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Thursday, 30 April 2009

  • My Boys - Part 3

     Following is an actual conversation which I just witnessed in my living room - the names have been changed to protect the innocent:

    Buttermilk:  Here's a picture of guinea pigs.  I didn't think those were even real!

    Biscuit:  Guinea pigs!  Yeah, those are real.  They're a kind of bird!

    Buttermilk:  Nuh-uh!  Look at the picture.

    Biscuit:  That's not a bird, that's a human!

    Buttermilk:  Not HIM!!  Look at what he's holding!!

    Biscuit:  That's not a BIRD!!

    Buttermilk:  Yeah, look, it says "Your Guinea Pigs."  That thing that he's holdin' - THAT'S a guinea pig!

    Biscuit:  Oh, yeeeaaaahhh!  I was thinking of guineas!

Saturday, 11 April 2009

  • Blood on the Doorpost

    There is so much rich symbolism associated with this time of year.  All over the world people are thinking of sacrifices and blood for atonement, for redemption, as a covering.  I love how no matter how many times we study the Scripture, we can always find a new treasure in the well worn pages.  The sages teach that "the Scripture is like a beautiful jewel, we should turn it, and turn it again."  Every turn shows us new facets.  Every time we turn our eyes to it, it's as if we're seeing it anew, from a different angle, discovering further beauty within it.

    The account of the passion of the Messiah in the Gospels parallels the account of the Passover story in Exodus in so many ways.  I'm sure I'll never understand and fully comprehend them all, but one of the most vibrant symbols for me is the blood on the doorposts.  On the final evening that the Israelites were in Egypt, they were to sacrifice a lamb, one year old without spot or blemish.  The Lord instructed them to use hyssop to put the blood of the lamb on the doorposts of their homes.  Then they were to roast the lamb and eat it.

    While the practicality of this commandment seems pretty clear - that the Lord would pass over the homes with the blood on the doorposts, and only take the firstborn of the homes with no blood marking their doors - the deeper meaning has been a puzzle which I could not leave alone. The blood was like a marker announcing "This house and it's inhabitants belong to the Lord."  But what did that mean in the greater context?  The Lord searches within our hearts, does He not?  He doesn't do random "doorpost of your heart checks", does He?  I thought He was concerned with what's on the inside of my heart, not what sort of window dressing I use on it (I don't even know what that means!).  I find myself contemplating it every few weeks.  Sure, I'm familiar with a lot of the usual breakdowns, but there has to be more.  I'm ready to turn the jewel again.

    A few months back, the Lord finally decided to give me a break and show me a little something about it.  It was one of those real "light-bulb moments".  I have studied quite a few times in the past about the relationship between Messiah and the congregation and it's tangible counterpart of husband and wife (as explained by Paul), but I still just wasn't getting the full picture - or even enough of it to be satisfied with what I had to mull over until the Lord chose to reveal a little more. 

    Then, one day, as I was watching Big Daddy hang a new back door in the living room, the Lord showed me a real insight (at least I think it was, you'll have to judge for yourself, though).  Daddy (meaning the daddy at my house, which is my husband -- not MY daddy, who never was mechanically inclined enough to install storm doors!) anyhow -- Daddy banged his hand on something and knocked a chunk out of the back of his hand.  As any true blue carpenter knows, the proper procedure at that juncture is to completely ignore the gaping flesh wound in his hand and continue on as if nothing has happened until he notices that the blood that's running down his arm is about to drip on the new wood floor.  Then, with a certain level of annoyance apparent in his attitude - yet not so much as to give the mistaken impression that he's actually concerned about a little bump, but simply to convey how inconvenient it is to be forced to trifle with his own mortality while busily flexing and lifting large pieces of construction material for the benefit of any hot little Mamas who happen to be about (that's me ) - he carelessly swipes the offending member across the back of his jeans leg, and goes on.  I was only marginally aware of what was going on at this point, it being a familiar scenario at our house give or take a few minor details.

    Being, for the most part, an invalid for the better part of last year, I didn't have much to do that day other than just sit there and drift in and out of touch with the banging and mumbling coming from the other side of the living room, but when I finally did perk up a little bit and start to take notice of what was going on over there, I noticed an odd smear of something on my new white storm door -- GRR!!   Those things weren't cheap, and if Lowe's gave us one with a scratch on it, they were going to dang well replace it!!  By this time, I was actually sitting up and taking notice of things.  As I stared at the strange smear on the edge of my pretty, new - did I mention it was white? - door, I slowly came to the realization that the smudge on my new door was blood!  Not just any blood, but fresh blood, and I could see where it came from, too.  Big Daddy was still taking occasional swipes at his jeans with the back of his hand, where I could see a constant welling of red oozing out. I hazily thought "My husband has smeared his blood on my door."  Then the light bulb came on, and all the little alarm bells started to ring in my head.  I finally GOT it!!  (or at least some more of it, 'cause honestly, if I ever get it all, then I would think my time here would be done).

