It's all ancient history: Understanding God's perspective on our redemption

Sometimes life is in the details, when you go digging with your spade for joy through the day's dross. Others, it's in the blur, in the painting of the day, the fogginess of retrospect. 

There are a million ways to raise your children, and each child and parent is different. I by no means state that my way is THE way. For this family, though, it is. It is right for these children to be home, even though I fail at homeschooling, and housecleaning, and even getting up at the right time of the morning. Precious has been the verse, "Although the Lord gives you the bread of adversity and the water of affliction, your teachers will be hidden no more; Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.” (Isaiah 30:19-20 exc.)

It doesn't come every day, every hour, every crisis, as I beg it would. Now and then, in the cracks of consciousness, in the humdrum and even through chaos, He whispers. Confirmation. Blessing. Direction.

My kids don't learn a lot from workbooks. Homeschool, for us, is about the golden hours of opportunity, snuggled up with a book and Youtube, exploring the universe and listening to the songs of stars. Reading Psalm 148 together. Can you learn about the stars and NOT read Psalm 148? Yes. But to do it all together, mama and kids, eyes wide, tears flowing...that is a gift.

Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD from the heavens; praise him in the heights! Praise him, all his angels; praise him, all his hosts! Praise him, sun and moon, praise him, all you shining stars! Praise him, you highest heavens, and you waters above the heavens! Let them praise the name of the LORD! For he commanded and they were created. And he established them forever and ever; he gave a decree, and it shall not pass away. Praise the LORD from the earth, you great sea creatures and all deeps, fire and hail, snow and mist, stormy wind fulfilling his word! Mountains and all hills, fruit trees and all cedars! Beasts and all livestock, creeping things and flying birds! Kings of the earth and all peoples, princes and all rulers of the earth! Young men and maidens together, old men and children! Let them praise the name of the LORD, for his name alone is exalted; his majesty is above earth and heaven. He has raised up a horn for his people, praise for all his saints, for the people of Israel who are near to him. Praise the LORD! (Psalm 148 ESV)

That morning, this morning of dancing and the evening of diving into our enormous universe, I woke up and fell asleep and woke up again and went to sleep again. I was buried under my insomnia and my guilt and my depression until 2 p.m. I went through the motions of making meals, I silently walked through rooms straightening up, but then I went back, and huddled in the burn-out sunlight on my bed. That morning seemed like an utter failure.

But the day wasn't over and who can grasp the enormity of the story of redemption? Who can look at the speck of life, the brief time given, in contrast to the ageless, faithful wonders of creation, and say, I must matter? Yet each hair on our heads is counted precious, each of our tears are caught in a bottle, each moment the universe is singing praise to heaven and we are failing...He is pursuing. He is dreaming of that second when you find purpose in the midst of your purposeless day, and think of Him. Remember HIM. Do you believe that? That He's waiting at the end of the day, and if you don't make it back to Him by the end of the day, He's there the next, and the next, and the next? Until you die. Waiting patiently for you to turn and recognize His hand in the painting, His gifting of the details, His fitting and molding of your life.

But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. (2 Peter 3:8-9)

Beloved. You are more beloved to Him than your children are to you. There is nothing you could value higher than God values your life, your days: your face and your words - He's longing for them! Whether I'm drowning in details or lost in the "big picture", He's waiting for me at the end of the day to whisper that I walked in the path. He's there to smooth the ruffles and to dry the tears and fix the hurts of the day. If I'll only remember to turn to Him.

When I do, there's no disappointment, there's no shame, there's no preamble to love, conditional like we humans love each other and Him. There is no "You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" God. He is WAY too big for that. There is only the God who sees the elemental YOU, the one He created for His glory, beautiful, clean and unscathed and totally redeemed. Your redemption is history and the rest of this mystery if your gift. Clean slate. Tabula rasa. A Father who no longer condemns us, but loves us and waits for us and makes our crooked paths straight. He doesn't demand our praise, need our praise, depend on our faithfulness for His grand plan to work. What does He do with our praise? He loves it, cherishes it, delights in it, waits for it.

Once you understand that everything is based on His love, and not His condemnation, you can come to the end of that failed day and simply rest. For you are His beloved, cherished, accepted child in whom He delights.

