What Are You Fighting For?

            I heard the commotion and I knew it wouldn’t be pretty.   By the time I got to the boys’ bedroom, Liam was chasing after Winston with a battle cry.   No matter what I said or even when I pulled them apart, Liam still went after Winston.  I had a foreboding feeling come over me. 

            I do not know what started the fight, but I do know that the passion and determination in my sons was not waning.  Finally, I separated them and they seemed to calm down.  But, the storm was still raging beneath the quiet facade.  Then next thing I hear is a “thwack” and a cry.  I knew without even looking, Liam had punched his brother.  He had taken the matter into his own hands.  Liam was then “removed from the situation” for corrective purposes.  Winston was taken to receive medical attention for his wounds.

            By the time Liam returned from his just punishment, he was “singing a different tune”.  He sat across from Winston, who was holding a cold washcloth to his bloody nose, and took him by the shoulders, earnestly imploring him to be his friend.  I did not understand all of their conversation, but I did catch the spirit behind it.  “Let’s not make mountains out of molehills.  We are on the same side, you and me.  So what do you say?  I’ll forgive you and you forgive me and we won’t ‘wrestle for real’ anymore.”  

            It was a precious scene.  Two brothers who often get into disagreements, becoming fast friends.  I knew their passionate nature toward one another came from their closeness.  When given the chance, they would fight for a resolution instead of reason toward one.

            So, I asked myself, how am I like my boys?  Do I react like they do when I am wronged?  Do I give in to my passions?  Do I go after what I want with dogged determination, with no care for whom I hurt in the process?  Do I run hard after things that I want without a pause, or a thought?  Do I let things go, only to take them up again when my emotions get the better of me?  I began to see myself in them all too much.

            Do I fight for things that I do not need or even should not have?  Do I think that obtaining what I want in people or in my circumstances will make my life more livable?  Do I want control of my life that badly?  How do I really treat a sister or a brother?

            Questions of the heart.  I am asking myself these questions.  A testing of the soul.  How do I respond when Christ takes me by the collar and sits me down and disciplines me in His love?  Do I see it as love or an inconvenience?  “Sorry you caught me sinning, Lord.”  Or am I thankful that He cares enough to come after me and take me away from what would only cause me more pain?  Sin is pleasurable for a time, but it will always lead to death.  He will not allow me to go the way of death.  He cannot, for he has altered my future.  He has taken away the final death and given me life.  And life more abundantly.

            So, the boys walked off together, after the nose had stopped bleeding, and played peacefully.  The fight was forgotten.  The passion subdued.  Love had conquered their desires.  They no longer knew what they had been fighting for. 

            That is what I want.  To no longer have the desire to fight anymore.  To calmly walk toward what God has for me, in peace.  To be changed by the reminder of who I am now.  To know that I am fighting the God of Job when I protest the circumstances in my life.  Thank God He catches me and calms me, puts His arms around me and tells me, “Let’s not fight anymore.  Let’s do things My way.”  For like Paul, I too, kick against the goads.  And that my friends, will never get you anywhere.

                                                                                             ~ Your Fellow Sojourner

  Acts 26:12-18 NIV

¹² “On one of these journeys I was going to Damascus with the authority and commission of the chief priests. ¹³ About noon, King Agrippa, as I was on the road, I saw a light from heaven, brighter than the sun, blazing around me and my companions. ¹⁴ We all fell to the ground, and I heard a voice saying to me in Aramaic, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads.’

¹⁵ “Then I asked, ‘Who are you, Lord?’

“ ‘I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,’ the Lord replied. ¹⁶ ‘Now get up and stand on your feet. I have appeared to you to appoint you as a servant and as a witness of what you have seen and will see of me. ¹⁷ I will rescue you from your own people and from the Gentiles. I am sending you to them¹⁸ to open their eyes and turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan to God, so that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.’

In An Instant

           I recently attended a convention where there were many book sellers and Christian organizations represented.  I was already familiar with many of the groups, publishers and names.  But I was unprepared for the physical reaction that came over me when I encountered books or ministries that were linked to missions. 

            As I walked by tables representing missions organizations, my mind would go to certain passages about men and women who put themselves in harm’s way, all to speak the truth of the gospel.   I could not focus on anything else.   I walked by one table and picked up a biography of a persecuted pastor and the hair on my arms stood on end.  My heart raced and my mind came alive.  Why?  I have not walked in these people’s shoes.  But to me, hearing of missionaries and the plight of the persecuted church has always been like reading a spine tingling mystery novel.

