John Piper told me in a sermon I listened to last week that the call of God is this:
God comes to a man who is asleep -- dead -- and says:
"Wake up, O sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you." (Ephesians 5:14)
One of my oft-pondered questions is how God's sovereignty and man's responsibility fit together; this was a vivid and enlightening picture for me. The man who hears this call has already heeded it; you cannot hear "wake up!" and then decide if you're going to obey.
A disobedient child last week fleshed out this picture even more. In the midst of a destructive tantrum, unresponsive to punishment, and completely unwilling to submit, she was obviously in bondage to her sin. An enemy, unlovely, dead in her transgressions. We prayed with her, and she responded with rage; she could not even muster the desire to ask for help. She avoided our questions about if she was ready to obey or else answered them outright with "No!"
So were we supposed to give up? On the contrary, God gives us every reason to believe that these are just the ones He came to rescue. "As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins." "Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds." And what did God do with His enemies? "While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." He did not bend the rules one single bit, yet He found a way to keep us from death. It has nothing to do with us even having the wherewithal to appreciate what has been done, much less with us having something worthy of our own to offer. It is solely Him: "But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive in Christ, even when we were dead in transgressions -- it is by grace you have been saved." And then, how does He convince us of our need for repentance? How does He make us accept His gift? "It is his kindness that leads us to repentance." On top of everything else, He is kind to us in our rebellion, in our bondage.
The words of a song played in my mind: "He breaks the power of canceled sin, he sets the prisoner free!" He has already broken all the power of sin; it is canceled. ("He forgave us all our sins, having canceled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross.") It is finished. This dear child was free; she had only to walk in that freedom.
A spiritual battle took place on the floor of the bedroom that evening; fervent prayers and tears were lifted in faith, and the answer was not immediate. Discussion, rebellion, tears, sorrow over bondage but not over sin, prayer, despair. At last, in a quiet moment, the child spoke some new words: "I'm sorry I disobeyed, Mommy. Will you forgive me?"
The joy over the one sheep who was found -- not who found her own way home, but who was found by the Shepherd, called from her slumber -- was great.
"Wake up, O sleeper; rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you."
If God has called me from my sin in such a dramatic and definite way, is there any way I can keep from hearing the rest of His call on my life?
Monday, January 24, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Saturday Kid Shots
I feel that it's time to write another blog post but am lacking in inspiration. Last night on a video chat with Heidi and the kids Peter kept asking me, "Do you have a story for me, Aunt Julie? Do you have another story?" I probably do have a story or two for him and for you, but sometimes it's hard to dig them out. I'll keep working on it, but in the meantime, here's a few pics of my three little friends from this morning.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Many Roads
The assignment at the spiritual journaling group I attended last Wednesday night:
He's talking about the many roads that bring concert-goers all together in one place, listening to the same song. But there are broader applications when thinking about how God weaves together all the many roads of our lives.
Roads are made up of "a million minuscule decisions in a line" - all those little things that seem uninspiring or repetitive or silly or too short or unseen -- they are the things that shape the direction of our lives.
Andrew says he'll sing with all he has to give, pretty, in tune, not forgetting the words to any chorus, bridge, or verse: he is doing what is before him with excellence. Am I?
He's also going to "cast out all these lines," to try, to dream, to go. He's willing to put something of himself out, to be vulnerable, to hope.
And speaking of hope, every chorus speaks of the many hopes and the many fears that were meant to bring the people to right where they are. Makes me think of another song about hopes and fears, and how they were met one night in Bethlehem. Which makes me think of Eric's Christmas e-mail last month about the inseparable connection between Christ and longing. If we follow our deepest hopes, all the many roads will lead us to one place: Jesus Christ.
I can look back and see how the roads I've been on have led me closer to Jesus. And I can look ahead and know that the end will be with Him. What's in between is a little foggy still (as Mom said in her Christmas letter, there are curves and no doubt a few surprises).
At the moment, there are many roads that are open before me. But as Andrew reminds us, we are not in charge of our own roads although it may sometimes feel like we are in the driver's seat. When we get to the end, we will say, "We were meant to be right here all along."
