If I’m only a few pages into a novel and already questioning the how and why of the plot, kudos to the author. I settle in, ready to untangle a good story. A good story invites me to participate. If I have no questions because everything is being explained in sequential order and I don’t need to do any of the “work” in solving the mystery, kudos to the book seller for being able to unload a useless pile of words, but “No, I won’t be buying another of your books.” And I’ll write a review to warn other readers.
Personal preference and taste aside, there’s a time in every story to reveal a detail and cause a plot to twist, and there is a chapter or sentence where the tiniest of details needs to blend into the plot without slowing the author’s pace. Readers may, or may not, be able to recall the exact page or paragraph number, but they’ll find satisfaction in remembering that detail when the plot is finally complete. As a writer, I’m trying to remember that elementary key to giving a reader information.
Day 2 of my plan to read the Bible in chronological order (not following a table of contents) and I already have questions. Don’t laugh. Some of you had questions yesterday!
My question has to do with why the Lord didn’t regard Cain’s offering, but Abel’s offering seems to be well regarded and fine. (Gen 4:1-5). So far in the story, there’s been no mention of what makes an acceptable offering. There’s hardly been any explaining at all. Was this Cain’s first lesson on giving back to God? About 75% of the Bible reads like a story, and over the years, I’ve read the book through to the end a few times, so I kinda know the answer. Even though it’s not exactly spelled out in one or two paragraphs, it’s simple. Highly-educated scholars have stumbled through five syllable words trying to convince me they have all the answers, yet I’ve heard fifth-graders explain it with confidence and clarity. That leads me to believe that readers must get the big picture and most of the middle, but we also love to have a good discussion about an author’s intent and reasoning. I’m so impressed by the author of the Bible. He knows his audience.
Lots of people have read the Bible looking for a flaw or a gap in the plot, but this is no ordinary book or story. All the necessary how and why answers are in there, but sometimes I need a scholar to help me locate them, and sometimes I can ask a fifth-grader. Some quit reading far too soon. Perhaps they find participation in the mystery too much work. Perhaps the story of Jesus disrupts the happy ending they’ve pinned their heart and soul to. For many, the Bible is simply a fairytale, well written for the gullible and needy. They’ve judged a book by one or two chapters or by its plain, leather-like cover (something they tell the rest of us not to do).
The story of Adam and Eve’s kids is just the beginning of this page-turning, spellbinding mystery. I’ll be watching for the little details, not wanting to miss anything important to the plot. By the way, when God constructs it, a plot is really a plan that will definitely meet a grand conclusion.
Some of you are on this 365 day journey with me. Don’t be shy about asking how I’m doing or hesitate to hold me accountable to the reading. And if you’ve got a question, or can point me in the right direction for answering one of mine, I’ll listen.
In case you’d like to read along with me, there are many Bible reading plans available. Here is the link to the one I’m using:
I’m stuck in a relationship. And it’s not healthy. It’s like there is this “thing” in my living room just taking up space, and keeping me from moving on. I’m living well, but it’s so bad between us that if there’s music in the room when the two of us are together, all I hear are the groans and squawks of something that annoys me. It’s holding me back.
In the morning when I wake, I’m determined to give the relationship some attention. After all, part of the problem is me. Always has been. Yet, if I did absolutely everything right, it’s undeniable, we still aren’t meant for great things.
I promise at least fifteen minutes of total devotion to what seems to be an inanimate object. But that seldom happens. Something or someone else is always more important. There’s a dishwasher to load, laundry, shopping to do and junk mail to shred.
Lunchtime comes, and I’d rather be entertained by the mid-day news or eat in silence.
Afternoons, my most productive hours, are for accomplishing goals and working with my keyboard to secure my future as a writer. I can’t be chasing after long-gone dreams. I need to lean into my strengths, so I close myself off in an office. When it’s time to stretch and take a break, I glance into the living room and see how neglect is leaving me stuck and remorseful, but I’m not motivated. I’d rather sit on my front porch alone, and watch birds.
Most of my workdays are long because stepping away from my desk in the middle of a paragraph is hard for me. I know much of it will be edited away the next day, but I put words on a page, enjoy them for a while, and then delete.
Maybe that’s what needs to happen to this relationship. The beginning was a thrill. I ran with it. And now it’s time to delete. Fatigue overtakes my evenings, and the determination I had in the morning is gone. It’s too late for caffeine. Maybe tomorrow.
