Charles Spurgeon Devotional

Why do we work so hard to make complicated what is simple?  I read a devotional by Charles Spurgeon this morning and it excited my heart. I've typed it out at the end of this post so you can read it, but the gist of the message is, Jesus loves me.

I'm going to CBS (Community Bible Study) this year, and we're just finishing up a study on the book of Hebrews.  So the question asked us to write out some differences between the covenant of the Old Testament and that of the New Testament.  Of course one of the differences is that the priests of the old covenant had to offer sacrifices repeatedly for sins.  Jesus, on the other hand, offered one sacrifice, Himself, for all sins for all time.  And somehow the words came out of my own mouth to add to the discussion, "It's done.  He has done the work."

How obvious is that?  How many times have I heard that before?  How many years have I taken communion to celebrate that very truth?  And yet when I said it aloud last week, it hit me anew.  It's done.  He has done all the work.  There is nothing left I can contribute to the relationship, except to rejoice and love Him.


How is it that we manage to make this simple, glorious thing hard and burdensome?  I don't memorize verses. (Bad!) I don't pray enough. (Bad!) I don't wake early to have regular quiet times. (Bad!) I am not in a small group.  (Bad!) I am not involved in Christian ministry. (Bad!) I don't share the gospel enough. (Bad!) I don't give time to the prison ministry.  (Bad!)  I don't tutor underprivileged children.  (Bad!)  I don't visit nursing homes. (Bad!)  I overeat. (Bad!) I under-exercise.  (Bad!)  I drink Diet Coke. (Bad!) I eat sugar. (Bad!)  I don't give enough money. (Bad!) I don't keep a budget.  (Bad!) I do use credit cards. (Bad!) I like Harry Potter.  (Bad!)  I listen to deep theological types and I come to understand how deficient I am in my understanding of God, yet my obdurate heart refuses to yield to any broader understanding.  I remain common and stupid. (Bad.)

STOP.  Please stop.  It is finished.  HE has done the work.  Let us rejoice and love Him.

I reread a post I wrote last July called "Beauty."  Wow, was it good! (Did I write that?)  You should go read it!  ;-)  But I ended it with a challenge: do I dare to believe how He loves me?  It will change my life if I allow myself to believe it.  He loves me and He has done all the work to make a way for me to be with Him.  Dare I believe it?  Because that's the whole enchilada.  That's what it's all about.  It's not about how I love Him, it's about how He has loved me. And it's not about how others love Him, it's about how He loves them. If I understand that, everything else, my love for Him, my actions, my understanding, my love for others, will all fall into place of its own accord.

Our pastor, Bob Shirock, spoke on a similar theme this morning at church. One thing he talked about was how we Christians have a well-deserved reputation in the world as harsh, condemning and unloving.  We're known more for what we oppose than Who we support.  As a result, the unchurched of the world have less a problem with Jesus Himself than they do with His people.  (After you read my post, you should go listen to Bob's teaching: oakpointe.org, teaching from February 5, 2012.)

But I would take it even one step further:  not only do we Christians beat up unbelievers, we beat each other up just as soundly.  I'm a believer, and I find Christians hard to be around.  Of course I have Christian friends, a hand chosen, rather select group.  But, sadly, for better or for worse, I've been much happier since I've learned to steer clear of Christians when they collect en masse.

One step further yet?  Many of us beat ourselves up!  What does that tell the world about the attractiveness of Christ?

Where am I going with this? I am only trying to say that all this mess falls away when we remember, it is done.  He has done it all.  Let us celebrate HIM wholly, forget ourselves, and more importantly, forget passing judgment on others.  Again, it's not about how I love Him.  It's all about how He has loved me, and how He continues to love me everyday.

Here is Charles Spurgeon's devotional.  It is wonderful.  Take the time to read it!

