I sat steeped in depression, unable (or at least unwilling) to invest any more energy in hope. I couldn’t afford to risk losing more than I’d already lost. I remember someone quoting Romans 5:5…"And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts…" The words tasted bitter, and I rejected them completely. Either this was God’s idea of a cruel joke, or I was His exception to the rule. Either way, hope WAS disappointing.

Life with God can sometimes be dark. But let me tell you…life without hope of Him is darker still. This pit sucked me into its icy grip and refused to let go. Until one night, when I couldn’t take the isolation anymore, I cried out in utter despair: "I give up! I can live without understanding "why" you let all this happen. But I can’t live one more day without the hope of believing in you!"

Though answers remained elusive, God came near. Actually, He let me know in no uncertain terms He’d been there all along.

"If we died with him, we will also live with him; if we endure, we will also reign with him. If we disown him, he will also disown us; if we are faithless, he will remain faithful, for he cannot disown himself." 2 Timothy 2:11-13

You see, God IS faithfulness. I guess you could say He invented it. His nature is the very essence of faithfulness, and can’t be otherwise. Think of it this way: trying to make God unfaithful is like trying to keep water from being wet. It’s impossible.

During that time of doubt and darkness, God’s faithfulness remained because it stood independent of me. Though I didn’t realize it then, He offered exactly what my heart needed most: the security of knowing no amount of circumstances or injustices will change the constancy of His faithfulness to me. This was my lifeline, and it ended up being the very thing which saved me.

Regardless of where you find yourself today, cling to the rescue of God’s faithfulness. When all else fails–including yourself–HE WILL NOT.

"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:19-23

He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; His faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. Psalm 91:4

(NOTE: I wrote this short devo in 2007 sometime, and find its subject matter apropos with the theme of August’s ongoing "Fruit of the Spirit" devotionals–FAITHFULNESS. Thus I am posting it today, in hopes that you will find shelter and reassurance in the refuge of God’s eternal faithfulness…)

Life is as predictable as changing weather patterns. Though we plot and plan for what may come, many days we dress for sunshine and end up doused by a heavy downpour of rain. We learn to ask: What if? Any momentary blessing is lost in the swirling uncertainty of what lies around the next bend. Fear drives us to find shelter. We want an impenetrable place of safety, able to withstand even the most vicious of storms. We strain to hear a soothing voice to relieve our fear. Too often, however, we take refuge in people and possessions that were never meant to hold ground.

The Psalmist must have understood firsthand our deep need for security. His words begin, "He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty" (vs. 1). Like the quiet calm after a storm, this verse offers a blanket of peace. Unfortunately, life often robs us of our rest. Is it possible to live consistently secure?

God wants us to know him as our only source of safety. There is only one place where we are fully secure—under the arm of the Almighty. Not in our relationships, and certainly not in any bank account or list of personal achievements. His rock-solid faithfulness is our true shelter: He is stable in the midst of instability, unchanging in the midst of change, and reliable in the midst of the unreliable. Nurturing trust in His unwavering, utterly faithful presence is both our shield and rampart: a shield that covers head to toe as we stand in a violent storm; a rampart, or wall, enclosing us in a haven of trust away from the raging storm. Only under the faithful wings of our Father we can face each day dressed for any kind of weather.

I’m feeling rather cantankerous today. (Don’t you just LOVE that word? Even when in the middle of it, simply saying "cantankerous" makes me feel better.)

Ok. Back to my cantankerous-ness. I looked it up using my handy "synonym finder" and this is what it says: irritable, cranky, argumentative, difficult, and unreasonable.

Yep. That just about sums it up. The reason for my unreasonableness is simple: God has asked me to do something I don’t want to do. And the internal tension in my chest feels like Mount St. Helens about five minutes before she blew.

Here’s the deal. I’ve been hurt by someone I love. Someone I’ve known for a length of time and have shared a lot of life with. And the hurt is so real, so deep that it feels utterly inexcusable. When I first wake up in the morning, I temporarily forget. Then, a cloud of reality descends on my waking consciousness and I feel the hurt all over again. My heart aches.

I know all about the forgiveness verses. There are PLENTY of them. I realize I must forgive.  My own forgiveness (not to mention my sanity) depends on it. Still, I don’t have to play nice anymore, do I? That’s where my cantankerousness comes in. God is asking me to offer real kindness–from the heart–as a remedy for my hurt. This doesn’t feel the least bit fair and I’m tempted to protest like a toddler: "But I don’t WANNA!!!!!"

