My twenty-one year old daughter is an athlete. Kiri discovered jui jitsu when she was dating Wayne (now her husband). With a world famous trainer, talent, and consistent grueling practice, Kiri has moved up the ranks quickly. Last year she won both the Pan Ams and the World Championship jui jitsu tournaments in her weight and belt.
Kiri won the Pan Am Competition again just last week.
This week she's on her way to the tiny middle eastern country of United Arab Emirate to compete in the Abu Dhabi world competition.
I'm a mom.
And I'm scared.
Jui jitsu is mostly a man's sport. The guys that come to these tournaments are big --usually tattooed --tough, macho, with muscles most of us didn't even imagine existed.
Fortunately, Kiri doesn't have to spar with those guys.
She wrestles other women. But the're tough, too.
Injuries happen. Some of the choke holds the competitors use make you lose consciousness. Arms get broken.
This traveling to an Arab country makes me even more nervous.
I'm glad Wayne's going with her.
My fear for my daughter shows just how far I still need to grow in trusting God's loving protection and provision.
Kiri is my Achille's heal, my weak spot, my missing chink of armor. If ever the enemy wants to make me fearful, all he has to do is send a little fiery arrow of imagination right through that little unguarded spot in my spirit. He "helps" me envision all the terrible things that could happen to my precious daughter.
But my fear drives me to my knees. Kiri and I are both little chicks that have learned to scurry under the wing of Mother Hen.
There is is no security greater than the security provided by our Heavenly Father. No greater love, no greater wisdom, no greater grace.
Kiri will be gone for an entire week and during that time this is the scripture I'll be reading, praying and clinging to:
"My soul finds rest in God alone;
my salvation comes from Him.
He alone is my rock and my salvation;
He is my fortress, I will never be shaken." (Psalm 62:1,2)
You parents know the fear I wrestle with. What's your most precious comforting Bible verse?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
They Get You Each Time
One of the best thrillers I've ever seen (and seen and seen and seen) is "Night of the Hunter." Robert Mitchem -- one of the scariest guys on screen in the forties, fifties and sixties --plays the classic wolf in sheep's clothing, a murderous con-man posing as a man of the cloth so he can work his evil without the townspeople suspecting him.
He worms his way into the good graces of a young widow with two children so he can find out where her deceased husband hid money from a bank robbery.
When the widow discovers his plan, he murders her then chases and terroizes the two children as they flee down-river.
As many times as I've seen that movie and know that eventually the boy and little girl are saved and the bad guy gets his, it still makes my heart quiver.
Why do we watch some movies over and over? Why do we read some books and never feel the urge to read it again, while others draw us in each time we open its pages?
When I watch Robert Mitchum riding a stolen horse down that stark depression-era road, singing "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms," I want to shout: "Run! Hide! He's coming. He's going to cut you up with his knife!"
The director --I believe it was Charles Laughton, --did something with the set, the actors and the music and the camera angles that make you feel you're those two kids and Robert Mitchum is going to get YOU!
There's so much in a good movie to be gleaned and studied for the writer. How can I use words to create that same kind of "You are there" experience for my readers?
Writers, what is your favorite trick for bringing your readers into this kind of intimate emotional experience? What is the book or movie that most draws you? I'd love to hear your comments.
He worms his way into the good graces of a young widow with two children so he can find out where her deceased husband hid money from a bank robbery.
When the widow discovers his plan, he murders her then chases and terroizes the two children as they flee down-river.
As many times as I've seen that movie and know that eventually the boy and little girl are saved and the bad guy gets his, it still makes my heart quiver.
Why do we watch some movies over and over? Why do we read some books and never feel the urge to read it again, while others draw us in each time we open its pages?
When I watch Robert Mitchum riding a stolen horse down that stark depression-era road, singing "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms," I want to shout: "Run! Hide! He's coming. He's going to cut you up with his knife!"
The director --I believe it was Charles Laughton, --did something with the set, the actors and the music and the camera angles that make you feel you're those two kids and Robert Mitchum is going to get YOU!