The love of the Lord.  ~ Hosea 3:1

Believer, look back through all your experiences and think of the ways in which the Lord your God has led you in the wilderness -- how He has fed and clothed you every day; how He has tolerated your bad manners, put up with all your grumbling and all your longings after Egypt's pot of meat; how He has opened the rock to supply you, and fed you with manna from heaven.  Think of how His grace has been sufficient for you in all your troubles -- how His blood has been a pardon for you in all your sins, how His rod and His staff have comforted you.  When you have thus looked back on the love of the Lord, then let faith survey His love in the future, for remember that Christ's covenant and blood have something more in them than the past.  He who has loved you and pardoned you will never cease to love and pardon.  He is Alpha, and He will be Omega also.  He is first, and He will be last.  Therefore, remember, when you pass through the "valley of the shadow of death" (Ps. 23:4), you need fear no evil, for He is with you.  When you stand in the cold floods of the Jordan, you do not need to fear, for death cannot separate you from His love.  When you come into the mysteries of eternity, you do not need to tremble, "for I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels nor principalities, nor powers nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Rom. 8:38-39).  Now, soul, is your love not refreshed?  Does this Scripture not make you love Jesus?  Does a flight through the unlimited plains of heavenly love not inflame your heart and compel you to delight yourself in the Lord your God?  Surely as we meditate on "the love of the Lord," our hearts burn within us, and we long to love Him more.

Superbowl Party 2012

Today is the third annual mega-blast-your-socks-off Superbowl Party, known galaxy-wide for fun, adventure and excitement.  Are we ready? YEAH! Are we pumped? YEAH! Are we going to party like we're still 17??? YYYYEEEAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Hm.

I'm not a partier.  I am the quintessential homebody.  I even love to vacation at home with and only with my very favorite peeps.  So today is a stressful one for me.  I can't let on though.  Gotta keep up the game day face.

There's an irony here in that before I was a believer, my moral scruples wouldn't allow me to party.  I just couldn't find anything alluring about the whole scene.  Girls dressed to impress, standing packed shoulder to shoulder in a small room, music too loud to talk (by design), drinking until their minds were glazed over, the only possible activities being to dance or to hook up with a guy. 

Besides the scruples though, maybe I was also just a bit of a nerdy snob.  I didn't feel like partying was very classy.  Not that I was outwardly classy in the least.  I could've used way more class in the way I dressed and made myself up. (Still could!)  But inwardly I felt like partying was beneath me.

So now I am a believer, which alone should keep me out of the party scene.  Added to that, I am a 49-year-old mother of four children!  It is CRAZY that now, NOW, I enter the party scene with a fury, as if to make up for lost time.

Okay, not to beat a dead horse or continue the melancholy tone of the past couple posts unnecessarily, but this is part of what has me a little blue about the kids growing up.  I'm afraid this is what I'm left with.  Partying with T and company for the rest of my days.  Don't look, I'm crying.

Now, to be clear, there will be, of course, no women hooking up with guys at this party.  And the women at this party will all be very tastefully dressed.  I have come to know most of these people well enough to genuinely like them, even care for them a lot.  I enjoy them.  In fact, some of them are my very favorite people.

It's only that I hugely prefer more intimate gatherings of two or three couples at a time, as opposed to the big party scene where everyone talks to everyone about nothing all night.  By about 10 or 11, I've totally run out of nothing to talk about.

Now, T's nothings are very fun.  He can talk about nothing all night with everyone, and keep everyone in enchanted.  He's in his glory as long as there's nothing to talk about and lots of people to say nothing to.

So don't mind me.  I'm just a little pouty today.  I'll report back after the party and tell you all about it, and I'll probably be able to report that I had a much better time than I expected to, as is usually the case.

~ By the way, the careful observer will note that there is no Superbowl game today, only the party. The organizers of Superbowl parties across the country have a bone to pick with the organizers of Superbowl games, I understand, which are always scheduled for Sunday nights. Who can properly party on a Sunday night? So this year the party is scheduled for the Saturday night before the actual game, testament to the expectation that attendees of this party will be in no condition to be up early for work the next day.  It is also a comical statement about the role the actual Superbowl game plays at a Superbowl party. ~

****************

12:41 a.m. Sunday

I'm back from the party.  Yes, it was actually a lot of fun.  I, also, am getting better at saying nothing to lots of people for long periods of time and finding genuine merriment in the process.