I considered a trip to Virginia to reconnect with the “one that got away.” That was no fling. We lasted over twenty years, and parted as friends. I had no illusions then of anything magical. Both of us were flawed, but we were comfortable and had a chemistry. We were forgiving. Our fights never lasted long. And when I wanted to be angry, depressed or wallow in any negative emotion, I could sit and pour it all out without judgement or reprimand. I deserve a relationship like that.
We said goodbye more than fifteen years ago, yet if I close my eyes, I can still hear the words and the melody of our last song. Then I remember why it ended. I was the one to move on. I was the one to let go. No tears, and the regret was momentary.
We’ve both aged, and time has its way of distorting the past. I know I’d be disappointed with what I’d see today. I ponder a while, enjoying the vision and essence of what used to be. If ever I am in Virginia…
Like a lot of women, I watch as the good life drifts away, and long for something new. I’d rather leave the old behind, move across town and live in a tiny house, than clean up my sprawling mansion; if that’s what it takes to get unstuck. I hint of my dissatisfaction to friends, hoping they will know someone who knows someone. I’ve shopped around, in churches and bars, looking for something different. I think I’ve found it, but I count the cost, and it doesn’t seem worth it. I scroll down my phone and see opportunity. Hey! There’s one in Virginia!
Am I weak and afraid, or wise and playing it safe? I stay stuck.
Weeks turn into months, and months have turned into years. I can’t remember when we turned from honeymooning toward blasé. I don’t know what to do. I tell myself the curb is an option. “Always an option.” I talk with friends and they agree.
“Have you thought about placing an ad?”
We laugh about lighting and angles for the photograph. There is no best side to display! “Be sure to include the statement ‘as is’ and mention that you’ll cover the cost of moving,” a friend suggests. It sounds so tempting. We enjoy a good laugh.
“But what happens at that first in person meeting? I can’t do that to an innocent stranger.”
So I do nothing.
I found a letter the other day, written and dated a few months after we’d been together. The words made me cry. You see, I’m not the only one that feels “stuck” in this relationship. The feeling has been mutual.
If you haven’t figured out by now, this story is not about the relationship between me and my husband. We’re happy and intent on sticking together. This is about the baby grand piano that takes up space in my living room. When one of my sisters (the talented pianist of the family) needed to make room for a new piano, my husband and I agreed to move her old and somewhat abused baby grand out of her way. It traveled by trailer all the way from Louisville, Kentucky to our home in Pekin, Illinois. Before that, it had been in a fine and fancy home, but hadn’t been played in years. My sister Rhonda, no doubt, had been the love of its life.
And then there was me. I play, but for my ears only. And I don’t practice like I should. The groans and squawks that annoy me when I play are mostly me, and only partly because my sister’s old piano is damaged and can’t be brought into tune. It’s sad.
I used to have a piano, one that I loved, and it really is in Virginia. I wish I had it back sometimes, but I’m afraid it’s not the piano it used to be. My dilemma: How do I separate from this huge but “baby” grand? If it goes to the curb, it would have to be in pieces. I can’t do that. And, do I invest in a new piano when I haven’t practiced or appreciated the old one?
Isn’t that a common dilemma, with things and with people?
I hate to leave you with such a sad thought, although I believe a little pondering is good for the soul and for our mental health. We move our affection too quickly, don’t you think?
In 2013, a few months after Rhonda’s old piano became mine and after not playing in years, I had a particularly awful practice session. I wrote the following poem as if a piano could feel, think and talk. It’s written from the perspective of that old baby grand. This would be the “letter” I found the other day:
January 22, 2013
Lament of the Baby Grand
Dear Rhonda, I’m in quite a slump.
Out your door. Yes, I felt that huge bump.
I was stolen away by a gal who can’t play.
Send a plane or a train. I will jump!
She has polished my wood and my metal.
The man, he attached my three pedals.
She’s like rust on my strings. Help me Lord when she sings.
I am suffering more than I’m able.
Yes, I know that my ivory is old.
But to give me away? That was cold.
I’ve a lot yet to give, so please let me live.
I have value, or so I’ve been told.
Could you not find a church or a school?
Is there some kind of unwritten rule?
She’s your sister, I know. Why did I have to go?
Fam’ly first. What am I? That was cruel.
The tuner is coming this week.
I do hope he’ll fix my small squeak.
