A Powerful Reminder

By Janet Morris Grimes –

I clearly remember paying that bill. I always do it online, by the fifteenth day of the month, and then document it on my Google calendar.

The only problem was on this particular fifteenth day of July, I was out of town. Driving, on the road for the third consecutive weekend, and to be honest, I had no idea what day it was. To complicate matters, with another full week out of town followed by the daunting task of moving our daughter into the dorm for her first year of college, apparently I never fully went through the stack of mail that awaited us when we finally returned home to stay.

So imagine my surprise when our power went out early in the month of August. I presumed it was caused by construction in the area, and was quick to notify the power company. Instead, they notified me that we were 15 days late in paying our bill, so the power was turned off as a reminder.

That is a pretty powerful reminder, especially when it is 90 degrees outside.

My first thought was: “Oh, it’s August already?” But that retort would have confirmed the dimwit I apparently had become over these wonderful months of summer. I had no way of defending my actions and when I checked my Google calendar, there was no documentation that it had been done in reality. But in my mind, I had already marked it off my list.

Such is the problem with the lack of structure and routine. Perhaps that is why mothers across the globe are so excited to see their children return to school. Because then everyone knows what to expect. Our days fall into a steady pattern, and although it is hectic, it is at least consistent.

Summer has been wonderful, relaxing and filled with the type of opportunities and memories that do not come along every day. A wedding in Ohio? College visits? Vacation? Bible Camp? New job? Done. And I treasured every moment. I can look back at the summer of 2012 with no regrets.

Except for one. Paying that dreaded electric bill. Or rather, the failure to do so.

That is a lesson I will never forget.

And I hate to say it, but bring on the structure.

Golf & God

By Kathi Woodall –

Last summer, I watched the US Open golf tournament with my husband. An aerial view provided a unique perspective of how the game of golf compares with our Christian journey. The overhead camera showed Rory McIlroy at the tee box as he prepared to drive the ball. Divots in the turf surrounded him where many others had made their drive from that same box. Rather than solid green, the whole tee box was tightly dotted with brown divots.

A few moments later, Rory continued to drive towards the green. Another camera shot on the fairway showed more divots, only this time they were yards apart instead of inches apart. Due to the excellent skill of the professional golfers in the Open, their first shots took each of them fairly close to the same position. As they progressed down the fairway, their respective drives took them further and further from each other as they each made their own unique journey. However, they all worked toward a common goal—to land the ball in the hole on the green at the end of the fairway.

Each Christian makes a similar journey. We all start at the same point like the golfers who each placed their tee in the ground and began their drive from the box. At that beginning point, we each recognized our own sin and need for a Savior. We repented and placed our faith in Jesus Christ who forgave us through His grace. From that common point of beginning, we each branch out in different ways. Poor choices or uncontrollable circumstances may leave us out in the rough, aiming to get back on course. Some may drive a straight line to the hole while others may zigzag all over the fairway. Regardless of the journey we take, we all work toward a common place. As the golfer works toward landing his ball in the cup, we work toward our eternal home in heaven with the One who redeemed us, Jesus.

Some may say my analogy could show different journeys all lead us to the same desired end. For example, someone may say a journey through Islam or Buddhism will each have the same result of “their ball landing in the cup.” He or she might say that we all take different journeys but every journey of faith results in eternity in heaven with God.

A problem exists with a pluralistic application. In the golf analogy, each player began their journey at the same point on the appropriate tee box. A player could wander onto the course and begin his drive from out in the rough. Although they would reach the pin at the end, their drive wouldn’t be successful because he didn’t begin at the tee box. Likewise, a golfer might begin their drive on the tee box for hole six. They hit the ball off of six and it lands on the green for hole seven. We wouldn’t count that as success for hole seven. The drive only counts if it began on the tee box for hole seven. We may begin a spiritual journey on some other path only to realize we need to be on the one that leads to eternity with God. To find eternal success, we must begin on the appropriate tee box, or in other words, go through the saving grace offered by Jesus Christ.

“Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me’” (John 14:6 NIV).

Rest

By Lori Freeland –

Let’s be real.

There’s a season for everything, right? Even rest? So why does it feel like rest is something to be equated with lazy?

Do you wake up wondering how long until bedtime? Wonder how you’ll get everything done by the end of the day? Do you rush to finish things early in the morning before your energy level tanks below barely registering?

Maybe you’re a ragged mom, who spends more time in the car than at home. Why can’t someone just hurry up and invent a washer/dryer set that fills itself, washes, and switches loads?

Perhaps you homeschool numerous kids in multiple grades and spend your life repeating K-12. The good news is fourth grade math gets easier every year you practice it. At least remember to cheer yourself on for the A’s you’re finally making now. Fractions are hard.

Could you be a desperate-to-be-published novelist lost and obsessed in her fantasy world, staying awake until four am to churn out pages because that’s when it’s finally quiet?

Or maybe you embody all three like me.

I push myself too much. Feel guilty when I don’t. Terrified that if I let go for a second, everything will fall apart. No more clean underwear in the drawers. No homework graded and set up for next week. No name on the cover of a book. Not my name, anyway.

But I can’t run full-speed forever. None of us can.

Enter rest.

Not retirement-like rest. Just a few hours off here and there. I’m talking about rainy days spent in smelling the roast cooking in the crockpot. Weekends used for recharging myself and reconnecting in my relationships. Nights curled up with a good book in my footy pajamas and some hot tea.

After a while, rest, like sleep, loses its optional status. I have to do it. Or I pay the price. My body gets rundown and my mind spins in confusion. Might as well take rest on my own terms.

I expect to find guilt in the cutting out process, but I know it needs to be done. Otherwise, in twenty years I’ll look back and wonder what happened to my life.

Do you know what makes it easier for me to rest? Knowing even God took a break. And He is far stronger than I am. “By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work” (Genesis 2:1-3).
That slashes more than a fraction of guilt over carving out some down time.

Just so you know, I’m typing as fast as I can to get these thoughts on paper before I have to run out the door, yet again, to drive some kid to some thing and then go back and pick him up.

It’s Not About Me

By DiAne Gates –

I got nothing from the sermon this morning. Should have stayed home. The music was loud and consisted of fifteen words, repeated over and over. And not a soul spoke to me.

Hmm, ever thought that?

Come on now, ‘fess up. I have.

Last week a friend of mine loaned me a book she bought at a garage sale. The title was In His Steps, by Charles M. Sheldon, published by Moody Press in 1956. This powerful book has caused me to rethink and refocus on the object of worship. And the conclusion is clear. . .

Worship is not about me.

What? That statement begs the question, then who or what is worship all about? What I get out of church? Me feeling good when I leave church? Me hearing the pastor give an acceptable sermon?

Or is my purpose to sit at Jesus feet and become more like Him? Only the Spirit can accomplish that in me—my part is to be quiet, to listen, and then obey. Scripture says I am to, “Enter His gates with thanksgiving and come into His courts with praise. Be thankful unto Him and bless His name” (Psalm 100:4 KJV).

Worship is all about God—not about me.

And to be truthful, if I’m not worshipping before I reach the church building, chances are I’m not going to worship once I’m inside.

So why do I go to church? Several thoughts spring to mind: To hear the pastor’s message and read God’s Word? To sing and listen to the special music, and enjoy the company of friends who believe as I do?

But is that worship?

Worship convicts me when I humble myself and recognize my traditions and self-righteousness are like filthy rags before God. I realize the vast chasm between a holy God and a sinner like me, then acknowledge and accept that Jesus paid the debt for my sins and gave me life—eternal life. And I am thankful.

Jesus commended the tax collector who stood outside the tabernacle and beat on his breast, crying out, “God be merciful to me—a sinner.” But He condemned the Pharisee who said, “God I thank Thee that I am not like other people…even like this tax collector” (Luke 18:11-13 NAS).