I have stumbled on a simple truth that may help me navigate these stormy waters in the future, which is this:  once I am happy with what I'm going to wear to the party, the prospect of actually going to the party becomes a much cheerier thought.  Today I realized that most of my dismal attitude was due to the fact that I didn't have the right coat to wear, and I didn't have the right necklace to wear with the turtleneck that I'd decided I needed to wear.  It was going to be an outdoor party, if you can believe that, notwithstanding the February date.  In previous years this warranted my lovely, long down coat, boots, scarves, mittens and a hat.  (This party is a yearly tradition.) But this year our February has brought us sun and 42 degrees, and my lighter weight coat wasn't going to fit comfortably over the cute fleece vest I needed to wear over said turtleneck.  [Um, no, I don't think it was because I've gained 40 pounds since I bought that coat.  Definitely, it was that poofy fleece vest that caused all the trouble.]

A quick trip to Kohl's for a piece of costume jewelry and a clearanced coat turned the tables completely.  T was a very good sport about the new coat too.  He kept my secret that I'd actually been so silly as to buy a new coat because of the party, and even told me it looked cute.  =)

Moral scruples, my eye.  You didn't actually buy that, did you?

Off to bed.  Sweet dreams!

Cutting Ties

My precious mother-in-law finally cut ties with her employer a short time ago.  She toyed with retirement off and on for years, reducing her hours, then getting bored at home and taking on more hours again.  Then she'd get exhausted from the extra hours and reduce her hours again;  she'd get bored at home again and go back.  Then she had several bouts of sickness in one form or another and would decide it was time to quit altogether; then she'd worry about money and go back.  Finally, finally, finally she pulled the trigger and retired.  They had a big party for her and clapped her off the floor (she worked in a hospital) -- so sweet.  She was very popular there.

But the problem of boredom at home was not going to go away.  So for Christmas, T and I invested in an oil painting class for her, along with all the requisite materials.  She had mentioned once that she took an oil painting class decades ago and loved it, but would never go back to painting because it was just too expensive.  The gift was an enormous success, and she's spending hours upon hours painting at home, along with the weekly three hour class.

Now the 6-week class is coming to an end and the question of whether to sign up for the next session is upon us.  She loves to paint, but doesn't feel she really needs the expensive class.  But our goal was to get her out of the house with other people, as well as indulge a personal interest, so we definitely want her to continue.

A couple days ago she stopped by and as we were discussing it she said, "But what am I going to do with all these paintings?  Just pile them up in my basement?"  She was suggesting she should STOP DOING THIS THING SHE LOVES, just because it served no practical purpose!  From my perspective, that's crazy!  I told her, C'mon! You've worked all these years and haven't had the time or energy for hobbies or personal interests.  Now is the time to do what you enjoy simply because you enjoy it!  So, yes, display the ones you love most, and the rest can absolutely pile up in the basement!

I think it was God who reminded me of this conversation even yesterday as I ventured back into blog-land again after a long hiatus.  The same thoughts went through my head: why should I do this?  It serves no purpose, makes no money, is stupid, self-indulgent and potentially embarrassing.  But I enjoy it.  That's all.  It gives me inexplicable joy to write out my thoughts.  So I should do it for the same reason my mother-in-law should paint, and I'll let the thoughts just pile up in the basement along with her paintings! =)

And yesterday posting that blog entry helped me sort out the war of emotion in my heart.  I did pray after I wrote that post about our friend and the dance scholarship, and God helped me see the root of the problem, as He always does.  That's fodder for another post, but I feel much more at peace with the situation now.

...