I’ll sound fine and dandy. I’m still sweet eye candy.
I hope he’s not some sort of creep.
She tells me that you have another,
Not my daddy, full grand. Not my brother.
I hear she’s so sweet, quite cute and petite.
Have her keyboard! Enjoy one another!
As for me in my terrible state,
I suppose I’ve no choice but to wait,
For a visit from you. An old song will do.
Make it soon – before it’s too late.
Words by Packard Baby Grand
Penned by Rita Klundt
Music by (Not Gonna Happen)
Rhonda visits from time to time. I recall that first reunion between her and her piano. My sister’s eyes went straight to her ex-partner and friend. I think I heard the piano calling her to come sit and play a while. She did, and everyone in the house was drawn into my living room. The piano needed tuning, but it didn’t matter. We sang along.
Piano for sale. Any offer to remove will be accepted. I’ve got my eyes on a sleek new upright.
I don’t know what came over me, but with all the important and productive things I need to be doing, I started the work of restoring some used and unusable furniture. No experience. No particular expertise. Just a little advice from a friend and loads of general tips on the internet.
The furniture was among, and had become, part of the “junk in the basement.” Valuable living space was occupied by dated hardware attached to an ugly and abused nightstand, dresser, chest, and some other piece I have no name for. It needed to go, even if only to make room for less ancient, junky stuff.
Paint and new brushes filled me with ambition. I prepared the workspace, and plugged in my old boom box. Then the fun started! Hours shopping for new hardware were going to pay off. The chest still needed some real creativity since one of its drawers was beyond repair, so I started with the little nightstand. It had been desecrated by Crayola in the hands of a toddler, but was otherwise sturdy and workable. I scrubbed. Red crayon goes deep. I sanded until I quit. A coat of primer had been recommended. Finally, real progress!
The next morning was sunnier than the days before. My mood was lifted along with the window shade, but then I saw red. “No problem,” I said aloud although I was alone in the room. “Another coat of primer will take care of that.” And it did.
The feeling of satisfaction is addictive. The nightstand was adorable with its topcoat applied. My other important and productive work, like laundry, dishes and writing were scheduled for later in my days. I still had a dresser, chest and that “other” piece to complete. More scrubbing and sanding. Some repairing and replacing of drawer glides. By the time the second piece was finished, I knew this was more than a simple addiction. It was a commitment. I shopped for drawer liners to match the soft gray paint. Pride in my accomplishment was approaching the level of sinful.
With his eyes, my husband told me, “It’s still old furniture.”
A simple distraction from work had become work. But now, I had something to prove.
Mornings drifted into afternoons and evenings as I sanded, painted, and then sanded off the layer of imperfect paint from the day before. For something so vital, patience is hard to learn. Applying multiple thin coats of paint, and watching each layer dry, seems inefficient, but is undeniably the best method. This project taught me that patience is nothing more than a profitable form of stubbornness. I’m set!
Best of all was my husband’s smile when he saw the scrappy furniture restored and in an upstairs bedroom. He did most of the lifting to get it there. Dollar signs flew through his mind and landed in his savings account as he recalled the price tags on the bedroom furniture we almost bought.
Removing two of the broken drawers gave me some versatile space and an updated look for this 50+ year-old piece.
After
I sat in front of my computer on the day after my furniture project had been completed. There were stories waiting to be written, emails waiting to be answered, and dishes in the sink. I would rather have been painting furniture and was tempted enough to consider the junk in someone else’s basement.
“Don’t go dragging more stuff into this house!” Yep, my husband knows where to draw a line. My finger nails are weeks away from accepting a proper manicure, and my wrists hurt at the sight of sand paper or paint. We both know I need a break from the physical labor. I suppose it’s back to my ordinary and usual work schedule. Restoration was hard on me. I wonder, will overnight guests even appreciate what I’ve done?
Still, the thought of another restoration project won’t leave me. Maybe it’s my age, but seeing that something old can be fixed and re-purposed gives me extraordinary hope. My Aunt Margie left me her old armoire. It needs a little work to earn its way upstairs. There is a table and a couple of matching chairs. Surely, with some sanding and a fresh application of varnish, someone would want and use them.
Soon. I’ll get to them soon.
The verse on my mind this morning before I opened my eyes was Psalm 53:10: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, And renew a steadfast spirit in me.” Before opening emails, editing yesterday’s writing, and definitely before loading the dishwasher, I opened my Bible and read those words again.