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death. For what the law was powerless to do because it was weakened by our flesh, God did by sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh to be a sin offering. If Christ is in you, then even though your body is subject to death because of sin, the Spirit gives life because of righteousness. And if the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead is living in you, he who raised Christ from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies because of his Spirit who lives in you...those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. (excerpted from Romans 8)

"Beloved"

"Cherished"

The flame lit by the Consuming Fire

Note: All the photos in today's post are courtesy of my husband,

who is much better at pausing for beauty than I. He captures the skies.

And I look at his photos in awe. Miss you, honey!

Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket,

but on a stand, and it gives great light to all in the house.

In the same way, let your light shine before others,

that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father

who is in heaven. (Matthew 5:15-16)

It is tempting, at times, to listen to the hushing voices that would have you question your walk with God or authenticity of your faith. But He is not a quiet God who listens to other voices. He lights our skies day and night with the most fantastic, ever-changing display of color, light, and even sound and fury, for all men to see...and even enjoy.

I cannot stay silent or pretend God isn't amazing me every single day. Tying down your faith with the words and choices of others is like trying to hogtie a slippery pig in a muddy pen. God escapes us, emanates from our pores, oozes into our conversations and is found in the most desperate, desolate reaches of my soul.

I have never been nominal about anything. If I like a certain way of cooking my spaghetti sauce, my friends hear about it. If I discover something that works for me - a Phiten for my migraines or an herb for postpartum bleeding - you'll know about it if you spend time with me. I can't pretend my faith isn't devouring me whole and leaving no trace. I can't pretend about who I am, who God created to me. I have to come to grips with the fact that there is no putting a bushel (marked "nominal Christian" or anything else) over the light He lit in me. I'll never again be a Sunday-only church goer. I'll always be the geek in the back corner of every classroom - and Sunday service - sitting on her hands every time they ask for volunteers, for fear my enthusiasm will betray me when that hand flies up before the speaker is finished asking.

You spread out the skies over empty space

Said "let there be light"

Into a dark and formless world Your light

was born

You spread out Your arms over empty hearts

Said "let there be light"

Into a dark and hopeless world Your Son

was born

You made the world and saw that it was good

You sent Your only son for You are good

What a wonderful Maker

What a wonderful Savior

How majestic Your whispers

And how humble Your love

With a strength like no other

And the heart of a Father

How majestic Your whispers

What a wonderful God

No eye has fully seen, how beautiful the cross

And we have only heard

The faintest whispers of how great You are

~ Wonderful Maker, Chris Tomlin ~





Linked to Ann Voskamp

and Bonnie Gray

A cloud breaks free

Creation is what brought me back into the fold of those children of God working hard every day for His glory.  I was a nominal Christian for my college years - although I wonder if some of the acquaintances I shared the Gospel with during that time might object to my loose use of the term "nominal"? - and continued to struggle, as a young, single career woman with how God was supposed to fit into my daily life and my internal monologue.  During those same years of confusion and incremental creep away from church and openly professing Christians, I learned to snowboard and kayak.  I have a penchant still, as a somewhat past-her-prime mother of four, for extreme sports.  There is nothing like the thrilling drop in the pit of your stomach when you go over the top of a mountain peak at 20 miles per hour, the snow crystals giving an impromptu exfoliating treatment and your breath stolen by the 40 mile an hour straight wind up above the tree line.  Nothing like the way all other sounds disappear when you are fighting to stay upright in the foam and swirl of an angry class IV whitewater stretch in springtime on the Kettle River.  Nothing to make you realize your insignificance on this round ball of dirt like the coming of a winter squall up along the North Shore of Lake Superior toward the flimsy fiberglass hull of your 17' kayak when you are about a mile out in 5 foot rollers with only 5 mm of neoprene to save you from hypothermia in the glacial blue water if you capsize.