Okay, well, heaven forbid I should ever shut up in a timely manner.  The root of the problem had to do with changes in the emotional support structure of my life that have crept up on me over these past years.  When that first baby was born, my whole world blossomed.  I didn't even know happiness or joy or love before compared to the happiness and joy that baby gave me.  And then I had three more.  I loved loving those kids.  All these years since, my whole world has revolved around loving those kids and loving to love those kids.  They have been my happiness.

(Of course you know I'm painting with a very broad brush here.  There was plenty of stress and exhaustion mixed in the picture, plenty of crabby moments and crabby days.  But the overarching theme was...I loved loving those kids.)

Things are changing now.  My older two are off to college, the oldest on the verge of graduating from college and entering the real world as a full-fledged adult.  And the younger two are full-blown teenagers, with all the hormonal upheaval that entails.  So, my oldest, a son, is a pretty typical young man.   He's good to me and kind and calls me regularly because it's important to me that he stay in touch.  But emotionally, he's severed ties in a lot of ways.  He doesn't need me anymore in the way he used to.  He has his life and his friends; there is a dynamic there that I have no part in.

I peeked at his facebook pictures the other day through my daughter's facebook page which was left open.  Actually, relevant to this discussion is the fact that if I had a facebook account, he would not even want to "friend" me.  He told me he would find that weird.  As I looked through the pictures and saw him with all his friends doing their crazy, goofy stuff, having a ball, I saw that he was right.  It would be weird for me through facebook to even vicariously take part in that aspect of his life.  I'm his mom and that's just not my place.  But the pictures were evidence of what I already knew: he's moved on from me.

My college-age daughter, bless her heart, has also moved on from me, but at the same time, being a daughter, has also moved back to me emotionally.  As a teenager she was the very picture of SURLY.  She spent her life in her room.  Now she is happy, independent and ready to rock the world, but calls when she needs to talk.  That is a salve to my soul, truly.  But still, I have to let her go.

And the other two are on their way down the same path.  I remember when the first two were crabby teenagers, just beginning the process of pulling away, I consoled myself with my still-happy younger children.  They were still pleasant to be around.  They still liked me and wanted to be around me.

Well, now they're teenagers too, and Mom is not nearly so popular.  The whirlwind of joy and happiness and purpose that consumed my life with the four kids for so many years is definitely taking a different shape now.  They are all in the process of moving on from me, and I have to allow my relationship with each of them to grow into something more mature, more distant, if it's going to remain healthy. 

So, there is a sadness there.  A tearing.  A void.  Nothing God can't hold me through, but it's best for me to acknowledge what's going on so I can identify and get to the root of irrational feelings, like yesterday with the dance audition.

Maybe I'm overplaying this, maybe the connection between that audition and this emotional hiccup is tenuous.  But as I prayed, one thought led to the next.  I am a little too invested in this youngest daughter's dance.  Why am I too invested?  It's the last vestige of her childhood that I can hold on to. My last child's last glimmer of childhood.  I love it.  I love watching her dance.  I love that she's good at it.  I want to enjoy it and bask in it and eek everything out of it that I can before it's over.  Because it will be over all too soon.

But God will fill this void I feel as this last child grows up, I know.  He will provide other, more healthy sources of joy for me as I embark on a new phase of life.  In the end, I am raising a beautiful young woman, who may or may not do anything with dance as an adult.  Either way, dance is a wonderful part of her childhood.  I will enjoy it while I can, but recognize that it is the girl herself I love, and I will always have her.

Just like my mother-in-law cutting ties with her work and moving on to other endeavors, I have to be willing to cut ties with my former life of Tasmanian-supermom.  Not quite yet.  But soon.

Rotten Ruminations

I love reading blogs, two in particular that I follow.  I have come to love these women.  I love reading about their husbands, their kids, their financial woes, just their general spins on life.  I quit writing in my blog last July, as you can see.  I guess I decided it was worthless and stupid.  Although it has been a source of joy for me, there is so much I can't say here.  I know no one reads it, and it's very unlikely that if anyone did read it, it would be anyone who knows me or would be able to identify me -- or would care enough to even try to identify me.  But I still have to be so careful not to say anything negative about anyone.  Some days that leaves me with precious little to say!  Sometimes it's hard to be a Pollyanna.

