Meantime Munching

It has been a long somewhat involved summer of self exploration, growing closer to God, and actual work. I have about 5 days left before I begin my final year of seminary, and I have no idea where I am going. I find myself holding on so tightly today, because I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. I want to soak it up and accomplish all that I can so that something will appear, but I have to admit, it is scary - so scary in fact, that as I see myself floating along, trying to make the buoys of my life, into ports of rest.

So the truth of it is I am ovulating. I am a 34 year old, single woman whose body is hell bent on getting me pregnant. Only trouble is I am also redeemed, bought with a price. Yes, yes, Jesus has changed my whole life. I don’t mean to sound irreverent. I am so glad he changed me. But He has come in and completely rearranged this life so that when the hormones call and the desire to be held and stroked and romanced torment me, I must resist. Some might think it’s just sexual desire, something that can be remedied with an orgasm, but it is much more than contracting genitalia that the body seeks, but the full experience of intimacy. We crave the feeling of flesh upon flesh, warmth upon skin, the weight of another’s body pressing you in.

So what is a girl to do - 34, supple, and single and in love with and devoted to God? What’s she supposed to do when the priest of her future household has yet to materialize, and prospects look grim? Who’s to say how long the wait is going to be? The only viable option is to hunker down, grab your bible and pray without ceasing.  Well, actually it’s not the only option- especially when friends of the opposite sex whom the Lord has clearly identified as buoys, not ports, offer their bodies as a living sacrifices.  

Don’t get me wrong the love God provides for us is great, and even somatic in nature on occasion, but he has also created a desire in us to experience embodied love and intimacy, touch and  the giving of our bodies as gifts to one another. Surely this is only to happen within the confines of marriage. The potency of the creative power of such union and interaction are far too great to be swapped cavalierly with just anybody, so what do you do when the flesh calls, and those who are clearly not your end are offering themselves up to be your meantime? Worse yet what happens when curiosity has prevailed and you have had a nibble or two and now want to go back for the whole meal, because it tastes good, and because you NEED the nourishment?

Recently God has reminded me of Esau and his birthright – sold in haste because of the growling of his stomach. His future ripped from him on account of some red stuff. Not even prime rib, or filet mignon… but red stuff – essentially something to make the hunger pangs cease.  He was hated by God even before birth, perhaps because of the nature of his character. Esau refused to endure and refused to consider the consequences of his actions on his future. So essentially, choosing the meantime is functioning in an Esau mentality – a mentality that is hated by God.

It almost seems unfair. How can God have such disdain for us eating from forbidden fruit when there is famine in the land? To my best estimation, such fruit, the red stuff, falls horribly beneath the plans God has for us, and witnesses to the world, a lack of faith in His ability to sustain us. And isn’t that really the case. Like Esau we can’t hear past the grumbling of our stomachs to remember the promises and faithfulness of the Lord. What’s worse such indulgences develop an adiction to junk food, junk relationships, and behavior that does not edify or glorify.  

Most recently I have found myself pulling myself out of a situation that does not glorify God. I have been gobbling down red stuff as fast as I can” before my Daddy comes home(slow down yall, it’s not what you’re thinking.)  But even in the midst of munching on my meantime, I found that it did not satisfy, but rather sat like a rock in my stomach, like bad milk waiting to wreak havoc on my system. As I reviewed my actions and the Esau mentality I’d assumed, I could not help but lament. . It was then that the Lord, true to form and character, comforted me in my tears. Wait, again I say wait on the Lord and he will strengthen thine heart. When we remove the focus off of our appetites, whatever they might be, and refocus on God, he truly does strengthen our hearts. In that moment of lament, repentance and worship, I received manna from on high – a days worth of strength to resist forsaking my future for my meantime.  He supplied my needs for today, and challenged me to have faith that he will supply my needs for tomorrow as well. The trick is I have to go back to God every day for a new portion.  We seek after other things daily… Keep me faithful Lord.

You Jump, I Jump.

Last week, I was sitting at home flipping through the channels when I happened upon Titanic. I’d seen it before, but forever the hopeless romantic, I thought I would subject myself to the horror of a sinking boat to get my love fix for the month. About an hour in I was inebriated with the thought of love against all odds. I reveled in the notion that a woman of noble means would leave everything behind for a life with the man she loved. She was a woman after my own heart. But I was blown away when she had the opportunity to get off of the sinking boat, by way of a life boat, but instead choose to literally claw her way off of the boat (I still can’t get the image out of my mind)back to the arms of the man she loved. “You jump, I jump,” she said. Which essentially boiled down to live or die, we’re in this thing together.

