Tuesday With Teri

          It was a sunny day wedged between two very rainy days and a forecast for several more thunder filled days, so I decided to head to a local jogging/biking trail.  I like to jog along the Mount Vernon trail.  It passes through many shaded areas and offers great views of the Potomac along the way.   I figured it would be a good place to try to jog a bit farther than I usually do.   For me,running anything beyond 2 miles requires lots of effort physically and mentally.  After a long winter and wet spring, not running on a treadmill would be a treat.   

          While jogging on a manicured trail on a gorgeous day is for the most part a good experience, it did not take long to encounter some of the more difficult aspects of running outside of the gym.  After diligently hydrating myself prior to my run, I found I needed to stop at one of the public facilities along the trail.  Let us just say it closely resembled, in odor and appearance, the elephant house at the zoo. 

          When running outdoors you also encounter variations  to your environment…one minute it may be cool, flat and shady, the next you are climbing a hill in the sweltering  sunlight.  There is also the added enjoyment of spider webs.  I think each of the joggers/bikers who followed me that day owe me a great debt.  I single handedly took down well over 20 spider webs with my face and arms.  There is nothing like the feeling of stringy spider filament adhering to your sweaty face.  By the time I reached mile two I was ready to stop.

         I began the reasoning as I continued to run… “at least I ran two miles”, “I can walk the other miles and it should still count”, “I can run longer next time” and my favorite, “maybe I should wait until I am in better shape”.   I was ready to stop and walk the rest of the way, when my beautiful running buddy came along side me. 

          She swooped in like a super hero from out of the nearby woods.  She was a rather large butterfly with bright yellow wings lined with bold back markings. (I refer to her as a she because, well, to be honest butterflies do not seem very masculine for some reason)  I expected this fragile specimen to flit a bit around the path before moving beyond my sight.  Instead, she settled into a flight pattern alongside my knees.  She kept pace with me as we trounced along for almost a quarter mile.  I marveled that every step I took did not frighten her away.  I kept looking around for other people on the trail alternately hoping someone would come to witness it or that no one come to disturb it.  Eventually, she made one last swoop before my eyes and soared out over the Potomac River. 

          How odd, why would that butterfly fly so close to me for so long?  I was dressed in drab colors and after two humid miles; I did not even remotely smell like a flower.  There was no way she mistook me for a source of nectar.    I kept thinking of my beautiful running buddy and the boldness she showed to travel so close to me on my journey.  That is when I realized, I had jogged much farther while so wonderfully distracted.  I did not even notice another mile had passed.  I scanned the trail for more butterflies, wondered if she followed other runners, and quietly laughed to myself at the thought of what it must have looked like when she flew by my side as if on a leash.  Before I knew it, I was back at my car, my jogging journey finally at an end. 

          Tonight I am thinking of my beautiful running buddy and the power of just being there.  My running buddy did not push me along, hold me up, carry my weight, or make my journey less difficult…my beautiful running buddy was just there.  She did not whisper words of encouragement or say just the right thing at the right time.  She was not everything I needed to accomplish my task, she was just what I needed, something besides myself on which to focus.

          Sometimes we struggle to be the perfect companion for others as we journey through life.  We desire to be friends with just the right words at just the right time.    There are times God just calls us to be there…bravely staying close and quietly allowing others to look beyond themselves.  I am thankful for the many “ beautiful running buddies” God has placed alongside me on my life’s path,  those who have stayed close, shared their lives, and by their quiet presence help me go farther. 

“Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us lay aside every encumbrance, and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race which is set before us.” Hebrews 12:1

          We are attracted to a lack of seams.   We prefer the seams of our garments not be easily visible.  Much anguish has resulted from attempting to hang wallpaper with the seams hidden.  Seamless transitions are always welcome when there is a time for change.

           I can attest to the beauty of seamlessness.  I remember going fishing at night with my mom and dad.   Some nights it would be so dark you could not tell were the black night sky met the darkened bay water.  It made the world before me appear as if it were one huge endless space.  I recall thinking how this was both beautiful and disturbing all at once.  Yes, I can see attraction of seamlessness.  Unfortunately, life itself seldom delivers seamless transitions.