All of that, I did.  In my past life.  What God taught me through it is that creation is his way of eroding disbelief.  I saw the incomprehensible God who caused the mountains to rise out of the plains and opened storehouses of snow to give me a 'powder day' and sent the spring rains every spring and flooded the Kettle River. Did I really want to say to Him, "You don't matter that much to me.  You're not important enough to spend much time thinking about.  I'm not even going to bother going to your temple.  I'll pray when I need you.  You just stay over there.  I'll come to you if I want you.  You'll hear from me if I feel like it, alright?"  Casual acquaintance?  Is that what I wanted to reduce the Creator of the universe to, when He asked for my love and commitment?  Creation demanded my respect for a Creator.  My life - the fact that I was still alive after my death sentence at 19 - demanded my love and passionate response to a loving, benevolent and merciful Savior.

These cold days of fall, surrounded by some new troubles and some old ones, I shrink inside of myself like a withering leaf.  The days are cold, the error in my Synthroid dose is rocketing me toward hibernation, my very soul shrinks back from people in confusion and uncertainty.  I hurt...body, soul and spirit.  Yet I woke up today after blissfully sleeping in now that my eldest is home to get breakfast, woke up to the ache in my lungs that makes me wonder about pneumonia, to a fever of 103 for a 7th day...in short, I woke up feeling old and tired and sick, and more like cursing someone - anyone - for my lack of lymph nodes and a thyroid gland than praising God for anything.  Yet the first thing I saw, from my pillow: a swirling cloud caught in a wind eddy below the ceiling of gray.  Just a finger of cloud, pulled away from the mass above it.  This cloud wasn't gray. It was sparkling, glittering, funneling, dancing and completely lit by the finger of sun that leaked through the hole above it, where the blanket of gray was torn and the light of heaven shone through.

If you're a skeptic, all you see in a yellow fingerling cloud is chance.  You might even turn away from the window in disgust, with contempt for a world that mocks you with these happenstance displays of color and beauty.  But I chose a different path.  Somewhere around 21, I chose to worship the Creator who puts His works on display for me every single day of my life.  I chose to thank the God who chose my particular combination of Deoxyribonucleic acid out of the infinite possibilities when my parents conceived me.  I choose to believe that He has something in particular to accomplish through my life...something that will not be thwarted by evil, or cut short by cancer, or disabled by disability, or drowned in housework, or humbled by my humble humanness.

So next time a little tree frog leaps onto your window, and your children crowd around to see the little creature, an alien in the dry Wisconsin woods of September...

Next time you wake up and lie in your bed to listen to the thunder and incessant beating of the rain on your roof...

Next time a bean field is lit with 24 karat gold by the afternoon sun...

Or the path you always take for your morning run is drowned in feet of swirling brown riverwater exploded beyond it's banks...

Remember: this is a display, perhaps just for you, of the awe-inspiring power of God.  Do you want to place that God in a little box you only open on Sundays...or perhaps not at all?  The heart-breaking tenderness of His mercy - the mercy that keeps the rivers from drowning you or the winter from freezing you or the wind from sweeping you off the face of the earth - may just bring you back to your knees.

"He chose us before the creation of the world, to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love, He predestined us to be adopted as His sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with His pleasure and will -- to the praise of His glorious grace, which He has freely given us in the One He loves. In Him, we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that He lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding." ~Ephesians 1:4-8 (NIV)

"I am the Lord, who has made all things, who alone stretched out the heavens, who spread out the earth for myself. I summon you by name and bestow upon you honor, though you do not acknowledge me. I am the Lord, and there is no other. I form the light and create darkness. Woe to him who quarrels with his Maker...turn to me, and be saved." ~Isaiah 44:24, 45:4,9,22


"All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers and the flowers fade away, but the word of our God stands forever." ~Isaiah 40:6,8 (NIV)

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?

Tell me, if you have understanding.

Who determined its measurements—surely you know!

Or who stretched the line upon it?

On what were its bases sunk,

or who laid its cornerstone,

when the morning stars sang together

and all the sons of God shouted for joy?

“Or who shut in the sea with doors

when it burst out from the womb,

when I made clouds its garment

and thick darkness its swaddling band,

and prescribed limits for it

and set bars and doors,

and said, ‘Thus far shall you come, and no farther,

and here shall your proud waves be stayed’?

“Have you commanded the morning since your days began,

and caused the dawn to know its place,

that it might take hold of the skirts of the earth,

and the wicked be shaken out of it?

It is changed like clay under the seal,

and its features stand out like a garment.

