Laugh 'Til It Hurts

It seems to me that we humans have a strong tendency to take ourselves far too seriously.  Christians, in particular.  One would think that Jesus never laughed, never accidentally snorted, and certainly never tripped over some invisible line in the desert sand to fall flat on his keester.  If, indeed, Scripture is inerrant (and I certainly believe it is), then we must accept that when we read "...we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses" that must include our clumsiness, our physical limitations, and our embarrassments.  I think, however, He may have had a much better sense of humor than most of today's Christians and was probably able to laugh at himself during such moments.

A short time ago I was sitting in a meeting room with several other Christians listening to a man speak.  He was presenting information as a dignified elder of his local church who has garnered due respect down through the years and is held in some esteem by those who know him.  While lecturing about a man in the community who had a tendency to get himself into questionable situations but always emerge from them unscathed, this distinguished fellow stated emphatically, "He always seems to come out of a bad situation smelling like a bandit!"  For a brief moment, I thought I might need to be strapped to my folding chair to prevent falling onto the floor in riotous laughter.  (Although I do suspect if I had pointed the error out to this man, he most probably would have chuckled at it, too.  I think others take him far more seriously than he does himself.)  All I could think was that I was immensely glad my cousin, Katherine, was not present in the room.  Had she and I been there together, surely we would have been summarily dismissed from the room in disgust for the appalling lack of respect our chortles would have shown.  To this day, I remember the time the two of us rode in the nine-passenger station wagon my parents owned to deliver Memorial Day wreaths to the cemetery where our grandparents and several other family members were interred.  Bear in mind we were about 13 years old then, and certainly did not see this as a desirable way to spend a Saturday afternoon.  Nevertheless, there we stood at the foot of Grandma's grave when my mother turned to my father and asked, "Where is the bouquet for your mother's grave?"  My father snarled a retort.  "I thought you picked it up.  I left it on the back porch."  (It would appear that a 20+ mile ride in a 9-passenger station wagon holding 10 passengers has a tendency to create a bad mood in some people.  I can't imagine why.  The rest of us were having a blast.)  When the determination had been made that Mother was entirely at fault in leaving the bouquet behind (that's just the way things were back then-- as Mick Jagger was prancing across the worldwide stage belting out "Under My Thumb" and Gloria Steinem was still referred to as the "nice young girl down the street" by her neighbors), Father stated emphatically, "Well, I guess I'll just have to drive back over here later tonight and bring it."  Without a moment's thought, I turned to Katherine and whispered, "Oh my gosh, you wouldn't catch me dead in a cemetery at night!"  With an instantaneous mutual recognition of what I had just said, the two of us burst into uncontrollable laughter.  Despite the stern looks and even sterner admonitions of my father, we simply could not help ourselves.  The harder we tried not to laugh, the more we guffawed... until eventually we were sent to the car with instructions not to show our faces until we could learn to be more respectful of the dearly departed.  We never did make it back to the graveside that day.

As the years have passed, Katherine and I have shared more than one venture into the land of out-of-control with laughter that has brought tears to our eyes and healing to our souls.  We have been able to laugh in situations that might have driven others to deep despair, all the while understanding and accepting that laughter is often a healthy release of tension that should be interpreted as nothing more than what it is.  How sad it is that many Christians have somehow adopted the belief that laughing at ourselves or at the ridiculous situations that life often presents to us is akin to sacrilege.  The Bible is filled with scriptures that extol the virtues of laughter and a joyful heart:
-  "A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones."  (Psalms 17:22)
-  "A glad heart makes a cheerful face, but by sorrow of heart the spirit is crushed."  (Proverbs 15:13)
-  "A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;"  (Ecclesiastes 3:4)

I'm all for showing due respect.  I really am.  I'm also all for learning not to think too highly of myself or others.  Learning to laugh at ourselves can save us a lot of pain in life.  Even now I remember the year I worked at the local J.C. Penney store during the Christmas holiday season.  I arrived at work early one morning, still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, and took up my station at the busiest cash register in the store.  I must have waited on well over a hundred customers that morning, hustling around the department showing them various sale items, packaging up purchases, and straightening shelves.  By lunch time I was bushed and headed for the break room for some well-earned respite.  Once there, I moved to two or three different tables to share in conversations with other employees and purchased a soda and snack from a couple of machines.  Toward the end of my break, I made a quick trip to the ladies' room to freshen up for the afternoon.  Then and only then did I discover that I had been wearing my slacks backwards all morning long.  I knew this because they were the kind that had the sewn-in pleat down the center of each leg.  When I emerged from the restroom, slightly embarrassed but unable to keep myself from chuckling, I asked my fellow workers, "Didn't any of you notice that I had my pants on backwards?!"  Several of them replied, "Yes."  "Well," I responded, "why then didn't you tell me?"  Their answer?  "We thought we might embarrass you if we did."  So let me get this straight-- they thought I would be less embarrassed to find out I'd been parading all over J.C. Penney with seams running down the back of my slacks?  Go figure.

The point of this blog post is pretty simple:  Don't take yourself or others too seriously.  Life is short and is filled with more than enough opportunities to mourn and wail.  Laugh when you can.  Laugh 'til tears run down your face.  Laugh 'til your sides hurt.  Believe me, you'll feel so much better afterwards.  Who knows, in a tough situation you may just come out smelling like a bandit!

"For by the grace given to me I warn everyone among you not to estimate and think of himself more highly than he ought..."  (Romans 12:3a)

The Clotheslines versus The Pool

Let me clearly state for the record that I hate doing laundry.  It is without a doubt my least favorite household chore, and it never seems to end.  The only thing that used to make it somewhat tolerable was that I had clothes lines in my back yard.  During the warm months of the year I would take my laundry loads outside, hang them methodically (and very artistically, I might add) on those lines, then watch them float in the breeze for a few hours before I retrieved them.  The smell of those freshly line-dried articles of clothing and household linens was intoxicating.  I always drew a great sense of accomplishment in seeing the lines full and imagining that my neighbors were looking at them with great envy wishing they, too, could make their Fruit of the Looms part of such a marvelously crafted work of art.  Enter the swimming pool.