Bring some music that best reflects your present stage in life and tell us why.At first I was a little stumped, but after I listened to a new Andrew Peterson CD I got with Christmas iTunes money, a song recommended itself and I got excited about the assignment. I listened to it a few times and it just got better. Here are a few treasures from Andrew Peterson's "Many Roads," on his new album "Counting Stars."
He's talking about the many roads that bring concert-goers all together in one place, listening to the same song. But there are broader applications when thinking about how God weaves together all the many roads of our lives.
Roads are made up of "a million minuscule decisions in a line" - all those little things that seem uninspiring or repetitive or silly or too short or unseen -- they are the things that shape the direction of our lives.
Andrew says he'll sing with all he has to give, pretty, in tune, not forgetting the words to any chorus, bridge, or verse: he is doing what is before him with excellence. Am I?
He's also going to "cast out all these lines," to try, to dream, to go. He's willing to put something of himself out, to be vulnerable, to hope.
And speaking of hope, every chorus speaks of the many hopes and the many fears that were meant to bring the people to right where they are. Makes me think of another song about hopes and fears, and how they were met one night in Bethlehem. Which makes me think of Eric's Christmas e-mail last month about the inseparable connection between Christ and longing. If we follow our deepest hopes, all the many roads will lead us to one place: Jesus Christ.
I can look back and see how the roads I've been on have led me closer to Jesus. And I can look ahead and know that the end will be with Him. What's in between is a little foggy still (as Mom said in her Christmas letter, there are curves and no doubt a few surprises).
At the moment, there are many roads that are open before me. But as Andrew reminds us, we are not in charge of our own roads although it may sometimes feel like we are in the driver's seat. When we get to the end, we will say, "We were meant to be right here all along."
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
January Day
It's a rainy-freezing-sloppy day. I'm happy to be at home, done with walking on treacherous sidewalks and being pelted with various sorts of precipitation, done with sloughing frozen rain off the windshield and coaxing the car over icy berms to parking places on the sides of streets.
Last night, the girls and I were looking at the picture on the front of their new Bible story book. "That's Moses!" Claire exclaimed, pointing at the baby in the basket. I agreed with her, and then we had to figure out who the two females in the picture were. Somehow we got onto the topic of the Egyptian princess's servants, and Lilah asked, "What is a servant?"
"Someone who serves," I said. "They cook your meals, and help you get dressed, and do things around your house -- they take care of you."
The light of understanding came into Claire's eyes. "Like you!" she said.
Tonight, after doing a puzzle at the kitchen table while I worked alongside them on my German homework, the girls are running around in their new fancy Afghani dresses from Daddy. Claire is the baby cat, Lilah is Cinderella. Cole traipses along behind. He came into the kitchen as I was putting some beans and rice on to boil; he went to the stool and started to push it over to the stove. "Stool, stool?" he asked.
"No, actually it's not a good time for you to bring the stool over," I said. "The stove will be hot, and I won't be over here. Okay?"
"Okay," he said cheerfully, and snuggled in for a hug when I bent down to commend him for his sweet response.
It's quite dark outside now; the children are making the rounds of the house. I'm about ready to call them into the kitchen for dinner (Heather is out this evening). In closing, a couple of visual aids to help you picture the Afghani princesses and their little brother:
Last night, the girls and I were looking at the picture on the front of their new Bible story book. "That's Moses!" Claire exclaimed, pointing at the baby in the basket. I agreed with her, and then we had to figure out who the two females in the picture were. Somehow we got onto the topic of the Egyptian princess's servants, and Lilah asked, "What is a servant?"
"Someone who serves," I said. "They cook your meals, and help you get dressed, and do things around your house -- they take care of you."
The light of understanding came into Claire's eyes. "Like you!" she said.
Tonight, after doing a puzzle at the kitchen table while I worked alongside them on my German homework, the girls are running around in their new fancy Afghani dresses from Daddy. Claire is the baby cat, Lilah is Cinderella. Cole traipses along behind. He came into the kitchen as I was putting some beans and rice on to boil; he went to the stool and started to push it over to the stove. "Stool, stool?" he asked.
"No, actually it's not a good time for you to bring the stool over," I said. "The stove will be hot, and I won't be over here. Okay?"
"Okay," he said cheerfully, and snuggled in for a hug when I bent down to commend him for his sweet response.
