Touch

For devos on my dorm floor tonight, instead of a lesson, our RA is giving everyone a massage.  "Six Minutes in Heaven" she is calling it.  She just finished with me.  It was wonderful.  It was so relaxing and refreshing.  While I was laying there and she was rubbing my back, it suddenly struck me how amazing physical touch is.

Physical touch is my primary love language.  I love hugs.  There have been times when I've been exhausted and ready to give up on my homework, and someone has come in my room and put her hand on my shoulder or given me a hug, and suddenly, I find I have energy to keep going.  There is nothing that uplifts me more.

Even when I was little I loved being touched.  There was nothing I loved more than having someone (usually my mom or my Aunt Wendy) "tickle my back." They would run their nails in circles on my back and up my neck and into my hair.  I know why cats purr, and if I were able to, I'm sure that's what sound I would have made.  It was truly like paradise to me.

I hear about premature babies that are so sick the doctors don't think they'll make it, but someone will come along and touch them and they get better.  It blows me away, although I shouldn't be surprised.  If physical touch brings life to me, why not to them?

By the same token though, there is nothing that drains me more than physical touch.  I love working at VBS camps during the summer.  I love the little kids.  However, at the end of three hours of holding twelve little hands and snuggling twelve little bodies close whenever we sit down--three in my lap, two on my back and seven squeezing as close as they can--I am drained.  I am so exhausted.  There is nothing that empties me of every ounce of strength as much as pouring physical affection into someone else. 

I was thinking about that tonight as my RA rubbed my back.  She was pouring herself into me, rubbing away all the aches and tension, and she was going to do this for each of the 28 girls on our floor.  I was being strengthened by it, but I wondered how tired she would be after massaging all of us.

Then I thought of Jesus.  He almost always, if not every single time, healed people by touching them.  He touched the eyes of the blind.  He touched the ears of the deaf.  He touched lepers.  He touched so many people.  The one I am most reminded of though, is the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. 

She had tried everything.  She had seen so many doctors she'd lost count.  She'd tried every remedy anyone could think of--some of them twice--but nothing helped.  The worst part was the nature of her disease.  She had a bleeding disorder, and under the Jewish law, that meant she was unclean.  No one could touch her.  This had lasted twelve years.  No one had touched her for twelve years.  

But there was this Teacher coming, this Jesus, and rumor had it that he healed people.  He touched them, and they were made well.  If only she might see him!  If only she could get close enough.  No one had to know, she just had to touch him.


She made her way through the crowd, all of them pressed tight and close against Jesus.  Her uncleanness helped; no one wanted to touch her, so they would let her through.  There were so many though, and Jesus was in a hurry!  How was she ever going to catch him?!  But it was her last chance, and she had to make it.  

Finally, she caught a glimpse of him.  With one last, desperate shove she made it to his side.  Reaching out her hand, she touched his cloak.  

She wasn't sure what she'd expected--she wasn't even sure what she'd felt--but she knew she'd been healed.  She would slip away now. She dropped back.


But he had stopped.  "Who touched me?" he asked.  


"What do you mean who touched you?" his followers asked.  "Everyone is touching you!  How can you ask who touched you?" 

"Someone touched me," he said.  "I felt power go out of me." 


His eyes fell on her, and she couldn't keep quiet.  She fell at his feet.  "I knew if I touched you, I'd be well," she said.  "I've been sick for twelve years." She kept her head down.  She was so ashamed.  How could she meet his eyes? 


He stooped, took her hands, and raised her to her feet.  He put his rough, calloused hands on her head.  It was the first time anyone had touched her for twelve years.  "Daughter, your faith has healed you.  Go in peace," he said.
(This story can be found in Luke 8:42-48.)

What must it have been like, that first touch?  After twelve years without one single person touching her, what was it like?  I can't get my head around it.  The comparisons I have are so much smaller.  I was filled by a touch after going maybe a day.  Maybe just a few hours.  What was it like to her?

I don't know if I'll ever comprehend that, but I know it must've been amazing.  Besides, it was Jesus.  Can you imagine being touched by Jesus?  I for one can't wait.

And so, tonight, after the lovely massage from my generous RA and having my heart filled with thoughts of the wonderful touch of my Jesus, I can only be thankful.  Thankful for people who touch me, for hugs, for back-tickling, for simple gestures like a hand on my shoulder.  I am thankful for the gift God gave us in physical touch.

Mostly I am thankful for a God who gave up everything, who poured himself out completely, who came down to our level, and who touches us. 