I kept reading. Verses 11-17:
“Do not cast me away from Your presence, And do not take Your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of Your salvation, And uphold me by Your generous Spirit. Then I will teach transgressors Your ways, And sinners shall be converted to You.
Deliver me from the guilt of bloodshed, O God, The God of my salvation, And my tongue shall sing aloud of Your righteousness. O Lord, open my lips, And my mouth shall show forth Your praise. For You do not desire sacrifice, or else I would give it; You do not delight in burnt offering. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit, A broken and a contrite heart— These, O God, You will not despise.” (NKJV)
I read the verses again—this time, as a sincere pray. My confessions will remain private, but here are some truths I found again this morning:
I’m broken, but God’s creation. He thinks I’m worth the work of restoration.
The work I’m doing doesn’t invite others to Jesus nearly as often as it should. I need daily restoration.
Sanding off damage and neglect hurts.
I can slap a thick coat of paint on sin and call it good enough, or better than most, but that won’t make me beautiful or add to my value.
I’m too easily pacified, yet seldom satisfied with mediocre.
I can always find a good project to distract me from the real work of restoration. I can sacrifice, and make sure people see the good I’ve done, but those efforts will not restore the joy of His salvation.
Heavenly Father,
Create in me a clean heart. Thank you for remembering me. Remind me of the plans you’ve made, and restore me to your purpose. Forgive me when I’ve looked on others and seen a “project” rather than a sinner, like me, in need of restoration. I praise and honor you for your generous Spirit. Let others see me, not for the work I’ve done, but for what you are creating in me. Amen.
We were at one of those “all church fellowship meals.” You know the kind, especially if you’re a Baptist. I was enjoying the afterglow of our church’s Christmas play—a play that I had written, and our children and youth had performed.
But, before anyone gets the idea that I’m bragging about an impeccable script, or my clearly written stage directions, they should know this was my first children’s play-writing attempt. That I was able to express my vision through words on a page took a bit of divine intervention. That the directors were able to get a couple dozen kids (of varying ages and stages of development) to work so hard memorizing lines, and make it to the stage on time, took a ton of mercy and loads of grace! I counted faces, and it took no less than forty people to pull this thing off. It helped that most of our audience was made of parents and families. We were counting on them to be enthusiastic and forgiving. They were.
Now, back to the table in the fellowship hall where someone raised the question: “Do angels really sing?”
Of course angels in heaven sing,don’t they?
“But is that biblically accurate?” the person challenged.
I answered, “Well, the angels in my play sang!”
Months ago, I determined to portray the true story of Christmas in this play. I’d taken care to dispel the common mental image that three wise men were present in the stable where Jesus was born. Not wanting to offend anyone, I did so with a little humor. I also wanted the audience to see girls as shepherds, not to satisfy some politically correct standard, but because at the time of Jesus’ birth, if a girl’s father had sheep, she was probably a shepherdess.
I’d used a translation that is generally accepted as accurate, and inserted the story from Luke 2, word for word, into the dialogue. I thought I had included all the basic stuff people expect when they go to a children’s Christmas play, while writing it according to what the Bible actually says. But now I wondered.
In their sermons, preachers with open Bibles, mention angels singing. Words about angels singing are in every third or fourth Christmas carol, not to mention other hymns. From my early childhood, I’ve known that angels sing. Of course angels sing! Right?
The internet has plenty of comments about how Greek and Hebrew words of the Bible don’t technically support the widely held idea that angels sing. After reading some scholarly logic, and getting bored, I opened the Bible on my desk and started flipping through some of the references having to do with angels and singing.
And guess what? I read some of the verses those scholars used to support a lack of evidence that angels sing. They almost convinced me, but I still believe that angels sing. I think the preachers were right in making that claim. I believe the carols and hymns are correct, at least the parts about angels singing. And, I trust what my mother and Sunday school teachers told me.
After reading the same verses those scholars used as references, I believe they are asking the wrong question. They should be asking: How could angels not sing?
Angels sang, sing, and will be singing when we get to Heaven (capitalized because it’s an actual place.) In case you want to know how I came to that conclusion, I’ve made it easy for you. Consider a few of the verses I found. Then tell me, do you believe angels sing?