The depth of that kind of love stuck with me.  After the movie was over, I called a couple of my married friends and asked them, if faced with the same decision, would they make the same choice. Both emphatically replied, “Of course!” Their responses got me to swooning.  “I want a love like that,” I said. I want that “I can’t live without you love.” I want someone to claw their way to their peril, if getting away safely meant being without me.  It’s a romantic and fanciful notion.  I mean really, how many people wait for that kind of love in their lives… Popular or not, that’s what I’m looking for. No wonder I am still single. J

What makes that kind of love so extraordinary is the element of sacrifice. Ordinarily discomfort and suffering doesn’t appeal to me, as I am sure is the case with most human beings. We run from it. In fact, we don’t even like to be around when people are talking about the suffering of others. We treat it like a highly contagious disease that should we be exposed to the suffering of others, we might catch it. Perhaps that’s why far too few people visit the sick in the hospitals, or tend to the needs of the elderly and the poor.  But real love, the kind that really moves mountains is steeped in sacrifice.  

Often when thinking about the Christian life we love to fixate on the sacrifice of Christ. The thought of him dying in our place elicits tears on cue every time, but sacrifice and suffering was not for Jesus to endure alone. Part of the Christian life is sharing not only in the glory of Christ, but his suffering as well.  Matt 9:23 says, “If any many would be my disciple he must deny himself, take up his cross and follow me." Following Jesus definitely means following the leading of His spirit in all things in daily life. Its turning left when he says turn left. It’s feeding the hungry, its clothing the naked, but it’s also following him into those things that may cause you to suffer. It’s living a life before those who have yet to experience Christ that speaks the Gospel without words, even when you might be ridiculed, laughed at or rejected. 

When we look at the Bible, those people who really denied themselves and took up their cross to follow Jesus did not have the bright shiny happy ending that many modern day churches espouse. Paul didn’t get an E Class Benz and a house on a hill. Peter didn’t get a lucrative business and sell millions of copies of Thrice Denied, Thrice Restored. From a temporal or worldly perspective, their lives ended pretty horrifically. But they were content, and even overjoyed to lay down their lives and suffer for Christ because God was their all in all. God was their reason for being. He was the love of their lives. While comfort and promises of an easy life were in the “life boat,” God was still on the sinking ship, and while their lives would be saved if they chose the easy way out, like Kate Winslett’s character, they clawed, in other words aggressively fought, their way off of the life boat, because the love of God and His presence were too great to live without. 

If placed in the same situation, a sinking boat with God on it, or a life boat that sailed further and further away from his presence, what would you chose? Sure, on a good day we are willing to give up our stuff for God, our money, our things, but when it becomes a question of our very lives, what would your decision be. Would you claw your way out of the immediate solution to remain connected to the eternal solution? I pray that we all experience a love for God so big that our response will always be, “ Lord, You jump, I jump.”

Ever Higher

CB

Better than Chocolate

During the school year I always pass by the Office of the Center for Reconciliation and say hi. I do this in part because I enjoy the staff in there, but mostly because of the tasty treats the Administrative Assistant keeps on her desk. It’s an exercise in Christian love, because no matter how few are left, she always yields them to visiting friends freely. What’s great is throughout a given week the candy will change, so you’re always in for a surprise, but she is loyal to a chocolate theme, so you know you’re never be disappointed.

Such is the case with the administrative assistant at the church I am, currently interning with. While she doesn’t keep candy on her desk, her name is Candi, and boy does she ever keep me coming back for more. Every time I visit her office, which is way too frequently, she always has a surprise for me. Sometimes it’s a book we’ve discussed, other times, a sermon series on CD, another time a podcast from an amazing witness of Christ, or anecdote that keeps the thought of my future husband alive in my mind.. It’s always something new with that Candi, and she never leaves me disappointed. Comparable to the beloved admin in CFR whose theme was chocolate, Candi’s theme is encouragement, with the chewy nougat of the love of Christ at the center.