(Insights into this passage came from Mark Moore, one of my professors.)

Dry and Weary Land

Sometimes God amazes me.  Ok, most of the time He does.  Today was one of those times.

It started out like a regular day.  I went to my seven o'clock class here at Ozark, came back to my room and got my lunch and books together and was out front of my dorm at 8:40 waiting for my ride.

My ride is yet another of God's gifts to me, and today was the first time I was going with this particular girl.  My first class at Southern had been canceled, but I wanted to show her the building where I'll normally need to be dropped off, so I just had her drop me off there.

After getting out of the car and watching her drive away, I debated with myself over whether to go to the building where my next class would be, or to just go sit in this one for a bit.  Without even making up my mind, I went into the building and sat down.  I opened my backpack and saw my Bible.  "I really should do homework," I thought, but I hadn't been having much of a quiet time lately, and this was a good chance.  I sat at a table in the stairway and opened it up.  Everyone else was coming in for class, but I was out of the way and absorbed in my reading, and I hardly noticed them going by. 

I finished my chapter and debated with myself over whether to sit there for awhile, or to go ahead and move to the other building.  For some reason, I just kept sitting there.  I started working on some memory work for one of my Ozark classes. 

The classes let out and people were rushing by again.  I didn't look up, but kept writing out my memory work. Then, suddenly, a girl stepped out of the flood surging up the stairs. 

"I noticed you reading your Bible when I came in..." she said. "I really needed that.  It was such a blessing...I'm sorry!" She started to cry.  "It's just been really hard.  I feel like I'm the only Christian here.  All the people I'm around are so worldly.  I was talking to my mom...it's been so hard.  But seeing you...God knew I needed to see Him. Thank you."

I was speechless.  I asked her name and told her I would pray for her, and that I hoped to see her again.  She left to go to her next class.

It really opened my eyes to how very blessed I am.  I live in a Christian community.  I am so used to experiencing God daily that I have taken Him for granted.  What a wake-up call!

It reminded me of Psalm 42.

"As the deer pants for streams of water, 

so my soul pants for You, O God.  

My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.  

When can I go and meet with God?  

My tears have been my food day and night, while men say to me all day long, 

'Where is your God?'"  

(Psalm 42:1-3)

Father, 
I am blown away that You would use me.  I am so used to seeing You, I don't notice any more.  I haven't made You my first priority.  Yet, because of Your great love, You put me in just the right place so that You could touch this girl.  Glory to Your name! You came to her when she needed You, and even more, You let me see You through it, loud and clear, when I wasn't even paying attention! Thank You.
Please continue to be with this girl.  Come to her as she is yearning for You.  Send your people to surround her, Lord. God, I also pray that I would remember this lesson.  Awake in me the thirst that she has for You. 
Amen.

Giver of Good Gifts

Yesterday, my family and some friends spent the day at breathtaking Lake Garda.  It was just about a perfect day.  We took a bus up to the lake, and after driving through many beautiful Italian villages, we finally arrived.  

  On arriving, we ate a snack and then found a quiet stretch of beach to swim at.  I alternately swam, looked at beautiful rocks, and lay in the sun and read.  After awhile, we were all hungry and the beach was starting to get busier, so we all went in search of food.   

We found it at a little pizzeria on the edge of the lake.  We all ate, and watched the little birds, and soaked in the breeze off the lake.  The four younger boys had decided that they wanted to sit at their own table, so the older of my two brothers and my sister and I were graduated to the adult table.  Accordingly, I had a vague idea of the plans the adults were making.    

The younger boys on the other hand, didn't have any idea.  As we left and began walking, they kept asking, "Where are we going now?  What are we doing now?" 

 None of the adults would tell them, but kept saying "Wait and see!"  

Finally, as my youngest brother asked yet again, "What are we doing?" my mom said, "Just trust us.  Trust that your Papa, just like your heavenly Father, delights in doing things that please you."  

A few minutes later we got on a boat and sailed a few towns down, and then, our dad bought us all ice cream.   

What my mom had said though, really stuck with me.  Quite honestly, it thrilled my soul.  I mean, it was literally like something leapt inside of me--a deep, deep joy.  I've been given so many gifts lately.  Some so great I can't even speak of them, some as small as little everyday sorts of things, have filled this last year to the brim.  Really, they've filled my whole life to the brim.  

And yet...and yet, there have been hard things too. Hard losses in my life, hard losses in the last year, and many hard lessons learned.  But I know that those things are gifts too.  Some of them don't look like gifts now, and I, with my small eyes and small heart and small mind can't understand how they could be anything but hard and ugly.  Some of them, however, have become beautiful in spite of the pain.  "Didn't that happen perfectly, at just the perfect time?" I ask, in awe at so many of these things, and I know they are gifts too.  
  