          The pinning together of our youthful years to those of our adulthood is often a jagged and painfully visible “seam”.  I had hoped to transition from being a mother of toddlers to a mom of teenagers with dignity and grace, that “seam” has numerous dangling and tangled threads.  Dare I even mention the inevitable changes that took place when my teens became young adults…yep, more unsightly “seams”.   When friends move away, loved ones pass, or life hands you a new set of circumstances, we try to carry on, and work hard to ease change, and smooth transitions.  We like our life to flow seamlessly.   Lately I have been thinking, maybe we do not need to be avoiding “seams”, after all, God celebrates His seams.

          Take a look around.  Our God does nothing to hide the seams of His creation.  Where the clouds meet the sky…a striking contrast causes awe to those who stop to take it in.  When the suns meets the earth, at dawn or dusk, on land or over water, there is no doubt God is shouting “Hey! Look at this!  Look at My creation!”.  When water meets shoreline, there is always a dynamic effect.  Sometimes it is the whisper of waves lapping; sometimes it is the roar of waves crashing, but it is never unnoticeable.  God shows His seams. 

          Perhaps this is because in the midst of the seams, he shows us His splendor.  Change, transition, contrast and conflict are all a part of life.  It is when we are experiencing such things that we often find ourselves calling out to Him. 

         How much better would it be if, instead of trying to avoid seams, or hide them, we celebrate the place where God brings things together.   It may not be smooth and seamless, but God is crafting us into His plan for our lives   Let us not be discouraged by transition, conflict, contrast or change, for it may in the midst of this that God is revealing His glory! 

For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ. ( Phil. 1:6)

Let’s Celebrate the Seams!

          Okay, so this was to be posted last Tuesday.  I think every now and then, and those who know me may say more often than that, I succumb to my own inattentiveness.  This  week was filled with many life lesson moments and to be honest I struggled with where to begin.  I had failed to figure it out by Tuesday and  by Thursday I realized I could not let this week post be about anything but moms, mother’s day was around the corner.  Again, when it comes to moms there is just so much to choose form.  When faced with this task I did what every self respecting writer would do…nothing.  Yep, instead of stopping to focus and contemplate what God may have been laying on my heart, I just avoided my computer.

          All this is to explain why I find myself at my computer on a Saturday, determined to write a thoughtful, God inspired, blog post in time to honor moms.  I am beyond blessed in the category of “moms”.   My sister once rightly reminded me that we would do well to be even half the woman our mother is.  She has always been not just “there” for us, but she is the single most important influence on my relationship with my savior.  It was she who made sure I was in church growing up, exposed to the truth of God’s Word.  It was her example of how to live that I emulate and it is her resilience that to this day both humbles and inspires me.  I am doubly blessed with a mother-in-law who graciously loves me at a level no one deserves.  She is my champion and encourager.  I have never once felt like I was just an “addition” to their family, but a fully fledged, unconditionally loved member.  Both of these remarkable ladies have had decidedly diverse life journeys, yet both of them are examples of God’s grace to us all.

          I was looking for scripture that spoke of the strength and value of such moms when I found Proverbs 14.  Not only did I find a great verse, but I found a hilarious tid bit that will stick with me for years, as I hope it does you as well.

“A woman’s house is held together by her wisdom, but it can be destroyed by her foolishness.” Proverbs 14:1(CEV)

          What a humbling reminder that as women we can, by God’s grace, impact our family for generations, yet in our own strength, “foolishness”, we can cause those bonds to crumble.   My mom and mother-in-law are definitely wise.

         After reading this I began to read further down Proverbs 14.  I am thinking I am done with what God wants me to share, but I am wrong.   I laugh even as I write this of the gem God placed there for me today.  Proverbs 14:4 says,

 “Where there are no oxen, the manger is clean, but much increase comes by the strength of the ox.” 

          Yep, as one commentary interpreted this, “there is no milk without manure”!   What a relief!  I must admit that after reading the value of a woman’s wisdom to her home, and the consequence of her foolishness, I felt a bit of pressure.  As a mother and wife I am often more foolish than wise it seems.  It is a relief to know that it is when life is “messy,” and the manger far from clean, that growth and accomplishment take place. 

I pray you have a blessed Mother’s Day.  Honor the moms in your life and embrace the manure that comes with living out life. 

 He is Lord of all!