I have always wanted a swimming pool.  A couple of years ago the finances presented themselves unexpectedly and we were able to purchase a very nice, 28-foot diameter above ground pool for our backyard.  I would say that I love swimming, but the truth of the matter is more that I love floating... floating effortlessly around that pool on my inflatable Lazy Boy, allowing all my cares and concerns to be sucked into the filter, with an accompaniment of assorted bugs, never to return to sight.  My cousin, Katherine, told me I love the water so much because I was born under the astrological sign of Pisces, the fish.  Whatever.  I suppose that might be true, but if I accept that explanation I'm left wondering why my husband, who was born under the sign of Leo, has never once contemplated chasing down an antelope to bring home for dinner.

At any rate, when we discussed purchasing the pool, Bob said to me, "There is only one place it can go, and that means I'll have to take your clotheslines down, honey."  That was a bitter pill to swallow.  There I was faced with a choice I would have to make... bedsheets that looked like the sails of the America's Cup on a sunny day, or the sound of rhythmic, circulating waves of water beckoning me in under the promise of warm rays of the sun basking over me.  My choice was the pool.  Since I never really liked the initial stages of doing the laundry-- the sorting, the hand washing, the energy expended in getting one basketful of dirty items after another out of the hamper and into the laundry room-- it wasn't all that tough a choice to make.  I weighed my priorities and quickly opted for the one I felt would give me the biggest bang for my buck in the satisfaction department.  To this day I do not regret my choice.  In fact, last year I purchased a large folding rack at an Amish store that I can easily set up on my deck for drying towels, wet swimsuits, and other miscellaneous items whenever I want.  Seems like the best of both worlds to me.

And so it is with much of life.  We are faced daily with choices and priorities.  How do we spend our time?  With whom do we associate most often?  Where does our money go?  Each of us must determine our priorities and act in accordance with them lest we allow someone else to take hold of that for us and we find ourselves neck deep in commitments we never intended to make and jobs we detest performing.

I often hear people in church circles discussing the small number of Christians who choose to make their walk with the Lord a priority in life.  Statistic after statistic will tell us that about ten percent of a church's membership (any church) does about ninety percent of the work there.  Why should that be the case?  It's because of the priorities people hold in their lives.  People will always make time to do those things they truly want to do;  they will make sacrifices to have the things they really desire in life.  They will choose the pool over the laundry lines because that is what is most important to them.

Recently, a young woman in my doctor's office informed me she was leaving her secure position to move to Atlanta, Georgia and be part of a new church plant in the inner city there.  She had chosen to sacrifice the security of a well-established paycheck and familiar surroundings, to leave friends and acquaintances, even to uproot her son and mother (who lives with her) for an unknown future in a different state.  As we talked, I came to see the desire that burns in her heart to make a difference for Jesus Christ in people's lives.  She was excited at the prospect of what lay ahead and energized by the possibilities of this new endeavor to spread the Word of God and impact others.  She had made a conscious choice to place the values of eternity ahead of the values of this world.  Courtney set her priorities and is living them out in Atlanta, and I have great respect and admiration for her.

Ultimately, no one can set priorities for someone else.  We must each decide what really matters to us and then choose.  No one can really "have it all" in this life.  Something will suffer for attention and things will be left undone.  What matters is not what we choose to leave behind, but we we choose to embrace ahead.  If the possessions and opportunities of this life take precedence over those things which impact eternity, we need to carefully reassess our priorities.  Our salvation is not earned by anything we do... "For it is by free grace (God's unmerited favor) that you are saved through your faith.  And this salvation is not of yourselves, but it is the gift of God; not because of works, lest any man should boast."  (Ephesians 4:8-9)  However, our eternal rewards will be determined by the choices we make in this life, the priorities we set for ourselves.  "But seek first of all His kingdom and His righteousness, and then all these things taken together will be given you besides." (Matthew 6:33)

So, what will it be for you?  The swimming pool or the clothes lines?  The Sunday morning worship service or the kids' soccer game?  The chance to teach at Vacation Bible School or the quiet evening at home spent watching CSI Miami reruns?  Choose wisely, my friends. 

"Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, so that you may prove what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of God, even the thing which is good and acceptable and  in His sight for you."  (Romans 12:2)

The Sin of Sloth

I am not a morning person.  That, I'm sure, comes as no great revelation to those of you who know me well.  Typically, I roll out of bed somewhere between 8:30 and 9:30 a.m. and use the first hour of my time sipping a cup of coffee and dusting the cobwebs from my brain.  After watching Joyce Meyer's broadcast at 10:00 and Joseph Prince's ministry at 10:30, I'm somewhat ready to begin the day.  The really sad part of all that is the day is already nearly half gone.  By 11:00 a.m. most sane, productive people have walked the dog, taken out the trash, started and completed three loads of laundry, put supper in the crock pot, and headed off to face the world at work or complete daily chores.  I, on the other hand, am just thinking about brushing my teeth and applying some moisturizing lotion to my aged skin.  That's pitiful!

Today, I determined to get out of bed when my husband's alarm went off at 6:00 a.m.  While he was slipping into his work clothes, I stumbled out to the kitchen, started a pot of coffee (it's important to prioritize at 6:00 a.m.), prepared a frittata  and put it into the oven for breakfast, packed Bob's lunch, dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, set the table for two, and managed to squeeze out a smile when my husband made his way into the room.  I'm not sure who was more surprised by all of this... Bob or me.  You may be asking the same question that I suspect was on Bob's mind (though he was wise enough to keep it from reaching his lips) :  "Why the sudden change?  What has prompted this?"

Yesterday, I contemplated why some people seem to live such productive, rich lives and others just seem to drift from day to day without accomplishing much of any significance for the Lord.  The answer I reached was, quite simply, time management.  We are each given the same exact number of hours in any given day.  The week holds seven days the world over; and each year is comprised of twelve months whether you live in New York City or Biafra (a secessionist state that was located in Nigeria until 1970, but is now defunct... your geography lesson for the day).  Whether we choose to spend those hours being productive or lying in bed is up to us.  It is true that the human body requires rest.  A good night's sleep for the average adult should amount to seven or eight hours for maximum health, according to the Mayo Clinic.  Some of the side effects of too much sleep include: being tired (how ironic is that?), irritation, anxiety, nervousness, depression, diabetes and poor blood circulation among others.