There's so much in a good movie to be gleaned and studied for the writer. How can I use words to create that same kind of "You are there" experience for my readers?
Writers, what is your favorite trick for bringing your readers into this kind of intimate emotional experience? What is the book or movie that most draws you? I'd love to hear your comments.
Monday, April 5, 2010
People are people, God is God
We had a snow storm about a week and a half ago. Big, wet flakes so typical of early Spring in the Rockies. The weather-man predicted that one with great accuracy.
Then he said it'd be nice and warm last week.
Good! I'm so sick of winter. I'm looking forward to some warmth.
I started envisioning myself sitting on the back deck, reading a good book, soaking up some much-needed vitamin D.
The warm weather never panned out. Instead, I watched the cool clouds rise, surmount Twin Sisters, then roll down and settle into the forested depressions between the peaks. Temperatures hovered around thirty degrees. Gale-force winds buffetted our cedar walls. Occasional hail pelted the windows.
Weather-man, I hate you!
Isn't it like that with all of our human relationships? My friends and associates are wonderful people when they deliver on their promises. Big failures when they don't.
Why are we surprised when people disappoint? Why do we expect people to be like God?
I once heard a sermon that has stayed in my head for over twenty years. Yes, it was that significant.
The message was simply: People are people and God is God. Don't get the two mixed up.
No one can predict the weather with 100 percent accuracy. Only God can.
No one can love me perfectly and consistently. Only God can.
No one --including the weather-man -- keeps his or her promises all the time.
No one --including me --always tells the truth, always says the wise thing, always exhibits perfect patience, perfect control, perfect courage, perfect peace.
People are people.
God is God.
Don't get the two mixed up.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:9)
Then he said it'd be nice and warm last week.
Good! I'm so sick of winter. I'm looking forward to some warmth.
I started envisioning myself sitting on the back deck, reading a good book, soaking up some much-needed vitamin D.
The warm weather never panned out. Instead, I watched the cool clouds rise, surmount Twin Sisters, then roll down and settle into the forested depressions between the peaks. Temperatures hovered around thirty degrees. Gale-force winds buffetted our cedar walls. Occasional hail pelted the windows.
Weather-man, I hate you!
Isn't it like that with all of our human relationships? My friends and associates are wonderful people when they deliver on their promises. Big failures when they don't.
Why are we surprised when people disappoint? Why do we expect people to be like God?
I once heard a sermon that has stayed in my head for over twenty years. Yes, it was that significant.
The message was simply: People are people and God is God. Don't get the two mixed up.
No one can predict the weather with 100 percent accuracy. Only God can.
No one can love me perfectly and consistently. Only God can.
No one --including the weather-man -- keeps his or her promises all the time.
No one --including me --always tells the truth, always says the wise thing, always exhibits perfect patience, perfect control, perfect courage, perfect peace.
People are people.
God is God.
Don't get the two mixed up.
"As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts." (Isaiah 55:9)
Thursday, April 1, 2010
My Cat, the Gardener
I have a plant. I don't know what it is. It sits by my east-facing sliding glass window, looking very happy.
How do I know the plant is happy?
It's green and sleek, nary a brown spot, keeps growing upward and outward.
And it makes babies.
I've snipped off the babies, when they were ready to leave Mother, and repotted them.
So I now have lots of this don't-know-what-it-is plant.
Tidus, the cat, loves this plant. I can't keep him away from it. It must be tasty because he keeps chewing the tips of the long leaves.
I've tried shewing him away, yelling at him, spraying him with a spray-bottle.
But each morning there are plant shreds lying on the tiled floor next to the what's-its-name plant.
But the plant is happy.
It keeps growing upward and outward.
I've said in an earlier post that cats are like God. (I'm not being blasphemous, really. You'll have to read that post.)
Cats like to prune. And so does God.
Tidus has helped my unknown plant thrive by his constant pruning.
God makes us thrive, too, by pruning the old, dead places in our hearts, clearing the way for new growth.
Helping us grow upward and outward.
So that we keep on making "babies."
"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." (John 15:1)
How do I know the plant is happy?