    When Messiah's blood was offered up as the Passover lamb, it was then applied to the doorposts of our hearts (that part we already knew).  What was new for me was that he was also acting as the bridegroom in that moment.  I know that lots of folks like to use those passages in Ephesians (5 is it?) to try to push the ladies around without ary a thought to the context of the passage (and, as we all know, Text without context is pretext!).  Before the part about women submitting to their husbands is the part about what Christ did for the church.  He offered up his life as a sacrifice to make blood covering, atonement - to facilitate communion between us and the Father. 

    • (Sidebar: so, fellas, don't go waving that submission thing at your wives until you've taken into account the whole dying to cover her sins thing for yourselves [I'm not suggesting actual human sacrifice here, just the idea that if you're going to tell someone else what to do, then be ready to be held responsible for the things they do] -- likewise, ladies, your obedience to God i.e. your submission to your husband, is NOT dependent on your husband's obedience to God, so don't go putting the cart before the horse and saying "Fred, when you start living right, then I'll start listening to you."  That's not how it works!  There is no disclaimer in that passage, it doesn't read "wives also submit yourselves to your husbands, as long as they are up to snuff in your opinion..."  So, ladies, just submit, and know that you've done your part.  Men, weigh the cost and live up to your end of the bargain before you start laying down the law on anyone.)

    Every man was responsible to apply the blood to his own doorpost.  Every man was responsible for the welfare of his own family - the firstborn that was spared through this act of obedience was spared not just for his own sake.  The firstborn was like the family's insurance.  If something happened to Papa, then the firstborn son took on all the responsibility of looking after the rest of the family.  Every woman hoped to have at least one son so that in her old age (and presumably after she had outlived her husband), she would be well cared for by her son's household until her death.  Likewise, a young lady with no brothers may not be looked upon as favorably for marriage because her prospective beau would also be weighing the matter of providing for her mother in the future.  The firstborn son was the stopgap against a family becoming destitute if the father became ill, injured or dead.  So, when the man of the household applied the blood to the doorpost, it was to spare the life of his son, the future of his wife, the best prospects of marriage for his daughters, and the welfare of them all.  It was done on behalf of the entire family.

    In the same manner, Messiah, acting as the bridegroom, applied his own blood to the doorposts of our hearts in order to cover our sin and make us all acceptable to the Father.  In labeling us as His, He saved us from moral and spiritual destitution.  The blood on the doorpost of my heart isn't just the blood of a sacrifice, it's the blood of the bridegroom!  Just like Big Daddy had smeared his blood all down the side of my pretty new door, and marked this house and everyone in it as not only belonging to him, but also under his protection up to and including the shedding of his own blood, so Messiah has also done the same for each of us!!  WOW!!  He didn't just say "I'm covering you to make you acceptable."  He said "You're mine, and I have already laid down my very life to protect you.  I've marked this heart and everyone in it as mine, not to be touched by the plague of death."

    That wasn't just a regular old 60-watt-soft-white-light-bulb for me, it was one of those new fangled, scorch-your-retinas-when-you-turn-it-on, florescent-light-bulb-moments!!  I know, you guys probably think I was dense not to have gotten this one already, but I just GET things more when I have an object lesson to go from.  I mean, anyone who thought about coming through that door uninvited, and then noticed it all smeared with blood would probably think twice.  If they ever learned that the blood belonged to the very big fella that lives here and calls this little patch of earth his and he's so tough that he didn't even notice when he bled all over the door (did I mention that it's white? that blood made a really yucky-looking stain), they probably would think a third time - as they flung gravel and burned rubber getting out of here.  So, yeah, my guy's big and strong and tough, he's proven himself against plenty of different challenges, but just imagine, the blood on my other doorpost came from a guy who actually put it there on purpose, and overcame not just challenges, but death!  Who wants to mess with that door?!?!

    So I suppose what I'm getting at is that Messiah's blood on the doorpost of your heart signifies more than just covering of sin, it signifies belonging to him, and everything that goes along with that - an expectation that he's staked his claim, that you've come under his protection, been made part of his family.  I thought that was pretty cool!

    Thanks for putting up with my ramblings....and btw, I did finally get that door clean - it looks so nice, too!

Friday, 10 April 2009

Sunday, 29 March 2009

  • a poem

    I wrote this poem a few years ago.  It's not the greatest thing I ever did, but it strikes a chord, ya know?