I have been sleeping too much.  There.  I said it.  In addition, I have identified that habit as a sin-- specifically, sloth.  In case you don't know what sloth is, some of its synonyms are laziness, idleness, indolence, and sluggishness.  According to Wikipedia, sloth is one of the seven deadly sins that leads to spiritual or emotional apathy.  I'm ashamed to admit that I have let this sin go unaddressed in my life this long, but today is not too late to change that.  I can now confess this sin, accept God's forgiveness, know that He is cleansing me of this destructive habit, and move forward in the confidence that my days will be more productive and satisfying than ever before.  Hallelujah!

Habits are made, and habits can be broken.  Repeating something long enough creates a synaptic pathway in the brain and can happen in a relatively short period of time.  Breaking a habit is much more difficult and generally takes much more time.  Perhaps that is why so many scriptures warn us about even venturing into areas of sin for a short while.  Once in, it's very hard to get out.

Remember my friend, Norma?  I suspect that she will die one day while carrying a load of firewood in from the back forty on her shoulders, balancing a water jug on her head all the while, and milking the Guernsey trotting alongside her.  Okay, I'll admit that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but trust me-- the woman is anything but lazy.  Norma can accomplish more in one day than most people do in a week, even at *#+^ years of age.  (I may be lazy, but I'm not so foolish as to advertise a woman's age over the internet.  Suffice to say she is a bit older than I am.)  I admire this Christian friend the Lord has given to me, and you'll probably read her name often on this blog.  Get used to it.  Anyway, if I can aspire and manage to be half as productive as Norma, I'll feel pretty doggone good about myself.

I don't know what "bad habits" (sounds so much easier to swallow than "sins," doesn't it?) you may be struggling with in your life, but this I do know:  You will never be free of them until you identify the sin behind the behavior, confess it to God, accept His forgiveness, and move forward in the freedom and knowledge that He will cleanse you of it.  "If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness."  (I John 1:9)

So, now it is 8:47 a.m.  I have cleaned up from breakfast, done my morning Bible reading and devotions, brushed my hair, and completed three loads of laundry-- not to mention creating this post.  It's off to make the bed, do a little housework, and enjoy reading another chapter in the book I'm currently studying.  This getting up early business isn't so bad after all.  I suspect that when 10:00 or 11:00 p.m. rolls around tonight, I will be ready for a good night's sleep.

"He who covers his transgressions will not prosper, but whoever confesses and forsakes his sins will obtain mercy."  (Provers 28:13)

It Tastes Like Grass With Vinegar On It

For an extended period of time, I ministered to a seniors assisted living community not far from where we live.  Each Thursday morning I drove in, read the morning newspaper aloud in the community room, led some chairside exercises, then directed a choir that was later to travel from church to church presenting their unique style of musical praise.  Every week the residents and participants of the choir would invite me to stay for lunch at the facility.  It was a gesture of love and an expression of their desire to give back a little something for the hours I spent with them.  I wouldn't have refused, even if you paid me.  For those of you who may not have any real experience with "retirement homes," let me say clearly that the food served is prepared with the particular concerns of the digestive and nutritional needs of the elderly.  It is not restaurant-quality fare, for the most part.  As is most often the case, funds are limited and the institution's cook(s) do the best with what they are given.  Here in the South that means the standard vegetable dish consists of some form of greens... mustard greens, turnip greens, spinach, and the like.  I can state unequivocally that I do not like greens.  I consider eating them the privilege of livestock, not humans.  Each week I would politely slide my little white dish of greens aside and do my best to clean the rest of my plate while listening to conversations ranging from bowel impactions to Harriet's latest struggle with carbuncles.  In an assisted living home, no topic is off limits.  Not even at the dinner table.

One day a dear lady commented on the fact that I never seemed to eat my greens and how good they were for me.  I politely replied, "I'm sorry.  I just don't eat grass."  That comment was good for a hearty round of laughs at the table.  (It would seem that in the senior arena I'm a regular Fatty Arbuckle.)  When the laughter died down, that lady politely said, "Darlin', that's just because you don't know how to eat them.  Here now, give me your dish and I'll fix them up for you."  She took the slimy, green concoction and ever so diligently sprinkled the vinegar provided at the table over the top of them.  Pushing them back in my direction, she proudly proclaimed, "Now try those.  See what you think of 'em now."  Because I was raised to be polite and respect my elders (as were most of us baby boomers), I took a small forkful and raised them begrudgingly to my mouth, forced them inside, bit down once, and promptly rinsed them down with about eight ounces of sweet tea (another southern staple).  With a grin of anticipation, that dear lady queried, "Well, honey, what do you think now?"  My reply:  "They taste like grass with vinegar on it."  The uproarious laughter afforded me plenty of time to quickly scoot the dish aside and cover it with my linen napkin.  (I suspect that the facility could probably afford to serve gourmet dishes if they didn't spend so much money laundering linen napkins, but that's just a guess on my part.)

That experience brings to mind the issue of sin in our lives.  (I can't help it.  My mind just works in strange ways.)  We daily serve up sin to those around us whether they want a helping or not.  We even seek to make our sins more palatable to others by dressing them up in finery, sprinkling them with concoctions meant to dilute their bitter taste, declaring all the while that sin is really not all that bad.  Believe it or not, there are people who actually work at developing a taste for certain sins.  They may be repulsed by them at first, but over time they learn to spice them up a bit and gain a certain level of appreciation for them.

I distinctly remember the first time someone offered me a cigarette.  Remarkably, it was in the lunch room at the hospital where I worked, during an afternoon break time.  That was long before we understood all the health ramifications that smoking would present.  Everyone was enjoying their long, leisurely drags on those slender white sticks, so naturally I thought it was the only acceptable thing for me to do.  I put that lit cigarette to my lips and took three or four hearty puffs, inhaling the smoke carefully into my lungs (for fear that I might start coughing and choking, thus giving away my inexperience with the things).  Then I promptly excused myself, exited the room, and went directly to the ladies restroom where I threw up.  (For those of you who may doubt my past medical experience, the correct word for vomit is emesis... so there.)  No one but me knew what had happened.  The following day, I was given a second opportunity to enter the elite crowd of smokers in the break room.  It ended the same way, with a hasty retreat to the ladies' room.  The third day of this routine brought a great revelation to me:  Anything that makes me throw up every time I do it cannot be all that good for me!  Thus, I have never struggled with nicotine addiction.

