Your father did it as did mine. He stood over your infant bed and wondered at the miraculous gift he was given. Inevitably with the back of a finger he fondled your soft cheek. I have seen my husband do this and it would seem that his rough hands could bruise the tender skin, but they never did. His touch, full of love and compassion, ran like water over a smooth surface.
That picture expresses God's tender compassion toward all His children. The Bible says, "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear him." Psalm 103:13. The word pitieth in Hebrew is racham. It means "to fondle; by implication to love, especially to compassionate..." Because He is our Father, the Lord watches over us and marvels at the wonderful gift He has in us. He fondles us with oceans of love and compassion. In our infantile ignorance we do not recognize the touch, still it changes us. We are surrounded by it; buoyed up by it, and it makes us live.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Take Up My Cause
Take up my cause and fight for me, Lord,
For I cannot wage this war.
See all the evil that hinders me,
And beats me down to the floor.
Strike with your mighty fists a blow,
Deliver my soul from disgrace.
Give me a faith that trusts in You,
And let me see Your face.
Take up my cause and fight for me, Lord,
Redeem me through Your prayers.
Plead my case, before Your throne
And drive out all my fears.
Fall upon enemies of my heart;
Drive them out to the sea.
Give me Your hand and lift me up,
And save me eternally.
Take up my cause and fight for me, Lord,
Starve out the sin in me.
Rend every thought that feeds my crime,
And teach me to be free.
Help Thou the unbelief in me,
Sustain Your peace in my heart.
Give me respite from the torments within,
And command the evil depart.
Take up my cause and fight for me, Lord,
For victory I plead.
Create a new heart within me, Lord
And this will be all I need.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Faith and Repentance
Faith and repentance must always be linked; when divorced neither remains.
Faith cannot be realized unless it's recipient is worthy of the trust. We cannot trust a god who is less than holy and perfect. Being in the presence of Holiness and Perfection highlights our sinfulness and yields repentance.
Repentance without faith is only shame. Unless there is hope of healing, the sting of guilt and the sorrow for sin remains a galling weight. True repentance highlights the forgiving character of the injured and yields faith.
"Whoever under the reproof of God will humble the soul with confession and repentance, as did David, may be sure that there is hope for him. Whoever will in faith accept God's promises, will find pardon." P&P 9726.5)
Faith cannot be realized unless it's recipient is worthy of the trust. We cannot trust a god who is less than holy and perfect. Being in the presence of Holiness and Perfection highlights our sinfulness and yields repentance.
Repentance without faith is only shame. Unless there is hope of healing, the sting of guilt and the sorrow for sin remains a galling weight. True repentance highlights the forgiving character of the injured and yields faith.
"Whoever under the reproof of God will humble the soul with confession and repentance, as did David, may be sure that there is hope for him. Whoever will in faith accept God's promises, will find pardon." P&P 9726.5)
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
The 1:05 to New York City
The loud woman is obviously on strong medication, her face is swollen with side effects. At the gate she complains, "that other bus driver kicked me off the bus because I wanted to find a seat belt. How was I supposed to know there are no seat belts on buses?" Pulling her weight up the stairs she hitches her hand on her hip and jerks her head as she confesses to the young man in the front seat that she has motion sickness and would like to sit in the front as she expects to vomit. Politely the young man gets up and answers, "I'll leave you to yourself. I'll go find a seat somewhere else." All the way to Springfield she initiates conversation with others. Her percussive laugh erupts into rapid fire at the end of all her comments. Her gestures are wide and sweeping. The tide of their strength shakes her shirt off her shoulder and unveils a huge American eagle tattoo. Her bra strap looks like a noose around the birds neck. This volatile woman scares me.
At the transfer we get a new bus and a new driver. He is tall, and has an almost military haircut. His broad face and high cheek bones suggest strength and determination. His gait is steady, long and slow. When he gives boarding instructions his well spoken English is carried on a Russian accented baritone. I wonder to myself, "How will this former communist react to this wild woman." It seems to me they are type and antitype. She is the embodiment of all the excesses of American life; too much food, too much medication, too few inhibitions; while he could be a walking poster child for the KGB. He seems like a no nonsense, well disciplined party member. His uniform easily adds to the illusion.
At first the loud woman continues her compulsive talking but after a little while she is subdued. I watch her studying the driver. A few blocks out of the station she turns to a college student and says, "Excuse me, can you stop talking so loudly on the phone I am going to take a nap." It is an ironic request, but the girl condescends. Then the Yuri Gagarin look alike picks up the overhead microphone and instructs, "All passengers are requested to refrain from cell phone use unless it is an emergency." The Russian expatriot is now in league with the American extraviganza. A strange turn of events! The loud woman now rises to her glory. She is almost giddy. Her stories are heady with laughter although they expose one tragedy after another. The Russian listens and rarely comments, yet he seems genuinely interested. I wonder if this is part of his special forces training. Does Peter Pan bus lines have an in-service titled "How to
de-escalate loud, overly medicated women"?
As the hours pass the driver never changes, he is just as interested as in the beginning. The loud woman talks, tells horrible stories from her past and laughs inappropriately. Oddly enough I imagine the woman is starting to follow the drivers cadence - steady, long and slow. Her volatile eruptions lessen, then become sporatic and finally the loud woman goes to sleep. Peace and quiet reign.
The communist's regime was wise. He connected with the woman's heart and showed consistent concern for her until her wild dervishes slowed and she began following his march. This was a gospel "snippet". One of those interesting life moments that clarify how God works in our lives. In God's bus we are the loud lady. Yet He stays by our side, never even hinting at the fact that we are an embarrassment. He listens interestedly and unperceptively in His audience we are changed; the riot gives way to peace.