It's quite dark outside now; the children are making the rounds of the house. I'm about ready to call them into the kitchen for dinner (Heather is out this evening). In closing, a couple of visual aids to help you picture the Afghani princesses and their little brother:
Monday, January 3, 2011
Pictoral Christmas
Dad and John taking it easy
Target practice in Entiat
Peter thinking of what comes next in his recitation of the Christmas story from Luke 2
Uncle Jeff getting some Lucy time in
Mama enjoying the family
Aaron and Peter: what is in this bag?
Sunday, January 2, 2011
December 31: Our Christmas
It started with waking up to a little boy's whispers in the bed across my room. I listened to his quiet imaginary play for a while and then said, "Good morning, Peter."
"Good morning," he whispered back. "Should we read a book from your shelf?" So he joined me in bed and we read three books. Soon Nana came in to give us good morning kisses; the rest of the household was stirring too. Peter and I went downstairs where Aaron was making sausage scramble for breakfast. We came hungry to the table and feasted on eggs, toast, and grapefruit. After cleaning up the kitchen, we gathered in the living room. We had a small debate about which version to read the Christmas story in -- King James, our traditional version, or English Standard, the version Peter has learned it in. Dad chose ESV for Peter, but in some parts the King James quoters won out over his reading.
And then, gifts. Each person gathered the gifts he or she had been collecting (in the previous months, weeks, days, or hours), and the giving began. There was much delight as gifts traveled back and forth across the room -- toys, jewelry, travel accessories, clothing, CDs. "Oh, nice!" Lucy exclaimed. The thoughtfulness and personal attention and excitement were extravagant and precious gifts. By the time we had finished making our rounds, the turkey, tucked into the oven the night before, was almost done.
So, we migrated to the kitchen. Potatoes went into the pot and onto the stove; the turkey came out of the oven to rest (while we snatched scraps of crispy skin to snack on). Lucy ate early so she could go down for a nap, and we set the table. Meanwhile, Jeff and Peter played in the tepee that Jeff received for Christmas perhaps eighteen years ago. They gathered some play people, also from our childhood, and assigned each one a name of someone in our family. Jeff, spilling out the open door of the tepee, offered advice and affirmation while Peter proposed and carried out various scenarios.
Dad carved the turkey, Melissa cooked the vegetables, Heidi made the gravy, Mom supplied serving dishes, I mashed the potatoes. Dinner was ready! It was a beautiful feast, a happy table, a satisfying meal.
After clean-up, we had a lull in the festivities. Some people found a bed or a couch or a rug on the floor for a little nap; others puttered at cleaning up or uploading pictures of all the holiday events onto computers. Heidi got out her Christmas cookies and we all flocked to the kitchen again. Then we got out two games: "A Ticket to Ride" and "Pandemic." Between the two, there was room for all nine adults to play. Peter and Lucy wandered around the table from lap to lap, snuggling and playing and wanting to be a part. The kitchen re-opened for more serious business: a piece of lefsa or two with some turkey, a scoop of mashed potatoes, a bit of cranberry jello. The kids went to bed (my sixth night in a row of tucking Peter in, much to our mutual delight) and we began preparations for the feature presentation of the evening: the play within a play at the end of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," performed by Heidi, Julie, and Jeff as we did it perhaps twelve years ago for Mom and Dad. I found the script online and printed it, we had a quick meeting to make sure we knew which lines were whose, and the curtains opened.
Great hilarity resulted, not only from Shakespeare's original wit but also from the years of history we have with such lines as "Thanks, courteous wall!" and "I spy a voice! Now will I to the chink to see if I can hear my Thisby's face!" and "With bloody blameful blade he bravely broached his boiling bloody breast." After the award-winning performance, we settled around the fire for more thoughtful activity.
Dad pulled out our Christmas Gift to Jesus envelopes and we all spent a little time reviewing what we had written in past years and thinking about what we might want to write this year -- a goal, a sacrifice, a particular act of obedience to concentrate on in the year ahead. Some shared what they had written, and then we had a prayer time. The personal, affectionate prayers of my family are a shining treasure to me, and when Dad proposed that we sing "Great is Thy Faithfulness" after the last amen, I had no trouble singing with all of my heart.