Down through the years as I have shared that story, many people who were lifelong smokers have said to me, "Well, I threw up, too.  That didn't stop me, though.  I wanted to smoke, so I just kept trying until it didn't make me sick anymore."  Hm-m-m.  I've never fully understood why someone would take that route until I began to take a closer look at some of my own choices in life.  How many times have I pushed myself back from the Thanksgiving table moaning, "Oh my word!  I'm so full I feel sick.  That was great!!"  How often have I told myself, "This little white lie won't turn into anything bigger."  How frequently have I stared in disbelief at an out-of-control credit card bill and thought, "Well, I already owe so much it won't really matter if I add another fifty bucks or so to this."

Sin is sin.  It tastes bitter in the mouth of the believer.  The Holy Spirit plans it that way.  When we belong to Jesus Christ we no longer desire the tastes of the world and all it has to offer, but oh how often we try to season the flavor and make sin palatable so we can comfortably fit in with those around us.  There is nothing to be gained and everything to be lost when we yield to sin and temptation, but praise God we have the power to deny sin in our lives.  It is given to us through the Holy Spirit, and when we see sin approaching, we can call on Him for strength and speedy feet to carry us in the opposite direction.  Lord, let us never develop a taste for sin.  May it always taste like grass with vinegar on it.

"Incline my heart not to submit or consent to any evil thing or to be occupied in deeds of wickedness with men who work iniquity; and let me not eat of their dainties."  (Psalm 141:4)

Seeking Awesome

Today I discovered something brand new.  All my life I have thought that "awesome" was something I wanted to achieve, somewhere I wanted to be, a word that would be associated with who I am.  For some strange reason, I decided to look up the word in my Noah Webster's 1828 Edition of the American Dictionary of the English Language.  (A side note here:  It is my personal opinion that every true scholar or aspiring scholar should possess a copy of this wonderful book.  It is the dictionary that defines "dictionary" to me.)  Upon doing so, I discovered that the definition of awe (because the actual word "awesome" is apparently a word invented sometime after 1828) is:  "Fear mingled with admiration or reverence; dread inspired by something great or terrific; to strike with fear and reverence; to influence by fear, terror or respect."  Well.  That was certainly NOT what I had thought awesome was all about.  I don't know that I have ever purposed to be feared or dreaded, nor have I wanted my influence among people to be born of terror.  (Except maybe that one time when my son cursed at me in the kitchen of our home.  Cut him some slack, though... he was 17 years old and we all do some pretty foolish things when we're 17.)  So, that inspired me to look up the word "awesome" in a slightly newer edition of the dictionary, published in 1984.  (Yes, indeed, I do own multiple editions of various dictionaries and they are cherished possessions of mine.)  The definition I found there was:  "A mixed feeling of reverence, fear, and wonder, caused by something majestic, sublime, sacred, etc. ."  Hm-m-m, a little more to my liking, I guess.  Then I determined to Google the term:   "Extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear.  Extremely good or excellent."  Wow.  It would appear that the concept of what "awesome" means has changed dramatically from 1828 to the present; not unlike most other things in this world.  So why does that matter?

Here's the thing:  I have always thought I wanted to be "awesome."  I've dreamed of the day when people would say about me, "Isn't she an awesome woman?"  "Wasn't her work awesome?"  "Doesn't she possess awesome insight into spiritual matters?"  Now, I find that it not my desire to be thought of with dread, even if it is inspired by something great.  I do not wish to influence others by fear or terror.  I don't even want those around me to view me with with mixed feelings of reverence, fear, and wonder regardless of whether or not those feelings are caused by something majestic, sublime, or sacred that I have done.  Today, I have decided that "awesome" is no longer my goal.  So, what is it I'm seeking?

As I often do, today I looked up the synonyms for the word awesome. (What?  Don't you sit with your thesaurus close at hand on a day-to-day basis?)  "Respected, dreaded, astonishing."    Okay, not entirely bad (excepting the "dreaded" one).  Still not quite what I'm looking for, though.  Finally, I Googled "anointed," since it is most certainly a word frequently circulated in the realm of Christianity:  "He is an anointed preacher."  "Her ministry has truly been anointed by God."  Anointed must surely be a good thing.  Know what I found out?  Anointed means "smeared or rubbed with another substance."  At first glance, not something I would choose for myself.  My husband's work clothes are smeared with grease and he often comes home with oil smudges rubbed across his forehead.  Yuck!  Once that stuff is in his clothing, I play havoc trying to get it out-- most of the time with minimal success, if any.  Hey, that's it!  That's what I want to be.  I want to be smeared with the essence of the Holy Spirit, rubbed all over with the divinity of Jesus Christ.  I want to know that no one and nothing can wash away the anointing I have received in the Cross.

Now that's something worth desiring in my life.  I have no problem asking my God to anoint me with His holy presence each and every day I live.  Smear me with Your wisdom, Father.  Leave a great smudge across my forehead as you place Your thoughts into my mind.  Anoint me in such a way that the trials of this life and the temptations of Satan can never remove Your mark.  No more awesome for me.  No, sir.  From this day forward I will seek to be anointed by a Holy God who is able to do all things for His glory.

 "But the anointing that you received from him abides in you, and you have no need that anyone should teach you. But as his anointing teaches you about everything, and is true, and is no lie—just as it has taught you, abide in him."  (I John 2:27)

Which Side of the Door Are You On?

Most of us have seen the famous picture/painting of Jesus Christ standing in a garden outside a door, knocking.  There is something interesting about that picture that may have escaped your notice.  Look carefully... there is no door knob on that door.  Christ couldn't open it if He wanted to.  He stands patiently, knocking gently (Christ doesn't pound on things like Krushchev), waiting for someone to come to the door and open it.  He was exceedingly patient as He knocked on the door of my heart.  In truth, I did open it just a crack on a few occasions.  I even recognized who was on the other side and politely acknowledged His presence.  I just didn't open the door widely and invite Him in... at least not for many years.