Lately, however, as I've been reading my favorite bloggers, my heart is drawn back here.  I just have to write, even if it is stupid and worthless and no one reads.  Actually, I'm drawn back here partly because no one reads, so it's safe.  And maybe I don't have to be quite as Pollyanna-ish as I've been. 

So, what's the dirt?  I'm frustrated and a little stressed over something trivial.  My daughter has auditioned with two of her ballet friends for a scholarship to their ballet summer camp.  It would be a joy to win!  It would also be a financial boon since the camp costs $1300, but really, I don't worry too much about that end.  I do believe that if God wants any of these girls to go, He will provide for them.  They are all from believing families and all have (I presume) the same perspective.  The real joy would just be in the honor of winning.

Here's the rub though.  My daughter joined this small class of ballet students and quickly emerged as one of the stronger dancers.  She had a few years of previous experience with a different studio, which gave her an advantage, along with her natural ability.  One of her friends had had virtually no experience at all -- maybe a little, but not much to speak of.  Well, bless this girl's heart, she has improved quickly and all but caught up to my daughter.  She is a good dancer!  Good for her.

What's hard though is that one of these three girls will probably win that scholarship.  They were clearly the best in the audition, according to my daughter.  (The audition was for kids in (ballet) grades I-III, and these girls are on the verge of taking their grade IV exam.  So they still qualified for this audition, but it isn't surprising they were the best ones there.)  The one friend is a sweet little dancer.  She has always been very good, and if she wins we'll be genuinely happy for her.

This other friend, however, the one who came with little experience and has improved quickly, is a different story.  Apparently, she thinks she won it.  She thinks the judges were watching her.  Well, maybe they were, and maybe she did.  But if she wins this scholarship instead of my daughter, my evil heart will turn itself into a raging, rabid, jealous wolf.  Just like in that movie, Alien, it will burst out of my chest and do unspeakable damage. If I have to put a smile on my face and feign joy in congratulating this girl on her success, I cannot be responsible for the havoc wrought upon all around me.  I'm dreading the whole thing!

Argh!  We'll find out on Monday who won.

[Please know that the only problem in this situation is my raging, rabid heart, jealous for all the best to go to my daughter and no one else.  I cast no aspersions on the innocent girl.  She and her mother are good friends of ours.)


In the end I have to trust God with my daughter.  His plans for her cannot be thwarted.  I told her that on the way home from the audition, and I need to heed my own wisdom.  There is no need for worry.  Her times are in His hands, whether or not she wins the audition, whether or not she has to be humble in congratulating her friend on winning a scholarship she wanted for herself.  My most ardent prayer is that she have a heart to live for Him, to glorify Him with her dance for as long as He has her dance, even if it's only for the next four or five years through high school. 

I feel dirty. All this has definitely tainted my warm and fuzzy feelings toward this girl who is doing nothing but trying her best, just like my daughter is trying her best.  Gotta go fix my attitude, pray and trust God.  Clean up my act.  This has my soul all in a twist and I don't know what to do about it.  =(


***************

2/8/12
We found out today that L did not win the scholarship, and neither did the friend against whom I would have had the rabid, raging heart. (Although I did get that cleared up;  really, I did!  You can read about that in the next post.)  But the first friend did win it, and we are truly happy for her!

The Tree of Life

Last night my boys and I, everyone else being out of town, went to see the movie, The Tree of Life. Never have I been more touched by a movie. It was beautiful, symbolic, heartfelt, uplifting, meaningful. I can't wait to see it again.

As we read online before we went, however, it is no "Raiders of the Lost Ark." It's an artsy film, and I am not an artsy film lover, probably because I cannot stomach the meaning behind most of modern art.