    I Don't Deserve This

    "Lord, I don't deserve this," I lamented just today
    As I stumbled over toys hurrying on my way
    To the kids' room to investigate just what was wrong this time.
    Thankfulness was certainly not what was on my mind.
    They were yelling, even screaming at each other in a rage,
    And I wondered, "Lord I don't think I'll survive them past this age?"
    Then I calmed them and I sat them down and counseled them with love
    And reminded them that someone's always watching from above.
    So, they gave each other hugs and apologized contritely,
    Then as I went on my way I heard her comment brightly,
    "You're my brother, and I love you, and we really shouldn't fight."
    So she'll sing to him a song about a mockingbird tonight.
    As I listen to her angel voice as they drift off to sleep,
    I kiss them both, and look at them and then begin to weep.
    When I get down on my knees before the Lord tonight, I'll pray
    "Dear Lord, oh please forgive me for the things I said today.
    For they're precious and they're beautiful, each one of them a gift,
    And I didn't know how right I was when I said 'I don't deserve this.'"

Friday, 20 February 2009

  • My Boys - Part 2 (actually, the former)

    The Sapling

    Glistening in the sunlight he stands
    Tall and straight and slender
    Soaking up the nutrients from the good earth and the sun
    Stretching ever taller, higher
    Spreading his branches to encompass an ever-widening circle
    Promise of strength
    Protection and sustenance to all that shelter beneath him
    Preparing to drop his seeds to the earth
    And see them blossom into young saplings as well
    The promise of a mighty forest in this single slender stalk
    The wealth and wisdom of generations contained in this thin trunk
    Waiting to be nurtured and revealed
    Waiting to nurture and reveal to untold numbers
    The beauty, the value, the worth concealed within
    Within us all

    It would not do him justice to try to describe Lane by his attitudes, daily activities, or crazy boyish shenanigans (make no mistake, he has plenty of those!).  He's so much more.  The words "deep" and "complex" come to mind, but they conjure a brooding, unhappy boy, which could not be a more inept description of him.  He's quiet - not sullen, but peaceful.  He's intelligent, but thoughtful.  Rare things in a young man of 11.  He's very deliberate, meticulous.  My family says that he's just like my great-grandfather, Doyle.  He would sit - actually squat on his heels, like only the old-timers could do - for hours on end just thinking.  Then, when he'd reached a decision, he acted.  He never gave the impression of moving quickly or being in a hurry, but he got things done amazingly fast - and well.  He worked harder, and longer than any man I've ever known.  He was not a big man - 5'7", maybe 5'8" - and never more than 170 lbs. - but somehow he could do things that much larger, apparently stronger men could not.  He could accomplish things that men who seemed to have every advantage over him could not.  His formal education stopped around the eighth grade, yet he was an innovative businessman.  He was essential in the bringing of electric services to areas of rural Arkansas.  He spent his most productive years carving prosperous farms from wilderness, thickets and briers so that he could give them as an inheritance to his children.  He was a respected elder in his community and church.  He had an unassailable grasp of matters spiritual, Scriptural and theological.  He would spend hours debating and discussing intricate points of doctrine with men seeming to be far his superior in learning and education.

    There is a teaching amongst the Jews that at any given point in time, there are 39 Hidden Tzaddikim (righteous men) for whose sake the Lord stays His hand and does not bring about the destruction of the world - much as He agreed to do, at Abraham's urging, to the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.  The Tzaddikim are unknown to those around them, and live their lives in relative anonymity.  I am certain that my Papa was one of them.  I see so much of him in Lane.  He even squats on his heels the same way.  It's a posture that's terribly uncomfortable to all but the most lanky and limber people.  I've never seen anyone but old farmers do it.  I think it's an adaptation brought about by the occasional need to sit down, and the lack of any place free of cow pies to do so.  In any case, Lane does it.  He's an old soul - not worn out or obsolete - but ancient and to be treasured.  I find myself praying more often and with more fervor for his future spouse than for any of my other children's.  I desire very deeply for him to find a mate who will treasure and nurture all the strength and wisdom within him, and have the wisdom herself not to squelch the kindness and compassion that are necessary to make such wisdom bearable.  His compassion overrides all his other emotions, sometimes even to his detriment.  He's still learning to temper compassion with judgment, judgment with compassion.  It's a case that requires a great deal of wisdom - and I believe he will possess that in great measure in time as well.

    I love all of my children best, in their own way, for their unique personalities.  This morning, looking out my kitchen window, seeing him standing there beside that sapling in the yard, echoing its shape, its potential, emphasizing everything about it that is most beautiful and inspiring - I love him best.

Meahsmom

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    • Name: Meahsmom
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    • Member Since: 4/18/2008

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  • Homeschooling mom of 6, and all-around country girl.

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