A celebration of people who are living out their God-given dreams in all sorts of unconventional ways and places. An exploration of the obstacles to life that we often encounter - some of our own making. A place for stories about people, ideas, culture, history and God.
Sometimes you hear a song on the radio, and it's maybe more than just a song. Sometimes, it's prayer and the doubt that often plagues our prayers. Enjoy.
Give me a word
Give me a sign
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find (what will I find )
Lay me on the ground
Fly me in the sky
Show me where to look
Tell me what will I find (what will I find )
Yea, Yea, Yea
Oh, heaven let your light shine down (x4)
Love is in the water
Love is in the air
Show me where to go
Tell me will love be there (will love be there )
Teach me how to speak
Teach me how to share
Teach me where to go
Tell me will love be there (will love be there )
Yea, Yea, Yea
Oh, heaven let your light shine down (x4)
I'm going to let it shine (x2)
Heavens little light gonna shine on me
Yea yea heaven's little light gonna shine on me
It's gonna shine, shine on me
It's gonna shine, come on in shine
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I stopped in at a garage sale a few months ago and found this assortment of books and magazines on the upfront table:
As you can see, the guy running the garage sale had three Bibles and 5 Playboys for sale. He looked to be in his thirties. Oh and by the way, this was his parents' house, so there were a bunch of their knicknacks out there, too. They were circling around selling stuff, and didn't seem to notice the odd juxtaposition.
Being me, I asked him about it. His answer was a study:
"Well, I like girls, and I like God...I was just putting stuff out, and I started to put them in different places but then I got busy putting other stuff out..."
It's kind of the world we live in. It isn't real pretty, but at least here it was out in the open: a guy with a porn problem who knows there's a God, and he isn't it. He might be in better shape than the every-Sunday Christian with a hidden sin. Like...a lot of us. Jesus, overhearing the Pharisees criticizing who he hung out with, replied, "Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? Go figure out what this Scripture means: 'I'm after mercy, not religion.' I'm here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders."
Adam Clarke commented, "...the most inveterate and dangerous disease the soul can be afflicted with [is] to imagine itself whole..."
I hope he moves toward God, or at least lets God move toward him. I liked him, and I'll bet God likes him too. He's just somewhere in the long process of meeting and knowing God. Like me and you.
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Jackson Browne was in town a few weeks ago, along with one keyboard and 16 (yes, I counted) acoustic guitars. Many of his songs are poetry and commentary. "The Pretender" is ironic and bitter, indirectly asking "Why are you doing what you're doing? Is it living, or just kind of droning along?"
By the summer of 2005 I was tired of working for the Army. I'd lost whatever respect I'd had for the Pentagon-ish paper soldiers; these people were NOT at war like the real soldiers who were fighting and dying in our nation's wars. They were all pretense and small ambitions, all noise and fart, and no sense. I was tired of coping with a boss who hated his job and avoided it as often as possible. It was time for me to go; the question was, "When, Lord?" It was waiting time.
And then the waiting was over, just like that, when I heard "The Pretender" on the radio while driving into work. I'd served my time, and now I could be free. A boss-lunch, some paperwork and 6 months later, I was early-retired. The Pretending was over; Life abundant began. And the way God showed me the moment was through a simple song by a secular songwriter.
I'm going to rent myself a house
In the shade of the freeway
I'm going to pack my lunch in the morning
And go to work each day
And when the evening rolls around
I'll go on home and lay my body down
And when the morning light comes streaming in
I'll get up and do it again
Amen
Say it again
Amen
I want to know what became of the changes
We waited for love to bring
Were they only the fitful dreams
Of some greater awakening
I've been aware of the time going by
They say in the end it's the wink of an eye
And when the morning light comes streaming in
I'll get up and do it again
Amen
Caught between the longing for love
And the struggle for the legal tender
Where the sirens sing and the church bells ring
And the junk man pounds his fender
Where the veterans dream of the fight
Fast asleep at the traffic light
And the children solemnly wait
For the ice cream vendor
Out into the cool of the evening
Strolls the pretender
He knows that all his hopes and dreams
Begin and end there
Ah the laughter of the lovers
As they run through the night
Leaving nothing for the others
But to choose off and fight
And tear at the world with all their might
While the ships bearing their dreams
Sail out of sight
I'm going to find myself a girl
Who can show me what laughter means
And we'll fill in the missing colors
In each others paint-by-number dreams
And then we'll put out dark glasses on
And we'll make love until our strength is gone
And when the morning light comes streaming in
We'll get up and do it again
Get it up again
I'm going to be a happy idiot
And struggle for the legal tender
Where the ads take aim and lay their claim
To the heart and the soul of the spender
And believe in whatever may lie
In those things that money can buy
Thought true love could have been a contender
Are you there?
