A Surplus of Peace

“But the weak will inherit the land; they will enjoy a surplus of peace.” Psalm 37:11

Most of life is taken up with gaining recognition or acceptance. People who we call high-achievers may try to accomplish this by force of will or fighting their way to the top. Others who are quieter by nature still look for opportunities to be recognized. They may not start wars, but will still measure success by the square foot, the dollar sign or name recognition. Though we may call these people “meek”, I do not believe their retiring nature is the same quality God admires.

The Christian's Motivation

“For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised.” 2 Corinthians 5:14,15

It’s been said many, many times over. The thoughts are not original to me at all, but it is important that we keep this topic up front and center. “The love of Christ” is the nucleus of Christianity, the circumference of Christianity, and the unchanging premise of Christianity.

If You Will Believe

“Jesus said to her, ‘Dear woman, you are made well because you believed. Go in peace.’” Luke 8:48

“Dear woman,” He said. More literally, Jesus called her “Daughter”. It is the only time in Scripture that Jesus addresses a woman this way. I do not know what she was called by others, or what names floated in her own thinking. But, I’m sure many of them were quite unaffectionate.

Seeking

“I have sought You with all my heart; don’t let me wander from Your commands.” Psalm 119:10

“Seeking God” is almost always connected to some kind of reward in Scripture. Jesus promises that those who ask will have it given to them, those who seek find, and those who knock will find the door open. The idea of seeking God is high priority as the prophet Isaiah encourages us to “Seek the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near.”

You Have Been our Home

You Have Been our Home

"Our Lord, in all generations you have been our home.” Psalm 90:1

During my late elementary school years, and into junior high, my family lived in Alhambra, CA, part of the East Los Angeles suburbs. In a lower middle class neighborhood, clapboard houses were the books and apartment buildings the bookends of each block. It was a great place to grow up, with a peculiar mix of Caucasian and Latino families. Our school was just up the block with its asphalt playground and covered lunch area. Around the block we spent our dimes and quarters on candy at the drug store and sodas at the little hamburger shack.

Accept us Again

“God, accept us again. Smile down on us and save us!” Psalm 80:3

Even the most optimistic positive-thinkers have to admit that life often doesn’t work out the way we expect. I know that is not a very radical statement, nor a great insight. But I think it goes to the heart of a very common spiritual dilemma: we are, on the one hand, accepted by God by faith in Jesus’ work on the cross, yet often find ourselves well outside the circle of His expectations. We are His children, yet can easily discover a rebel heart still beating proudly.

Untangled

“Christ has liberated us to be free. Stand firm then and don't submit again to a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1

I love Christmas. I hate the strings of Christmas lights. I am completely convinced that demons haunt the boxes of Christmas decorations from mid-January until sometime after Thanksgiving when families drag them down from the attic. Having made every effort to neatly store the cords with their tiny bulbs, they are invariably found tangled together like a nest of snakes.

Who Knew the Brain

Who Knew the Brain

(“So reach out and welcome one another to God’s glory. Jesus did it; now you do it!” Romans 15:7 [The Message])

The moment we walked out of the room the silence
crashed like glass broken;
and if we were to repeat what we did not see
the memory would cover the day with smoke
and shards imbedded upon the reverie.

Is there a chance it was not all a daydream,
that the words we remember never found our ears?
Could it be a manmade catastrophe manufactured
by decades observed through goblets of sour wine?

All the same there was a time when I would swear
upon every fact the faith I followed was more elastic
than hollow-minded guesswork and post-modern uncertainties.

One way, it is true; the only Way, still old, still new;
a shepherd for sicklings, a savior for wanderings,
a homestead for threadbare, friend to share the old haunts
and new hunts of discovery. And one way to bear
each burden across uneven shoulders.

I sat in rows each Sunday, 70 facing one well-placed expositor,
jotted notes, memorized quotes and blazingly defended the faith;
while the siding was replaced dutifully once the paint was out of style.

One meeting, who knew the brain could break,
a new arrival spewed verbal bombs between question
about the bible; who knew the brain could break,
and some sought to find her answer, but few sought
her name or number.