Not long ago I was puttering around my home when I heard a loud knock at the front door.  Admittedly, I did not rush to the door and fling it open in wild abandon.  I tend to be a bit more cautious and concerned for my safety than that.  Instead, I went to a window that afforded me the option of taking a look at my front porch to see who was standing there.  Two men, neither of whom I had ever seen before, were waiting for my answer.  When I didn't immediately open the door, one of them knocked again, even louder and with more gusto than the first knock.  By that time, I had stepped away from the window and determined that opening the door to them was not only unwise, but potentially dangerous, so I just waited quietly within the safety of my home and with my cell phone in hand; in fact, I'd already dialed 911 and just needed to press the "Talk" button to place that call.  After a few moments had passed, the two men resigned themselves to no response, so they walked away, mumbling to each other.  I don't know what they were saying, and frankly I don't much care.  It was enough for me that they left, and that once again I felt safe and comfortable in my home.  My door had been locked to those two men and it stayed locked.

The painting of Jesus knocking at the door is an artist's interpretation of Christ's attempt to enter into our hearts (based on an analogy given in Scripture).  It is not a historical snapshot.  Now, I'm about to make a statement here that you may find radical:  I believe Christ is not the only one who knocks at the door of our heart.  Sometimes Satan uses that approach to enter into our lives.  He stands, quite unassumingly, knocking repeatedly.  He is persistent... even more persistent than the two men on my porch.  If we take a peek, he may seem non-threatening, even benign.  Perhaps he's clothed in a nice suit, freshly shaven, and with highly polished shoes.  He may represent everything good the world has to offer.  It's tempting to open the door just a crack to see what it is he has to propose.  The danger here is that, unlike our tender loving Savior, when we open the door just a crack to Satan, he forces his way in and brings with him all his loyal minions who had been hiding in the bushes while he gained initial entry.  One he's in and his troops follow, we are in peril and in need of immediate rescue.

The point of all this is simple.  I am in control of the doorknob to my heart and life.  Christ can only enter in when I am willing to open the door to Him.  So it is with Satan.  The choice is mine who I invite into my life.  Now, once Jesus enters into my heart and life, then He stands on the inner side of that door and He can control the knob.  It becomes Christ Himself who will use that opportunity to open the door to blessings and experiences of His mighty power to me.  He holds the Key of David; it is He "...who opens the door and no one shall shut, who shuts and no one shall open."  (Revelation 3:7b)  All too often I have found myself lamenting the lack of power and influence I possess in my personal life and ministry.  In truth, there is no one to blame for that but myself.  I have often heard Jesus knocking and I know I should open the door to Him, but it just seems so inconvenient at the moment.  After all, I'm a busy woman and I'm just not sure I have time to complete all that Christ wants me to do and still accomplish all that I want to do.  I've been working hard on some of my goals for a very long time.  There's been no breakthrough yet, but I'm sure it's coming... sometime.

Friends, I can work for a lifetime trying to accomplish the goals I have set for myself and still never see them come to fruition.  If the Lord has not opened those doors with the key only He possesses, my wheels will forever be spinning and I will never know the joy of His blessings upon my work here on earth.  It is time for me to put aside those things I desire to do and open the door of my heart and life to the work to which Christ is calling me.  When He opens those doors, they will not be closed.  And when He closes doors, they will not be opened.  Not by man, not by Satan, not by all the demons of hell.  If you are struggling fruitlessly to create a ministry for yourself, earn man's praise, or secure your own personal admiration for all you've accomplished, I can promise you that Jesus Christ will continually close doors in your face.  You will experience frustration after frustration, just as I did for so many years.  "For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord..."  Opening the door of my heart and life to the leading of Jesus Christ promises His blessings and His power.  Without Him, I can do nothing.

"I know your  works and what you are doing.  See!  I have set before you a door wide open which no one is able to shut; I know that you have but little power, and yet you have kept My Word and guarded My message and have not renounced or denied My name."

(Revelation 3:8)

Start Where You Are

I would suppose that the one thing, the question that keeps most of us from achieving significant things in life, is:  Where do I start?  The answer, though simple, is also evasive and often hard to identify.  It is:  Start where you are. 

In this day and age of marvelous technology—GPS units, Garmin, even MapQuest or Google Earth applications all rely on one simple piece of information in order to provide us with clear directions on how to get where we want to be:  What is your starting point?  Even the pioneers had to establish a location from where they would embark upon their perilous journey across mountains and deserts.  In the years of maps and trip planning, the first step was to mark the place from where we were beginning in order to determine how we would arrive at our final destination.  Shopping malls provide maps to locate the stores they contain, and each one bears a mark that clearly states, “You Are Here”.    Armed with the information of where we are starting our journey, we can embark upon that trip with purpose and assurance that we will ultimately reach our destination if we check our progress periodically along the way and make sure we don’t wander off the assigned route.

Don’t misunderstand me here.  Sometimes, we cannot clearly identify what our final destination may be.  Perhaps God has not yet uncovered that information for us.  So it is for me right now.  Although I know beyond doubt that my Lord has called me to step out in faith, I must freely admit that I don’t have a clue where He intends for me to ultimately arrive.  That does not mean, however, that I am powerless to establish some stops for myself along the way.

