Treasures in the Attic

I parted heavens glory,

And gold puffed away like dust

Where gossamer ribbons floated

Void of cobwebs, grime, or rust.

I was cleaning Heaven’s attic

In a mansion up the street,

And the memories I uncovered

Were sprawled there at my feet.

I found bits of joy and blessings

And a trunk filled up with hope,

And tied with string, a word of thanks

Tucked in an envelope.

I found albums filled with photographs

Of happy days gone by,

Of smiling faces, laughter,

And the bliss of each July.

I pulled back a big white sheet

That was draped over a chair

The very place I’d talked with God

And come to him in prayer.

And there stacked so neatly to one side,

All my ministries in a line— 

The children’s work, the choir,

Visitation all combined.

Then in the farthest corner,

Behind every happy thought,

I found a box tucked in the back

Some things that I’d forgot.

I opened it up slowly,

Recalling now what was inside,

All my hurts and disappointments

And the things I’d tried to hide.

These don’t belong in heaven

In a place that knows no tears.

I thought to throw the box away,

But paused and drew it near.

I sorted through the contents,

Setting each thing down with care,

And my story then unfolded

With each trifle I found there.

I found a heart once broken

By injustice, hurts and wrongs,

Now mended. Though the scar still showed,

The pulse was beating strong.

There were dreams that I had clung to

Thinking this must be God’s will.

I could see now, had they worked out,

I would be unhappy still.

There were lists of prayers unanswered

When it seemed God wouldn’t speak.

Now reading through the tear stains,

It was I who was too weak.

The times God left me hanging

While He blessed my fellow man,

If only I’d been patient,

I’d have seen His glorious plan.

I looked across the remnants

Of the failures, loss, and pain,

And I wondered at God’s foresight

As I saw His grace so plain.

 All the hurts I’d held so tightly,

Now through heaven-altered eyes,

Were the blessings God had giv’n me,

Were the treasures in disguise.

Gullible

I laugh at the gullible mind then wonder what it would be like to be so trusting.

"I want to go outside."
"You can't go out it's too hot."
"It's not too hot."
"If you go outside, you will melt and then there will be puddles all over the playground where all the children used to be."
Later when he went outside, I saw him scanning the playground area and realized he was looking for the puddles.

They'll buy anything.With little effort, they believe in beanstalks and Santa Clause, field cows and hill cows, monsters and aliens.

We torment the gullible, both the child and the blond. We feed them lies and laugh when they believe, but become jealous of their unquestioning faith. We pride ourselves on being above the gullible trap and begin to question not only the lie, but also the truth.

Salvation by faith?
A strength made perfect in weakness?
Forgiveness?
Love for enemies?
Sovereignty?

Darkness

Darkness was over the face of the deep...And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light.

The first words God uttered brought light into the world,
And darkness was abolished.
From the very first, God called light good,
And He separated it from dark,
And the two would never be mixed.
The light brought clarity to things obscured in the dark.
It brought beginning to each day.
It lit the path of the sojourners steps.
It symbolized a coming Redemption.
It emulated His glory.

And the light was greater then dark.
A light placed in a dark room would always shine through the dark,
But the dark could never overpower the light.

Until God turned His back on His Son
The Son hung from a cross
And for three hours, the light was extinguished.
Darkness hung heavy over the land.

I can only imagine what kind of darkness it was.
More than the opposite of light.
More than the absence of light.
A darkness that went deeper than the blackness
And into the heart and soul of everyone who wittnessed it.
With the first words God spoke, there was light.
With last words the Son of God spoke, the light was extinguished.
It was finished
For three hours, darkness
And in three days,
The Son was risen.
The Light shone.

The gift

The label reads with childish scrawl, “For God.” The space following “From” remain blank, glaringly so. I do not sign my name. I can’t. I’m too ashamed. The paper is wrinkled, a humble presentation. I tried three times to get it right. Tears in the wrapping attest to the effort.

In the moment before I give the gift, I hesitate, reconsidering. It’s nothing really and he is after all God—but I so wanted something to give. I know he will not laugh at my gift, but will he like it? Will he want it?