If you don’t trust my cutting and pasting, look these verses up in your own Bible. Read them in Hebrew or Greek if you must :
Bless the LORD, O you his angels, you mighty ones who do his word, obeying the voice of his word!Psalm103:20 (ESV)
Praise the LORD! Praise God in His sanctuary; Praise Him in His mighty expanse.
Praise Him for His mighty deeds;
Praise Him according to His excellent greatness.
Praise Him with trumpet sound; Praise Him with harp and lyre.
Praise Him with timbrel and dancing; Praise Him with stringed instruments and pipe.
Praise Him with loud cymbals; Praise Him with resounding cymbals.
Let everything that has breath praise the LORD. Praise the LORD!Psalm 150:1-6 (NASB)
Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD from the heavens; Praise Him in the heights!
Praise Him, all His angels; Praise Him, all His hosts!
Praise Him, sun and moon; Praise Him, all stars of light!
Praise Him, highest heavens, And the waters that are above the heavens!
Let them praise the name of the LORD,
For He commanded and they were created.
He has also established them forever and ever; Psalm 148:1-6 (NASB)
A psalm. A song. For the Sabbath day. It is good to praise the LORD and make music to your name, O Most High, Psalm 92:1 (NIV)
As the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?Job 38:7 (NLT)
And when he brought his supreme Son into the world, God said, “Let all of God’s angels worship him.”Hebrews 1:6 (NLT)
Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels.Hebrews 13:2 (KJV)
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 1 Corinthians 13:1 (ESV)
Everything on earth will worship you; they will sing your praises, shouting your name in glorious songs.”Psalm 66:4 (NLT)
Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels? Matthew 26:33 (NIV)
Beware that you don’t look down on any of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels are always in the presence of my heavenly Father.Matthew 18:10 (NLT)
Then I looked, and I heard around the throne and the living creatures and the elders the voice of many angels, numbering myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands,saying with a loud voice, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!” Revelation 5:11-13(ESV)
Then I saw the seven angels who stand before God, and seven trumpets were given to them. Revelation 8:2 (ESV)
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2:13-14 (KJV)
If you don’t hear them singing after reading what God says about angels, then something inside you is badly wounded or broken, and it’s not your ears, or what’s between them. It’s your heart.
Luke 15:10 (ESV) says, “Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
It’s a merrier Christmas when you hear the angels singing. They sure can carry a tune.
We were at one of those “all church fellowship meals.” You know the kind, especially if you’re a Baptist. I was enjoying the afterglow of our church’s Christmas play—a play that I had written, and our children and youth had performed.
But, before anyone gets the idea that I’m bragging about an impeccable script, or my clearly written stage directions, they should know this was my first children’s play-writing attempt. That I was able to express my vision through words on a page took a bit of divine intervention. That the directors were able to get a couple dozen kids (of varying ages and stages of development) to work so hard memorizing lines, and make it to the stage on time, took a ton of mercy and loads of grace! I counted faces, and it took no less than forty people to pull this thing off. It helped that most of our audience was made of parents and families. We were counting on them to be enthusiastic and forgiving. They were.
Now, back to the table in the fellowship hall where someone raised the question: “Do angels really sing?”
Of course angels in heaven sing,don’t they?
“But is that biblically accurate?” the person challenged.
I answered, “Well, the angels in my play sang!”
Months ago, I determined to portray the true story of Christmas in this play. I’d taken care to dispel the common mental image that three wise men were present in the stable where Jesus was born. Not wanting to offend anyone, I did so with a little humor. I also wanted the audience to see girls as shepherds, not to satisfy some politically correct standard, but because at the time of Jesus’ birth, if a girl’s father had sheep, she was probably a shepherdess.
I’d used a translation that is generally accepted as accurate, and inserted the story from Luke 2, word for word, into the dialogue. I thought I had included all the basic stuff people expect when they go to a children’s Christmas play, while writing it according to what the Bible actually says. But now I wondered.
In their sermons, preachers with open Bibles, mention angels singing. Words about angels singing are in every third or fourth Christmas carol, not to mention other hymns. From my early childhood, I’ve known that angels sing. Of course angels sing! Right?
The internet has plenty of comments about how Greek and Hebrew words of the Bible don’t technically support the widely held idea that angels sing. After reading some scholarly logic, and getting bored, I opened the Bible on my desk and started flipping through some of the references having to do with angels and singing.