When I first determined that God was directing me toward entering into seminary training, the thought of embarking on such an unknown journey was intimidating, if not downright scary.  Since I had (and still have) no idea of my final destination, I decided to constitute some landmarks by which I could measure my progress.  The first thing was to determine which seminary I would attend.  Thanks to the wonders of the internet, I was able to peruse through the catalogs and websites of numerous seminaries in relative proximity to where I live.  (I believed then, and still believe, that God does not intend for me to leave my husband and home behind as I seek to obey His call.)  I also decided it would be wise to seek the counsel of people I respected, other devoted Christians.  I eventually narrowed my field of choices to three good prospects… and then I really started to pray.  Just about the time I had decided I knew which one was the seminary for me, God sprang a surprise on me (as He often does) and I received an e-mail from a pastor-friend of mine encouraging me to investigate Covington Theological Seminary.  To make a moderately long story short, Covington was definitely the place God had in mind for me.  Had I simply sat in wait for a lightning bolt to give me direction, I would most probably still be sitting.  No, I needed to take a step forward in faith believing that God would direct my steps and begin to mark out the “road map” He has planned for me.  I have often told my own children:  “It is impossible to steer a parked car.  You have to put the thing in gear and begin to move forward in order to direct those wheels.”  (Don’t you just hate it when your own words come back to haunt you?)  With my first semester successfully completed, I needed to find another landmark for myself.  Choosing the courses for summer on-line studies kept me moving.  I’ve completed those and am now prepared to attend enrollment for the fall semester later this month.  The point here is simple:  Once I accepted my personal starting point and amassed all the documentation of my past education (needed in order to enroll for my first semester at Covington), I was able to set some goals along the way and trust in God to keep me on track.

The amazing thing about a map directing us from one point to another is that there is always more than one way to make the trip.  I can drive into town using the shortest route possible, or I can choose the way that is the most scenic.  I can determine which way will afford me the best gas mileage or which route will lead me around unwanted construction zones.  Once I’ve determined my ultimate goal in reaching my destination, I’m ready to start out… from right where I am.  However, if I spend too much time contemplating all the possibilities without ever making a choice, the opportunity to actually embark upon the trip may pass me by.  Planning is good—to a point.  But sometimes, we are called to simply step out in faith and trust in God to do the steering.  When I first began this amazing journey, my husband asked, “So where is all this leading, honey?  What does this look like in the end?”  I could only offer one answer:  “I don’t know, Bob.  If I knew, I guess I would be following a plan, not walking in faith.”  My wonderful friend of 30+ years, Norma, once told me, “Faith is a muscle; it only grows stronger when we exercise it.”  (I will confess here that I sometimes feel like the Arnold Schwarzenegger of faith at this point, but that’s not a bad thing.  Just look how far Arnold has come… then again, let’s not.) 

The whole point here is that it is absolutely crucial we identify where we are before we begin to make plans to get somewhere else.  That done, we can begin to move forward in our plans and in faith for God’s ultimate leading and direction for our journey.  Along the way, we’re bound to run into a few obstacles… roadblocks, should we choose to follow the analogy.  Right now, I have no idea where the money will come from for tuition payments in the months ahead.  I’m down to my last payment reserve, which I squirreled away during a brief time of prosperity earlier in the year.  However, that money appeared in the nick of time all those months ago, so why should I doubt that God will provide the necessary funds once again when I need them?  My job is to keep moving forward while the Lord steers me and clears the road ahead.

I have no idea where you are in your life or to where God may be calling you.  Perhaps you’re wondering how you will ever make such a demanding trip or how to even get started.  My words to you are simply, “Start where you are, friend.”  Take a good hard look at your circumstances, your assets, and your needs.  Do what you are able to do for yourself… then exercise your faith muscle like never before and believe in God for miracles.  The God of Abraham and Isaac is the same God today as He was then.  He is still a God who delights in performing miracles for His children.  He knows exactly how to get you where He wants you to be, but you must choose to obediently step out in faith.  I pray that Almighty God will guide each step, open each door, and meet each need as it is presented… and that you will believe Him all the way.

“A man’s mind plans his way, but the Lord directs his steps and makes them sure.” 

Proverbs 16:9

Right Passion, Wrong Place

For most of my life I have been fascinated by words.  Some of my earliest and most endearing memories involve hours spent with my nose buried in a Nancy Drew mystery.  When I was reading those books I became Nancy- sifting through the clues, daring and persistent, until the guilty culprit was revealed and the mystery solved.  Then high school rolled around and I was introduced to The Scarlet Letter, A Tale of Two Cities, The Telltale Heart, and a plethora ( I told you I love words) of other classics that pulled me into the intoxicating world of literature and showed me the real power of words.  I began to experiment with my own attempts at communicating thoughts through the medium of writing, which usually managed to earn me a better-than-average grade in English classes, but never really took me any further.

Throughout the years I've toyed with writing... mostly because I simply could not help myself.  Even today I write copious letters and send out numerous notes of encouragement to people.  The telephone is great, and the internet is amazing, but I believe there is something special about receiving a letter in the mailbox and knowing that someone cared enough to take time to put thoughts to pen on your behalf.  Sometimes I write humorous adaptations of fairy tales inserting my name and life experiences into letters sent to my sister in Michigan.  They make her laugh, and she's always good for some words of encouragement about how wonderfully creative and talented I am.  (Sisters can be that way when they want.)  I have a wonderful friend named Norma.  She has often requested that I write down some of my stories and recollections, but I failed to take her seriously all these many years.  Sorry, Norma.

About three years ago I accepted a staff position as Director of Music at a local Baptist church.  With that job came a request that I compose an article monthly for the church newsletter, which I quickly took to heart.  The first one or two articles addressed the nuances of music in the worship service.  There was one article calling for more people to consider joining the choir.  It wasn't long, however, before those articles began to morph into commentaries concerning an insight or God-given revelation from my life.  It also wasn't long before I was called into the pastor's office and gently reminded that my job was to address the music ministry and not give my thoughts on matters of personal spiritual growth (or the lack thereof), discipleship versus evangelism, or what the real purpose of the church should be in today's world.  It was a difficult meeting for me, and I left the pastor's office disillusioned and feeling totally unappreciated.  I've thought about that simple confrontation many times since that day.  In truth, I just stopped submitting any articles for the newsletter because I was busy nursing my crushed toes.  (Our pastor is a big man, and when he "steps on your toes" you know they've been stepped on!)  Sometimes it takes awhile for the Lord to get a clear message through to me, but I thank Him for His persistence.  I've recently come to understand that I had the right passion.  My motives were pure.  I just tried to interject them into the wrong place.  That monthly newsletter is not the forum through which God would have me reach others.  It is a newsletter... nothing more and nothing less.