Finally, all of you, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic, love as brothers, be compassionate and humble. Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing. 1 Peter 3:8-9

Ugh. Blessing, huh? (Sigh)

This too shall pass. I am pretty sure my relationship will be rekindled and life will go on, simply because similar scenarios have played out multiple times throughout my life. Why? Because long ago I made the choice to live in relationships, and relationships are messy. VERY messy. Feelings get hurt, which causes an emotional reaction. Emotional reactions typically further the hurt cycle, compounding injury upon injury. It is a vicious circle of pain which can only end with someone deciding–yes, making a CHOICE of the will–to no longer participate in the hurt-and-be-hurt cycle. The remedy? At least this time, it is what I believe God is calling me to–a simple, sincere act of undeserved kindness.

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice and cantankerousness (okay, I added this last part, but it seems to fit, don’t you think?). Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Ephesians 4:31-32

This isn’t easily done, and I am not so naive to assume it will end like a fairy tale or topped with a nice red bow. However, I know for a fact I have hurt other people too many times to count, and have been forgiven of MUCH–even today. And though I’m feeling a little toddler-ish at the moment, the truth is I would rather live drowning in abundant kindness than take a chance at missing out on a God-sized blessing.

Or do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, tolerance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness leads you toward repentance?  Romans 2:4

At the most unexpected moment, familiar words exploded in epiphany.

Until then, my relational finesse could have been described as a careful meting out of kindness in proportion to merit. A history of painful relationships left me guarded and extremely careful.  Kindness was offered in exchange for kindness delivered. Take advantage of my kindness and expect a sudden and cool withdrawal. Even in my parenting, I found myself using harsh reprisals and relational toughness to manipulate desired results. 

Then God interrupted my day–and protective shell–with Romans 2:4. With a firm shake of my stubborn shoulders, he gently reminded:  Michele, was it the harsh criticism from Bible-quoting Christians which turned your life around? Or how about the stern, grace-less rebukes of those who loved you so imperfectly? No, my child. It was my gentle, yet firm teaching, correcting and training of your spirit which healed your heart and turned you back toward me.  It was my faithful presence, my determined pursuit, my unwavering patience with your tears and your doubt.  It was my kindness which turned your life around. Why can’t you do the same for my other children?

Ouch. I forgot. Or at least hadn’t made the connection. When had I developed this judgmental spirit?  I’d received my share of harsh Christian lingo and cutting reprisals over the years. I knew firsthand the damage it could cause, and the licking of wounds which would follow.  And, yet, hadn’t I carelessly done the same thing?  I had been hurt more than once by a couple people, and, thus, responded with cold callousness. I was living as a kindness scrooge, unwilling to invest myself in undeserving recipients. Perhaps my relational withdrawal would teach them a much needed lesson.

Please understand, I’m all for healthy boundaries. Wisdom chooses her friends carefully (Proverbs 4:14-23). However, I was using walls as a weapon, excusing unforgiveness in the name of boundary-setting.  Have you forgotten what I’ve done for you? God reminded. Do you show me such disregard? I’d never thought of it that way. 

My epiphany came with both uncomfortable conviction and blessed freedom. I cannot ignore God’s emphasis on undeserved kindness. For no other reason than love, God sent His Own to offer me favor and acceptance, though I’d never be able to deserve it. I know without a doubt I am kept afloat by grace alone.  It is the riches of God’s kindness which softened my heart, rescued my life, and now sustains me daily. Nothing more, nothing less. How can I ever thank him? 

I could start by offering a little undeserved kindness in return.

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.  Colossians 3:12-14

pa•tient \ pa-shunt\ adj:  bearing pains or trials calmly or without complaint; manifesting forbearance under provocation or strain; not hasty or impetuous; steadfast despite opposition, difficulty, or adversity; able or willing to bear (Merriam-Webster, Inc: Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. Eleventh ed. Springfield, Mass. : Merriam-Webster, Inc., 2003).

I hate traveling. 

Okay, so hate is a strong (slightly un-christian) word.  How about detest or dislike.  Resent, maybe?  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy being in new places, checking out interesting cultures, out-of-the-way destinations.  I love meeting new people and discovering a bigger world.  I just don’t like the process of getting there.  Packing days worth of necessities into now only one suitcase.  Mechanical delays, rain delays, traffic delays.  Rude ticketing agents, frustrated passengers, overbooked flights.  Rushing–always rushing–just to sit in a seat barely big enough for my eleven year old, either sweating profusely in a sauna ("Sorry, ma’am.  It looks like we’re at a standstill on the runway for another couple hours") or freezing in a meat locker ("Here you go, ma’am.  This paper-thin blanket, used by 3,000 other people today, will help take the edge off").  The latter would be the lesser evil, as by now my feet have swelled to the point it appears I’m packing ten cocktail wieners off the end of my flip-flops. 