But this is beautifully Christian. I have never seen God, His grace, His mercy, His sovereignty so exquisitely, delicately portrayed. The story captivated me with the contrast between grace and the law, gave me a fresh love, a fresh understanding of Him His majesty and His ways.

Comically and ironically, we saw this movie in the very same theater we saw that loathsome, green movie, Avatar, with its thinly veiled evangelism for the religion of Mother Earth, shamelessly manipulating the masses with stereotypes and misrepresentations. Talk about doing a 180!

Sadly, when this movie was over, a handful of people in the audience started laughing -- loudly, rudely, and unconvincingly. Something in the movie hit a nerve they didn't want to admit to themselves or their companions. But they "got it." They understood the movie, but couldn't face it. I've been to plenty of bad, really bad movies, and never have I had the urge to burst out laughing at the end. At most I just heave a sigh of relief that the thing is over! Their blundering attempt to camouflage their heart response to the movie actually gave evidence to its power.

I can't do this movie justice with my clumsy words. Just go see it! It is sublime. A true magnum opus.

Scroll Saws and Jack Hammers

Sometimes when I go to church, I get the most out of teachings that leave me stone-cold and bored to death, annoyed that someone with so little to say, with so little insight, could have found his way behind a microphone in front of so many people. Sometimes I get a lot out of those very teachings because of the clash of the titans going on in my heart. Waves of uncharitable thoughts toward the unsuspecting speaker are crashing through my mind, fueled by irritation and disappointment that I came to be encouraged and enlightened in the Word, and now I'm stuck sitting there for an hour or more listening to banalities.

But I am in church, and my conscience is sorely pricked by these uncharitable thoughts, so I make every effort to combat them by reminding myself of the intrinsic worth and foundational truth of the ideas being expressed, however trite, and the value of all the personalities God has seen fit to put under the sun, even those who by nature lack insight.

Such was the case today. This was a guest speaker, of course. (I couldn't bear to go to a church where the regular teaching pastor put me through this every week!) But because I sit there arguing with myself for the entire teaching, I actually pay much closer attention, and in the end, always walk out freshly encouraged by something.

Today's fresh encouragement came in the form of being reminded that God made me exactly the way He intended, with exactly the strengths and exactly the weaknesses He designed, and He put me in exactly the life position He purposed to accomplish exactly the work He created for exactly me to do. Exactly.

This was a good thing for me today, because yesterday I indulged in a few hours of black perspective on the world, revolving, of course, around myself and my hopeless weakness. Not weaknesses -- just my general, wretched, sorry, weak excuse for a self.

I took some time, went out and prayed, and God's answer during my prayer time was to have my lovely second daughter call from where she's spending the summer as a counselor at a Christian camp. That took me sufficiently out of myself to regain a better view of things, because of course, that was the problem in the first place: I was completely absorbed in the black hole of myself.

And then I got up this morning and finished up my last blog entry before church, which always makes me happy. (The date seems to always remain the date of the original posting, even if I make changes to it days later. I'm glad about that, because the date of the original posting is the date of the origin of the thought, even if it takes longer than that to get it expressed just the way I like it.) I also wrote my husband an e-mail, catching him up on the goings on with the kids since he went out of town. That also made me happy.

So this guy who was speaking today is a good guy, I'm sure. I'm sure he's godly. However, if he were to take any one of those personality tests, most of which are very similar, he would undoubtedly score high in the personality category that I have the most trouble appreciating. It comes out in his teachings too, and that adds another level of gurgle in my gut as I listen.

And of all things, this is the guy talking about how God made us each just the way He wanted us, that "God doesn't make mistakes." (He actually said that in his teaching. He quoted a bumper sticker, basically.) This is the guy reminding me of what I already know is true, that God designed each one of us exactly the way He intended, to be His tool in glorifying Himself on this earth. And He will use each of His tools for their intended purpose, not for any other.