If you’ve been reading since the beginning of the summer, you know that I had been having some difficulty with the quiet and stillness of a summer in Durham. This city girl is used to having lots of distractions to tickle her fancy. My naturally restless nature was being charged by God to slow down and seek Him. Well in the midst of negotiating that stillness, Candi has been that spring of fresh water in the desert that God promises He will provide. I say this, because she ministers to every part of me, in so many ways and desires nothing in return. Have you ever had someone like that in your life? The other day, while thinking through the food with which she’s fed me, the knowledge with which she has filled me, the love with which she surrounds me, the prayers with which she has covered me and the hope with which that she inspires me, I was convinced she is an angel sent by God. Lets face it; life can be a difficult road, and the Word promises that God will send relief.

I am currently in a season of pruning - pruning that’s difficult. God is taking buds of my life that have grown and that I thought were just fine, and he’s cutting them off for the sake of more fruitfulness. To boot, God is telling me I must be still while He does it - and we all know I don’t handle stillness well. But in His mercy and His great provision as Psalm 91 says He has given his angels charge over me. I’m almost positive Candi’s an angel. Though I am at the church to teach and to preach, God in his infinite wisdom and humility has given the church secretary charge over me, and its one of the biggest blessings I have has in a long while.

As I was thinking about her angelic assignment, I called out to her asking, “Candi is your name short for something?” I love to find out the meaning of peoples names. I am sure that it speaks to the character of a person. I have been looking up names for years - Call it a pass time of mine. Surely the lengthier version of her name would be a clue. She runs over to my office and says yes, it’s short for Candle… Candle Ray. As the words left her lips, a voice in my head said, “A candle to light your way.” I knew it. Whether she knows it or not she is an angel to me in this season, and a friend I will not soon let go of. I mean imagine a summer of all you can eat Snickers bars and then quitting cold turkey. Oh no, whether she likes it or not I am going to be around, digging into the wealth of her love and wisdom, like I do the candy dish at CFR; because fellowship with her is sweeter than skittles and peanut butter cups put together - and that's saying a whole bunch!

Ever Higher

CB

Evangelism Inside the Margins

Mark 12: 41-44 Luke 18:18-35

If you encountered a woman shabbily dressed and clearly in need standing next to a rich, upstanding member of the community, who would you share The Gospel with first? We live in an age where The Prosperity Gospel runs rampant, insidiously corrupting the thinking of well intentioned Christians everywhere. Many of us have accepted the notion that economically depressed is synonymous with spiritually dysfunctional. This ideology motivates many of us to leave our immediate neighborhoods, and cross over into the more dilapidated areas of our cities to tend to the spiritual needs of poor people, who have no money, and therefore no Jesus.

When we arrive, ready to evangelize, we find that the natives of the neighborhood we have come to save effortlessly enter into prayer, as comfortable as an immigrant who suddenly finds themselves in conversation in their homeland. The scriptures we fumble to find as we flip through our bibles, they recite like the chorus to their favorite song. The Jesus we intended to bring to those rejected and marginalized by this world, is present and thriving, demonstrated not in lives without financial obstacles, but heartfelt praise that God had provided for another day. 

Surely we can never be overly concerned about the poor, but where do our assumptions and fascination with a lack of excess leave the people we pass by, on our way those we assume in greater need of a savior? The successful man, his fancy car, his designer suit and his empty soul, the accomplished female doctor, with 3 degrees and a beautiful family and an imminent breakdown, and the average everyday student, complete with ipod and hundred dollar jeans who has never been told about God’s awesome plan of salvation are left behind because in our society the health of a person’s soul is determined by their ability to project fiscal stability. Meanwhile, the very things that indicate prosperity serve as obstacles to surrendering one’s life to God. 

The earlier mentioned, shabbily dressed woman, clearly in need represents the widow with two mites; a woman who had very little, but had such faith and gratitude for God that she was willing to give God everything. The rich upstanding man represents the rich young ruler whose love of and dependence on things thwarted his fellowship with Christ. Both stories demonstrate that class has no bearing on who is or is not in relationship with God. Our neighbors, those we pass in the halls, those we ride on the bus with, those we see in the supermarket, the mall, and even the Great Hall may have much bread to eat, yet we ignore the absence of the Living Bread in their lives. In some cases their yearning is so suppressed by “things” they are unaware that there is a greater truth to discover. We also fail to share because it is easier to share Christ with “the victim” than our peers.  No matter the case, as Christians we must remember our responsibility to go into all the world – not just the worn down parts- and make disciples of men and women. Souls know no wealth, but the saving power of Christ. Who will you make rich today?