          Two years ago I gave my friends Amaryllis bulb kits for Christmas.  I even blogged about the experience and called it the Amaryllis Project.  It was amazing any of the plants  lived, let alone bloomed, given the difficult start I gave them.  It was so much fun hearing from my friends as they encountered various degrees of success with the plants, some even sending picture updates to my phone.   I decided to do it again this year.  Just as the year before, some grew and flowered, some poked through the soil but never bloomed, and some never made it out of bulb stage(or out of the packaging).  I had not thought of those plants since Christmas, that is until I got a call from one of my friends yesterday.

          She called to share the amazing sight found in her garage.  There on a shelf, where she had set both dormant bulbs and their containers, where small growing plants.  Yep, both where beginning to grow once more.  Neither of them had been in the light or given water for months.  One of the bulbs was from the year before and had not been tended to for over a year!  Yet there they were, pushing through dry soil and displaying unexpected life. 

          I can’t help but think of all the times I have been unsuccessful in keeping plants or flowers alive, yet here were two plants doing their best to exist without anyone’s care.  My friend pointed out what a great reminder they are that it does not matter what man does, ultimately life is in God’s control.

         I think if I had been my friend I would have just tossed the plants as soon as they looked dead and dried up. Sometimes we are quick to give up on ourselves in much the same way, but God sees deeper.  He sees the redeemable “bulb” of life He placed in each of us.

           These bulbs may have been forgotten and left unattended, but God restored and redeemed them.  I too have found myself in need of this same redemption.  At times I neglect my walk with my God, fail to nourish my heart with His Word, bury my sin and fade into the crowd around me.   Sometimes we feel like we are far away from Him, forgotten and lost under the weight of our life choices, but we have a God who seeks to redeem us.  God desires to bring us back from the depths of our sin just as he has unearthed these Amaryllis plants, and just as Christ rose beyond death so that we can be redeemed.

“For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all men, instructing us to deny ungodliness and worldly desires and to live sensibly, righteously and godly in the present age, looking for the blessed appearing of the glory of our God and Savior, Jesus Christ; who gave Himself for us that He might REDEEM us…”                    Titus 3: 13 & 14

“for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, being justified as a gift by His grace through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus.” Romans 3:23

          Okay, so it wasn’t quite the reenactment of the last super, but something about dinner last night just has me thinking about it.  Throughout the year my friends and I get together to celebrate birthdays.  We’ve done for it for years and now it is made even more special as we are often joined by some of our now adult daughters.  This night we were a table for 11 and as I surveyed the scene before me began to wonder about the final meal Jesus shared with His disciples. 

          As we piled into cars like school kids in route to a field trip, I wondered which of His disciples kept track of where everyone was and made sure they all reached their destination.   In our small group there are always some who are early, some who are just in time, and some who are late.  I wonder which of the disciples stood waiting for the others and which scurried to meet up with the group after a busy day at work?

          Each dinner someone takes on the responsibility to organize us.  She will coordinate our schedules, make reservations, and in general herd us like cats until we finally have a date, time and place to meet.  As I looked down the table at my dear friend who had gathered us together this night and had not only made arrangements for us, but also provided snacks for our drive into the city, I wondered which of the disciples took care of such details for Jesus.  He instructed His disciples where to go to begin preparations for their Passover meal, but which of them took the lead in making preparations.  Surely, one of the disciples had a gift of organization and planning, there is at least one in every group of friends.

          There we were, 11 ladies sitting around the dinner table,excited to have this time together.  Within minutes of settling into our seats and receiving our glasses of water, one was knocked over.  This is a common occurrence at our dinners for some reason, I was glad it was not me this time. I overheard the daughters mentioning how eating out with us moms is maybe good preparation for dealing with kids at mealtime.  I wondered what mishaps the disciples encountered that fateful night at their table.   As we scrambled to stop the flow of ice water with napkins too fancy to effectively absorb anything, I can’t help but picture Peter knocking over his cup as he gestured wildly while recounting the story of the time he walked on water with Jesus.  Maybe Matthew flew into action to sop up the spilt beverage with the edge of his robe, perhaps the others scrambled to their feet to avoid getting wet.  I know there is no Biblical account of such an event, but for those of us who frequently eat in small groups with friends it seems likely there was at least one mishap.