It’s nothing really. Just my treasures. Nothing of value. A few hopes, some dreams. Worthless by man’s measure. My plans, my future. It’s not much to offer. It would be easier to keep it for myself. But I do not trust myself, and I have nothing else to give.

The hesitation ends.

The gift is given. One look at His face. I cannot regret the decision.

Really Knowing God

You don't really know God until God has been unkind to you. And you still don't really know Him when he's been unkind to you once or twice, but when He's been unkind to you three and four and even five times. That's when you begin to know God.

You really begin to know Him when you have done everything right and God doesn't intervene. I won't say fails to intervene because everyone knows that God doesn't fail. But when He refuses to intervene.

Anyone can say God is good when circumstances are good. But when you say God is good through tears--tears of saying God doesn't feel good. That's when you begin to know that God is good.

When you can no longer see the proof or the evidence of His goodness. When your ears are closed by pain and you can't hear His voice. That's when you begin to know God. That's when you begin to know that He is good, not because it makes sense, but because He is.

The Impatient Rose

Once upon a time, within the stone wall of the castle keep, a garden blossomed into every color imaginable. Roses of yellow, etched in shades of red and gold competed with the sunrise for its glory. Deep reds, pure whites, gentle lavenders grew in abundance. Every shade of pink was present, from the soft pink of a kiss to the deep passion of fuchsia. Tiny forget-me-nots begged to be noticed peeking through a thin covering of green. Morning glories climbed the crevices of the stone wall, pointing their trumpets to the sun in jubilation.

Every day, the royal gardener came and tended the plants. He offered water, trimmed and pruned where needed. And sometimes he sang. Always, he sang about the sun. And when the flowers heard his voice, they raised their heads a little higher sharing the warm rays of the sun.

But in one corner of the garden, a rose had not bloomed. Half hidden by leaves, camouflaged in a green cocoon, the tiny bud waited to be seen. If only the gardener would notice me, thought the little flower as she looked with envy at the other roses on her vine. If only he could help me shed this confining cocoon, then I could be all that I was meant to be.

The gardener did come. He gave water; he trimmed and pruned; he pointed the little bud toward the sun, but the little bud would not open. The little bud showed no color. Ashamed, she hid her face from the sun.

A few more days passed, and still the rose had not opened. She tried. She tried hold her breath till she was nearly purple, but the leaves of her enclosure held fast. She tried stretching and straining and wiggling with all her might. Nothing. So as always, ashamed that the sun would notice she hadn’t bloomed, she hid her face under the leaves. She would not look at the sun.

I can’t do it, the rose cried that night. I just can’t change. And as she fell asleep looking at the other roses in full bloom, she made a plan. I will ask the gardener for help. Then together, we can separate these leaves. And finally I’ll see the color I know is in me somewhere. Finally, I’ll be able to look at the sun without shame.

And so she did. In the morning she made her request. It was humbling to admit she couldn’t do it on her own. The little bud felt as if the thorns on her vine were piercing through to her heart. The gardener will understand. She was certain. Surely, he would help her. And then he would sing about the sun as he always did.

But the gardener refused.
“What?!” asked the little rose in confusion. “Why won’t you help me? Can’s you see I can’t do this on my own?”
The gardener smiled. “Of course you can’t. You weren’t meant to.”
Anger flared in the little rose.
But the gardener continued, “I can’t change you from the a bud to rose any more than you can. If I were to pull apart those leaves, I would tear your petals. You would be small and fragile. You would never grow, and you would soon die.”
Tears filled in the eyes of the tiny rose. It was hopeless.
The gardener smiled, “Only the sun will make you what He intended for you to be. I can water. I can trim and prune. I can point you in the right direction, but only the sun will change you.

And so the gardener did. He watered; he trimmed; he pruned; he pointed the little flower toward the sun. But that was all he did. Soon, the little rose began to bloom. She wasn’t beautiful yet. She wasn’t in full bloom. But slowly she was changing.

Nevertheless

I'm an ignorant brute. ~Ps 73.22

Purpose

I crave purpose.
I want to do something
to be something
to mean something.

I want to rise to the expetations others have imagined for me
To recieve the nod of approval, acceptance
And to know somehow it's enough.