The Rains

Like a fire hydrant shut down by the police in the hot summer months,
The floods of his passion are gone,
And the drops that once caressed now evaporate in the stale dryness of discomfort with no relief.
She lives in the stifling heat of that day, thirsty and parched for weeks now,
And it will not rain,
And she fears it never will.


Foolishly, she sits…

Longing anxiously on the corner for the kiddies to return in a moment of mischief and boldness, and free the hydrant’s cooling wetness, that it might tickle her face with its mist,
Drench her dress til it drips,
That her body might delight in the waters gushing charms.
But these boys are fickle and kickball and cars and the new slide at the local pool currently have their affections.
There is no telling when or if they might remember the way they danced in the streets those Saturdays before.

So, she sits –

Her dress of pinks and oranges and that bold green stripe becomes soiled from the grime of the curb, 3 steps from the sewer, as she watches as the puddles of past pleasure slip busily away, oily and murky. The colors in its streams, defiantly mocking the wonder that she could now only faintly feel in her heart.

Deep in her despair the heavens’ whispers wash over her soul,
Wooing her with songs of assurance that His waters always return.
Sometimes in gentle drops, other times steady beats and occasionally down pours that last for days.
And the soil drinks in the waters greedily, anxious to achieve its end.
The yearning of new life finally permitted to blossom.

This relief though not routine is reliable nonetheless.
Steadfast and faithful and like those memories she’d gathered to ponder on while she mourned,
These drops too could be assembled and harnessed, so that she might drink and soak in its gifts, even on the days it does not come.


“Look to the heavens,” whispers the wind,

“For the rains will never cease.”

“My waters will never leave you thirsty.”

The Bruised Grape

The other day I was walking along the road eating some fabulously crunchy grapes. As I walked in the hot sun, I was meticulous about which grapes I ate first, avoiding those that were not as visibly appealing. As I neared the end of my walk and the end of the bag of grapes, I began throwing those grapes that seemed a little beat up into the near by wooded area. Coming to the last grape, I examined it and threw it a bit ahead of me in the street. My intention was to kick it the rest of the way home. I'd thrown it about 50 feet ahead of me, and increased my gait in anticipation of kicking the bruised and battered grape. Not 15 paces into my trot, my fun was interrupted by a baby bird who darted into the street, scooped the grape into its beak and transferred it to a nearby tree. There he began to greedily consume the grape, one bite at a time.


I stopped, taken aback at how quickly this turn of events morphed my frivolity into curiosity and indignation. This bird had taken risk. Clearly he had been watching me. This bird had stolen my bruised grape, and was now devouring it with delight! For some reason I have not been able to get that bird and my bruised grape out of my mind. Not necessarily because I mourn the loss of my grape, but because God taught me something powerful through it. It’s a lesson I hope will help some man or woman who has been thrown around and kicked about as if they are someone's play thing as well.

That little bird taught me that one person's toy can be another’s nourishment. Nothing had changed about that grape; it had simply found itself in the right context to be celebrated for all it had to offer. Hence, there is no need for you or I to be anything other than what God made us to be. That bruised grape couldn't be crunchy for me no matter how hard it tried. Time, circumstances, the thermos in my lunch bag had made that grape the bruised imperfect grape that it was, and despite its imperfections, to that bird it was nourishment - integral to its survival. Not only did the grape nourish him, but by the way he was tearing that thing up, you could tell it he was getting pleasure and satisfaction out of that grape. He savored it as if it was the best thing he had seen in a minute and he delighted in that grape as such. As men and women, we should spend less time trying to change ourselves to be what those who would treat us as play things want us to be, and align ourselves with those who consider us their nourishment - those that celebrate us, those that delight and savor us, bruises and all.