Thankfully, by the time I get to wherever it is I’m going, the nightmare of the travel experience fades with the dawn of a new awaiting adventure.  Whether it is a vacation with my family, a ministry trip with coworkers, or time to visit my dear friends, I gladly bear the travel again and again just so I can experience the reward which awaits.    

Check out Merriam-Webster’s definition one more time.  What pops off the page when you read it again?  The words "calmly", "without complaint" and "not impetuous" leave my head shaking.  You see, I’m sitting on a four-hour flight from Orlando to Denver as I type.  My itty-bitty plastic glass of cranberry juice hangs precariously on the edge of my 8 1/2 by 11 tray table, which also holds my laptop.  My elbows keep bumping my sleeping neighbor (mouth open).  A small child (although mostly precious) is pushing his feet into the back of my chair like it is the gas pedal in a race car.  And I nearly lost two of my sausage-toes to a racing beverage cart just moments ago.

Certainly Merriam’s definition doesn’t sum up my demeanor over the last couple of days (or couple of paragraphs).  Ironic, especially since I aspire to patience.  I would be thrilled to know my peers saw me as a patient woman.  I’d love to be esteemed as both forbearing and steadfast.  In fact, my own heart and mind would be relieved by a steadfast spirit refusing to be flustered.  However, patience is not a trip I’m quick to book.  I cringe at the mention of the word, resisting until the last possible moment.  Why?  Because I know the process of getting there will be full of hassle, hiccups and challenge.  Difficult people, unexpectedly delays and frustrating detours.   

Out of all the fruits of the Spirit listed in Galatians 5, I believe patience will cost the most along the way.  Still, I can’t deny the final destination.  If I forbear with the process, steadfast despite the opposition, I know the adventure will be ripe with reward when I arrive.  For the very pieces of the journey which make it so difficult, will be the very building blocks of a rock-solid life.  

"Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides.  You know that when under pressure, your faith life is forced into the open and shows its true colors.  So don’t try to get out of anything prematurely.  Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way."  James 1:2-4

"I have only one ambition left, to be completely at peace with myself. I doubt if I shall ever manage it. I do not think it is possible for anyone… I do not know any man, however successful, who is completely happy." (Tan, P.L. Encyclopedia of 7700 Illustrations.  Garland, TX:  Bible Communications.  1996, c1979.)

Georges Simenon, famed novelist with more titles translated than any other writer except Stalin, spoke these hopeless words.  I fear to think that there would be any truth to his sentiments.  If a man with such breadth of success can be lacking in peace and happiness, I wonder if peace is possible for me.  Is there a place of perfect peace within, a state of quiet contentment which transcends both accomplishment and failure, joy and pain?  Is there there a harbor of peace where I can lay anchor and enjoy an enduring respite in the midst of day-to-day life?

The hopelessness of Simenon’s statement sounds similar to my complaints.  As a mother of three boys, two of which are teenagers, seldom do I want anything more than a little peace. Sounds simple enough. I’m not asking for much, am I?  An absence of conflict. Relief from our schedule. Tranquility and quiet. Rest for my depleted heart and life free from uncertainty.  However, life seems to have turned a deaf ear to my request.

"All men desire peace, but few desire the things that make for peace."  (Kempis, Thomas A.  Light For My Path.  Humble Creek:  Ulrichsville, OH, 1999)

Did you know that the word “peace” appears in the NIV 260 times?  Pretty significant, I would say.  God does not desire for us to live in a state of constant upheaval.  Our lives were meant to be characterized by peace.  Peace that is independent of our unpredictable circumstances or volatile emotions. Peace that transcends all understanding to give us confident assurance even in the throes of gut-wrenching pain, a ridiculous schedule or unending conflict.  Then perhaps, as Kempis said, our lack of peace is due to the fact we fail to desire the things that make true peace.  

After considering these "things that make for peace,"  I believe there exist at least three anchors which keep us moored in a harbor of peace.  First, peace comes to the extent that we know and believe in God’s never-ending love. (Isaiah 49:15-16, Romans 8:38-39, Isaiah 54:5, Zephaniah 3:17).  As our belief deepens, our perspective shifts.  Believing in God’s love then carries us to a place of confidence in God’s perfect provision. (Romans 8:32, Isaiah 26:3). The everyday worries and fears evaporate as we bank on God’s promise to provide.  Finally, our own peace strengthens when we live as a beacon of peace to others. (Matthew 6:21, Luke 6:38, Proverbs 14:30). To chart a new course and swim against the popular current of materialism and greed, my husband and I are trying to intentionally forge a different focus.  Though we still have a long ways to go, we have discovered an enduring and unexplainable peace as we have attempted to become more aware of the needs outside our neighborhood, community and nation. 