And, the moment we walked out of silence,
the glass shattered as a leader sputtered, “We don’t have room
for
retards
here.”

Oh Christ, O joy of fallen nature, break our brains well, please,
until we swell with empathy; the byproduct of faith lived
beautifully.

You Welcomed Me

You Welcomed Me

(“Though my sickness was a trouble for you, you did not hate me or make me leave. But you welcomed me as an angel from God, as if I were Jesus Christ himself!” Galatians 4:14)

I saw question marks hovering around your head like
gnat attacks that park in the sunny spots between forest shade.
You had an uncle whose head never quit hurting, a neighbor
who swallowed bourbon for the pain by prescription,
a doctor who healed you niece, a dozen tales of men
and females whose migraines counted against their earning potential.

Though straining at the leash like my dog who smells a cat
in the same place, under the same bush, every single walk past
the same house, and won’t give up until the cat scurries away,
claws her nose, or most of the time, simply has unoccupied the space
days before our arrival.

With more discretion than my dog, I’ve seen your eyes as the question marks
insist verbal assault and you hold back, silent and love, sad and hope
unable to offer a single method or medication to squeeze open my head
and let the pain escape like air from a punctured balloon.

Your sad eyes bright, say more than the mighty words of the unknowing
who keep showing pictures of the last person they know who was healed from
who knows what, (I know not when), and say, as I walk slowly away, “I thought
God answered prayer.”

You would limp for me, I know. You would transplant my pain, if not far
out to the ocean, into your own body and emotion without fear. You ignore
the question mark pests, refusing to pour out a keg of queries I’ve answered
over and over.

You know, though never asking, the simple cool touch of your fingers
along my forehead, a cloth cooled by evening breezes, soothes the clench,
moves the cracks in my head that feather down my neck and back, and
for moderation, 5 or maybe 10 minutes, I can breathe, smile, see today
worthwhile for a little longer.

I see the questions you have, so opposed to the massive droves of gnat-like
babble. The question on your lips is clearer in your eyes, softening with
half-tears; held back for my depression, expressed for my impression that
you would rather stay as long as I need, and go as soon as even one best-love
has been overwhelmed by the uninvited pain again.

But your question remains, and I rarely answer until I know there is no other place to go.
You ask: “Tell, me, how can I help. If there is anything (or nothing at all),
please, let me know.”

The Former Country is Fading

The Former Country is Fading

(“Therefore, accept each other in the same way that Christ accepted you. He did this to bring glory to God.” Romans 15:7)

Did you come to the door just to tell me
that the party time had changed: and
those who peeked from behind the curtain,
were they early or late? or today’s top 10 list
with no room for 11?

Did you think your silence in the face of truth
made it any less a lie? Were the promises you made,
but had no intentions of keeping, worth the same confessions
you eked from the mouth of one already sweating
grief over his own slide down the black volcanic ash?

What word of knowledge did you possess,
to pretend to a microscope into my heart?
What word of wisdom did you purchase,
that inserted a microphone into my unspoken?

Whose prophet are you? And what puppets
wore your hands like gloves? Who gave you permission
to play like Pharaoh and send the helpless to another
desert drier than a year of chastisement making bricks
without straw and without pay?

Whose apostle sent you? That after the wander,
and after the promise, and after another
semi-miraculous crossing, you waited till we
finally caught our breath and announced, after the cure,
that there was no healing after all.

I’ve sent too many home myself, peeked out from the window
and pretended I was not home. You and I are no different
though, I wish you only the best, and
I wish
some of us were not the only
who had to confess.

The day grows slow now
and the former country is fading. This is an old song,
and the words are memorized, while the healing, without
prophets or evangelists or laying on of hands or vials of oil
is undeniably Divine.

Campfire Smoke

"Campfire Smoke"

“You may also offer sacrifices voluntarily or because you made a promise, or because they are part of your regular religious ceremonies. The smell of the smoke from t
hese sacrifices is pleasing to me.” Numbers 15:3b

We moved to southwest Washington almost four years ago. The hills are lush with old growth trees. Known for its logging industry, many households in the Northwest use wood burning stoves for their heat.