Ever Higher!
CB

To high to get over


To low to get under

Stuck in the middle and the pain is thunder

The words of the late great Michael Jackson could be considered the theme of my life for the past week. I am experiencing my first Durham Summer, and while it’s hot and sticky, just like I like it; my social life is anything but… I have always suffered from an acute case of longing – longing for love, laughter, movement, intensity in all of its forms. To my horror, God has been whispering words like moderation, quiet time and reflection in my ear, and while I love Him, I hate it. Summer isn’t for stillness! Summer is for frolicking, looking pretty and feminine in the wee hours of the night, sipping sangria with friends and new acquaintances, while the sultry air seduces your bare skin. It’s for dancing, and sweating, laughing and flirting, music and conversations on the porch that you never want to end. Summer is abundance, excess, late nights even though you have work in the morning, but waking up the next morning refreshed, because the sun beckons you for another day of play. Don’t get me wrong, I work during the summers too, but even the work seems easier when there is merriment to look forward to.

Alas, merriment cannot be found on my summer menu this year. Instead, I’ve been experiencing what I can only describe as the Durham doldrums. I’ve been bored… I mean really bored! Blame it on the fast paced life I lead during the school year, paper after paper being due, but it seems I have forgotten how to relax. While I have always been a thrill seeker, being in grad school has intensified my sense of purpose to such a degree, that I literally have a hard time not having something to do. The church I am interning at keeps me steadily busy during the day, but the evenings are treacherous. I’m used to a plethora of friends during the school year, but the summer months have me down to three, two of whom are pretty inconsistent. So what is an adrenaline junkie to do in a town that has 3 options for the social scene? 2 weeks into the summer and I’ve already done them to death. Which leads me to my earlier statement, The longing, otherwise known as my restlessness has set in.

The restlessness presents itself as a nagging, comparable to the way I feel when I know a long paper is due and I need to get started in the worst way. Essentially I feel like I NEED to do something, get out, meet someone, anyone. The other weekend I made friends with a moth who mistakenly found himself in my apartment. I named him Marty. (Yeah, its that bad) The worst part about the nagging is there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. There is no where to go. I mean, I could call my faithful friend and have the same conversation for the 6000th time, but that’s usually when I my internal tantrums begin and Michael’s song starts reverberating in my mind. The longing is too high to get over. It’s too low to get under. I am indeed stuck in the middle.

Last Saturday night I found myself with a hunkering for some cake (otherwise know as desperately in need of at least investigating “the scene.” In my pursuit of “cake,” I hit 2 of the earlier mentioned social options. (In my defense one, does have some bangin’ sweet potato pie) I’m not really sure how I ended up in the lounge next door. But there I was. I am not a drinker so it’s not like I was in need of libations, but I am junkie. I thrive off of the energy of others, and this summer of solitude is about as fun as kneeling on rice. As I moved through the crowd I saw at least three folks I knew, all who must have been suffering from the same restlessness that was now upon me. But after a few minutes of conversation, I became conflicted. Did I really need to be out here? Its not that I felt like it was sinful to be out or anything, it just wasn’t what god wanted for me that evening. The whispering continued to plague me.

Moderation…


Be still….


Reflect…

Write….

Pray…

So what’s a girl who loves to live on the mountain top do when there’s nothing but plateaus for miles? Well in the midst of moderation and quiet time, God has also been whispering love where you are. Love where you are God? But I hate it here. I feel trapped, and that just makes me angry. And then it occurs to me. I am not trapped. I am exactly where God wants me to be. The only thing that’s holding me hostage is my attitude, my will. There I go again, wanting my own way and thinking I know better than God. I yield. I yield. I will probably have to yield again in another 10 minutes, but moderation, especially for an energy addict is a hard and slow lesson. But God doesn’t instruct us for no reason. He’s always up to something. So rather than be angry about a lack of distractions, I will rejoice that God wants my attention, and he’s removing those things that I would ordinarily put between us. Surely he’s making me over… And he’s making summer over too.

Ever Higher

CB

Sing Her Home

As is the custom in my divinity school, each summer, students are dispatched to various places around the country and the world to practice ministry, in the context of real life, real pain, real need. This summer I have been placed in a well-to-do church in Raleigh. Despite the obvious lack of diversity in the church, I am really enjoying my placement. As I was telling my friend the other day, "I'm just glad to be in his service!" It's amazing how removed you become from ministry when you decide to study God 24/7. Our summers remind us why we put down our lives and started chasing after God in the first place.


