See you at the Met

            I just got back from several fun filled days in New York with two of our daughters.  It was such a treat to see Robin since she was unable to visit with the rest of the family this past summer due to a broken leg. Thankfully, she has been progressing very well…until right before Jessie and I showed up, that is.  For our visit, she was back on her crutches but still able to drive and having fun playing host to her older sister and her even older mother.

            When it was time to head back to the city, (for those of us in the Fly-over Zone, “the city” is their affectionate moniker for the Big Apple itself), Robin had decided to treat me to a visit to the Metropolitan Museum of Art (A.K.A., “the Met”).  As she drove us through the city and past the Met, we observed a formidable line forming outside the front of the building, which did not bode well for our excursion.  After saying goodbye to her sister who was catching an Uber to the airport, I helped Robin negotiate her crutches and get her situated into a wheelchair.  We then proceeded to find a line on the inside of the building to get tickets, but not being sure of which line we needed to be in, I walked ahead a few paces to look around.

            That’s when a professional looking lady with an authoritative lanyard asked if I needed help.  When I showed her my daughter in the wheelchair, she immediately took charge.  We were invited to following,  and were led past everyone else and into the first exhibit.  (Not kidding.) 

            “Now, you two go on in here since this is the exhibit that will take the longest and I’ll bring your tickets to you.”

            And so, we perused about, and I wondered if she really would come find us.  However, within maybe fifteen minutes, the nice lanyard lady did find us, giving us the requisite stickers to wear and paper tickets to pocket should anyone question our authority to be inside. 

            “Thank you so much,” said I, “and where can we pay for these?”

            “Oh, no, those are complimentary tickets,” said the lanyard.

            Dumbfounded.

            Needless to say, it was a wonderful visit.  Not that I wanted my daughter to be in a wheelchair—far from it—but it was obvious we needed something beyond our own capacity and we were certainly not too (stupidly) proud to accept the help.

But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.

Romans 5:8

            I love the accounts of Jesus reaching out to the wounded and disenfranchised people of his society, which in reality included everyone whether they acknowledged it or not.  The Samaritan woman at the well with multiple failed marriages, the untouchable unclean lepers, the paralyzed man at the Pool of Bethesda, Matthew the despised tax-collector and Peter whose courage failed him in Jesus’ time of greatest need.  I love all of these because they are me: broken, failed, and flailing in life’s storms. 

            I can do all I know to do, following all the rules to earn my way in, (like standing in line at the Met), or I can accept with gratitude the One with the authority to get me beyond the obstacles I can’t get past myself.  With a free pass, paid for.  All for the acknowledgment of my brokenness. 

But as many as received Him, to them He gave the right to become children of God, even to those who believe in His name, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.

John 1:12-13

And when He gives me the ticket in, who am I to argue?

New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1971, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. All rights reserved.

Stone, wraps, and other impediments.

I wonder if Martha gets a bit of bum rap.  She’s the calculating one, knows what needs to be done and does it herself if necessary.  The list-maker, the bean counter.  Martha was the chief cook and bottle washer when Jesus came to visit her and her siblings.  She alone was the one who received a gentle rebuke from the Lord when she demanded that her sister, Mary, come and help her in the kitchen instead of sitting with the Master, listening and absorbing.

I bet Martha as the older one, the one who helped her little sister growing up to put on her clothes and lace up her sandals.  You know how older sibs are called upon in a family.  Insert all of that on Martha’s shoulders.

Now Mary, it’s possible that Mary is same woman mentioned in another of the Gospels as the “unclean” prostitute who broke the jar and anointed Jesus in an act of repentance for her now-former lifestyle. The jury is out on that one, but for argument’s sake…

In this context, I can perceive Martha’s frustration, helping to sacrificially raise her younger sister only to have her go off and ruin the family name.  Perhaps this is why no spouse is mentioned for Martha— in that culture once the family is disgraced, who wanted to marry into that?  If this is case, like the older brother in the parable of the prodigal, I get it.

Then their beloved brother dies. 

Interestingly, when Jesus finally decides to make an entrance, Mary is the one who stays behind, but it’s good ole’ practical Martha who goes out to faithfully meet the Master.  Of course, the first words out of her mouth are, guess what, cause and effect:

Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.  But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask.”

Problem defined, problem solved.  That’s Martha.  If Plan A didn’t transpire, she always had a Plan B.  It wasn’t, however, quite what she expected:

 “Roll the stone aside,” Jesus told them.

But Martha, the dead man’s sister, protested, “Lord, he has been dead for four days. The smell will be terrible.”

How often do I ask God for a miracle, only with the proviso that He does it my way.  Good grief, don’t open the tomb!  Don’t expose the decay and don’t make the smell of death public.  No, I like to keep things private.

I forget there was nothing private about Jesus dying on a cross—for me.

There is something about the things we keep hidden which allows them to fester and multiply.  I’ll try to deal with it on my own. If my first plan is tanked, then I’ll think of the next step, but by all means, let’s keep stench under control.

Except life doesn’t actually work that way.  The only way Lazarus was going to walk out of that tomb was to roll away the stone and let him breathe God’s fresh air.

How’s your air quality today?

John 11:21,21,39 Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2015 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

Devilish details

I have to fix this. 