I want to look back on previous years without regret
And towards the future with anticipation.

I want to leave a legacy in flesh and bone.
I want to create a masterpiece that breathes.
I want to touch a life that in time will touch another and in so doing, fulfill a purpose that never dies.

There has to be something more

I know that God is omnipotent. Every time I heard the Jonah story in Sunday School, I heard the application that accompanied it: You can't hide from God. That's pretty amazing. My parents would tell me to think of the biggest thing I could possibly think of it, and my childish mind would stretch it's limits imagining huge oceans and cloud penetrating beanstalks, and they would say: God's even bigger than that. That's pretty amazing. The silly little song lyrics minimize it horribly: God can do anything but fail. But it's still pretty amazing. So now, thinking about it with an adult mind, is God really as big and powerful as we always said? If so (and of course I believe so), why aren't I tapping into that?

I was driving home the other day, my mind as it has been a lot lately, thinking about future plans, decisions, etc. And I asked myself the question: Do you really trust God? I was disturbed by the question. Of course I trust God. I was raised to trust God. I've trusted God a thousand times before. To be honest, trust has become so memorized, I don't know how to not trust God. But if I really had a concept of the enormity of God, would it be possible for me to worry? I'm missing something here.

I guess I've been distracted by trying to get God to fit the mold of my expectation. By wanting God to be present or absent at my convenience. By worshiping a God who is neatly packaged as the invisible motive for my good deeds.

But what if it's all true? What if God really is everything we always said and more. What if he is that big, that powerful, that amazing. What if it were more than just words and we actually believed it? Wouldn't that change something in the way we think, in the way we approach each day, maybe even in our churches?

I guess I'm tired of being satisfied with a God who is nothing more than the figurehead of my faith.

Can we dance?

I stepped into the sanctuary where ceilings rose in majesty, each upward glance increasing in splendor, the golden filigree accentuating every curve, every graceful adornment. Tall narrow windows rose from marble floor to painted ceiling filling the room with the breathless intertwining of light and color.

I stood in the center of the sanctuary, inhaling the beauty surrounding me, and as the evening progressed, I dared to ask the question that had been on my mind all night.

Can we dance?

From somewhere music began to play. From across the room of from within my mind, I cannot tell. Yet I know he also heard it. Angelic refrains joined a rhythm of pure, holy passion. I moved in closer to the one I loved.

And we danced.

As he swept me around the room, he whispered promises in my ear. Promises that stretched the span of time. Promises that came true even before he had finished speaking them. He spoke the words—I love you. And they were not a careless sentiment. The words enveloped the very essence of truth and I knew it was so.

As he took me in his arms, I loved him. As he held me by the hand, I trusted him. As he led me round the room, I followed him. As we danced.

God, can we dance?

John 6

verse 2--And a large crowd was following Him, because they saw the signs that He was doing.

The Lord is my Shepherd.

verse 9--There is a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish, but what are they for so many?

I shall not want.

verse 10--Jesus said, "Have the people sit down," Now there was much grass in the place.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

verse 18--The sea became rough because a strong wind was blowing.

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

verse 20--But He said to them, "It is I; do not be afraid."

He restoreth my soul.

Love

I am baffled when I consider the love of God. Words like steadfast, unconditional, and sacrificial are beyond my comprehension. If our understanding of God's love comes from the experiential knowledge of what we share among ourselves, then none of us can hope to understand. Our human view is imperfect. It falls short.

After all, what is it that every individual longs for, the things in fact that he believes are his deserved right?

• He wants to be understood
• He wants to be loved
• He wants to have something he can trust

Unconditional love, in its purest form, is a willingness to love without being understood. I was thinking about how that desire to be understood is something every single one of us shares, and I had to wonder is there is a single person who is understood. Unconditional love wipes out the what if's--what if I am not understood? What is my love is not returned. What if it's misinterpreted and abused? It was both anguish and comfort to my heart to read John 13 and see that Christ was not understood. Seated in the center of his dearest friends, his most intimate followers, he spoke, but they didn't have a clue what he was saying.

And yet He loved them, knowing they would not-could not understand his love, knowing they could never return his love. That's unconditional.