Say a prayer for the pretender
Who started out so young and strong
Only to surrender
“Never have a wonder taken for granted.” – H. P. Lovecraft
It seems to me that God would say the same thing to us about the wonders He sends, from the miracle of each breath to the healing of the sick to the unexplainable word of knowledge. But it’s so, so easy to dial into the routine and miss the radical. It’s so, so easy to give people credit for God’s work, and even easier to allow them to claim it unchallenged. After all, who wants to make a scene?
Sometimes, we even proudly strut our lack of childlike wonder. “Oh, yeah, worship was alright this morning. Let’s go to lunch.” “Anybody saved today? Just one...“Any miracles today? Nah, just a few healings.” (see Mark 6:5-6 for when this happened even in Jesus’ ministry)
Wonder is a fragile thing; like addicts, we swiftly gain a tolerance for miracles. The novelty pales after a repetition or two, and passes on to boredom and ignorance while the wonders continue. And of course we cry out for miraculous intervention while surrounded by the very thing we crave. Then when a new work emerges, wonder of wonders! God is in the house!
Meanwhile, God speaks in a still, small voice, from perhaps the unlikeliest of people, a long-dead horror writer, a master of the macabre: “Never have a wonder taken for granted.”
Maybe we could start now. You want a miracle? Inhale. The only thing that separates you from a drooling idiot is a tiny little blood clot in your brain the size of the pencil point. Life is good, life is miraculous, and every day is an opportunity to share the wonder.
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We’ve all seen them. And we’ve all had our turn at being one of them from time to time. The people who seem to walk alone or sit alone. The people who just don’t seem to quite fit in. Maybe a little awkward, maybe they even appear aloof and stand-offish, as if they are content to be alone. Maybe they are; maybe they are silently withering away inside. Watching as others pass them by.
Most of us here in America have busy lives. Jobs, family obligations, endless carting our children around to various “necessary” activities, meetings, the list goes on and on. We’ve filled our schedules and our children’s schedules so thoroughly that we have no time except to collapse into bed at night so we can wake up at the crack of dawn to do it all over again. We have so little unscheduled time that we are just not available to meet the God-given need for fellowship that we all have. The youth in a church we used to go to voiced how burned out they were by Wednesday: all they had the energy for on Wednesday nights was to just hang out.
Mike Yaconelli was a pastor and the founder of a ministry called Youth Specialties, which is geared to support and encourage those in youth ministry (both ordained and lay). At a talk he gave in Phoenix in 2003, he spoke the following words:
“I frankly think the way you’ll know we’re Christians in 2003 is that we’re the only group of people who have time. You need time? I got it. Wanna hangout? Great! You wanna talk? No problem. How long do you want to take? No problem. Let’s sit down and talk. That’s the church, that’s the gospel.”
Jesus, being God Incarnate, always had time for those who came in contact with Him. He met each person where they were, and ministered to their deepest needs. His priorities were to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captive and release from darkness for the prisoners. And He left us here motivated and empowered by His Holy Spirit to continue this work. Jesus also told us to love one another, to encourage one another, and to bear one another’s burdens. How can we do this if we don’t really know each other? Getting to know someone takes time, a lot of it; and letting the other person into the “zone”. A lot of what passes for fellowship is so top level and general that we part from the other person without really knowing very much about who they really are.
The man who used to pastor my parents’ church related an incident where he was faced with either making a meeting on time or talking to the roommate of one the members of his congregation who was in the hospital. He elected to be late for the meeting and talk to this man, who during the conversation made the decision to believe in the saving work of Jesus. What if the pastor had decided he should be on time for the meeting? This man’s deepest need (to be in relationship with God) might have gone by unmet.
I know there are so many things that pull at us every day, things that really need doing (truly good things) and things that happen unexpectedly. And we can’t always be “on” all the time. But what is the pattern in our lives? Is it schedules so crammed full that weeks go by without having a substantial conversation with someone else? Do we find ourselves more concerned with making our meetings than the person in front of us? Or do we find ourselves flexing our schedules to make time for other people? Are our masks up all the time, or do we take them down and share with trusted brothers and sisters in Christ what is really going on inside of us? The other sobering thought is how am I treating Jesus. If I’m too busy for people I can see face to face, am I too busy to listen to His still small voice?