Just like a hammer would be an awful tool to use to open a bottle of pop, and a shovel would be an awful tool to drive a nail, and a wheelbarrow would be an awful tool to dig a hole, so would I be an awful tool for ... lots of things. There are a lot of things God would never use me for, because it would only result in a big mess.

And maybe it has resulted in big messes at times, when I've tried to be something I'm not, when I've tried to do a job meant for someone else. I'm embarrassed to think about it!

But it was wonderful and comical to realize that this very guy speaking, as much as I don't understand his type, is an awesome tool in God's workshop. God uses people like him in grand ways. I could never do what he does. And He could never do what I do.

What is it that I do? Well, I don't know -- but I do know that nothing fills me with more joy than putting words to ideas. I love ideas, and I love conveying them in exactly the right words. It's the craziest kind of joy to which nothing else can compare in this undistinguished little life of mine. I'd never reveal how often I read and reread e-mail, especially if I've just told someone something important to me. Sometimes I even do that with text messages. It's why I love this blog, even though I wrestle with the vulnerability of going public with my private musings. I can blow hours of a day putting something in just the right words and feel so accomplished afterward, like something very significant has happened that day. But on a day like that when my husband calls to ask what went on that day, I have nothing to tell him. This happiness and pride, this joy and fulfillment swells in my heart, but all I have to say is, "Not much," because nothing tangible did happen. I blew hours in front of the computer when I should probably have been cleaning something.

(Mind you, I'm not saying I put words to ideas well. I'm only saying it gives me joy to think I've done it well. And I also understand that most of my blog entries are self-indulgent and not worth the cyberspace they occupy. But it is enormously cathartic for my to be able to express them.)

Anyway, I ended up being refreshed in just the way I needed to be by that very annoying teaching. And I have a new appreciation for this guy who bugs me. Just like a jack hammer has no appreciation of the need for, say, a scroll saw, because it's too busy busting up asphalt. And a scroll saw sees no need for a jack hammer because it's too busy carving pretty little curves in pieces of wood.  So our diverse personalities often miss the importance of each other. But God makes jack hammers, scroll saws, and everything else in between, and He knows exactly where He needs to put each to use.

So if a scroll saw finds itself feeling weak, wretched and hopelessly useless some days, it needs to remember that it is weak, wretched and hopelessly useless if it's trying to bust up asphalt. It will be much happier if it contents itself with carving pretty little curves in pieces of wood, like its maker intended.

Beauty

I'm beginning to understand.

My sons both played hockey and baseball for most of their young years, and my husband often said something that struck me as so strange when I'd drop one of them off at a practice. He'd say, "Did you stay to watch? How'd he do?" I wonder if the incredulity showed on my face -- I hope not. Because for the life of me I couldn't conceive why I would ever stay to watch another endless practice, either in a freezing cold ice arena, or, depending on the season, a freezing cold or sweltering hot baseball field. I hope my face remained impassive as I'd tell him, "No, I didn't stay to watch the practice." Are you kidding me? Why, WHY, would I stay to watch a practice????

But now my youngest daughter dances. And as all good mothers will tell you about their own, she is very good. And now I get it. I would watch the entire ballet class if I could, if it wouldn't embarrass her to death and make me look like a loon. As it is, it is my private joy to arrive to pick her up from class 10 or 15 minutes early so I can watch the tail end of the class through the window in the door. I think she's beautiful always, but when she dances, something inside me melts. She is strong and graceful and controlled.

At the beginning of every hockey season we were always required to sign a Code of Conduct form, basically agreeing that we wouldn't beat up or verbally abuse any other parent or player. No problem there. It always struck me as more than slightly unbalanced that any of the parents could get so emotional at hockey games, but especially that they could be so into their own kid's play. I love both my boys, loved to see them play well, but I never entertained the notion that baseball or hockey would take them anywhere special. They were always my boys first, athletes second.