Now, I have no idea if this blog will ever be read by more than my closest circle of friends who are seeking to humor me by taking an occasional peak at it, but it is possible that God may use it far beyond anything I can imagine or hope for.  After all, isn't that what Scripture tells us:  "Now to Him Who, by the power that is at work within us, is able to do super-abundantly, far over and above all that we dare ask or think-- to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations forever and ever.  Amen."  (Ephesians 3:20)  I know this much:  In this place I am free to express myself and share any insight or words of wisdom which may be given to me by my gracious God without fear of admonition.  That, I am told, is the beauty of a blog.

It was never a matter of whether what I have to say is pertinent or even appropriate.  No.  It was purely a matter of trying to say it in the wrong place and at the wrong time.  Besides, there was never enough room in that little newsletter for me to fully express my thoughts anyway.  Our poor administrative assistant was continually challenged with trying to fit my article into limited space without reducing the font to something that would require using the Hubble telescope to read it.  I really only regret that he did not feel free to talk directly to me about the issue, but went to the pastor to "call my attention to the matter."  (That basic issue, by the way, is an entire post of its own, and one that I will surely address in the future.  Stay tuned for further word on that.)  But praise the Lord... enter the internet and the wonderful world of blogging.  Now I have the freedom and the forum to share my thoughts.  In the immortal words of Tony the Tiger,  "This is gr-r-reat!!"  Whether or not I ever become world renowned, I will certainly find a level of fulfillment in being able to do something for which God has gifted me.  (By the way, is there such a thing as "world renowned" in blogging?) Writing is my passion.  I have a love affair going with words.  And now I know how to get them out to people I may never even meet in this lifetime.

Right passion, right place.  Now that's a winning combination!

"But you shall receive power (ability, efficiency, and might) when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you shall be My witnesses in Jerusalem and all Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth."  Acts 1:8

The Freedom of Truth

To say that I dislike lies and deception would have to be one of the greatest understatements of all history.  I might more accurately state that I detest both those things, and I hold very little regard for those who practice them.  I must confess at this point, however, that I used to be a consummate liar and often practiced both deception and manipulation of the truth.  Much like the Apostle Paul proclaimed regarding his sinfulness, when it came to liars, "...I [was] chief among them."  I can't tell you when that habit first began to form in my life or how.  All I know is that by the time I reached adulthood I was skilled at fabrication, exaggeration, false gossip, and downright bald-faced lies.  Looking back at my life, I am truly ashamed of that time, but eternally grateful that the Lord has not only forgiven me of all those things, but is constantly and faithfully cleansing me of even the desire to behave in deceptive, false ways.

Earlier this year my husband and I discovered that through some miscalculations in our paycheck withholding through the year, we ended 2012 owing the federal government a considerable amount of money, far more than our meager savings account contained.  After correcting the withholding mistake for the coming years, we determined it would be best to take out a credit card that was offering a 20-month period of time in which you could pay off its balance without incurring any interest on the money.  Bob made the arrangements and we received the first statement for that card a few weeks ago.  I opened the envelope, took mental note that the due date for the first payment was the eighth of the month (8/8/13, according to the date in the little yellow box), and filed it in my bill box in the desk.  On the fifth of this month, I sat down at the desk prepared to write out our bills for the first half of the month comfortable in the knowledge that they would all be paid slightly before they were actually due.  (After having lived much of our married life having "more month left at the end of the money" than the other way around, I draw considerable comfort being able to meet our obligations fully each month now and even before they are technically "due.")   I drew the statement from its envelope and came face to face with a terrible reality-- the due date was not 8/8/13, it was in fact 8/3/13.  I must have blinked a dozen times in disbelief and even rubbed my eyes once or twice to see if I was accurately focusing.  There it was... due date, 8/3/13.  Normally, I would probably have shrugged my shoulders and gone ahead writing out the check without much further thought of the matter.  However, I realized in that moment that making a late payment was grounds by which the lending institution could decide to assess the full interest charges on the amount and we would have taken this route in vain, thanks to my mistake.  Feeling a little sick, I confessed my error to Bob and we promptly drove down to the bank to see what could be done on our behalf.  All the way I imagined a dozen different plausible stories I could concoct to explain our predicament to the bank officer and insist that the error was not mine, thus excusing us from the consequences.  Let me state that some of them were pretty good stories, I think... entirely believable and sure to draw pity and compassion from even the heart of Scrooge.  When we reached our destination, though, the Holy Spirit quietly whispered in my ear, "Just tell the truth."  I knew He was right and that the best policy truly is always honesty, so I swallowed my pride, took a deep breath, asked the Lord to give me courage, and spent a few moments in the bank officer's cubicle telling her of my mistake and asking if there was anything she could do to help us avoid the penalty of interest.  By the miracle of modern day technology, she punched a few buttons on her computer keyboard and literally turned back the hands of time, logging the payment into the system for the 2nd of the month.  Viola.  It was done; the payment would not be registered as late, and there would be no penalty for my honest mistake.  In that moment of time I understood even more fully the meaning of grace... the unmerited favor of someone extended to me.

Truth was so powerfully important to Jesus Christ that it is one of the names by which He chose to identify himself.  "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  No man shall come to the Father but through Me."  (John 14:6)  He also stated, "If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples.  Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free."  (John 8:31-32)  Jesus Christ, the One who died for my sins, held the truth in highest esteem.  If I am to call myself a Christian, a follower of Christ, so must I.  Not once in my life have I told a lie and then later felt empowered or good about it.  My conscience has been plagued and my spirit has been heavy with the knowledge of my deception, but never have I felt "free" when I have abandoned the truth.

Like so many things in life, lying and deceiving quickly become habits in the lives of those who practice them. I can think of few habits more destructive to relationships and more detrimental to our health and well-being.  The Scriptures are resplendent with admonitions against them:
-  Do not lie. Do not deceive one another. (Leviticus 19:11)
-  No one who practices deceit will dwell in my house; no one who speaks falsely will stand in my presence.(Psalm 101:7)
-  The LORD detests lying lips, but he delights in men who are truthful. (Proverbs 12:22)
-  The integrity of the upright guides them, but the unfaithful are destroyed by their duplicity. (Proverbs 11:3)

Just Google up "scriptures regarding lies" and you'll find a wealth of very clear, concise warnings against the practice of deceit in any form.