As I thought about this topic, the words to “This Is For All the Lonely People” by the 1960’s/1970’s group America came to my mind. Here they are below:
This is for all the lonely people
Thinking that life has passed them by
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
And ride that highway in the sky
This is for all the single people
Thinking that love has left them dry
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
You never know until you try
Well, I'm on my way
Yes, I'm back to stay
Well, I'm on my way back home (Hit it)
This is for all the lonely people
Thinking that life has passed them by
Don't give up until you drink from the silver cup
And never take you down or never give you up
You never know until you try
As Mike Yaconelli said, let us be known for having time for people, and for letting them know that life and love have not passed them by. Let’s be the hands and feet of Jesus to the people He brings into our path, and shower His love over them so that they may see Him and be touched by His life.
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Remember looking at the perfect people in middle and high school? (Or college, or church, or work?) I do. He was the jock with no zits and the flock of adoring girls. Never at a loss for words, while I struggled for word one. To me, he looked *^&% perfect. I was jealous, and despised him. But really, I despised me for not being "perfect."
You can see the problem. Maybe you remember having it. Maybe it's not just a memory; maybe it's now.
Pink obviously remembers being less than perfect, and she has a message for anyone who's fallen for the lie that they don't measure up to some notion of "perfect." Just beautiful; here's the over-the-air version with lyrics. And for the full effect, hear her heart in her "not clean" (original) :) version of the video here.
One tidbit: the young mom in P!nk's video is played by the actress who played awkward Deb in Napoleon Dynamite. Once again...just perfect.
Well, we're getting there. People have been working to make computers - and through them, the giant library of the internet and connectedness - accessible to everyone, not just the well-heeled. The latest iteration of this process is in work now, and a Brit named David Braben deserves kudos. Take a look at the $25 USB-stick PC in today's geek.com article.
Last time this happened... If you have a netbook computer, you're an accidental beneficiary of the One-Laptop-per-Child (OLPC) movement, which aimed to produce a good, solid laptop for under $100. You might want to look at Mary Lou Jepsen, who was its tech brains - ya gotta love a lady who majored in studio art and electrical engineering, then did her graduate work in optics. Now she's going for under-$75...
By turning high-tech into a commodity, let's hope they unleash all sorts of potential in every person, each person, anywhere in the world, in every ghetto, who ever wanted to succeed. A little more light in the world - God at work, disclaiming the credit. Love it.
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The Trail is about 37 miles of paved ex-railroad bed wending its way in a giant crescent around Pinellas County. Some years ago, politicians, cyclists, walkers, greenway-lovers and CSX Railroads made common cause to put in one of the finest trails in the country, right around the most densely-populated county in Florida. Not exactly a “ministry,” but I noticed yesterday how it’s become one.
She was rolling toward me in her powered chair as I pedaled to the south. Her face was looking up, and around. Perhaps she was just getting from here to there, but in the seconds I saw her, it didn’t look that way. I’d seen her before, but not noticed her. And I got to thinking about what the word “accessible” means to someone who can’t walk. Or maybe, I got to listening. And listening, seeing things a little more clearly.
“Accessible” means something on the Trail. The ground is level, or very nearly so, for the whole 37 miles. Even unpowered wheelchairs navigate its gentle grades and wide pathways with ease. Brilliant purple jacaranda, red hibiscus, and bougainvillea are in exuberant bloom. As you ride, the sight and rich perfume of jasmine in flower visits you. Oranges are hanging from trees in half the backyards, it seems. Ibis peck, egrets stand frozen in mid-stalk, squirrels and lizards dart. Mockingbirds proclaim everyone else’s songs. Red-winged blackbirds flash about their business.
The Trail is an easy, seamless road for the weary and faint-footed. “Accessibility” is freedom; the Trail is freedom from horns and houses. The Trail gives everyone a beautiful place. And maybe one more thing: hope.
A sign over the doorway of an assisted living facility along the Trail reads, “Your story continues here...” Loss of mobility from age or injury can be an end to someone’s story, but it doesn’t have to be. The story has a different ending than the one hoped-for, but it’s still your story, and it can continue. The trail offers Hope that each of our stories isn’t over, that there is still joy and beauty in life and the world around us.