It's green and sleek, nary a brown spot, keeps growing upward and outward.
And it makes babies.
I've snipped off the babies, when they were ready to leave Mother, and repotted them.
So I now have lots of this don't-know-what-it-is plant.
Tidus, the cat, loves this plant. I can't keep him away from it. It must be tasty because he keeps chewing the tips of the long leaves.
I've tried shewing him away, yelling at him, spraying him with a spray-bottle.
But each morning there are plant shreds lying on the tiled floor next to the what's-its-name plant.
But the plant is happy.
It keeps growing upward and outward.
I've said in an earlier post that cats are like God. (I'm not being blasphemous, really. You'll have to read that post.)
Cats like to prune. And so does God.
Tidus has helped my unknown plant thrive by his constant pruning.
God makes us thrive, too, by pruning the old, dead places in our hearts, clearing the way for new growth.
Helping us grow upward and outward.
So that we keep on making "babies."
"I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful." (John 15:1)
Monday, March 29, 2010
Yesterday was Palm Sunday. The choir at church sang about the trimphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem. It's always seemed strange that it is called "triumphal." Wasn't He coming into Jerusalem so He could be crucified?
Yes, it's true that people spread garments on the road and waved palm branches, shouting
"Hosanna."
But a few days later He would die a horrible death.
How can anything that bad be triumphant?
Here's the life of Jesus in a nutshell:
Born in a dirty stable and placed in an animal's feed trough.
Parents flee to Egypt to protect Him from Herod's death threat.
Grows up in poverty and ignominy (some doubt about His parentage)
Misunderstood and viewed as a little crazy by His family and country-men
"no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him" (Isaiah 53:2)
"the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him." Isaiah 53:5)
"For He was cut off from the land of the living. . . " (Isaiah 53:8)
"He was assigned a grave with the wicked and with the rich in His death." (Isaiah 53: 9)
Do you ever feel as if your life looks like that, too? Lots of hard knocks strung out on a short continuum of time. You're a follower of Christ, but wouldn't it be great to know that all this life-gunk is leading somewhere glorious?
Look at the end of Christ's story:
Hundreds witnessed Him alive just days after His death (I Corinthians 15:5)
Jesus Himself said, " "I am the first and the last; I am the living one: I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever!" Revelation 1:19)
And finally:
"I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True.. ..On His robe and on His thigh He has this name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.
Jesus was accompanied by a whole host of others, also riding white horses. Christ's followers. Are you going to be one of those riders?
His final triumphal entry can be yours as well.
His story is your story!
Yes, it's true that people spread garments on the road and waved palm branches, shouting
"Hosanna."
But a few days later He would die a horrible death.
How can anything that bad be triumphant?
Here's the life of Jesus in a nutshell:
Born in a dirty stable and placed in an animal's feed trough.
Parents flee to Egypt to protect Him from Herod's death threat.
Grows up in poverty and ignominy (some doubt about His parentage)
Misunderstood and viewed as a little crazy by His family and country-men
"no beauty or majesty to attract us to Him" (Isaiah 53:2)
"the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him." Isaiah 53:5)
"For He was cut off from the land of the living. . . " (Isaiah 53:8)
"He was assigned a grave with the wicked and with the rich in His death." (Isaiah 53: 9)
Do you ever feel as if your life looks like that, too? Lots of hard knocks strung out on a short continuum of time. You're a follower of Christ, but wouldn't it be great to know that all this life-gunk is leading somewhere glorious?
Look at the end of Christ's story:
Hundreds witnessed Him alive just days after His death (I Corinthians 15:5)
Jesus Himself said, " "I am the first and the last; I am the living one: I was dead, and behold I am alive for ever and ever!" Revelation 1:19)
And finally:
"I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True.. ..On His robe and on His thigh He has this name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS.
Jesus was accompanied by a whole host of others, also riding white horses. Christ's followers. Are you going to be one of those riders?
His final triumphal entry can be yours as well.