            From my first recollection, the stories I loved the most were of missionaries.  They were heroes of the grandest nature.  I lay awake at night thinking about Amy Carmichael in India and Hudson Taylor in China.  I thought about wanting to have blue eyes but being denied them so that I could disguise myself as an Indian.  I thought Hudson Taylor’s long braid was fantastic!  I dreamt of deep dark jungles and carrying black leather Bibles to lost people.  I wanted to hear every missionary that came to our church, and if they came to our home for a meal or a visit, it was like meeting royalty. 

            I no longer romanticize mission work as I once did, but the love of sharing the gospel with those who would not otherwise know it, has always been alive in me.  It has shaped major decisions in my life. One such decision was taking a room opening on the missions/international floor of my freshman dorm in college.  I met and still know many brave women who escaped persecution, who would return to it again, or who lived among foreign people to give them the hope of the gospel. 

            Do you know what jewel was secretly being formed in my spirit as a result of this love of missions?  I have been able to hold onto this world with a lighter grip.

            Fashions and possessions do not charm me very much.  I do not have a preference for a certain race of people.  The more foreign, the better!  Giving to help the needy is a privilege.  Opening my home to all kinds of people is a blessing. Smelling like the poor makes me think of how Jesus must have smelled.

            This weekend conference made me pause and look back to see the pattern that God has woven in my life.  I want to say that I am still full of self and pride and the love of this life far too much.  But, I can see the blessings that have come from turning my gaze away from myself.

            So, out of all the books or things that I returned home with from the conference, there are two that stand out.  One, a vintage copy of missionary Helen Roseveare’s  Give Me This Mountain, and a hand embroidered bread basket liner made by a widow in Bangladesh.  I hope to meet both women one day and know all of their story. 

            I like to call these stories, “true stories”.  For, they are a part of what truly matters for all eternity.  That is why, as I stood by the table of missionary and pastor biographies, I trembled inside.  I was standing on holy ground.  In fact, if I would not have caused a scene, I would have knelt on the ground right there and prayed.  For amid all of the American affluence, there was such incredible sacrifice written on those pages.  The stories whispered to me as I stood there.  I needed to share this with the next generation.

            My children sat in our kitchen this past week in wide eyed wonder and with solemn faces as they listened to the story of Corrie Ten Boom.  They cannot get enough of her book, which has double significance for our family.  (My husband’s grandfather escaped the Holocaust of World War II.)  I think they are on their third listening in the past four days.  And tonight, I reminded them that they will sit and talk with Corrie and Peter Ten Boom one day.  We all became quiet, for our minds went to Eternity, in an instant.  That is what these stories do for me ~ they take me to Eternity.   ~Your Fellow Sojourner

"If Christ be God and died for me, then no sacrifice can be too great for me to make for him." ~ Helen Roseveare

Do You Smell That?

            As I get older, and can reflect on decades of my life instead of a handful of years, I look at what really matters to me.  One thing stands out above all other themes. It has always been about people.

            God has made me an otter.  Otters are so fun to watch.  There is a little zoo in Salisbury that keeps two otters.  When we go to this zoo, the otters are the one thing we make sure to go see.  They play and splash and generally seem to enjoy a crowd.  You never see them alone.  They really enjoy one another’s company. 

            So, if I were to be an animal, I believe that I would be an otter.  Just let me swim with my fellow otters and play and lay in the sun together.  Ah, the life.

            But, I am not an otter.  I am a woman with a God-given heart to love people.  Some may call this a “shepherding” or “encouraging” bent.  I think God just gave me a passionate love for something He loves passionately too, people. 

            I live with six other people.  My suspicion is that one of them is “otter-like”, but the others… no.  We have great misunderstandings and hurtful moments here.  But, even though we are not alike in so many ways, we love one another deeply.  This deep love shows when one of the family is truly hurting.

            Recently, we were having constant episodes of sibling squabbles.  I was wondering what had happened to the compassion in our home.  Everyone for himself.  No three musketeers motto here.  Then, one of the family fell ill.

            Almost immediately the other children rallied around him and the minor irritations that had become major ones faded away.  He received royal treatment and protection.  I had to console my daughter that this sickness (strep throat) was not “unto death”.  They loved one another.

            It did my heart good. Although I was concerned for my son’s health, I was observing the hearts of my other children as well.  Did God use this sickness to help draw my children’s hearts to one another again?  I do not know, but I would like to think that somewhere, God was pointing my children to one another.

            When we see someone we love hurting and in need, our own love for them should compel us to act.  Sometimes we are called to act even when a loving feeling or emotion is absent.  How can we do this when “we’ve lost that lovin feelin”?  The answer, we can’t.  But, God does. 