And guess what? I read some of the verses those scholars used to support a lack of evidence that angels sing. They almost convinced me, but I still believe that angels sing. I think the preachers were right in making that claim. I believe the carols and hymns are correct, at least the parts about angels singing. And I trust what my mother and Sunday school teachers told me.
After reading the same verses those scholars used as references, I believe they are asking the wrong question. They should be asking: How could the angels not sing?
Angels sang, sing, and will be singing when we get to Heaven (capitalized because it’s an actual place.) In case you want to know how I came to that conclusion, I’ve made it easy for you. Read a few of the verses I found. Then tell me, do you believe angels sing?
If you don’t trust my cutting and pasting, look these verses up in your own Bible :
Bless the LORD, O you his angels, you mighty ones who do his word, obeying the voice of his word!Psalm103:20 (ESV)
Praise the LORD! Praise God in His sanctuary; Praise Him in His mighty expanse.
Praise Him for His mighty deeds;
Praise Him according to His excellent greatness.
Praise Him with trumpet sound; Praise Him with harp and lyre.
Praise Him with timbrel and dancing; Praise Him with stringed instruments and pipe.
Praise Him with loud cymbals; Praise Him with resounding cymbals.
Let everything that has breath praise the LORD. Praise the LORD!Psalm 150:1-6 (NASB)
Praise the LORD! Praise the LORD from the heavens; Praise Him in the heights!
Praise Him, all His angels; Praise Him, all His hosts!
Praise Him, sun and moon; Praise Him, all stars of light!
Praise Him, highest heavens, And the waters that are above the heavens!
Let them praise the name of the LORD,
For He commanded and they were created.
He has also established them forever and ever; Psalm 148:1-6 (NASB)
A psalm. A song. For the Sabbath day. It is good to praise the LORD and make music to your name, O Most High, Psalm 92:1 (NIV)
As the morning stars sang together and all the angels shouted for joy?Job 38:7 (NLT)
And when he brought his supreme Son into the world, God said, “Let all of God’s angels worship him.”Hebrews 1:6 (NLT)
Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels.Hebrews 13:2 (KJV)
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. 1 Corinthians 13:1 (ESV)
Everything on earth will worship you; they will sing your praises, shouting your name in glorious songs.”Psalm 66:4 (NLT)
Do you think I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels? Matthew 26:33 (NIV)
Beware that you don’t look down on any of these little ones. For I tell you that in heaven their angels are always in the presence of my heavenly Father.Matthew 18:10 (NLT)
Then I looked, and I heard around the throne and the living creatures and the elders the voice of many angels, numbering myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands,saying with a loud voice, “Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying, “To him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!” Revelation 5:11-13(ESV)
Then I saw the seven angels who stand before God, and seven trumpets were given to them. Revelation 8:2 (ESV)
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. Luke 2:13-14 (KJV)
If you don’t hear them singing after reading what God says about angels, then something inside you is badly wounded or broken, and it’s not your ears, or what’s between them. It’s your heart.
Luke 15:10 (ESV) says, “Just so, I tell you, there is joy before the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
It’s a merrier Christmas when you hear the angels singing. They sure can carry a tune.
Someone broke into his car yesterday. They took a computer bag, and made a mess, but his laptop was not in the bag, and the thief didn’t get away with any cash, credit cards or anything that could be traded for real money.
Hugo is the kind of guy
who would have counted it a privilege to open his wallet and hand over his
ready cash to someone in need. If the thief looked hungry, Hugo would have
taken them to lunch. After finding their car abused this way, the cling-to
emotion for most of us would be anger, but my friend is feeling sad. He told
what happened on Facebook, but there was no mention of the damage to his
vehicle or the expense involved in replacing his computer bag and its contents.
There was no derogatory name-calling or curses wished upon the thief.
Now, you might want to
ask him if he had left his computer bag visible and tempting to the thief. He
(conveniently?) didn’t say in his post, and I’ve no plans to ask. I’m sure his
wife will take care of that. He did
lament the loss of some sentimental items.
I feel Hugo’s grief.
Last month, my Bible was also taken, not from a car, but from a church pew. Of
all things, I was on a mission trip! A big distinction can be drawn between our
grieving. Although I believe my Bible to have been stolen, it may have been taken
inadvertently. My Bible is more likely to be returned to me. Hugo’s Bible had
been…Listen to me. I’m speaking as if his Bible is deceased. His Bible is marked
up with a highlighter. Mine is full of underlining and margin notes. Both of us
are missing special bookmarks that had been gifted to us, notes from a few
speeches that we’d given, and other little treasures.