His story is your story!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Make-My-Day Skunk
We lived in Paradise, California for four years. Beautiful area in the foothills of the Sierras. Wooded, steep terrain, quiet, seemingly serene.
At night, from the master bedroom, we heard the never-ending chorus of spring peepers, the back and forth hoot-hoot of a pair of owls, howling coyotes, and the occasional demonic screeches of dueling kitties.
One animal we never heard but were painfully aware of was the skunk. Every night around ten or so, the fluffy critter made his way from the empty lot just west of us, under our fence, across our long, concrete patio and under the Filman's fence for a long, cool drink at their pool.
Two times, Mr. Skunk decided to cross our lawn earlier in the evening and encountered Dudley, the dog. Dudley probably would have qualitfied for Doggy Mensa --if there were such a thing. Yes, he was that smart.
But smart dogs never seem to learn about skunks. That's what the guy at the pet store said when I came in for the stuff they use to remove skunk odor from fur.
Mr. Skunk also liked to terrorize my then-teenaged son as he walked to the bus stop early each morning. Garrett had to make a wide berth around the little menace each time he encountered him on the street.
My friend, Annie, came out for a visit one hot summer. When it cooled off at the end of the day, we decided to take a leisurely stroll around the block.
It's a big block, about a mile and a half around. Did I say that rattlers used to lie on the road at sun-down so we had to keep a look-out for them?
So we're being careful not to step on a snake but enjoying the lovely walk, too.
We get about the last couple hundred yards from the house when something catches our eye.
Mr. Skunk.
Does he run away when he sees us?
Of course not.
He ambles across the road, a mere fifty feet in front of us. And, instead of disappearing into the woods and undergrowth, slows to sniff at vegetation bordering the street. Then he sits, apparently waiting. Like a miniature Clint Eastwood. "Go ahead, make my day."
Now we're in a quandary. Should we try to walk past the stinky menace, hoping he doesn't get riled? Or should we back-track? It's at least a mile if we turn around and go back the other way.
And it's getting dark.
Did I mention the rattle snakes on the road?
You know how they say, "discretion is the better part of valor?"
We walked all the way back around the block.
I thought about it the other day. That skunk has faith. He's not afraid, because he knows he's armed. He's invincible. The white stripe down his back tells predators, "Back off."
I have a weapon, too. Very effective for warding off my own kinds of predators.
The Sword of the Spirit. I can say, just like Mr. Skunk, "Go ahead, make my day."
I don't always realize just how powerful my weapon is.
But it's invincible.
"Put on the the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes."
. . . Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." (Eph. 6: 11,17)
At night, from the master bedroom, we heard the never-ending chorus of spring peepers, the back and forth hoot-hoot of a pair of owls, howling coyotes, and the occasional demonic screeches of dueling kitties.
One animal we never heard but were painfully aware of was the skunk. Every night around ten or so, the fluffy critter made his way from the empty lot just west of us, under our fence, across our long, concrete patio and under the Filman's fence for a long, cool drink at their pool.
Two times, Mr. Skunk decided to cross our lawn earlier in the evening and encountered Dudley, the dog. Dudley probably would have qualitfied for Doggy Mensa --if there were such a thing. Yes, he was that smart.
But smart dogs never seem to learn about skunks. That's what the guy at the pet store said when I came in for the stuff they use to remove skunk odor from fur.
Mr. Skunk also liked to terrorize my then-teenaged son as he walked to the bus stop early each morning. Garrett had to make a wide berth around the little menace each time he encountered him on the street.
My friend, Annie, came out for a visit one hot summer. When it cooled off at the end of the day, we decided to take a leisurely stroll around the block.
It's a big block, about a mile and a half around. Did I say that rattlers used to lie on the road at sun-down so we had to keep a look-out for them?
So we're being careful not to step on a snake but enjoying the lovely walk, too.
We get about the last couple hundred yards from the house when something catches our eye.
Mr. Skunk.
Does he run away when he sees us?
Of course not.
He ambles across the road, a mere fifty feet in front of us. And, instead of disappearing into the woods and undergrowth, slows to sniff at vegetation bordering the street. Then he sits, apparently waiting. Like a miniature Clint Eastwood. "Go ahead, make my day."