Steadfast love, in its truest sense, is the determination to love without being loved in return. It's the reciprocation of love that makes love easy that makes it continue indefinitely. But to be steadfast in a love that is not shared? We love the socially accepted, yet He loved the Samaritan. We love those who treat us kindly, yet He loved the Roman soldier. We don't love that way.

And yet he did. In thousands of examples, he loved the very people who despised Him. He continues to. That's steadfast.

Sacrificial love, at its highest point, is a purposeful decision to love someone you do not trust. It has to be a conscious decision; it certainly does not come naturally. I'm trying to think if there is someone who I can say I love even though I do not trust. I don't know if I want to be that honest here. I can tolerate people I don't trust. I can avoid them. I can work along side them, keeping my heart distant. But love them?

And yet, my Jesus did. Knowing he would be rejected, denied, and betrayed, he loved them. That's sacrificial.

I wish I could understand His love so that I would know how to love others. I wish I could understand so that I would know how to love Him.

Psalm 16:11

Someone shared this verse with me yesterday, and I was blessed by it.

Psalm 16:11
You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

I won't comment on it. The verse speaks for itself.

Stagnancy

Ever sit through a convicting message and not been convicted? Ever pick up your Bible with confidence and think things are basically going okay so devotions shouldn't be too "painful" this morning? Ever sung about Christ's death and not been moved? Don't leave me out on a limb by myself. I think we've all been here at some point. Slowly our depravity fades away and we grow complacent in our supposed self-righteousness.

Two verses come to mind. Paraphrased: "let everyone who thinks he stands take heed lest he fall." and "search me O God and know my heart and see if there be any wicked way in me."

I was thinking about this all week. It's not a pleasant thing to have known sin in your life and go through the humbling process of giving it over to God, of confessing it before Him, and if necessary, before others, of letting go of the idols you cling to. Unpleasant as it is, nothing frightens me more than searching my heart and not knowing what sin to confess. I don't want to grow callous towards sin, and I certainly don't want to become stagnant in my Christian walk.

Praise Him! That He who began a good work will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.

I prayed

I prayed, "God give me wisdom."
And He said, "I did. It's there in your hand."
All the wisdom I'll ever need is pressed within this leather cover.

I prayed, "God, teach me."
And He said, "I am. Are you listening?"
I waited for a shout, but he spoke in a still, small voice.

I prayed, "God, make me like You."
And he said, "I will. One day, one truth at a time."
And when I see Him, I shall be like Him.

I prayed, "God, be glorified."
And He smiled.

Black Miracles

When we think of God's hand moving in a miraculous way, we think of the beauty, the earth taking shape at his command. We think of the majesty, mountains and valleys carved out by rushing waters. We think of the sufficiency, a multitude satisfied by one boy's lunch. We think of the joy, a cherished loved one restored to life, a dreaded disease or impairment gone.

But what about the other miracles, black miracles if you will, the miracles that we didn't choose, the miracles that make us question and doubt. Miracles like Joseph being sold into slavery. Like David watching his infant son slip into eternity. Like Paul with a thorn that wouldn't go away.

Sometimes God moves in a miraculous way to do exactly what we didn't want. A lack of finances keeps that dream from becoming a reality. The boyfriend or fiancé that seemed to be God's will calls it off. The friend that was such a spiritual encouragement moves away. The job that was everything thing you ever wanted is no longer yours. The doctor's diagnosis drastically alters your future, crushing hopes and dreams.

None of these events would have taken place without a supernatural intervention form God. Can they be any less miracles? They are the miracles that move beyond our comprehension into the mind of God. And His thoughts are not out thoughts.

But, if we truly believe that all things work together for good, can we be any less thankful for the black miracles?

My Goals

Call them New Year resolutions if you will. I personally don't make New Year resolutions because they've always been a joke with me. I find the guilt trip on every 31st of December inhumane, and making a practice of setting myself up for failure every year seems needless.

I do however believe in setting goals, of making a plan, of evaluating my life in light of areas to change. Maybe that's the same thing as what a New Year resolution is supposed to do, but for me, doing it on a day other than the transition between December and January somehow makes it seem a little less doomed.

