BLTs at 8:45.  This is really not a good idea.  It almost impossible to reconcile myself to the thought that this is it.  Summer is really over.  Tomorrow morning I have children in my room.  Tomorrow night I take my daughter back to college.  The boys will leave by the weekend and my still bewildering role as empty nester will resume.

The deck door stands open still, the swing and the flowers tugging at me to spend my evening there.  The dishwasher hums and the crickets chirp and the laughter of teasing siblings and telephone chatter punctuate the joy of a summer night. 

I should be organizing my first day outfit, planning for a quick breakfast and a take along lunch.  I should be a bundle of nerves about my new students and all I need to accomplish in preparing them for the year.

I'm glad for once I'm not.  I rest in the joy of this one last night of summer, of frozen pizza, frying bacon, and the roasted squash of the healthy one. 

Live in harmony with one another. Do not be proud, but be willing to associate with people of low position.
Romans 12:16
School starts in two days. Another batch of eighth graders will saunter into my room. Delirious in the their position as reigning class of the middle school, they hide their first day jitters with excited chatter in the hall while stepping confidently around stumbling and bewildered sixth graders.
The nerves show up in class, though. They slip into their new rooms, suddenly unnaturally subdued. They obediently complete book checkout cards and introductory letters. Their feet rest quietly on the floor, their eyes focus intently on the teacher, they barely sneak a look at their friends, much less turn around and begin an unauthorized conversation.
Too bad it doesn't last.
The middle school heirarchy is clear. Eighth graders rule for those few short months, even as the terrifing spector of freshman year looms over them. Harmony isn't necessarily a word accossiated with middle school, but many of them do reach out to help the younger children. An amazing young leadership team at our school, partners with the incoming class and encourages them throughout the year.
It's hard to imagine who qualified as the low position in ancient Roman churches. These fledgling congregations Paul addresses could hardly be considered high. So why the need to tell them to reach out to the marginalized? Wouldn't that describe themselves? Maybe we never really manage to accept that, no matter where we are. We move through life up and then down then up again. Terrified sixth graders and confident eighth, freshman underdogs and mighty seniors. New jobs, new homes, new familes, always starting over, always being the new one somewhere. Love comes in remembering. It comes in looking above and knowing who we really are, then looking below to hold out a hand.

Since they could not find a way to bring him in because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and lowered him on the mat through the roof tiles into the middle of the crowd before Jesus.Luke 5:19

What a wild ride. How did they even get him on the roof?

I'm imagining a litter in an old war movie, two poles grasped by his friends as he rested on the canvas between them. That works fine for carting him to the house, or maybe even for gently lowering him down through the roof, but how did they get him up there?

I see him wide eyed and terrified, clutching the sides of the litter and begging his friends to be careful as his head and feet tilted and bumped and swayed higher and higher above the ground. It's a story of incredible faith, but whose? The friends definitely. Their boundless determination to get this man before Jesus is a picture of faith in action.

But what about the man himself?

Did he go willingly? It's not like he really had any power to stop them.

Did he expect a miracle, or merely indulge their kind thoughts?

Did he trust they wouldn't drop him on that bumpy trip of the side of the house, or did he beg to be returned to the quiet safety of his infirmity?

Either way, the miracle was his; the forgiveness of God, the strength to walk, the power to someday carry another helpless soul to the one who could make him whole.

But Jesus answered him,

"It is written,

Man must not live on bread alone."

Luke 4:4

There's a lot of bread around here in the summertime. My college kids come home with left over dorm snacks, craving their favorite treats, and plotting new culinary experiments impossible in the confines of a communal kitchen.

I don't know why I always think I'll eat healthier then. The lure of fresh fruits and vegetables and unstructured time create the illusion that I'll produce and enjoy wonderful healthy new recipes. I enjoy new recipes all right. A son's homemade calzones, a daughter's hot zucchini bread, and ice cream straight from the canister. There's fresh fruit too of course, but I'm not so sure it counts when it's layered over pound cake and the rest of that ice cream batch.

No, I certainly don't live on bread alone. More than all this though, I live on gentle morning breezes and a book on the deck; on the shared awe of a humming bird flitting around baskets of flowers; on the icy splash of ocean waves, and sitting of the rug teasing the cat. As summer draws to a close and their thoughts turn back to their lives far away, I live most of all on the treasure of children drifting into friends.

Monday, April 11, 2011

You have put more joy in my heart

than they have when their grain and new wine abound.

I will lie down and sleep in peace,

for you alone, Lord,

make me live in safety

Psalm 4: 7-8

It's labeled as a Night Prayer. It's hard to imagine what night would be in David's time. No traffic humming on the highway, no electric lights shining through the windows, no steady glow of the alarm clock counting the hours 'til morning.

OK, so far it sounds wonderful. Imagine the incredible glory of the stars alone, shining without the constant dimming of the city lights.

But there's another side too. There was no quick flipping of a switch to identify the strange noise in the night, no reaching for the phone to call for help, no dashing to the car to quickly leave an environment suddenly unsafe.

Did David ever stop having enemies? Could he ever feel really secure?

And yet he did.

Filled with the joy of the Lord, that went far beyond grains and wine, he rested in the hands of God and slept in peace.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

...his delight is in the Lord's instruction,

and he meditates on it day and night.

He is like a tree planted beside streams of water

that bears its fruit in season

and whose leaf does not wither

Psalm 1:2-3

The daily news scrolls along top of my screen as I read these verses. Teenagers with drugs, fights recorded on websites, violence and destruction across the country.

Where is our stream? What are we taking for nourishment?

The fruit is borne of the tree steeped in the fresh, flowing water. Water that soaks the banks and deposits life-giving minerals. Even in the winter, when the tree looks dead and helpless, it stores the life in it's core that will burst forth in brilliant color with the first warm touch of spring.

Where is my stream?

Am I resting in the mockers, the advise of the angry, the voices of revenge;

or am I soaking myself in the instruction of the Lord to produce His fruit in season?

Monday, April 4, 2011

The Levites:

Jeshua, Binnui, Kadmiel,

Sherebiah, Judah, and Mattaniah

he and his relatives -

were in charge of the praise songs.

Nehemiah 12:8

Music was the backdrop of my life for as long as I can remember. Records on the stereo, singing in the kitchen, someone's stumbling practice on piano, saxaphone, or violin. When my children were small, it was the boom box perched on the top of the refrigerator, the brand new Christian radio station the constant joy of our days.

The stations changed, favorite tapes were discovered, then slowly gave way to CDs, but always the music was there. Then somewhere, in the midst of one more move, after school sports, the meetings and appointments of high school, it faded away. There was always still something on in the car, but I just never turned it on in the house anymore. Sometimes the kid's music would blast through the walls. Sometimes, I even liked it. But usually, even they listened primarily through individual earbuds.

And then they left. My house descended into silence.

I love that in the midst of rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem, repopulating the city, and recommitting their nation to God, they took time to set a group of men in charge of the praise songs.

It's time to bring back the music.

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