This year, I requested a larger church so that I could explore pastoring a large group of people. I wanted to experience everything, from preaching and teaching, to visiting the sick and really developing relationships with the congregation. Some of my braver friends requested more challenging placements, like 7 weeks in Kenya and working in hospices as a chaplain. None of that stuff is for the faint of heart, and being weary from another tough semester, I took what I thought was the easy way out. While having dinner with my friend who is now serving as a hospice chaplain, I mentioned how courageous I thought she was. I could never spend days upon days with people who were dying. It would be too much - Quiet as kept, I am pretty sensitive.

On the first day of my placement, the Senior Pastor takes me to a retirement home to see an elderly member. No muss, no fuss. This is what I signed up for. We get to her room and Betty (the elderly woman) isn't there, apparently she'd been moved to the hospital. Ha! Guess we will be bypassing the downer of aging and moving right on to lunch! Maybe the Cheesecake Factory, or that great bar and grill around the corner. No such luck... After leaving a quick note, Pastor Chuck informs me we will attempt to locate her at the hospital before leaving for lunch. Mmmm. ok.(stomach growl)

We arrive at the hospital and locate Betty rather quickly. She and her daughter and her daughter's husband were sitting quietly in an emergency room examining room. As I approached I could see that Betty was a pistol, very outspoken and in complete control of her faculties. She even makes a few jokes about the pastor and his relentless pursuit of her, all the way to the emergency room. "How'd you find me? I haven't even gotten a room yet," She joked. I stood in the shadow of the pastor, introducing myself when appropriate and shaking the hands of the family and offering my support. After a few more pleasantries, the Pastor and I laid hands on Betty and prayed for her comfort, healing, and peace. That was easy enough! "Courtney will be back to see you tomorrow," Pastor Chuck said as we left. What? Did you want to run that by me first? Was I getting dropped in the deep end, without my floaters after just one visit? I guess...

The following day I went to the hospital to visit with Betty. She was sitting in the chair next to her bed watching The View on ABC. I walked gingerly over to the chair next to her and asked if we could visit for a while. She happily obliged. I don't really know what to say about my conversation with Betty. It was pretty average. The kind of conversation you might have with anyone you were talking to for the first time, but knew instantly you would be friends. We filled space with the names of the towns we grew up in, talk of family, and even a little bit about faith. When I learned Betty had served as a minister of music at a local church once, I felt led to sing to her. "What's your favorite song," I asked. ..... "Too many to name," she said.........................................................................

"Sing to her," I kept hearing................................."Go on.... Sing to her." Finally I told her my favorite hymns. "Love Lifted Me" and "Solid Rock". Then without warning, my lungs filled with air and pushed it into my throat.

I was sinking deep in sin...
My lips were moving. The tune was unsure, but sweet.

Far from the peaceful shore...
And without skipping a beat Betty joined in...

Very deeply stained within,

Sinking to rise no more.
Her voice was a rich baritone, not the least bit shaky for an 80+ year old woman. It was confident and smooth.

But the master of the sea heard my despairing cry

From the waters lifted me now safe am I...

There we were, to women, one seasoned and abundant in years, the other slightly seasoned but short on experience, especially ministry experience. Yet in the raising of our voices, singing of how God had saved us; we were family - Children of God, sharing in a moment that I will not soon forget.

Love lifted me - from the selfishness of wanting to avoid those parts of ministry that were difficult for me. Love lifted me- from the doubt and uneasiness of a lack of experience with sick people. When nothing else could help, love lifted me.

Love lifted her - what joy you could see in her face in singing to the Lord a new song,
love lifted her - regardless of sickness that I was unaware of, but was presently ravaging her body, when nothing else could help. LOVE... LIFTED... US.

Needless to say Betty and our singing made my day. I was once again a witness to the power of the Holy Spirit in reviving, restoring, and refocusing us. In that moment I was changed and I so looked forward to more opportunities like it to minister. Betty was different too. She now had a grin on her face, a song in her heart, and the assurance that when all else fails, God will lift us up, because he loves us. I left with pep in my step and asked Betty if she would be my pal for the summer. She happily agreed.

Two days later I visited Betty in the hospital to find her lying in the bed, unconscious. Apparently, the lung cancer she had been struggling with was having its way with her. The pain was too much. The doctors felt it would be more comfortable for her to be on morphine, which severely compromises one's lucidity. As I walked into the room, I saw a shell of who Betty was. Her breathing was rattly and laborious. She had no smile for me. I don't even know if she knew I was in the room. I took my seat next to her bed and began to sing a hymn of comfort.