I don’t recall thinking, Lord, be merciful to me. I’m a sinner, as I’m racing through the church doors before the first song or prayer. I don’t even remember spending those moments in the car driving to church contemplating my desperate need for Him. Roget’s Thesaurus lists the verb worship as “adore, cherish, respect.”

Who? Him?

Have I? No. It’s been all about me.

Is it any wonder I leave church in worse shape than when I arrived?

Are you tired of sitting in church every Sunday, singing a few praise choruses, reading a few scriptures, praying, then continuing with business as usual Monday through Friday? I wonder if our lives would change if we committed to ask Jesus what He would do each day, in every circumstance of our lives—relationships, finances, business?

In His Steps tells about a pastor and his congregation who found themselves asking that same question after an unsettling experience during a Sunday service brought them to question the core of their worship. They chose to surrender to the power of the Spirit of God. As a result, the preacher, the congregation, and their town was changed.

Those believers did not take their commitment lightly, nor should we. When we seek answers from man, we receive only what man can provide. When we ask God, we receive wisdom, power, and understanding from the Lord God Almighty.

But the battle begins in our hearts and minds. Our sinful nature shouts, “It’s all about me.” But when we make the choice to worship God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ and we choose to follow in His steps, victory is certain.

I ask you to search for a copy of Charles M. Sheldon’s book and read it. Ask God to speak to your heart about worship, then share with others what He says to you.

What Happens When God’s Late?

By Jennifer Slattery –

Have you ever felt like God forgot about you? Maybe you’re caught in an impossible situation with nowhere to go, searching for the lifeline that never seems to come. Perhaps your rope got stuck in the parcel post or passed through one too many hands along the way. But it doesn’t matter. You’re in a bind and you need God. Now. But then, when you least expect it, God does show up, and contrary to your panicked thoughts, the world doesn’t end. In fact, once the storm passes and you take a step back, you realize God was there all the time. And He really did know what He was doing.

I’m always in a hurry—on constant overdrive. Not because I’m terribly ambitious, but because I can’t let go of the reigns. I expect things to get done a certain way and in a certain period of time. When they don’t, I’m tempted to panic. And I could rationalize it a million ways, but ultimately it comes down to lack of trust. It’s like I forget that God is bigger than His creation, which includes my tiny little role in it.

Which is why I love the Bible passage about Martha and Lazarus. Martha and I would have been great friends, or at least a highly efficient team. Although I suspect our anxious thoughts and frantic behaviors would have given us both a migraine.

In John chapter eleven, we are told that Martha’s brother is sick. And what did you do in first century Palestine when someone you loved fell ill? You sought out the Healer, of course. I imagine if He was a close family friend, as Jesus was to Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, you’d expect a rather quick response. But what did Jesus do when he learns of Lazarus’ illness? He tarried, on purpose. Didn’t He love Lazarus? Verses five and six say He did. “So although Jesus loved Martha, Mary, and Lazarus, He stayed where He was for the next two days.”

When He finally arrives at Lazarus’ home in Bethany, it’s too late. Lazarus is dead. Martha is distraught, and even accusatory.

John 11:21, “Martha said to Jesus, ‘Lord, if only You had been here, my brother would not have died.’”

Translation: God, You’re too late.

Lazarus had been dead for three days. Martha’s faith and hope had come and gone. She’d gone from fervent prayers to mourning.

Jesus’ response? I’m bigger than that, Martha.

John 11:25, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

Many of us know the rest of the story. Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead and God’s power was revealed. I’m sure when it was done Martha felt silly for her lack of faith. Just like I frequently do after a premature pity-party But the account of Lazarus has a way of bringing me back to reality. The God that made me, saved me, is bigger than anything I could face. And His timing is always perfect.

So what happens when God is late? Now that is a question without a logical answer, my friend. The more rational question would be—when is God late? And my response would be never, even if it appears things have regressed to the point of decay.

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