If those words don’t actually cross through my brain, they certainly are present in some form somewhere in my psyche. 

I figure part of that pseudo-neurosis may just be hard-wired from birth.  Certainly being a nurse hasn’t helped it along.  When people know you’re a nurse, whether in the hospital or out, whether at work or at home, you’re expected to diagnosis and treat.  Everything.  Appendix?  Just give her a dull spoon, she can take care of it.

Rear-view mirror grace

One of the (many) things I love about the Bible is the unadulterated openness of the ungodliness of some of God’s most godly people.  I really love it.  It gives me hope.  It also makes me appreciate the honesty of God as well as His patient love and affection.  Some choose to see only His anger and frustration.  Well, heck, if I had been the parent of these kids for several millennia…well, best not to go there.

Here’s another good example.  Many of us

If A, then B…or not.

Bob says my head is a scary place to visit.  Truth be told, he does occasionally admit that that’s one of the reasons he married me 35+ years ago.  To this day, he says that I’m “irregular”.  In the common sense, it’s both a blessing…and a curse.

I tried teaching myself logic from an authentically academic book.  Not the term “logic” that is generously used in everyday usage, although that idea harkens back to the true definition, I suppose.  One of the few things I got out of this autodidactic exercise, (besides that fact that I probably wasn’t going to learn this without a qualified teacher…), is that false premises lead to faulty conclusions.  In other words,

Order in the courtroom, here come ‘da judge

I love history.  It’s not something I took the time to study in school—my nursing program left little time for things other than, well, bedpans and needles and all things dealing with the human condition…

And yet the study of history deals with the human condition in very real ways as well.  Now, a nurse or doctor will observe certain symptoms in a patient, or review the results of blood work, and thus interpret what is truly happening to plot a course of action.  Interestingly, historians can be similar “diagnosticians” when it comes to, not only digging up the facts of the past, but understanding their context, their significance, and their impact on the present and future. 

In other words, stuff happens, good and bad.  Historians dig out the stuff, and pull out the why, how, and what next.  Without that, we tend to misinterpret the present, making more bad stuff happen for the future.

Case in point:

Now,…just who was Deborah?

I get somewhat intrigued by what we would normally consider “obscure” comments in the Bible.  I’m of the inerrant/infallible school of theology, not that I don’t have plenty of questions for the other side of eternity.  Nevertheless, that doesn’t stop me from trusting the Author for what’s in the Book, even if some of its contents keeps me scratching my forehead. 

So here’s one of those parts to the story of the patriarch Jacob and his burgeoning family that I find interesting:

“Soon after this, Rebekah’s old nurse, Deborah, died. She was buried beneath the oak tree in the valley below Bethel. Ever since, the tree has been called Allon-bacuth (which means ‘oak of weeping’).”

I was curious why God put a little honorarium to this

Step away from the baggage, and no one will get hurt.

Remember the days of playing “Hide and Seek”?  (Yeah, I also remember “Red Rover, Red Rover”, potential broken bones and all, so let’s stick with “Hide and Seek”.)  I’m not sure if I ever actually won, probably not known as the most ingenious covert operative, but I might posit that most of us have become fairly adept in our daily lives at hiding our true selves in various ways, …even from our true selves!

One of the many things I love about the Bible is the complete candor and mirror-like reality of its stories.  The heroes (with the exception of only One) are nuanced and flawed, their follies and foibles paraded befor us not only to see, but to be related to.  And I do.  Heartily.  One such character is the first king of Israel, a fellow named Saul, described as tall, dark, and handsome (okay, that’s not me), but evidently with a supreme inferiority complex, (that’s where I fit in).  Here’s a young buck that God has chosen to be king, God’s prophet proclaims him to be king, and he even LOOKS like a king!

Pick up the story as the prophet, Samuel, comes to anoint him before the nation of Israel in a special ceremony:

“So Samuel brought all the tribes of Israel before the LORD, and the tribe of Benjamin was chosen by lot. Then he brought each family of the tribe of Benjamin before the LORD, and the family of the Matrites was chosen. And finally Saul son of Kish was chosen from among them. But when they looked for him, he had disappeared! So they asked the LORD, “Where is he?” And the LORD replied, “He is hiding among the baggage.”  *

Cracks me up.

Interestingly, earlier in the same chapter we are told that God gave Saul a “new heart”, which informs me that when God chooses me to accomplish something, he will also prepare me inwardly for that job.  However, it doesn’t just stop there.  That “new heart” must be nurtured and protected or else the weeds of old ways of thinking and outdated patterns of feeling or processing experiences will creep back in again.  That’s when I’m tempted to duck out of sight, so to speak, to hide myself from fear of past shame or failure.

The truth says the opposite.  As forgiven children of God, only when we step out from behind the baggage of our past can we then step into our full destiny, trusting His work in and through us whether that puts us in the spotlight or not. 

In other words, since God, through His Son Jesus, has already come to seek us, we no longer have to hide.

*I Samuel 1:20-23  Tyndale House Publishers Inc (2008-06-01). The One Year Bible NLT (One Year Bible: Nlt) (Kindle Locations 15566-15569). Tyndale House Publishers. Kindle Edition.