            We were so excited to be together in one place and time that the conversations quickly began to flow.   Sitting around a long table makes it necessary for numerous conversations to be going on simultaneously which  can best be described as conversation chaos.   One end of the table was intently gathering their heads together to better hear one another as they discussed Bible studies, family, and anything else that was affecting their days.  The other end of the table, comprised mainly of the young adult daughters, told stories of recent trips, reminisced about growing up as youth together, and the changes and challenges they each faced as young married ladies.  Those seated in the middle section of the table would alternately lean to either end of the table to hear what was being shared, as well as carrying on their own conversation with those across from them.  I wonder if the disciples had similar conversation dynamics.   Did those at one end of the table wonder what the others at the far end of table were laughing about?  Did those in the center strain to hear what was being shared at each end of the table? 

          Though I am normally busy talking the ear off my friends, this night I stopped often and simply looked around the table.  I love these ladies.  We are all so different and yet we each meet one another’s needs in our relationships.  These are the women who have laughed often and loud with me, cried with me, hurt with me, encouraged me and listened to me.  We have shared a lot of life.  We have seen our children through their teen years together, endured loss of loved ones, career transitions, serving in church together and growing up in general.  Though their time together was short no doubt the disciples lived a lot of life together.  They traveled great distances, learned, and served together.  I imagine there were many nights they sat together around a fire or at a table and shared their personal stories with each other.  I wonder if at some point during that last supper, if some of the men did not also take in their surroundings and consider their love for those around that table. 

          I wondered last night how hard it would be if one of us had stood and spoke of “going away”.   My heart would break even if I could understand the need for the departure.  I would hang onto every word of promise of their return, I would immediately begin to plan how we could stay in touch…there would be a lot of tears.

          Though I cannot completely imagine the emotions of the disciples in that final supper,  I am reminded of the weight of their impending loss.  Sometimes in my hurry to celebrate the resurrection of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, I forget to contemplate the emotional and physical pain that had to take place for my redemption.   Today my heart aches at the thought of such loss, it is a time to mourn…but  PRAISE BE TO GOD,  we can face this sorrow knowing the time to celebrate is soon!

(I apologize to those who have read this before, but I can’t help but repost this each Easter)

          I’ve lost track of how many years ago it was, yet each Spring I can’t help but recall my introduction to Abigail.  I was a high school science/Bible teacher for a small Christian school at the time. One of my students was a football sized young man named Nick.  He worked for a local farmer who had offered him a young lamb to take home.  Nick’s mom, apparently destined for sainthood, not only allowed him to bring the lamb home, but he got to keep it in his room!  Early that Spring Nick brought photos to share.  To my amazement, there, wedged beside his bed and amid typical teenage squalor, was a carefully built pen, complete with wood rails, chicken wire and hay.  Abigail the lamb had found a perfect home.  Over the next few weeks Nick would have numerous stories to tell of Abigail’s antics.  I couldn’t wait to see her for myself, so I invited Nick to bring her to school one morning.

          I ushered my entire class outside and we waited like giddy preschoolers for Abigail’s arrival.  I am certain I will never be able to adequately describe what I saw that day.  I will do my best.  We watched as Nick emerged from his vehicle with Abigail cradled in his big burly arms.  We stood transfixed by the sight of what can only be inadequately referred to as “precious”.  Her pure, white coat seemed almost translucent, radiating light under the bright blue, cloudless sky.   Her tiny nose was a perfect, pink velvet triangle perched just above her little pink mouth.    As I placed my hand on her sweet little head she looked at me.  I found myself staring into the depths of clear, brilliant blue eyes.  I realized I had been holding my breath in awe.  We were expecting to see a cute lamb, somewhat off white in color.  I had not considered that, unlike the lambs at the local petting zoo, Abigail had been living in a clean, loving, environment.  After everyone had made Abigail’s acquaintance, Nick left to return her home.  The students talked excitedly about how perfect she was as we settled back into Bible class.

          We soon realized the relevance of Abigail’s visit as we continued our study of Passover.  The original Passover took place when Moses was leading the Israelites out of Egypt.  God instructed them to mark their door post with the blood of a male lamb.  This was to protect them from the final plague which was the death of all first born in any home not so protected. (Exodus 11&12)  The yearly commemoration of this event required the father to select the best, blemish free lamb and set it apart for the Passover…many days prior to the celebration. 

          My students and I began to consider something quite startling.  There was a good chance that the lamb would have been brought into the house or yard during that time.  This perfect little lamb, probably as pure white, precious and sweet as our Abigail, may have clamored under their feet while they did chores, fed out of their hands and shared a living area.  After four days, this lamb, which by now had become even more precious to the family, was to be sacrificed.  