Now we're in a quandary. Should we try to walk past the stinky menace, hoping he doesn't get riled? Or should we back-track? It's at least a mile if we turn around and go back the other way.
And it's getting dark.
Did I mention the rattle snakes on the road?
You know how they say, "discretion is the better part of valor?"
We walked all the way back around the block.
I thought about it the other day. That skunk has faith. He's not afraid, because he knows he's armed. He's invincible. The white stripe down his back tells predators, "Back off."
I have a weapon, too. Very effective for warding off my own kinds of predators.
The Sword of the Spirit. I can say, just like Mr. Skunk, "Go ahead, make my day."
I don't always realize just how powerful my weapon is.
But it's invincible.
"Put on the the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes."
. . . Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God." (Eph. 6: 11,17)
Monday, March 22, 2010
Don't Give Up!
In the past few weeks, Bruce and I have had the honor of listening to and praying with three separate families who are facing incredible challenges with their teenagers.
The stories are so strikingly similar to our own, that our hearts ache for the child and the parents.
You'd gladly take your child's pain on yourself to spare him or her the agony.
(That in itself is a distant echo of the way God loves each of us.)
I am blessed that, over the past five years, I've seen my child move in a steep incline toward complete healing. Because of her illness, she clung to her faith and God's Word. The Holy Spirit did some miraculous things, intervening at just the right time to show her the significance and value of her life.
She and Bruce and I have experienced a comfort beyond what we could have ever known apart from Him. I would not know God's comfort if I'd never known pain.
There are no earthly answers to why we suffer. We simply cannot comprehend the Divine interweaving of our individual story threads, and how, together, the tears, the prayers, the joining of hands, the sharing of our agonies, brings glory to God.
I've always told my daughter, "God must have some unique and glorious purpose for you because He gave you a special sensitivity, not only to look inside and see your own pain, but to recognize others, as well."
I want to encourage you; if you're suffering deeply in your soul, it could be that God is preparing you for some mighty work. Cling to Him. Call out to Him. Trust Him. Let His Word bathe your brain.
I know that you want to run away from people. But, please do not do that. Much of what God does to minister to us is through other people.
I want you to know that if you've asked for me to pray for you, I'm praying. And I'll keep on praying.
This is what I pray for you:
"I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire;
He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God." (Psalm 40: 1-3)
Don't give up.
The stories are so strikingly similar to our own, that our hearts ache for the child and the parents.
- I remember pleading with God to heal my child.
- Being on my face on the floor, weeping.
- Praying scripture over her.
- Searching my heart: how have I contributed to my child's challenge?
- Consulting numerous professionals.
You'd gladly take your child's pain on yourself to spare him or her the agony.
(That in itself is a distant echo of the way God loves each of us.)
I am blessed that, over the past five years, I've seen my child move in a steep incline toward complete healing. Because of her illness, she clung to her faith and God's Word. The Holy Spirit did some miraculous things, intervening at just the right time to show her the significance and value of her life.
She and Bruce and I have experienced a comfort beyond what we could have ever known apart from Him. I would not know God's comfort if I'd never known pain.
There are no earthly answers to why we suffer. We simply cannot comprehend the Divine interweaving of our individual story threads, and how, together, the tears, the prayers, the joining of hands, the sharing of our agonies, brings glory to God.
I've always told my daughter, "God must have some unique and glorious purpose for you because He gave you a special sensitivity, not only to look inside and see your own pain, but to recognize others, as well."
I want to encourage you; if you're suffering deeply in your soul, it could be that God is preparing you for some mighty work. Cling to Him. Call out to Him. Trust Him. Let His Word bathe your brain.
I know that you want to run away from people. But, please do not do that. Much of what God does to minister to us is through other people.
I want you to know that if you've asked for me to pray for you, I'm praying. And I'll keep on praying.
This is what I pray for you:
"I waited patiently for the Lord; He turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire;
He set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God." (Psalm 40: 1-3)
Don't give up.
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