I pray also that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and his incomparably great power for us who believe. Ephesians 1 :18-19a
Paul praises the Ephesians for their faith and their love. He prays for their wisdom and knowledge of God. Then he prays that they know all that He has called them to, all the full riches of what they have inherited.
What would it mean to truly understand that? Is there anyone who ever really has? The Ephesians were gentiles. The Hebrew God unknown, even forbidden to them throughout their lives. Now they find that he included them too. That they are sons of the inheritance, fully accepted by a Father they had never before acknowledged. How much history did they know? Were they eager to study and know this God, to explore his promises and gifts to his people?
I wonder how they could be anything but, and yet how much do we really know? Where is the eager impatience to know all we can of the gift we have been given, to know all God has done for us, to rest in the hope of "his incomparably great power"? And how would our lives change if we ever did truly understand?
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
As long as the earth endures, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, will never cease. Genesis 8:22
Seedtime and harvest; the work of sowing, the anxiety of waiting, the joyous celebration of plenty. All to do it again the next year. An endless cycle of focus and meaning and growth; of learning, and changing, and redirecting.
It seems like I should have my life figured out by now. Four grown kids, a mid-term career, and yet the constant question of where do I belong, what should I be doing, where do I go from here? It's an incredible comfort somehow, through the all the uncertainty, to see this time as a natural cycle, as a prerequisite to a new harvest, a new celebration of what God will provide.
Seedtime and harvest; the work of sowing, the anxiety of waiting, the joyous celebration of plenty. All to do it again the next year. An endless cycle of focus and meaning and growth; of learning, and changing, and redirecting.
It seems like I should have my life figured out by now. Four grown kids, a mid-term career, and yet the constant question of where do I belong, what should I be doing, where do I go from here? It's an incredible comfort somehow, through the all the uncertainty, to see this time as a natural cycle, as a prerequisite to a new harvest, a new celebration of what God will provide.
Friday, January 1, 2010
I Corinthians 13. Love as a gift. A gift of God, a gift for service. The love chapter, the wedding theme, the greatest commandment as narrative poem. I've known of it nearly as long as I can remember, but somehow never noticed its context. It falls in the midst of teachings on spiritual gifts. Paul coaxes his readers to use their gifts as a fluid, functioning body, to honor and accept the differences that allow them to work together for the good of the church and to take their position as members of that body. Desire the greatest gifts he tells them, then immediately explains how meaningless they all are without a wellspring of love. It's the backdrop of marriage, of family, of all of Christian living. It directs the use of the gifts in chapter 14 as Paul continues his teaching on the power of gifts to lead and teach those who are without the love of God.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Traffic roaring always roaring, what would the world sound like if it all suddenly stopped. I walk in my favorite park on tree-lined paths alongside the river. It's rained for days, the sudden sun and deep blue sky seem almost foreign. The park was closed yesterday with water still splashing over its trails. Even today the river is high and fast, kissing the bridges and rushing along vaulted banks. Families pass with children and trikes and snacks. Visiting friends stroll past, soaking in the sun and gentle fall warmth. I'm suddenly alone with the peace of the world. Leaves crunch beneath my feet, birds call from the trees, and water splashes and laps at newly submerged trees. Yet beneath it all, that low constant roar from the highway crossing the bridge two miles back. It's not overwhelming, and it doesn't steal the beauty of the day, but it is incessant. I wonder what silence really sounds like. Do we even know anymore. Is there a world without white noise somewhere and what would we do if we found it?
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Life in the Storm
You trampled the sea with your horses, churning the great waters.
Habakkuk 3:15
I've loved storms all my life. The gush of the winds, the massive undulating clouds, and the trees that twisted and swayed in helpless submission. I'd stand on my porch both thrilled and terrified, listening to the distant wail of the tornado siren, knowing it was time to move to safety but glorying in the power of the display. I knew they were dangerous. I knew property could be destroyed and people killed, and I certainly didn't wish harm to anyone. But I couldn't help being drawn to the magnificent power of God and the knowledge of my own helplessness.
I think that may be some of what Habakkuk felt. It's a difficult book for me to understand. Habakkuk begs for God's intervention as he sees the violence and wickedness of his day. He feels abandoned and longs for God to return to nation to Himself. Yet the answer he receives is that God will empower the Babylonians. They will sweep across the world devouring everything in their path and destroying the nation.
A human storm. A destructive power out of all control. Yet the strength of God behi
nd it all. Habakkuk doesn't pretend to understand the answer, yet he doesn't plead for deliverance either. He accepts what will come. He warns his people and describes their own wickedness. He doesn't promise a quick rescue or explain how God will use this trial to their benefit. He just ends with a simple faith that God will carry them through.The Sovereign Lord is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
he enables me to go on the heights.
Habakkuk 3:19
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
June
I love summer. I step out on my deck with an armful of damp clothes. A mower buzzes to my left, and clippers to the front. Birds chirp, a dog howls, and a screen door slams. Is it the sound of others working while I don't have to that gives me such peace? I hope not, that seems awfully petty. It takes about two weeks to really relax into it anyway. The initial rush of summer projects slowly starts to wane. Fix the downstairs bathroom, call a plumber to really fix the downstairs bathroom. Drag around furniture for carpeting estimates, replace the furniture for teenager parties, to be followed by move the furniture again for the carpet installation.
It's the freedom to choose, the clothes that drape pressure-free drying on swing and railing, the laughter and antics of "not quite ready to be grown" kids, time with family and trips across the country. It's the bitter-sweet knowledge of like it or not, they are mostly grown and summer may never be quite like this again.
It's the freedom to choose, the clothes that drape pressure-free drying on swing and railing, the laughter and antics of "not quite ready to be grown" kids, time with family and trips across the country. It's the bitter-sweet knowledge of like it or not, they are mostly grown and summer may never be quite like this again.
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