          Suddenly one can imagine the cries of the children, the quite sob of their mother and the sorrow in the eyes of the father who knows a blood sacrifice is required.   For the first time, since meeting Abigail, we could truly envision the “sacrificial lamb” of the Scriptures.

          The continued observance of Passover was a powerful object lesson for generations of Israelites.  Every family member would be reminded not only of God’s protection and provision when He freed them from slavery, but also of the cost…the blood of their most precious lamb.  This Easter we consider the final sacrifice.  Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, perfect and precious beyond description, was sacrificed for our sin.  Many movies and videos have stirred the heart of man as they depict the brutal crucifixion of our Christ, yet none can compare to the vision of Abigail. 

          As we celebrate our freedom from sin and death through the resurrection of our Lord, let’s never forget the cost.  Praise God His love and grace make us worthy of such a sacrifice!

 “knowing that you were not redeemed with perishable things like silver or gold…

but with precious blood, as a lamb unblemished and spotless, the blood of Christ.” 1 Peter 1:18-19

          Last Saturday was a day of learning some very good lessons, the very hard way.  My husband and I had taken our boat to a local marina to meet up with some friends for our annual boat safety inspections.   We spent a wonderful morning hanging out at the dock while awaiting the safety inspector to tour each boat.   It was a chilly day and as the last boat was inspected, we decided to return to our marina.  The sun had given up trying to shine and a cold rain had just dowsed the area as we began to depart.  

          Since my husband pilots our boat, it is my job as first mate to handle the lines and fenders used in docking.  I was on the side of our 48 Silverton ready to catch the lines tossed to me by those on the dock when things went a little crazy.  Those in various vantage points would probably describe what happened next differently, but we all agree it was in slow motion.

(As a bit of a disclaimer, I’d like to re-mention it was very cold and wet that day.  My hands were cold from untying dock lines and all surfaces were slick.  But feel free to judge my lack of gracefulness.)

          Apparently, and I yield to my friends on the dock on this point since I have no recollection of how I managed to do it, I missed one of the steps on the upper edge of the boat’s side.  All I recall was realizing I no longer had my head over my feet and that I was going over the side of the boat.  I tried desperately to grasp the slippery rail and line.  For an instant, I thought I could redeem the moment and save myself, just for an instant.   I don’t recall much about the 4 ft. drop into the 45 degree Potomac River.  My husband did not see it, but from the flybridge heard the splash and saw and heard the gasps of all those on the dock.  All he could do was maneuver the boat safely away from me.   Yep, there I was, upside down underwater and actually thinking, “at least there is no ice.” and of course, “well, this is embarrassing”.

          Meanwhile up on the dock, my friends were readying to help.  Jorge had already discarded cell phone and keys ready to jump in after me, Nanny and Dianna collected towels and Richard was at the ladder.   It was only seconds before I bobbed to the surface, but it felt like a scene from the Titanic.  Immediately before me, I saw the ladder attached to the dock and began to swim.  By the time I got to the ladder it took great effort to get up the first few rungs.  My hands were cold and beside my own weight, I now carried half the Potomac in my jacket pockets.  Thankfully, Jorge and Richard were at the ladder.  I looked up and saw two strong hands stretching toward me and heard them yelling for me to take their hands. I told myself, I can do this, and almost declined their offer, then I thought how nice it would be to be on the dry dock and I grabbed hold.  The next thing I knew, I was standing on the dock, dripping wet and engulfed in numerous towels and in Nanny’s tight bear hug.   What an exciting day!  Okay, it was a bit scary, for all of us.  But the good news is everyone is safe and there were plenty of lessons learned.  These last few days I feel God continues to press some of these lessons even deeper into my heart.

Lesson #1   You cannot save yourself when you get out over the edge.  Yep, maybe if I had been stronger, maybe if it had not been freezing cold and wet, maybe if I had super sticky feet like Spiderman, I could have avoided falling.  However, there does come a time when we must give in to the fall while expecting to get back up.  There is a point in life when our energy is better spent on redemption and recovering instead of defying and denying.