It’s good to be thankful for the Trail, and toward the people who started and continue it. I’m sure they didn’t set out just to bring Hope to handicapped people. But they've been instruments of the greater Good, the ultimate Hope-giver, who desires to bless the ones made in his image, us. And from the amount of ink spilled in scripture about the poor and lame, I kinda think he had them especially in mind when he was putting “Pinellas Trail” thoughts into the minds and hearts of its creators.
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Our friend Jeff Ghiotto has put together a one-day workshop he calls "The Prince of Wholeness." It's a deep, interactive look at the practical and miraculous implications of that Jesus-name "Prince of Peace," from Isaiah 9:1-7. (Blog here.) I attended the first session with about a dozen others; it was a good day, God was in a good mood, and people experienced truth and healing. (Including a physical one, which is way cool.)
"Peace" is the usual translation for the Hebrew word shalom(שָׁלוֹם). But shalom is one of those too-big-to-print-in-English words; it means safety, happiness, wellbeing, prosperity, peace, rest, welfare, wholeness, and health. (And that's just the literal meanings...contextual definitions enlarge that some more, but that'll do for now.)
Too many Christians are waging war against people and peace against the devil. Jeff invites us into the question, "What will our lives look like if the Prince of Peace wages peace on people, both in us ourselves, and through us to others?" (Which has wonderful implications for us and nasty ones for the devil, as it should be.)
Jeff and his family lived for many missionary years in Central and South America, and are fluent in Spanish. Jeff had a friend in Venzuela who translated his workshop pamphlet into the local dialect, and is now traveling through that country sharing Good News for "people in darkness" (the Isaiah context). For a 10-day tour through Hugo Chavez's Venezuela through the eyes of a man waging Peace among the believers, please go to his blog, princeofwholeness.blogspot.com. Hey...maybe your group of believers could use a dose of Shalom.
If you'd like a sample, you can hear Jeff (and other elders) on the Clearwater Vineyard teaching archive here. You might start with "Shalom Distribution" here, and "Ruling Your Sphere" here.
"First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and dignified in every way. This is good, and it is pleasing in the sight of God our Savior, who desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth." (1 Timothy 2:1-4)
The opinion page of the New York Times is perhaps the last place where I would look for a prayer. But Thomas Friedman plugs one into his opinion piece from March 30th. It ends, "Dear Lord, please make President Obama lucky." It's a beautiful piece, honest, and at least from my point of view, objective.
Read his article here, and, well, please pray for our leaders. Every mistake they make means they need more prayer. And we need the practice.
Talking with Cyndi the other day in a local restaurant, we came upon the business of loneliness. Bubble-people, to be exact.
You know them. They walk from point to point in a little world of their own, concentrated on thoughts their own. Sometimes the eyes are down, focused on the sidewalk ten feet ahead. Sometimes the eyes are far away, unseeing. Their owners are somewhere far, far away. Sometimes the faces reveal sullen fury; sometimes familiar hurt; sometimes what-now? desperation. Sometimes nothing at all.
Sometimes the darkening bubble isn't even a bubble of silence; it's a bubble of busyness. Look carefully, and a lot of our calendars turn out to be isolation bubbles. Alive inside, blind and dead to the world outside. Dead men walking.
Plenty of people now live vicariously through their own Facebook pages, which fill with "good news" and entertainment posts, leaving out the darker half of their realities. Like living through someone else; ironically, it's their own computer-display avatars.
People build bubbles for lots of reasons, many of them defensive and right in a limited way: coping with a family member addicted to chemicals or ambition or power, for example. But victims' isolation bubbles can outlive their usefulness and cripple us.
I said, "And then, sometimes people end up in isolation through very little or no fault of their own. I'm thinking of the 80-somethings at Regency (retirement home). As time passes, they outlive most of their old friends. It gets harder to find and make new friends, then too-quickly they die as well. It all takes energy that's become scarce. If you live long enough, you'll die alone."
Cyndi responded, "Unless... Like the Lorax."
So I started crying.
I hope you remember the story. It's a little parable about the Lorax, who takes care of the Truffula trees in the forest, beautiful trees with furry, wavy tops. One day, the Once-ler comes along with a Thneed-making machine. He starts whacking Truffula trees for their top-tufts, which of course are the basic material for a Thneed: it's a [pointless] "fine-something-that-all-people-need."