At the transfer we get a new bus and a new driver. He is tall, and has an almost military haircut. His broad face and high cheek bones suggest strength and determination. His gait is steady, long and slow. When he gives boarding instructions his well spoken English is carried on a Russian accented baritone. I wonder to myself, "How will this former communist react to this wild woman." It seems to me they are type and antitype. She is the embodiment of all the excesses of American life; too much food, too much medication, too few inhibitions; while he could be a walking poster child for the KGB. He seems like a no nonsense, well disciplined party member. His uniform easily adds to the illusion.
At first the loud woman continues her compulsive talking but after a little while she is subdued. I watch her studying the driver. A few blocks out of the station she turns to a college student and says, "Excuse me, can you stop talking so loudly on the phone I am going to take a nap." It is an ironic request, but the girl condescends. Then the Yuri Gagarin look alike picks up the overhead microphone and instructs, "All passengers are requested to refrain from cell phone use unless it is an emergency." The Russian expatriot is now in league with the American extraviganza. A strange turn of events! The loud woman now rises to her glory. She is almost giddy. Her stories are heady with laughter although they expose one tragedy after another. The Russian listens and rarely comments, yet he seems genuinely interested. I wonder if this is part of his special forces training. Does Peter Pan bus lines have an in-service titled "How to
de-escalate loud, overly medicated women"?
As the hours pass the driver never changes, he is just as interested as in the beginning. The loud woman talks, tells horrible stories from her past and laughs inappropriately. Oddly enough I imagine the woman is starting to follow the drivers cadence - steady, long and slow. Her volatile eruptions lessen, then become sporatic and finally the loud woman goes to sleep. Peace and quiet reign.
The communist's regime was wise. He connected with the woman's heart and showed consistent concern for her until her wild dervishes slowed and she began following his march. This was a gospel "snippet". One of those interesting life moments that clarify how God works in our lives. In God's bus we are the loud lady. Yet He stays by our side, never even hinting at the fact that we are an embarrassment. He listens interestedly and unperceptively in His audience we are changed; the riot gives way to peace.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
The Carpenter's Hands, Fingerprints part 3
Mark 6:3 "Is not this the carpenter..."
A carpenter never has soft hands. Sandpaper, saw dust and splinters leave His skin calloused and thick. Tender embraces given by those hands will always scratch a face. He was a carpenter, yet His touch never leaves scars. It does hurt as He polishes our hearts. But the pain comes from our resistance not from His hands. After His work is done the heart gleams, and everywhere there are little circular patterns. Like wheels within wheels, His fingerprints, stamped in our soul are our eternity.
A carpenter never has soft hands. Sandpaper, saw dust and splinters leave His skin calloused and thick. Tender embraces given by those hands will always scratch a face. He was a carpenter, yet His touch never leaves scars. It does hurt as He polishes our hearts. But the pain comes from our resistance not from His hands. After His work is done the heart gleams, and everywhere there are little circular patterns. Like wheels within wheels, His fingerprints, stamped in our soul are our eternity.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Potter, Fingerprints part 2
Jeremiah 18:6 "Behold as the clay is in the potter's hand, so are ye in Mine hand, O house of Israel"
As a potter works, the clay, like a second skin, covers his hands. The film is so thin that all the little hairs on the back of his fingers are coated. The tiny particles get caught under his nails and in between the ridges of wrinkles. If he touches something the fine dust leaves red fingerprints behind. When finishing a long day at work the potter has red hands.
When He cried, "It is finished..." my potter too had red hands. His skin was covered with His own blood. The little hairs on the back of His fingers were completely coated. His nails were red, and the nails were red. And as He touches me and reshapes me, thank God, He leaves behind blood stained fingerprints. Those fingerprints are my salvation.
As a potter works, the clay, like a second skin, covers his hands. The film is so thin that all the little hairs on the back of his fingers are coated. The tiny particles get caught under his nails and in between the ridges of wrinkles. If he touches something the fine dust leaves red fingerprints behind. When finishing a long day at work the potter has red hands.
When He cried, "It is finished..." my potter too had red hands. His skin was covered with His own blood. The little hairs on the back of His fingers were completely coated. His nails were red, and the nails were red. And as He touches me and reshapes me, thank God, He leaves behind blood stained fingerprints. Those fingerprints are my salvation.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
The Sculpter, Fingerprints part 1
Genesis 2:7 "And God formed man..." The Hebrew word yatsar, formed, means "to press. Through squeezing into shapes."
See Him, knees bent on the soft sod, resting all His weight on one hand as He works with the other. He is totally absorbed in the task. Already He has finished the inward parts. The sturdy bone and soft sinew have been shaped. Hollow organs were carefully rolled between His fingers and then gently laid in their places. Now He is working on the eyes. They are the most critical part. As He leans in to inspect the eyebrows, His chin brushes against the molded nose and red clay stains His jaw.
Finished He inspects His work. He checks every cell. The lines are symmetrical and the curves balanced. But before He can call it good He checks for one last thing. Yes, they are there! Fingerprints. His fingerprints are stamped on the man's bones and skin: in his brain and on his face. The fingerprints of God, they were our beginning and they are our destiny.
See Him, knees bent on the soft sod, resting all His weight on one hand as He works with the other. He is totally absorbed in the task. Already He has finished the inward parts. The sturdy bone and soft sinew have been shaped. Hollow organs were carefully rolled between His fingers and then gently laid in their places. Now He is working on the eyes. They are the most critical part. As He leans in to inspect the eyebrows, His chin brushes against the molded nose and red clay stains His jaw.
Finished He inspects His work. He checks every cell. The lines are symmetrical and the curves balanced. But before He can call it good He checks for one last thing. Yes, they are there! Fingerprints. His fingerprints are stamped on the man's bones and skin: in his brain and on his face. The fingerprints of God, they were our beginning and they are our destiny.
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