Lesson #2    If you’re going to fall, and especially if you’re going to fall in a spectacular way, it is always best to do so in front of friends!   Often we wish no one could see us fall, but trust me, I was thankful to have dear friends nearby ready to call me to safety, lift me up, surround and hold me till I could stand on my own once more.   Of course, when the shock and fear wear off…this may take a while since it was such a serious event, but it will….no doubt I will endure a bit of laughter over my graceful personal polar plunge, but it will be worth it.  Never be afraid to fall, just be sure to do it when your friends are looking.

Lesson # 3   When someone offers you their hand, take it.  I can’t believe my hesitation, if only for a moment, in grasping my friends’ outstretched hands.  If someone is willing to help you, even if you think you can do it alone, take the help.  God provides hands of friends, family and even strangers to make your journey easier, safer, quicker, better.

I will not forget the lessons learned that day, but even more…I am mindful of how blessed I am to have learned these lessons with minimal cost and am reminded of the blessings that come with having friends with big hearts, quick minds and strong hands.

“Behold, I will do something new, Now it will spring forth; Will you not be aware of it?  I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, Rivers in the Desert.”  Isaiah 43:19

          My sister shared this scripture with me at a difficult time in my life.  Not only was I without a job, but I was unsettled about what type of job I should even be looking for.  I clung to this Word every day.  I wrote it on a scrap of paper and taped it to my bathroom mirror, never thinking how long it would stay there.  I did eventually find a job, and even affirmed God’s calling in my life at the time, but I did not take the verse down.  It stayed on the mirror until we moved out of that house.

          At the time I placed it on that mirror, I did so to remind me to have faith and trust God.  Later those same words would serve to remind me each day that not only does God provide, but He also works in ways far beyond our expectations…I mean, “rivers in a desert”, who would have thought that possible?

          It’s been years since I have had to see that soggy, crumpled, hairspray coated piece of paper in the mirror each morning.  Today, I cannot stop thinking about it.  In our home group we are learning of a place called En Gedi.

          En Gedi is nestled between the western shore of the Dead Sea and the eastern edge of Judea Wilderness.  It is surrounded by dry, barren land.  From rainfall miles away in the mountains of Judea, underground water flows all the way to this surprising oasis.  Water gushes forth from rock and changes everything.  At  En Gedi there is abundant wildlife.  At En Gedi, travelers can find shade and refreshment.

           I like to imagine the glorious surprise this must be to those who are weary and thirsty in the desert.  I think I can imagine it.  I have known deserts, time in life when I felt at a loss, weary, fruitless, aimless, confused, and scared or alone…I have also known God’s provision.  I have seen Him work in my life in ways only He could have.   I have felt His peace in my heart when my situation was far from peaceful.  I have felt the sweet relief of His forgiveness each time I return to Him broken from my own attempts in life.  I know I have a God who will provide  a “roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the desert”…and yet…some days I sit in a desert, not even looking for His provision.   

          I think today I will rewrite that scripture on a piece of paper and once again tape it to my bathroom mirror.  Every day is a good day to remember, our God WILL provide and our God is able to provide beyond our expectation!

          Today felt like spring!  The smell of wet grass rose to the air as the sun began to warm the rain soaked ground.  The wind subsided making the sun’s warm rays much easier to feel on our skin as we ventured out in short sleeves without sweaters or jackets.  The tufts of green leaves marking the spot where tulips and daffodils will soon bloom finally showed their buds, some even unfolding brightly colored petals.  The yard is dotted with tiny holes dug by squirrels retrieving their buried treasures.  Perhaps the most notable indication of the presence of spring is the activity of the birds.

          The sound of chirping birds has been steadily increasing over the last few weeks.  The persistent pounding of woodpeckers echoes from distant trees.  We have a large Spruce in our front yard that has served as a home for several cardinal families through the years.  Today I saw them flitting about its branches once again.  Yep, definitely springish out there today.  However, I was taken aback by one particular sign of this season, a bird’s nest forming in a very unusual place.

          Last fall we experienced an owl encounter of the weird kind.  It began with a loud crash on our front porch.  We raced to the door and flung it open just in time to see a large owl standing before us on the ground, dinner in his mouth, and then he flew away.  Upon further inspection, we noticed the glass globe around one of our two porch lights had a rather large hole in it and shards of glass scattered below.  Apparently, in his haste to capture his fast flying prey, the owl collided with our porch light.  The light still worked so I put off repairing the broken globe over the winter.  The hole in its side made changing the light bulb much easier, I reasoned.  But apparently it also made it easier for birds to fit into as well.