Jesus once said, "Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake?  If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" (Matthew 7:9-11) 

Thank you, Father, for every gift You give.  Thank You for the ones that are full of joy and make my spirit dance, and thank You for the ones that make me cry and ache and wonder what is going on.  Thank You that You are good, and thank You that You have made me Your own so that I can call You Father.   Thank you, Father.  Amen. 

Bigger Than My Doubts

Israel had turned away from the Lord again, and the Midianites had come in and oppressed them, stealing and destroying all of their food.  Finally, they cried out to the Lord, and in His mercy, He heard them, and sent His angel to a man named Gideon...

Gideon was threshing wheat.  Well, actually, he was hiding.  He'd taken his wheat to a winepress in hopes that the Midianites wouldn't find him.  Trying to be as quiet as he could, hardly breathing, Gideon threshed, stopping at frequent intervals to look over his shoulder and to wipe the sweat from his brow, put there not by his labor, but by his fear!  

How he must've jumped when the angel of the Lord appeared!

"The Lord is with you, mighty warrior," the deep voice boomed.  

As Gideon's heart slowed to a normal pace, he shook his head. "If the Lord is with us, why is all this happening?  Where are the wonders they tell of in the stories about when He brought us out of Egypt?  The Lord isn't with us.  He's abandoned us to Midian."  Gideon reached for his tunic. 

The man's next words stopped Gideon short.  "Go in the strength you have and rescue Israel from Midian. Am I not sending you?"

"Wait a minute!" Gideon's face paled.  "How can I save Israel?  My clan is the weakest, and even among them, I am the weakest!"

"I will be with you," the Lord answered.  


The story of Gideon amazes me.  What a testimony of God's grace, of God's strength! Gideon was the weakest man in Israel, and yet the Lord chose him.  The Lord called him "mighty warrior."  Gideon had no strength of his own, but God promised to be with him.  When it finally comes time for the battle, God cuts down Gideon's army, not once, but twice!  He leaves him with 300 men to face an endless sea of fighting men.  Yet, the enemy is routed, obviously not by the strength of Gideon and his small band, but by the One who was fighting for them.  It is incredible.   

And yet, as I read this story this morning, it wasn't God's power that shines forth through Gideon's weakness that struck me.  It was His patience with Gideon.  

After the Lord tells Gideon that He will be with him, Gideon asks for a sign.  Gideon goes and prepares a meal, and brings it back.  The Lord tells him to set the meat and bread on a rock and pour the broth over it, the angel touches it with his staff, and fire springs from the rock and consumes it.  

When Gideon sees what has happened, he cries out, "Ah, Sovereign Lord!  I've seen the angel of the Great I AM face to face!"

The Lord says to him, "Peace. Don't be afraid.  You aren't going to die."  

Gideon builds an altar to the Lord and calls it "The Lord is Peace." God proves Himself the first time.  

That same night the Lord sends Gideon to tear down the altar to Baal and the Asher pole set up in his village.  Because he is afraid, Gideon goes under the cover of darkness and does what the Lord has said.  The next day the villagers are furious and, when they discover that Gideon is the one responsible, demand his life.  His father, however, steps up and says that if Baal is really a god, surely he can take care of himself, so the townspeople leave Gideon alone.  God has protected Gideon on his first mission, and proven Himself the second time.  

Then the Spirit of the Lord comes on Gideon, and he calls together all the fighting men.  They come and are preparing to go to war against the Midianites, and still Gideon is having doubts.  He prays and asks God to show him that this is really His will.  "I'll place a fleece on the threshing floor, and if it is wet and all the ground is dry, I'll know that this is from you.  

Well, the next day the fleece is wet and the ground is dry.  God proves Himself the third time.  

But Gideon is still afraid.  "Oh Lord, don't be angry with me.  If this is really Your plan, tonight let the ground  be wet and the fleece dry." 

Again, God did as Gideon asked, and proved Himself a fourth time.

The next day, after He has cut Gideon's army down to 300 men, and they are all hiding around the camp of the Midianites, God says to Gideon, "If you are still afraid, go down to the camp and listen to what the men are saying."  

Gideon went down and listened, and he overheard a man telling another of a dream he'd had.  "I dreamt that a barley loaf came tumbling down into our camp.  It struck a tent with such force that it collapsed."  His friend replied, "That must be the sword of Gideon.  His God has given us into his hands."  