Neither of us anticipated this. Both of us are truly sad over the loss of something so personal and precious to us. Hugo and I have more in common than feeling sad. Somewhere, two people know they stole/took our Bibles. Our names are in there. We’ve both prayed that if the thieves don’t already realize the significance of what they’ve done, they will soon. We pray that our Bibles will be opened and read. Both Hugo and I would gladly share the private thoughts and meaning behind the words we’ve highlighted. For God to use our Bibles to bring about His will is our prayer. We trust Him to take care of His business.
God promises in Isaiah
55:11 (NLT): It is the same with my
word. I send it out, and it always produces fruit. It will accomplish all I
want it to, and it will prosper everywhere I send it.
I loved the thoughts
Hugo added at the bottom of his Facebook post so much:
1. Things happen for a reason. 2. God can take what is meant for bad and create good. 3. Maybe I need to guard my Bible better. It is the precious WORD OF GOD. 4. Someone needed my Bible more than me. Even though I do need it a lot. “I mean—I really need it!” 5. Shayne (Hugo’s wise, but teenaged son) said, “Maybe this is a new start for you. So, refresh and highlight again.” 6. I’m already missing it. 7. Hoping it will be returned.
Hey Hugo!
Thanks for the list. I think I know what’s at
the top of your Christmas list. If you can wait that long?
For another Bible saga (an amazing one), scroll
down to what Kathy posted on August 23. One Bible’s Journey was written by
Jane Smudrick Peacock, and her story speaks to that promise in Isaiah.
I’m a little late jumping onto the “Story Board Train,” and I’m not sure I’ll pay the full fare and stay on board for the entire trip. But, I’m taking an online course, and our first assignment is to do a “Vision Board.”
A vision board is sort of like a story board. It’s a way of taking the priorities I claim verbally, putting them before my eyes daily and giving me an opportunity to record my progress…or lack thereof.
I happen to be more of an auditory person, so I don’t know how much this will impact my life, but until someone comes up with a talking board, a vision board will have to do. Being an auditory person means I notice and respond to most verbal cues better than written instruction and other forms of communication. I suppose if someone sees my board, then reminds me of it, the vision board assignment might be effective in keeping my priorities straight.
We’ll see.
We were to address our physical, personal and spiritual goals and priorities on our board. I did that. In case you aren’t able to see the pictures clearly or read the words beneath them, these are my basic goals: Personal – I plan to meet new people. Physical – I plan to declutter my physical spaces. Spiritual – I plan to study God’s word deeper.
Each week, I’ll write an accomplishment on my board. By the end of 2019, I’ll be a different person.
But here’s the thing. I’ll be a different person at the end of the year with or without a vision board. Different in a positive way? Or different in a negative way?
If I’m a better person in 2020, it will be because I serve better and sin less. Plain and simple. If a “Vision Board” helps to accomplish that, I’m on board for the ’round the world trip!
You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love. Galatians 5:13 (NIV).
I’ve been told, and I’ve
read (in Chapter 21 of Revelation), that there is no pain or sorrow in Heaven. I
trust that is true. It’s been suggested that there will be no questioning or
reason for questions there, that we will know everything God knows once we get
there, but I haven’t been to actual Heaven yet. I’ve only been to that place
called Heaven on Earth a few times, and I can’t seem to stay there for very long.
So, I woke up pondering
this morning. How will that affect “story time?”
Oh yeah. I doubt that we’ll
golf, watch basketball or eat chicken wings in Heaven. But there has to be a story
time! Have you seen the picture of Jesus sitting on a rock with children
hovering at his side and feet? Doesn’t that indicate story time?
Now, I’m not saying that I’d want to turn around and come back if, when I get there, I don’t see a schedule listing “Story Time,” but answer this: Who wrote the greatest story ever told? (Not the Hollywood version, but the actual story.)
I’ve also heard folks say to others, who might be worrying, not to worry. “We know how this story ends,” they say. But Revelation is not even to the middle of eternity. There’s a lot more story to be told.
Won’t it be great to sit
at Jesus’ feet and listen? Won’t it be great to be able to stand back up
without pain or moaning and groaning?
No sound emerged, but I moved my lips with the second thought of the morning, “But, it’s Christmas,” I answered. “No time for making that sort of list.”