            This is the love that the world stands back and tries to comprehend.  The world and those that are lost in the world do not know what to do with a love that reaches beyond one’s desire for self-preservation and self-love.  Those that see this love at work in the lives of Jesus’ disciples taste and see the cross.  This  smell of death that accompanies the followers of Christ causes an adverse  reaction.  But, mingled in this deathly aroma is a sweetness that others can sense.  Once someone smells the sweetness of the gospel, they want to smell it again, for no other air will be fit for them to breathe once this perfume lodges in their nostrils.  And they find themselves loving what they once hated and dying to what they once lived for.  They find that they can love.

                                                                              ~ Your Fellow Sojourner

            [14] But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. [15] For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, [16] to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life. Who is sufficient for these things? [17] For we are not, like so many, peddlers of God's word, but as men of sincerity, as commissioned by God, in the sight of God we speak in Christ.

(2 Corinthians 2:14-17 ESV)

Man Does Not Live By Lettuce Alone

            One of the topics my husband discussed with me before we were married was dinner. He was quite adamant about dinnertime. If possible, our family would always eat together.  My husband is serious about food.  He loves it.  He loves to look at it, cook it, buy it, read about it, and most certainly, eat it.  Meals are borderline sacred to him.  One of the goals I have in life is to see dinner as he sees it.   No TV dinners in our house.  Well, sharing take out Chinese on the floor might come close.

            And so, we have tried to hit this goal.  And I must say, it has been reached for most of our meals, if not all of them.  We do eat together.  And for our busy family, it has been stabilizing. 

            Now, before you begin to have visions of serene Norman Rockwell type evenings at the dinner table in our home, let me speak plainly.  Dinnertime in our house is like a war zone.  It all comes out.  Whatever anyone is feeling or thinking, or sometimes digesting, all comes out. 

            I think at least 50% of our disciplining occurs at dinnertime.  No other meal is like it.  It just brings out the champion in all of us.  Champion sinners, that is.  But sometimes there are bright moments.  Moments that give us hope that yes, one day, there will be peace at our table.

            One evening we were eating a salad with some beautiful mixed greens.  The different lettuces inspired my husband to wax eloquently about the food.  I must admit, a good part of me ignored his treatise on the salad.  This was my chance to eat without too much interruption. 

            Now, you must understand something, the people in our family like to talk.  I know, you are shocked and bewildered.  But yes, it is true.  Most of us like to talk.  And this evening it was no exception.  Unfortunately, only the twins were somewhat engaged in their father’s speech on greens.  Everyone else was trying to give their own speech.  And the target audience was Dad.

            The dinner chorus was coming to a crescendo.  Everyone was vying for Daddy’s attention.  Until, Liam had had enough.  “Dad! Dad!  Tell me some more amazing things! Dad! Dad!  Tell me some more amazing things!”  He was leaning in to his father, imploring him to tell him more about the leaves.  Liam’s cries reached forte level and everyone else grew quiet.  His father was speaking and telling him something he had never heard before, and to him, it was amazing, even if it was about lettuce. 

            Liam was employing all of his senses as he learned about lettuce leaves from his father, and he would not be deterred.  He would grasp this information at any cost.  Even at the risk of being turned away or drowned out.  But, his father heard his cries and saw his earnestness.  When Chris spoke again about the intricacies of the lettuce, Liam became quiet and meek.  He was receiving instruction from his father.

            How often do we cry out with all that we have for truth?  How often do we stay and fight through the crowd to receive whatever the Giver of Truth will say to us?  How often do we stop speaking and become quite and listen?  When our Father speaks, do all other voices fall away?  Do we take His words for granted?  Do we say to ourselves, ”Soul, pay attention.  Your Father is speaking to you, and His words are precious.” 

            Liam ate his precious leaves, as he learned to call them, with relish.  Petite purple, dark green, and yellow-green leaves, all in a delicious flavorful mixture.  We all paused and looked at the lettuce in a new way.  The salad was a thing of beauty to those that lingered long enough to see what my son had seen.  He had seen something through his Father’s eyes.

                                                                                                    ~Your Fellow Sojourner

            O LORD, my heart is not lifted up;

               my eyes are not raised too high;

                I do not occupy myself with things

                too great and too marvelous for me.

                But I have calmed and quieted my soul,

                like a weaned child with its mother;

                like a weaned child is my soul within me.

                O Israel, hope in the LORD

                from this time forth and forevermore.

                                                                     (Psalm 131 ESV)