Peace to You

            Lately, when my 3 ½-year-old daughter first wakes up in the morning, she patters into the living room, climbs into my lap and curls up there.  I wrap my arms around her and we just sit and breathe.  In those few brief moments, when everything is still, I close my eyes and am filled with the peace and joy and love that comes from her just being there, from us just being together. 

            It was during one of those moments, that the impact of this week’s Bible study lesson hit me.  We were to read about Jesus’ ascension into heaven from all four Gospels, and then also read John 14.  Suddenly I found myself enveloped in the embrace of the Father, curled up in His lap, soaking up His love, and realizing that His desire is for me to be there, with Him, in complete peace. 

            In My Father’s house are many mansions…I go to prepare a place for you.  And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself; that where I am, there you may be also (John 14:2-3).

            I will not leave you orphans; I will come to you (14:18).

            Because I live, you will live also.  At that day you will know that I am in My Father, and you in Me, and I in you (14:19-20).

            If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him (14:23).

            The God of the Universe wants to be with me, wants to hold me, wants to make His home with me, and Jesus Christ, His Son, died, and defeated death in order to make this possible.

            Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you.  Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid (14:27).

            When Ruthie is curled up in my lap, she is not troubled, or afraid.  She knows I will make her breakfast and take care of her needs; she knows I love her and will always love her.  In John 14, Jesus promises the disciples His peace.  In John 20, after He has conquered death itself, He appears to His disciples again, and the first words out of His mouth?  “Peace be with you” (20: 19).  He has come back from the dead, back to life, and joyfully offers us His peace.  Jesus continually rested in the strength of His Father, completely confident in His ability to take care of all things, completely aware of His Father’s love for Him.  Jesus went to the cross to make us His brothers and sisters, to offer us a place on His Father’s lap, a place of peace and confidence and security.  Why do I think the God who created this very world might not be able to handle my problems?  Why do I allow fears and troubles to creep in and cloud my view of His love?  Why do I spend so little time curled up in His lap, just sitting there, breathing in the very presence of Him and resting in the solidity of a relationship He died to give me? 

           

            Father,

                        You have proved time and time again that You are God, that You are real, that You are Love and, amazingly, that You long for my embrace.  Help me to put aside the cares of this world in order that I might curl up in Your lap of peace and strength and security.  May I be so close to You that my ear hears the beat of Your heart. 

                                                                                                Amen. 

Can I Recognize God?

            This morning (March 9^th) it felt like Spring.  It was 50º outside, there was just a touch of blue in the distant corner of the sky, and for the first time in a long time my daughter and I went for a walk without our winter coats. 

            “I hear the birds!” Ruthie exclaimed with excitement once we’d passed our rushing creek, full with melting snow.

            “Yeah, they’re singing; they’re excited because Spring is coming.”  I hadn’t noticed them before, but now their chorus filled my ears.  I am always so grateful to be drawn in to the delighted eyes and ears of my 3 ½ year old; she notices so much and draws my attention to all the little things that I would otherwise miss.

            As we walked on, I felt awake and new to the joys of this beautiful earth.  Every step felt invigorating.  When we were nearing home, God reminded me of a conversation Ruthie and I had a few days ago.  She had expressed frustration that she couldn’t see God, and as it was bedtime, I had simply stated that He was everywhere and left it at that.  But now, out in Creation, it was clearly evident that God was, indeed, everywhere.

            “Look, Ruthie!  Everywhere we look, we can see God.  Everything we see tells us about Him.”

            She smiled and began looking around with anticipation on her face.  I gave her an example:

            “I see God in the road we’re walking on, because He leads us in the way we should go.  And I see God in our home, because in it we are safe, just like we’re safe in God.  Where do you see God?”

            “I see God in that bird,” she offered.

            “Yes,” I said, “because God lifts us up on wings like a bird.”

            “It’s a robin!”
            “We can see God in the robin, because a robin tells us that Spring is coming, and in God, all things are made new.”

            “I see God in the puddles,” she said with a big smile.

            “Yes, because stomping in the puddles brings us joy, and so does God!”