As the Once-ler proudly regards his first Thneed, a little guy pops out of the Truffula-stump: "Mister," he said with a sawdusty sneeze, "I am the Lorax! I speak for the trees! I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues, and I'm asking you sir at the top of my lungs! What's that THING you've made out of my Truffula tuft?"
Over the continued protests of the Lorax, the Once-ler destroys the forest and the Lorax must send away all the animals. Finally, the Lorax himself leaves, leaving only a rock with the word "UNLESS..." on it.
The bible is quite emphatic about fellowship (the Greek word is koinonia): We need it, each and all of us. (See Acts chapters 2 through 5, and the one-anothers of scripture here, for a start.) Unless we approach the lonely old people, they will die alone. For those who are involuntarily alone, a kind word can be cool drink in the hot desert. Unless we approach bubble people, they will live and die alone. Often, they see the approach, and avoid it - that's the key to maintaining the bubble, after all. But. Not. Always. Their choice - but let us at least give them the choice to exchange their bubbles for relationships.
I speak for the lonely, for the lonely have no tongues.
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I buried a little finch this morning. He was still warm.
As I go on my daily walks, I sometimes encounter dead squirrels or birds in the roads, casualties of life in our after-Eden world. It always hurts me to see them lying there, broken, on the hard pavement. It seems so cold and hard. Usually I'll move them under a bush or something. Something...a little more natural, less clinical, less mechanical. Sometimes, I just have to put them back into the ground.
Anything that moves me emotionally, up or down, I look for the underlying "why?" of it. This one, I've known for a while. It's because, someone has to care.
God created a man, and unimaginatively named him "Man," which is all that "Adam" means. Man's job was to name the animals and watch over them all. (Remember "If I Ran the Zoo," by Dr. Seuss?) It was a big job, and it stunk that the man was alone, so God created a powerful helper, Eve. (That's the biblical use of the Hebrew word "ezer." If you feel like a doormat-woman, read this. But I digress.)
Then the whole Fall happened, Eden was lost, and Man and Eve looked for new employment. They abandoned the animals. I imagine the animals were lonely, and I imagine they still are, in some way that we can't reach through. I know that we miss them. And I know why that tiny, warm little body felt so good in my hand this morning, as the storms moved in from the Gulf to drench us all. Man gave him a name and a place. I'm a Man. And he's still mine to take care of. Even in death.
I'm not saying everyone "save the environment" - that's only a secular cause. I'm just saying that we were made to be the tenders of the garden; that when an animal tugs at our heartstrings, we're feeling a little restoration of Eden in our hearts. God's quite clear on stewarding the good things he gives us: using them for our good, but not exploiting them. Next time it happens to you, maybe, just maybe, listen for God's Eden-heart, redeeming just a little bit more of our Fallen world to Himself. And You as well, son of Adam, daughter of Eve.
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I first saw The Skit Guys five years ago at a Youth Specialties convention. This little piece, done in front of about 3000 people who love to work with young people, made me cry with laughter...and then with something else. If you ever need to be told, "Thanks," then this might be for you. Sometimes people notice, even when you can't tell that you're making any difference at all. (16 min.)
I happened to see several parts of the movie Les Miserables this weekend. The story is a picture of all kinds of things where God's goodness shines through over and over again. There's the lead character, Jean Valjean: a servant, accused, harshly punished, redeemed, Grace personified. There's Javert: a police officer who tracks Valjean over the years and the miles: relentless, cold, Law personified, and ultimately killed by his own head-for-an-eye justice. There are the ones who are helped and blessed by Valjean along the course of his life.
And there's The Bishop. (Not the frilly entitled kind. The Real kind.) Here's a little of the conversation when Valjean arrives at the bishop's front door, asking shelter, announcing his name and nineteen year in prison, as required by his parole:
...turning to his guest: "The night wind is harsh on the Alps. You must be cold, sir."
Each time that he uttered the word sir, in his voice which was so gently grave and polished, the man's face lighted up. Monsieur to a convict is like a glass of water to one of the shipwrecked of the Medusa. Ignominy thirsts for consideration.
"This lamp gives a very bad light," said the Bishop.
Madame Magloire understood him, and went to get the two silver candlesticks from the chimney-piece in Monseigneur's bed-chamber, and placed them, lighted, on the table.
