HOUND OF HEAVEN

He answered and said, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked, so I hid.” Genesis 3:10 NIV

I was taken to Sunday School and taught that God is love. I believed that—but I didn’t believe God or anyone else could love me because I couldn’t live up to legalistic standards. Love had to be earned, and the rules for getting it were always changing.

God chased me through the years, through all the brief pleasures and interests I tried to find purpose and relationship in. (Mainly crafts, pets, books.) Still trying to live up to legalism, I even tried church once when I first went away to school. Very bad experience, long story.

The last valley was my first marriage at 40. Six years of control freak temper tantrums came close to convincing me I really must be worthless. At the end of that time I wasn’t a pile of broken pieces; I was a pile of dust.

Two things got through to me.

One: my ex would watch the beginning of Jimmy Swaggert’s TV program, then turn it off when the preaching came on. I liked the music, but what really pulled at me was what I saw in John Starnes’ face as he sang. Whatever it was, I wanted it.

Two: If something mattered enough for me to talk back to my ex, he’d choose one small detail and hammer at it for days: “Why did you use that word and not this one?” One day I got so frustrated I just threw up my hands and said, “Oh, God!” He snapped back, “You’d better call on somebody you know a little better.”

That cold shock was the end of it. God had me up a dead end alley with nowhere else to run from Him—and I was still scared of Him. But when I screwed up my courage to turn and face what I knew was coming from this angry God, His arms were wide open, His tender hunger for me unmistakable. What was left of me just finished crumbling. I didn’t yet know Wayne Watson’s song, Rose-Colored Glasses, but I felt one line of it all the way through me: “I am my God’s desire.” *

There were no words between us, no “sinner’s prayer”, but He could hear the words of my heart. I was dead, rotten all the way through, and I wanted to live. I wanted love, the real two-way kind.

Now I know I’ve already been through the worst I’ll ever have to go through—because I’ll never again have to go through anything alone.

Saint Patrick said, “Belong to God and become a wonder to yourself.” That’s true. I’m real now; I’m what I was supposed to be all along. And that pile if dust I was? He put His Light in there, and the pile started glowing warm and bright, coming together in a clean new vessel. It’s still inside this old jar of clay, but it’s there. And one day after all the days are gone, everyone will get to see it. And for now, other people get to warm up at His fire in me.   

Avi, again I have no words but the words of my grateful heart. Hear me, and know how much I love You. In Your Holy Name, Amen.

·         https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pEQ5jxLV14g

UNSEEN

Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. John 12:24 NASB

Preacher preached on faith. After the sermon he passed out mustard seeds, potting soil, tiny clay pots, pens to write good stuff on the little pots.

We named our babies Faith and Hope. Faith like a mustard seed. Hope in the One who gives life to all, new life abundant to those who believe Him, believe in Him, and accept Him. After a week or two, we transplanted Faith and Hope into bigger pots. As I wrote on their new pots, I got to thinking about what God might write on them, what He might write on me. Our faith is life, life in the One who created us, grieved for us, sought us, bought us at an unfathomable price.

And our hope is in death! Because from death to self comes true life in Him. And we get to live this new life instead of the old broken one we traded in. Who can understand that mystery?

When I took Faith and Hope to church—they begged to go, y’all—I found only one whose plant was still alive, but stunted in its original tiny pot.

As those tiny mustard seeds need to grow, so does our faith. As the tiny plants have needs to be met before they can grow—fertility, good soil, water, sun, just enough wind to strengthen them, protection from too much of anything—so it is with our faith.

But not to fear. The Master Gardener knows just what each plant needs. He prepares the soil just so, plowing deep to show us our need and awaken our hunger. He offers the good seed, plants it just so. He never plants the seed too deep to find its way to the Light. He never leaves His plants too long in tiny pots to cramp their roots. He never sits His plants in dark corners (even if it sometimes feels like it) where they wither for lack of sun. He never leaves our baby faith unprotected in storm winds too strong, flood waters too deep.

Then He talks to the tiny plants, encourages them, touches them tenderly.

And yeah, He even names them.    

Thank You for choosing me to receive Your seed of hope, Avi. Thank You for tending it just so. Most of all, thank You for preparing my soil. I treasure all the lessons of the past that showed my desperate need for You. Remind me over and over of my own responsibility: To suck it up. To suck it all up, as much as I can hold of You.

In Your Holy Name, Amen