            We went on like this for some time, Ruthie pointing out every little thing she saw, and me doing my best to point out God in each thing.  It wasn’t until she pointed out our burn pile, which is currently burning, that I thought about this week’s lesson for my Bible study.

            “I see God in our burn pile.”

            “Because God is like the fire, burning away all that is bad, or that isn’t needed, or that isn’t of Him.”  I don’t know how that translated into her 3-year-old mind, but I know how it hit mine.  Our lesson this week was on the crucifixion of Jesus.  I’d read the story in all four Gospels for three mornings in a row.  I’d been praying for something new, for God to open my eyes to something I hadn’t seen before.  It wasn’t until I read Luke 23 in the Amplified version that God answered my prayer.  To set the scene, the sky had turned black.  The earth trembled.  And Jesus had just died:

            “Now the centurion, having seen what had taken place, recognized God and thanked and praised Him…” (verse 47).

            Ruthie and I had been recognizing God in all the beauty of creation, but what about the burn pile?  What about the smoke and ashes?  What about destruction?  What about when everything seems to be going wrong?  What about when the thing I wanted is out of reach, or burned up, can I still find God?  Can I still recognize Him?  And even more than recognize Him, can I thank and praise Him? 

            Jesus lived on this earth in order that we might know the Truth, the God who loves and treasures us; He died to set us free to love Him in return.  If I look to my circumstances, life can be overwhelming when things don’t go my way, but if I look to the truth of a God who died for the love of me, and rose again so that I might live with Him forever, what can I do but thank and praise Him?   In the middle of a broken world that doesn’t always seem to go right, I pray I can still see God, and know that He is still in control, and that out of the ashes comes life and love and trust in a God whose heart burns for me.

            Holy Father,

                        Help me to be like the centurion and recognize You in all things, whether good or bad, beautiful or ugly.  And in seeing You, may I glorify You and bear witness to the Truth of who You are: King of my life, King of all.

                        Amen.

Lost My Focus

I have my best quiet times in the morning.  If I try to do it any other time during the day, it rarely happens.  So, if I get out of bed by 5:45, I have enough time to make my husband’s sandwich for his lunch, eat my breakfast, and spend some time in the Word until my daughter wakes up.  This is great, but recently my husband hasn’t had to get up as early, which means I haven’t been getting up as early, which means my quiet times have hardly begun before they’re interrupted with, “Mommy, can I get up now?”  Add to this, the trauma of my recent decision to join a writer’s group through my church.  What was I thinking?  I now have to have something to read in front of seven strangers by Sunday.  Ever since I went to the first informational meeting a week and a half ago, my mind has been completely wiped clean of any creative inspiration whatsoever.  I most often write out of what God speaks to me during my quiet times, but, as I’ve already mentioned, those times have been, well, quiet.  Gulp.  Panic. 

Why don’t You help me, Lord?  Why aren’t You speaking to me?  Here I am flailing, and I get nothing.  Maybe I’m not supposed to be a writer.  Obviously I don’t have what it takes; as soon as a deadline flashes, fear sets in. 

I turned to Psalm 5, feeling the cry of David in my own soul:

Listen to my words, O Lord, give heed to my sighing and groaning.  Hear the sound of my cry, my King and my God, for to You do I pray.  In the morning You hear my voice, O Lord; in the morning I prepare [a prayer, a sacrifice] for You and watch and wait [for You to speak to my heart] (verses 1-3, Amplified).

Oh.  It seems I’ve been forgetting one vital piece of the puzzle.  I’ve been sighing and groaning and crying for the Lord to speak to me, but have I prepared myself for Him?  Have I sacrificed my sleep and my warm bed to make time to listen?  Have I set aside my own agenda of wanting something brilliant to share with my writing group to really hear what the Lord wants to speak to my heart?  I think not. 

Dear Father,

            Forgive me for coming to You selfishly, for desiring Your words in order to impress others.  Forgive me for worshipping the goddess of sleep more than You.  I want to make preparation now for my sacrifice in the morning.  When my alarm rings, help my feet to hit the floor.  Speak to my heart in the quiet cold of our home so that I might know You more.

Amen.