From the wicked their light is withheld,

and their uplifted arm is broken.

“Have you entered into the springs of the sea,

or walked in the recesses of the deep?

Have the gates of death been revealed to you,

or have you seen the gates of deep darkness?

Have you comprehended the expanse of the earth?

Declare, if you know all this.

“Where is the way to the dwelling of light,

and where is the place of darkness,

that you may take it to its territory

and that you may discern the paths to its home?

You know, for you were born then,

and the number of your days is great!

“Have you entered the storehouses of the snow,

or have you seen the storehouses of the hail,

which I have reserved for the time of trouble,

for the day of battle and war?

What is the way to the place where the light is distributed,

or where the east wind is scattered upon the earth?

“Who has cleft a channel for the torrents of rain 

and a way for the thunderbolt,

to bring rain on a land where no man is,

on the desert in which there is no man, 

to satisfy the waste and desolate land,

and to make the ground sprout with grass?

“Has the rain a father,

or who has begotten the drops of dew?

From whose womb did the ice come forth,

and who has given birth to the frost of heaven?

The waters become hard like stone,

and the face of the deep is frozen.

“Can you bind the chains of the Pleiades

or loose the cords of Orion?

Can you lead forth the Mazzaroth in their season,

or can you guide the Bear with its children?

Do you know the ordinances of the heavens?

Can you establish their rule on the earth?

“Can you lift up your voice to the clouds,

that a flood of waters may cover you?

Can you send forth lightnings, that they may go

and say to you, ‘Here we are’?

Who has put wisdom in the inward parts

or given understanding to the mind?

Who can number the clouds by wisdom?

Or who can tilt the waterskins of the heavens,

when the dust runs into a mass

and the clods stick fast together?

“Can you hunt the prey for the lion,

or satisfy the appetite of the young lions,

when they crouch in their dens

or lie in wait in their thicket?

Who provides for the raven its prey,

when its young ones cry to God for help,

and wander about for lack of food?"

(Job 38)

If you do not know for certain you are saved, please read my post on salvation here, and feel free to e-mail me at gmthul@yahoo.com if you have questions.

Inside there is silver

Yesterday was another day wasted spent at the doctor.  My headache isn't improving yet, and my double vision and the glowing aura in my vision became markedly worse yesterday, probably because I am spending so much time staring at a screen to revise my comprehensive exam.  The eye doctor gave me good news and bad: my double vision is due to a brand new astigmatism, thanks to changes in my eye shape from the fracture in my eye orbit and the impact to my eye.  Based on his findings in my eye 2 weeks after the fact, this doctor believes I hit the toilet with my eyes open and sustained impact right to my eyeball itself (even I, the oblivious and impervious nurse, find this somehow quite gross).  So I need glasses, for short distance stuff especially, at least for a few weeks.  I am actually quite excited about this.  I found the most retro frames I could, although after some websearching, I am quite disappointed that I didn't hold out for Shuron's Nulady in crystal brown.

Oddly enough, I think I look great in cat-eyes.  If I am a life-long eyeglass wearer, I think I will make it my personal style and go to the trouble of buying vintage frames (I assume it will be harder to get lenses made for them, but who knows?).  So...that is the good news.  Believe it or not.  The bad news is that I have several bubble-like areas on the retina of my right eye, which may detach over time.  The best possible scenario is that they will heal over time and I will have no long term damage.  The glowing aura is from the spots of retinal detachment currently present in my eye, so that would go away if it heals.  The worst possible scenario is that I may go completely blind in my right eye at any time, and quite suddenly.

Once I get through my initial skeptical, pessimistic and irritated reaction (that "old sin nature" rearing his ugly head within), I usually quickly see the silver lining.  It's easy to see here: for some reason unknown to me, I do not have a particular dominant preference for one eye or hand over the other.  Although I have difficulty writing with my left hand, I can shoot, bat, cut, dice and slice with my left, which is unusual for a right-handed/right eye dominant individual.  As far as eyes go, I have no difficulty shooting left-eyed, nor taking photos that way.  If I do go blind in my right eye, it won't be as difficult for me to make the switch as it would be for most people in their 30s.  The other part of the silver lining: the amazingly awesome eyeglasses I get to wear...and just sometimes!  I don't even have to commit to full-time use.  Which is really sweet!