God’s peace is a lighthouse, sending its beacon and calling us to calm waters. He invites us out of our circumstances and into his rest. When I believe God’s eternal love for me and rely on his perfect provision, I move to a place of unwavering confidence in his plan. When I dock in this harbor of peace, I find it is more beautiful, more sufficient and more complete than anything I have yet experienced or imagined. The natural response, then, is to wave my own flag of safety and invite others into the harbor of peace I’ve found. This, in and of itself, is a mainstay for my own sense of peace. Regularly rehearsing God’s love, provision and safety by being a beacon of peace to those in their own storms reminds me to remain anchored where it is safe–in the refuge of my God. (Psalm 91)

I’m not sure where you’ll find yourself today, but chances are you will be buoyed by a few waves. The One who walked on raging waters and mastered threatening storms with a word holds his hand to you in an invitation to peace.

Shalom. Peace be with you!

Warning:  Deep waters ahead.

I’m bypassing the shallow end of the pool today and heading straight for the diving board.  We might end up over our heads, but I believe it will be worth it.

This "joy" theme has left me in a quandary.  Though I want a life built on steadfast joy, I’m pretty certain I’m buckled into a joy rollercoaster instead.  My joy legs are a little shaky at times.  Sure, there are joyous moments, when I sense God’s presence in a tangible way, and feel his love as warm and real as the sun on my face.  During those brief spiritual summits, I celebrate.  I embrace the ecstasy, hanging on to it with both hands.  Invariably, however, the moment passes.  Feelings of hope and certainty vanish, slipping from my fingers like air.  Once again I’m insecure and uncertain.  Anyone relate?

I want a confident joy.  The kind that doesn’t come and go on a whim.  I would gladly sacrifice even the moments of great elation for the quieter, but more steadfast, kind of joy.  I’m tired of the round and round rollercoaster ride–Give me a straight stretch of solid interstate bearing due north toward a life of joy.  That’s where I want to end up.

And a highway will be there; it will be called the Way of Holiness…but only the redeemed will walk there, and the ransomed of the LORD will return.  They will enter Zion with singing; everlasting joy will crown their heads.  Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away.  Isaiah 35:8, 10

Where does one find this "crown of joy"?  Last time I checked, it wasn’t near the shoes and purses.  I can’t order a second-hand variety off of Ebay or borrow a friend’s.  Peter says it this way:  "Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy…"  (1 Peter 1:8)  Now hang with me here for a minute.  Peter’s implication is that a key to crowning, inexpressible joy is believing in that which we cannot see.  Namely Christ’s loving presence and activity regardless of any "visible" evidence.  "Believe" in the Hebrew is pisteuo, meaning "to think to be true, to be persuaded of, to credit, place confidence in."  (Strong, James: The Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible. Ontario : Woodside Bible Fellowship., 1996, S. G4100). 

Hmmmmm….I wonder if my moments of ebbing joy are directly related to my waning belief in the power, presence and/or love of God?  One more glance at Peter and we’ll see he must have known what he was talking about.  If you have a Bible, flip back to Matthew 14:25-33.  Upon seeing Jesus walking across a large stretch of water, Peter boldly jumped out of a boat and began to do his own water-walking.  He moved effortlessly toward his Savior, buoyed by a confident joy, until…until the reality of the wind and waves overshadowed the reality of his Savior.  And then the raining doubts and fears left his joy a little soggy.  The result?  His joy rollercoaster took a deep plunge into the Sea of Galilee.  

Isaiah promises–as does the rest of scripture–we will step through the doors of eternity wearing a robe of redemption woven by Christ himself.  This is guaranteed, sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by a blood-promise.  Our ransom has been paid and our future secured.  Though sorrow will be run out of town, a flood of joy beyond our wildest dreams will "overtake" us.  Literally, this word means "to secure, reach, have enough" (nasag, Strong, James: The Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible.  Electronic ed. Ontario : Woodside Bible Fellowship., 1996, S. H5381).  We will dive head-first into a sea of rejoicing which will finally be ENOUGH.  

In the meantime, joy is still ours to be had in this life.  The key?  Dive in to the the promise of eternity.  Sink yourself into the truth of your redemption.  Believe God’s presence to the extent of constructing your life around what you know to be true, regardless of the lack of visible "evidence."  Don’t allow doubt and fear steal the show …wear true joy as your crowning achievement.  When those around you see you walking on a little water, they might just jump out of the boat, too.