"Monsieur le Cure," said the man, "you are good; you do not despise me. You receive me into your house. You light your candles for me. Yet I have not concealed from you whence I come and that I am an unfortunate man."
The Bishop, who was sitting close to him, gently touched his hand. "You could not help telling me who you were. This is not my house; it is the house of Jesus Christ. This door does not demand of him who enters whether he has a name, but whether he has a grief. You suffer, you are hungry and thirsty; you are welcome. And do not thank me; do not say that I receive you in my house. No one is at home here, except the man who needs a refuge. I say to you, who are passing by, that you are much more at home here than I am myself. Everything here is yours. What need have I to know your name? Besides, before you told me you had one which I knew."
The man opened his eyes in astonishment.
"Really? You knew what I was called?"
"Yes," replied the Bishop, "you are called my brother."
"Stop, Monsieur le Cure," exclaimed the man. "I was very hungry when I entered here; but you are so good, that I no longer know what has happened to me." (Les Miserables, Vol. 1, Book 2nd, Chap. 3)
***
Now that's a man of God. I want to know what he has to say; I want to be around a guy whose heart infects others with wonder and hope. Valjean's notion of who he is ("I'm a convict") is shattered and his identity is transformed by his one evening with The Bishop. Valjean becomes, in midlife, a picture of the name he's owned since birth: "Valjean" means "powerful gift of God."
Reading the book takes a lot of time, but it's a masterpiece. If you like The Bishop's meeting with Valjean in the text above, follow the link to Wikisource and read the rest of their encounter. The bishop's backstory begins here; in fact, the Bishop is the one who starts the whole book off. If he weren't who God designed him to be, full of grace and generosity, a contrast to his often-rich and corrupt peers, we wouldn't have a book at all.
The funny thing is, there isn't a clue in Victor Hugo's biography to indicate that he's a Christian. But that sure didn't stop God from shining right through him into our lives, and certainly mine, today.
I've been in a kind of blogging ebb lately, between taxes, other stuff, and, well, an ebb. Like, ebb tide. Not exactly discouraged, just kind of. So I was looking forward to lunch with my friend Dave. Good times.
As we walked toward our cars, I noticed a front-bumper plate on a gray SUV:
Real Eyes
Realize
Real Lies
It took a minute to sink in, and all I could think was, "Wow..." Dave and I just been talking about how we miss God's greatest for us, often by trading our forever identity as favored kids of God for temporary securities in the world around us (money, questionable relationships, etc.). (Take-home quiz: what have you traded lately?)
So I bent over and took a picture to remember it for...the blog. Talk about a kiss from the Lord; here was something I couldn't wait to share. And this thing was really well done; it had some graphics on it that along with the text added up to, "Now that's a woman, and she's been HURT...and she's learned something along the way." Something we could all afford to learn. Something we all need, from the only one who can give us Real Eyes.
Real Eyes - To discern truth from deception and confusion, to distinguish between good and evil spirits. But also, even to present Real Eyes to those around us, to show our eyes to the world instead of hiding our work-in-progress Christianity behind a mask.
Realize - To understand down deep, but also to "REAL-ize," to make real the truth we've seen.
Real Lies - Be they malicious or just confusion, we are surrounded by lies about God's character, the completeness and accuracy of the bible he gave us, and ourselves.
But wait, there's more.
So I've taken the picture and we're finishing the conversation before heading off. Out of the side door of the restaurant comes a lady - the lady. She saw my interest, and she wanted to talk.
A few years ago she was going through a really hard time in her life, and she had a dream. I guess there was some drama going on in the foreground, but on a wall in the background were those words, big as life. Just like that. Totally out of the clear blue.
"I knew it was from the Lord, for me," she said. I told her I wrote a blog, and asked if she would mind if I used it. "I love to tell people about this; go ahead."
I hope she keeps doing that. I wish I could bottle up her story and her joy to carry around share with everyone (starting at our home church!). Heck, I hope she does the whole bumper plate, T-shirt, etc. thing and makes a bazillion dollars out of it. I have a feeling she'd use it well.
We talked a little longer, and then we all parted: me to review a paper, Dave to do some writing, and she to her now-cold lunch. But we were all a little warmer from God's love.
. Once again...just perfect.
" by Dr. Seuss?) It was a big job, and it stunk that the man was alone, so God created a powerful helper, Eve. (That's the biblical use of the Hebrew word "
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