Well, this baby of mine, she's still my daughter first and dancer second. But her dance stirs something in my soul, and helps me to understand why my husband would watch an entire hockey or baseball practice just for the sheer joy of watching the boys play.

So now she's at this ballet camp. The dancers are separated into levels according to their ability once they get there, and her teacher here at home suggested that there was a possibility she would be put in level C, a higher level, rather than B, which would mean she would be allowed to compete for a scholarship for the camp for next year. The adjudicators would be watching the dancers for the first 3 days of camp and placing them in their final levels.

Now this made me crazy. I started praying that the moment I heard about that, that the adjudicators would be dazzled by the obvious brilliance of my daughter, and put her where she so clearly belonged, in level C! Worry about this consumed me for days.

She ended up in level B, not C. She was so happy with her classes and teachers and the dance the B's would be doing for the end-of-camp performance, it was hard not to be happy with her. So my aspirations for the gilded "Level C" were dispelled for this year.

Then last night she texted that, only four days into a two-week camp, she has a sharp pain in the front of one of her knees. My soul twisted in consternation. I drove her crazy with return texts filled with advice about how to care for it. I texted her teacher at home for any advice she might have, and forwarded her teacher's text to her. I prayed. I asked my sisters to pray. My husband and I prayed together for this knee. Images filled my mind of her having to sit out for days, waiting for this knee to recover, and my heart twisted a little more.

So, I'm not a crazy hockey mom, but maybe I am a crazy ballet mom. Amounts to the same thing in the end, except that I sense no urge to punch anyone. Yet.

The whole experience has caused me to do a little soul searching. Why is this so important to me? Where the heck is this coming from? It's not balanced, not in the hockey moms and not in me.

Well, I know where it comes from. She's beautiful, and I've never been beautiful. Not in the way I look, not in the way I move. But she is a part of me. So through her, in a contorted, unhealthy way, I get to be something I've always longed to be: Beautiful.

The other morning God reminded me of Psalm 145:10:

Listen, O daughter, give attention and incline your ear:

Forget your people and your father’s house;
Then the King will desire your beauty.
Because He is your Lord, bow down to Him.

Then the King will desire my beauty. When? When I forget my people and my father's house. What could that mean?

I think it means when I allow my heart to be consumed with Him, rather than being consumed with "my people." Friends, the circle of acquaintances, family -- the whirlwind of the heart that ensues from too much conversation, too many activities, with too many people in one day. Forget friends, forget the circle of acquaintances, forget family, forget their needs, concerns, opinions, demands. Take the time to hold still, quiet the soul, and focus on Him, His magnificence, His glory, His worthiness, His sweetness and compassion, on pleasing Him. The beauty that draws His eye is the soul that will quiet itself before Him and listen for His voice. And that's the only beauty I should long for.

It is dizzying to fathom, this idea that the King would desire my beauty. Somehow, it is scary to dare to believe. Somehow in my heart, I'm afraid to look too closely at this idea, even to see how true it is. Inwardly, I glance at it ever so briefly, and then look away...ashamed.

I am ashamed because I so little deserve to be loved in this way, to be longed for by anyone, let alone Him, the magnificent and glorious King. It's so much easier for us to skate along the surface of the notion: oh yes, Jesus loves me, God loves me. And then we skip along our merry way, trot off to do more stuff. But to enter into the reality that His love for me transcends banal church dogma, that (through Jesus) He sees a beauty in me that fills His heart with desire, is staggering, breathtaking and...daunting.

Will I allow myself to be daunted? Will I hold still and allow the truth of His love to wash over me? Or will I continue to glance at it quickly and then run away because it's too much to bear? Instead be content with a mere morsel of what could be mine, be content to pathetically glean some imaginary regard through the fleeting beauty of my daughter?

HE: Behold, you are beautiful, My love; behold, you are beautiful. SS 1:15
SHE: He brought me to the banqueting house, and His banner over me was love. SS 2:4
HE: You are altogether beautiful, My love; there is no flaw in you. SS 4:7