All this came flashing through my mind today when I watched a video a cancer friend had posted, Natalie Merchant's mid-90's "Wonder".  I remember identifying strongly with the lyrics of this song when it came out around the time my heart condition was getting so bad in high school.  I searched for videos of the song to post here, and came across a potentially disturbing one...the original official music video.  If you'd like to think more deeply about the meaning of the words, and ponder whether Merchant's perspective is godless or mocking Satan, watch the original video and comment.  I'd be curious to hear the reaction you have.  For the purposes of this journal, I posted a less confusing video...a beautiful acoustic rendition of the song accompanied only by her own piano part.

Doctors have come
from distant cities
just to see me
stand over my bed
disbelieving what they're seeing

they say I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as they see they can offer
no explanation

newspapers ask
intimate questions
want confessions
they reach into my head
to steal the glory
of my story

I believe
fate smiled and destiny
laughed as she came to my cradle
"know this child will be able"
laughed as my body she lifted
"know this child will be gifted
with love, with patience
and with faith
she'll make her way"

people see me
I'm a challenge
to your balance
I'm over your heads
how I confound you
and astound you
to know I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as you see you can offer me
no explanation

Using broken things

We sometimes imagine that God must eventually "sit us down" and "explain" his mysterious ways to our satisfaction. Let us suppose we have never seen a skyscraper. We discover a whole city block surrounded by a board fence. Finding a knothole, we peer inside. Huge earth movers are at work; hundreds of men in hard hats are busy at mysterious tasks; cranes are being moved into place; truckloads of pipes and cement are being unloaded. What on earth is happening? There is nobody around to answer our questions. If we wait long enough, nobody will need to. When we see the finished building, all the incomprehensible activity becomes comprehensible. "Oh! So this is what that was for." (Elisabeth Elliot, A Lamp for My Feet)

...when I awake, I will be satisfied with seeing your likeness. Psalm 17:15



The requisite after-Easter ham and bean soup. An ordinary day. An extraordinary object lesson sprang to life for me from the ashes of the day. Cleaning up the remains of supper, scrubbing beans off the table and packing up left-overs for lunches on the morrow. I looked down at this cracked bean pot. It is gray and blue and tan, not really my style. It is hand-potted, and has a rough finish that makes a grating sound when you scoop with the ladle from the bottom of the pot. The ladle is made of the same material, by the same hand. So why use a cracked pot with a rough finish that I don't really like? Because I love it. I don't like it, but I love it. You see, my mother made it. Back in her potting days in college. I suppose I could set it gingerly on a shelf for display somewhere. But putting a cracked bean pot on display seems a little...well, cracked to me! So I use it, and hope it will withstand many more years of steaming hot soup at our busy supper table.

I am the cracked pot with the rough finish. Why does God choose me? Why put me through more tests, when He knows exactly how fragile I am? Why, to use me of course! Because even if He sometimes doesn't like what I'm doing, He loves me. Because His father made me.

Lessons from the bird feeder

I identify with these anxious birds who flit in and out, buzzing busily, occasionally creating an outburt if another bird lands while they are feeding. Hummungbirds are a new discovery of mine, since buying an aesthetically pleasing feeder and a porch swing just under it.

So industrious they seem, as I rock in my chair, trying to clear cloudy thoughts, trying to push away hurtful thoughts, file them somewhere deep in the abyss of the mind where I will never go looking again.

I remember distinctly learning in science that hummingbirds never land, but fly always. Now that we have a dozen or so ambushing our porch day and night, I can honestly say they sit aLOT. But only when they're not anxious. When they're anxious, they flit and flicker here and there, emitting a strangled warble now and again. So like me, picking at my clothes, looking for something I can tear or a way to hurt physically...like the hummingbird, indecisive but edgy, unable to make her choice.

I flit about my home for a few days, the suicidal thoughts building. Finally they scare me into calling the doctor. Who, of course, says I need a tune-up. So as you read this, I'm probably being "tuned up", in the hospital where they can adjust meds more quickly.

"Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?" (Matthew 6:26) 

"Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows" (Matthew 10:29-31).