God had started this difficult conversation. It had everything but His audible voice and official signature all over it. He loves to catch me in my warm and comfy bed…first thing in the morning. I usually appreciate His attention, but this conversation would not only be difficult, it could last through breakfast. It was a prayer of conviction and confession.
• You’ve lied, stolen and cheated. • You’ve judged before reviewing the evidence. • You’ve excused the sin and condemned the sinner, when you know to despise the sin and love the sinner. • You’ve reinforced and guarded your own pride, but joined with the crowd in throwing stones at others.
Particular circumstances came to my mind. “Most of these things happened years ago, Lord. I’ve already confessed.”
But the list grew.
• I’ve disobeyed my parents. (Yes, that’s possible at my age.)
• I’ve been jealous.
• I’m greedy with my time and possessions.
• I’ve abused my body with gluttony and laziness.
• I’ve invited evil into my life through my eyes, ears and desires.
• I am undeserving, unworthy and unclean because I’ve been unwilling.
“But it’s Christmas, Lord. I’ve got things I need to do. Besides, I’m a much better Christian than I was back then.”
The conversation continued:
• You’ve been comfortable and complacent. • You’ve refused and rejected. • You’ve pretended and ignored. • You’ve chased after wealth and the approval of others. • You’ve taught, without having passed the test yourself. • You procrastinate!
“I hear you, Lord. I’ll make a resolution…for 2019.” Why not today?
“But, in five more days it’s Christmas. I’ve got stuff to do.” I threw off the covers, and fluffed my pillow. You’ve been calling them flaws, indiscretions, failures and blunders, or errors, oversights, mistakes and shortcomings, but what they are… is sin.
I had been a willing participant in each of these circumstances. No, the devil didn’t make me do any of those deeds. I chose to prioritize my wants and wishes over God’s desire and instruction. I can say I was “attacked by Satan,” but really? Mostly, I was unprepared, self-serving and looking to deflect blame and shame. Even fear isn’t a good enough excuse. How many times has God said, “Do not fear” and then provided me with proof of His promise?
I’ll spare you the personal and lengthy specifics of my prayer. I asked God to forgive me. He did. I pray you’ll forgive me, too.
Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results. James 5:16 (NLT)
I saw this post on Facebook today: “2 weeks ago, I wasn’t sure if we’d be able to get any Christmas presents for the girls, but God stepped in, and provided me with a job for the holiday season. It’s temporary, but I’m so very thankful to be working a little right now and so thankful we were able to purchase a few gifts for Christmas! Now, where did I put my holiday spirit!?” (MRW)
My friend’s words prompted this question: Where did I find my holiday spirit this year?
Was it in the fluffy white snow that covered our lawn?
Was it in that Christmas party?
Did it suddenly appear because I had a productive day of shopping?
Could it have been that check I got in the mail?
I can honestly say it was none of the above. That fluffy snow cover was beautiful, but it also covered the sidewalks and created havoc on the roads. The Christmas party was nice, but I worked so hard on the preparation that it was difficult to stay awake and enjoy the conversation. It certainly wasn’t the rude store clerk who had spent every ounce of her holiday cheer on the customer before me. And the royalty check from my publishing company? A whole $5.34. The report indicated that I had sold one whole soft cover and two e-books.
I was looking to find some Christmas spirit a few weeks ago, so I went to the basement. Surely, I’d find it somewhere in those Rubbermaid tubs, but I didn’t find it among the glass bulbs, plastic candy canes or red candles.
If I had to say where I found some Christmas spirit this year, it would be in the “angel” who sang off key in the children’s Christmas program at LBC yesterday. (If you were there, you know just what I mean) Angel Harold was a hoot!
Now, that leaves me wondering. Why do we bother “looking” for that elusive “Christmas spirit?” Is there really a spirit that shows up to make us happy for only a few weeks at the end of the year? Of course not.
It made my day to read my friend’s words, “God stepped in.” I know that, for a long time, she’s been asking for God to show up…to show Himself. Looks like He did just that. This is my prayer for me, my friend and anyone who might be looking for a little Christmas spirit.
May the LORD make His face to shine upon you,
And be gracious to you;
The LORD lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.
Numbers 6:25-26 (NKJV)
When God steps in for you, give Him your applause…maybe with your hands, maybe with a song, or maybe in a quiet moment of thanks. Facebook works, too. Thanks MRW.
Wet Feet 