As is the case with many sins in today's world, lying and deception have become acceptable ways to "get ahead."  In fact, our society almost reveres those who are especially good at the practice.  We have a tendency to accept the lie without question even when we know it's a lie.  When called to accountability for telling a whopper of a lie in my presence one time, a former friend proudly declared, "It's my lie and I'll tell it any way I want!"  (Take note here that I used the adjective "former" in describing this man.)

Walking in truth is freeing.  A clear conscience is a treasure that cannot be bought at any price.  In a world plagued by depression, ulcers, headaches, and raging insomnia, the man who speaks the truth will "...go [his] way in safety, and [his] foot will not stumble; when [he] lies down, [he] will not be afraid; when [he] lies down, [his] sleep will be sweet." (Proverbs 4:23-24)  I am so eternally grateful that God has cleansed me from the sinful habit of lying.  When tempted to fall back into the practice, I can victoriously proclaim,  "The Son has set me free, and I am free indeed!"  (John 8:36)  God's grace is sufficient for me... who needs a lie?!

"Truthful lips endure forever, but a lying tongue is but for a moment."  (Proverbs 12:19)

I Am Not Joyce Meyer

I suppose, like many of you I have often come across people in my lifetime whom I admire greatly.  In my younger years, that admiration often took the form of imitation.  Even my youngest children sought to imitate their older siblings.  Try as I might, I could never quite convince the older one that was a blessing, a sign of respect and admiration.  They just thought it was irritating and petitioned me loudly to make their younger sibling quit. 

In my 20’s I wanted to be anyone other than who I was.  Mostly, my admiration fell upon those in the public eye… namely, the entertainment industry.  I watched famous actresses and singers with great envy and dreamed of what life as them would be.  In the years that have passed, most of them are either dead (from drug overdoses, alcoholism, or suicide) or have disappeared from the public eye altogether. 

Then, when I was saved through Christ Jesus, I began to shower my admiration on famous Christians… Sandi Patty, to be specific.  I bought her cassettes (remember, I’m talking about my 30’s—there were no CD’s back then), I purchased the sheet music of her songs, I even got hold of accompaniment tapes (again with the cassettes) to her music and felt quite sure that I had mastered each and every one of them.  (Sadly, I still have most of those cassettes and they sit unused in my office closet somewhere.)  While I experienced a modicum of success in Christian circles trying to emulate and channel Sandi’s talent, I was never able to quite reach that pinnacle of success she had achieved. 

Eventually, I gave up on that dream and began to live a silent life of resignation that I would never be Sandi Patty.  My 40’s came and went uneventfully:  little progress in my faith and no progress toward everlasting fame and fortune.  Then my 50’s rolled around.  Yikes!  50’s??!!  Suddenly—overnight—I was old and had accomplished nothing of any real significance… or so I thought.  Those years from 50 -59 were some of my bleakest years.  I felt unappreciated, underutilized, and totally worthless most of the time, but I concealed those feelings well.  The people around me saw only the façade of the woman who diligently tended to her home, her husband, and her church.  They recognized me from the yellow “Smiley Face button” expression I wore from day to day, never imagining the emptiness and frustration that filled the corners of my heart.

And then 60 appeared out of nowhere.  I was 60 years old!!  I probably had more life behind me than before me.  Now what was I going to do?  Perhaps out of sheer desperation I began a radical practice… one that few others would ever understand or embrace.  I began to pray, asking God to speak directly to me; me—this worthless nothing of a woman who had never accomplished anything great for His kingdom.  And speak He did!  I was shocked at the things He had to say to me.  People began to surface and re-enter my life to share their love, admiration, and respect for the “difference” I had made in their lives.  Scripture began to take on a personal significance in my heart.  I started to realize that God’s Word was more than pages in a dusty, seldom opened book that lay on my coffee table from day to day.  It was real… it was alive… and it was meant for me!  Me!  Me!!!!  God’s promises and provisions were for ME.

In my 61^st year of life, the great God of all creation placed a call upon my heart.  He told me simply, “Go back to college.  Get an education in the Scriptures.  Prepare yourself for the job I have for you.”  My response:  “You’re kidding, right?!  I’m 61 years old.  I have no money for tuition and I certainly cannot fly off to some college campus somewhere, leaving my husband and home behind.  What can you possibly have in mind, Lord?”  Nonetheless, one thing I have learned in my walk with God is that when He calls your name you need to listen and obey.  It’s just that simple.  Now, I cannot tell you that I have received a lot of support from those around me (excepting my ever-faithful and supportive husband).  To most of them I suppose I’m viewed as a novelty of sort; the little old woman who has put herself back into college, as if she’ll ever really be able to do anything of significance at her age.  “Isn’t she cute?”  Well, I would not call myself “cute,” just obedient.  And I know that God always honors obedience.

One person, when informed of my decision to enter seminary, responded in this way:  “So, I suppose you’re going to be another Joyce Meyer, huh?”  To that, I give a resounding “NO!”  There is only one Joyce Meyer, and I am not she.  Joyce has been given a ministry by Almighty God.  She has been anointed by the Holy Spirit to reach people and make a difference in lives the world over.  In fact, she has ministered to me often through her books and her television broadcasts.  I thank God for Joyce Meyer.  I, however, am Patricia Eikmeier.  I have been given my own set of spiritual gifts, natural abilities, and talents.  God has a plan for my life.  He is even now preparing a vital ministry for me.  I no longer feel the need (or even the desire) to be anyone other than who my Lord has created me to be.

This blog is a beginning.  I will trust in God to determine its power, its influence, and its reach.  Not only can I not control those things… I couldn’t even set this up without my daughter-in-love’s help (that would be our precious Heather).  You see, I am still quite “technologically challenged,” but praise the Lord that He has provided to me Heather’s expertise and a way to begin reaching out to others with a few of the revelations He has provided to me.  I pray they will be of encouragement and comfort to you.

 “For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord;  thoughts and plans to bless you and not to harm you.  Plans for a hope and a future.”  Isaiah 29:11