The new year was not far away. We dished up large bowls of pink peppermint ice cream that Aaron had churned earlier, and then had together time in the living room. We were all getting sleepy, but everyone made it until we circled up to sing the doxology, our midnight hurrah. Then we scurried off to our beds. Almost every bed in the house was full, and so was my heart as I climbed under my own covers for my last night at home before returning to Berlin.
"Good morning," he whispered back. "Should we read a book from your shelf?" So he joined me in bed and we read three books. Soon Nana came in to give us good morning kisses; the rest of the household was stirring too. Peter and I went downstairs where Aaron was making sausage scramble for breakfast. We came hungry to the table and feasted on eggs, toast, and grapefruit. After cleaning up the kitchen, we gathered in the living room. We had a small debate about which version to read the Christmas story in -- King James, our traditional version, or English Standard, the version Peter has learned it in. Dad chose ESV for Peter, but in some parts the King James quoters won out over his reading.
And then, gifts. Each person gathered the gifts he or she had been collecting (in the previous months, weeks, days, or hours), and the giving began. There was much delight as gifts traveled back and forth across the room -- toys, jewelry, travel accessories, clothing, CDs. "Oh, nice!" Lucy exclaimed. The thoughtfulness and personal attention and excitement were extravagant and precious gifts. By the time we had finished making our rounds, the turkey, tucked into the oven the night before, was almost done.
So, we migrated to the kitchen. Potatoes went into the pot and onto the stove; the turkey came out of the oven to rest (while we snatched scraps of crispy skin to snack on). Lucy ate early so she could go down for a nap, and we set the table. Meanwhile, Jeff and Peter played in the tepee that Jeff received for Christmas perhaps eighteen years ago. They gathered some play people, also from our childhood, and assigned each one a name of someone in our family. Jeff, spilling out the open door of the tepee, offered advice and affirmation while Peter proposed and carried out various scenarios.
Dad carved the turkey, Melissa cooked the vegetables, Heidi made the gravy, Mom supplied serving dishes, I mashed the potatoes. Dinner was ready! It was a beautiful feast, a happy table, a satisfying meal.
After clean-up, we had a lull in the festivities. Some people found a bed or a couch or a rug on the floor for a little nap; others puttered at cleaning up or uploading pictures of all the holiday events onto computers. Heidi got out her Christmas cookies and we all flocked to the kitchen again. Then we got out two games: "A Ticket to Ride" and "Pandemic." Between the two, there was room for all nine adults to play. Peter and Lucy wandered around the table from lap to lap, snuggling and playing and wanting to be a part. The kitchen re-opened for more serious business: a piece of lefsa or two with some turkey, a scoop of mashed potatoes, a bit of cranberry jello. The kids went to bed (my sixth night in a row of tucking Peter in, much to our mutual delight) and we began preparations for the feature presentation of the evening: the play within a play at the end of "A Midsummer Night's Dream," performed by Heidi, Julie, and Jeff as we did it perhaps twelve years ago for Mom and Dad. I found the script online and printed it, we had a quick meeting to make sure we knew which lines were whose, and the curtains opened.
Great hilarity resulted, not only from Shakespeare's original wit but also from the years of history we have with such lines as "Thanks, courteous wall!" and "I spy a voice! Now will I to the chink to see if I can hear my Thisby's face!" and "With bloody blameful blade he bravely broached his boiling bloody breast." After the award-winning performance, we settled around the fire for more thoughtful activity.
Dad pulled out our Christmas Gift to Jesus envelopes and we all spent a little time reviewing what we had written in past years and thinking about what we might want to write this year -- a goal, a sacrifice, a particular act of obedience to concentrate on in the year ahead. Some shared what they had written, and then we had a prayer time. The personal, affectionate prayers of my family are a shining treasure to me, and when Dad proposed that we sing "Great is Thy Faithfulness" after the last amen, I had no trouble singing with all of my heart.
The new year was not far away. We dished up large bowls of pink peppermint ice cream that Aaron had churned earlier, and then had together time in the living room. We were all getting sleepy, but everyone made it until we circled up to sing the doxology, our midnight hurrah. Then we scurried off to our beds. Almost every bed in the house was full, and so was my heart as I climbed under my own covers for my last night at home before returning to Berlin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)