Jesus, Jesus, Jesus

There is something about that Name

Master, Savior, Jesus

Like the fragrance after the rain

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus

Let all heaven and earth proclaim.

Kings and Kingdoms may all pass away,

But there's something about that name

I closed with Psalm 103  and prayed over her while holding her hand. Who’s to say if she knew I was there, but one thing was for sure, there was a peace that came about the room, as if surely the presence of the Lord was in the room. Her breathing even seemed to be better by the time I was finished. After I left the hospital, I called my mom, as I often do when I am feeling emotional. "This is not what I signed up for, but I now that my visits are making a difference. It's just so sad." I said. And then my mom said something wise like only moms do.

"Maybe she's ready to go home. Sing her home baby," she said. For a second I had let the difficulty of aging and dying fool me into believing that Betty's life was ending rather than transitioning her to a place where she would sing all the say long. The transition is hard, but the destination is lovely. "Sing her home," she said; and that's exactly what I intend to do.

Ever Higher.
CB

5/30/10 ****** I learned today that Betty passed on to glory about the time I was writing this post. Seems my last visit will have to hold her until we can sing together in the presence of the Lord one day. Welcome home Betty. Welcome home.**********************************************************

Fair Weather Friends

I have this friend; we are really close. I mean, sort of. When we are together, we are like peanut butter and jelly. Our energies feed off of each other to such a degree, that we talk for hours, sharing the most intimate aspects of our lives. Ourthoughts, our dreams, our fears, our struggles. We will go through these amazing periods of close intimate friendship, and then she will just fall off the face of the earth. I'll call, and text and even instant message with no response from her. By the 4th or 5th attempt, I'm usually pretty annoyed, shaking my head and thinking to myself, " I fell for it again." It's at that point that I usually vow never to speak to her again. (I know, I'm immature.) Within 2 to 3 days of my boycott, she always turns up with syrupy sweet words that bring me right back to that place of closeness with her. It's like a shampoo cycle - lather, rinse, repeat.



I was recently feeling some kind of way about this fickle relationship and began talking to the Lord about it, when I struck me. The rhythm of this relationship was much like the rhythm of my relationship with God. God knows I love him, just like I know in my heart of hearts my friend loves and enjoys me, but for the most part, its always on my terms. When I feel like putting in the time, I spend hours and days in His presence, but when something more engaging is going on, I, like my friend, get too busy for the briefest of chats. My revelation was two fold. 1. I'd been compromising my intimacy with God, by being a fair weather friend to Him. I'd essentially been denying Him the intimacy and relationship God delights to be in with his children. I somehow believed that because the moments we did spend together were such highs that it proved my love and adoration. However, in light of the feelings of abandonment and frustration I was now feeling with my friend, I realize that the intensity and fervor of the highs magnify my consistently occasional absence all the more. After feeling like an afterthought long enough, you begin to question the sincerity and authenticity of relationships that are so one sided. Could God think the same?



Which brings me to the 2nd realization... Hallelujah to his name, God's ways are not our ways. In the midst of our unfaithfulness, he is still faithful. While God might desire a greater relationship for us, and desire to spend that intimate time with us daily, our lack faithfulness NEVER compromises his love for us, He loves us as much on the day that we spend our whole day in prayer and meditation with Him, as on the day we neglect to even bow and bless our food. Great is his faithfulness! He does not deal with us according to our sins, but delights in showing us mercy. How awesome is that?

Still I don't want to use God for my highs and then leave him desiring more, like my friend does me. I don't want to be in relationship with Him on my own terms. I don't want to take advantage of his mercies even if they are new everyday. I want this thing called worship to be for real, a 24 hour seven days a week, participation in the presence of God... even when its hard. I want his presence to be my meat, my delight, my joy, my best thing. But that can only happen if he makes me over. So God, here's my heart. Refashion, rearrange me for your good pleasure, so that there is nothing I desire more than YOU.

Oh and by the way, I'm taking a page out of God's book on love and loving my friend where she's at. No matter her fickleness, I love her, and I am going to be there for her. I'll be her peanut butter, even if she is not quite ready to be my jelly. Maybe my friendship will teach her how to be a friend, just like God's friendship taught me.

Ever Higher!
CB