Another difference--I'm not looking at the year as a whole. These are my goals for today. Tomorrow, they will be my goals for tomorrow, and as God enables me day by day, I pray they become a habit that will last through the year and then another and another. For now, today will suffice.

• To depend daily on God, to seek Him as my only sustenance from moment to moment, to never stop needing Him (Psalm 63).
• To daily meet with God, to be in his Word that I might know Him, that I might obey Him, that I might grow to be more like Him (2 Timothy 3:16-17).
• To make Him my delight (Psalm 37:4).
• To be obedient in prayer, to learn how to pray according to His will, and to make prayer a discipline in my life (Philippians 4:6).
• To choose daily to be thankful, knowing that when I cease to honor Him and cease to be thankful, it is the turning point away from Him (Romans 1). For me, it's making a literal list of thankfulness and keeping myself accountable in it.
• To submit to the divine authority of those who hold me accountable, to approach accountability with honesty and without preconceived prejudice (Romans 13:1-2; 1 Peter 5:5).
• To honestly ask God to search my heart and point out areas of idolatry and unconfessed sin (Psalm 139:23-24).
• To be sincere in my motives (Colossians 3:23).
• To rest within God's sovereignty (Matthew 11:28-30).

Psalm 37:4

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart”

I have heard this verse quoted a hundred times by people who are seeking to know God’s will. I have heard it as a promise that as a Christian, God will give me what I want. I have even heard it held to desperately by those clinging to the idols of their heart.

“If I…..than God will…..”

—this verse does not justify manipulation!

What’s the difference between the word “delight” and the word “desire?”

• Delight is what makes me happy.
• Desire is what I want.

Should they not be the same thing?

This verse has nothing to do with material gain.
It has nothing to do with getting my way.
It has nothing to do with snaring the guy I want to like me.
It has nothing to do with a promotion.
It has nothing to do with miracle healing.
It has nothing to do with the American dream.

It has everything to do with a promise,
The promise that God is enough,
That He is sufficient,
That all of this really is true just as we were told.

It is possible for Him to satisfy our desire—all of it. And He offers that, not teasingly with the intention of snatching it away the moment He captures out interest. But He gives it, unhindered, unrestrained.

The focus of this verse is not that WE delight in him, but that we delight in HIM. We delight in Him, and He gives us the desire of our heart. Quite simply—He becomes the desire of our heart.

All she could give

As those gathered watched in wonderment,
She slipped into the room.
Her head was bowed in humbled shame
In her hands a small perfume.
Her eyes locked on the Savior's feet;
The murmuring began.
As she fell before Him kneeling,
Pent up tears now freely ran.

All she could give were her tears.
All that remained were the tears.
Forsaking sin and wasted years,
Denying guilt and binding fears,
All she could give were her tears.

As the others scorned her offering,
She wept without restrain.
Her anguish spilt before her Lord
Became a sweet refrain.
Her eyes bent with sorrow
Could not look into His face
Till with undeserved forgiveness,
She found worth within His grace.

All she could give were her tears.
All that remained were the tears.
Forsaking sin and wasted years,
Denying guilt and binding fears,
All she could give were her tears.

Then I the vile offender come
To seek the Savior's face.
My life is filled with shameful sin
Not understanding grace.
Till kneeling there before my God
With nothing left to give,
There through His love and in His strength,
Victorious I live.

All I could give were my tears.
All that remained were the tears.
Forsaking sin and wasted years,
Denying guilt and binding fears,
All I could give were my tears.

All had been given in the blood,
Washed in the all-cleansing flood.
My tears of shame were wiped away,
His grace sufficient for each day.
All had been given in the blood.

Profound, isn't it?

And isn't that to an extent why we write these blogs? To somehow show people that we have something to say to be worthy of our readership?

Maybe I can say something profound. Maybe I can impress people with my word choice, with some new insight that they had never considered. Or the ultimate accomplishment--maybe I will say something so profound that it would actually cause them to add me to their links list!

I am not endeavoring to be profound. Honestly, I can't. Profound has already been done, and it won't be matched. Profound is when I try to understand God's love in terms of the cross. Profound is grace.

So there you have it--simply stated, but in Him, profoundly accomplished.
Him be praised.