          I stepped to our front window this morning to look out at the early sun and found myself startled by activity in the porch light globe.  I stood frozen in place, not wanting to disturb the activity.  I watched in amazement as two small wrens busied themselves stuffing dried leaves and sticks into the small opening.  Within minutes, they had amassed enough bedding to fill the globe and form a nifty little nest just under the glowing light bulb.

          Although I will need to keep the light off to give them a safe home, I like the idea of them being there.  I like that something shattered, deemed broken and even neglected, has become a place of restoration, new life, and hope. 

          We are like that porch light I think.  We are broken.  Sometimes we dwell on our brokenness and the world might even encourage us to think we are not redeemable…But not our God.

          Just as those birds took our broken light and turned it into a place of hope and renewal, so God takes our lives and transforms us from broken and lost, to whole and found in Him. 

“Therefore if any man is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold new things have come. …God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them…”  2 Corinthians 5:17-21

          It is that time of the year again!  That time when sweet little girls in spring colored uniforms launch an assault  on the American people.  I am not referring to the annual selling of Girl Scout cookies.  In fact, I do not think poorly of those various young ladies (and their well intentioned, co-conspiring parents).  When they approach me with order forms,  I gladly lend my support and dutifully purchase a box or two.  No, the “assault” of which I speak is what I like to call The Girl Scout Cookie Gauntlet.

          These Girls Scout Cookie Gauntlets usually form toward the end of the general cookie sales drive.   No longer seeking orders from the ranks of family, friends, or coworkers, these cookie tauters expand their sales effort to include cash and carry to the public.   Tables stacked with numerous cookie boxes and flanked by energetic Girl Scouts, line the entrance and exit of almost every shopping establishment in town.  “Would you like to buy a box?” the sweet cherub faced peddlers call out to shoppers.  Seeing them as I enter a store fills me with dread.  My world becomes a swirl of conflict and guilt.

          As I complete my shopping endeavor I know I must pass through this tempting Girl Scout Cookie Gauntlet to get safely to my car.  I don’t want to ignore them.  I don’t wish to discourage them.  I hate to look into their precious pleading eyes.  I especially hate to get eye contact with their accompanying parents, as I know they will most likely end up purchasing all unsold boxes.  BUT…I also know I don’t need any more cookies.  I can’t afford to buy boxes at every Girl Scout Cookie Gauntlet I pass through.  My wallet and my waistline will be negatively impacted.

          Each year I try to control my Girl Scout Cookie consumption.  Since I have an established track record of consuming everything sweet that enters my home, my best defense is to reduce the number I actually take home.  My latest efforts lead me to purchase only one box for our home and donate any additional  boxes instead.  I thought I had this licked….that was before THE GAUNTLETS.

          It is not their fault.  Those well-intentioned Girl Scouts could not possibly comprehend just how much they are asking of me when they utter those innocent words, “Would you like to buy a box?”  They only know they need to reduce the number of boxes currently in their possession.  They only know they want to meet a specific goal. They only know they need our support. 

          They do not know that what they are really asking me to do is to risk my health.  They do not understand the emotional conflict I torture myself with trying to decide if I should say “yes” to them and “no” to my diet.  They could not know the hardship imposed by having a box of unopened Girl Scout Cookies taunting you from the cupboard. 

          I realize I am exaggerating a bit of course.  However, after successfully passing through three such gauntlets in a single day, I could not help but consider how often I ask for something without comprehending the impact of my request. 

          In the days prior to His crucifixion, Jesus entered the city of Jerusalem on the back of a donkey.  The multitudes lined his path with coats and branches of palm.  They cried out Hosanna, Hosanna!  This means save us, or save now.  They did not know, they could not have comprehended I imagine, that what they were asking for…being “saved”, would require the death of the one they now hailed as royalty.  They did not know what they were asking of Him.  They only knew they needed saving.

          I too need saving.  I have cried out to my God for forgiveness of my sins.  I am forgiven ONLY because of God’s grace.  I do not get what I deserve, but instead, because of the death and resurrection of Christ, I have forgiveness. 

 It is too easy to forget the enormity of what I asked for when I asked God to forgive me…it is easy to forget because God gives grace so freely, He only desires us to believe.

“…confess with your mouth Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised Him from the dead, you shall be saved.”  Romans 10:9