Even with the mouth of the enemy, God proved Himself!  A fifth time!  


Oh, Lord.  Thank You for Your patience with us.  Thank You for showing us time and time again that we can trust You, that You are strong enough.  Thank You for gently calming our fears and removing our doubts, no matter how often they arise.  Thank You for answering them with Yourself.  Thank You for proving that You are enough.  You are truly a good Father, Lord. 


(The story of Gideon can be found in Judges 6-7.)

My Times in Your Hands

"But I trust in you, O Lord; 

I say, 'You are my God.' 

My times are in your hands." 

(Psalm 31:14-15a)

Sometimes I just can't wait for my life to begin.  I can't wait to graduate from college.  I can't wait to publish my first book.  I can't wait to get married.  I can't wait to have my own house.  I can't wait to have kids.  I just can't wait.  

This is reflected in my thoughts, and even my prayers.  I am almost never thinking about now.  It is always the future.  I pray for things far down the road, "Lord, please let this happen.  Please don't let it take long.  Let it happen now." 

And yet, what is going to happen when those things do arrive?  I'll already be looking to the next one and wishing it would come, instead of enjoying the gifts God has given me in the present.  How foolish I am!  Rushing from one thing to the next! I worry so much about the future I don't have any time to be content in the now. 

Oh, God.  I know my times are in your hands.  Let me leave them there, instead of always trying to snatch them away as if I knew better than you.  Help me to savor this part of my life, so that I can really live my life instead of spending all of it waiting to.  Let everything happen in your perfect time, not in my time, Lord.  I trust you.  You are my God.

Even the Darkness

  

Where can I go from your Spirit? 

Where can I flee from your presence?  

If I go up to the heavens, you are there; 

if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.  

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

if I settle on the far side of the sea, 

even there your hand will guide me, 

your right hand will hold me fast. 

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me 

and the light become night around me," 

even the darkness will not be dark to you; 

the night will shine like the day, 

for darkness is as light to you. 

(Psalm 139:7-12)

It's about 7:00 am. I've been up since 3:30.  Ahh, jet lag.  

And yet, I sort of like being the only creature awake.  As I told a friend the other day, it is nice to be alone with one's own thoughts.  

But a song from when I was little crept into my mind, and I was reminded that I was not the only one awake!

 Even the darkness is light to Him
And night is as bright as the day!
So you are safe though the light grows dim
For even the darkness is light to Him.

The Father above does not slumber or sleep
He wakefully watches our ways;
Then there's no reason for you to weep
For the Father above neither slumbers nor sleeps.
(Michael Card, Even the Darkness)

Even in the darkest night, He can still see me.  There is nowhere I can go where I am out of His reach.  He knows my thoughts, and nothing can separate me from Him!  What a promise to rest our weary souls in!  With His hands that promise to always hold us, how can we not sleep in peace?!

I think I'll go back to bed.

Not a Sparrow Falls

"Look at the birds of the air; 

they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, 

and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. 

Are you not much more valuable than they?"

(Matthew 6:26) 

"Aren't two sparrows sold for only a penny? 

But not one of them falls to the ground without your Father knowing it. 

He even counts every hair on your head!

So don't be afraid. 

You are worth more than many sparrows."

(Matthew 10:29-31)

Yesterday it rained and rained and rained.  It was so cold!  At one point there were even snow flakes mixed in with the rain.  My feet were wet, and my hair, and the wind was tugging at my coat and biting my cheeks.  It was just generally sort of miserable.

Overall, it matched my mood too.  I felt so heavy--the result of carrying problems I'm supposed to turn over to God.  His hands are so much bigger than mine, and yet, for some reason, I think I am better suited to carry them.  However, because I really don't have any control (as much as I like to pretend I do) I was just getting more and more stressed.  Stressed about money, stressed about school, stressed about the future.  I was also trying to carry other people's problems--something even more pointless because I have even less control!

As all of this was weighing me down and making it even harder for me to climb the hill than the rain already was, I suddenly heard a noise.

It was spontaneous, unusual.

I glanced around.

There, probably two inches deep in a huge puddle, was a robin red-breast.

He was hopping around and splashing with his tiny wings, tossing water onto his head and back with his beak and singing with all of his might.

I stopped to watch, my heart captured by the display of such pure joy.  The little fellow had not a care in the world!  He looked so light, so carefree--so different from the way I was.

Why wasn't he worried?  His world was even more cold and wet than mine was!  I could escape indoors; he had nowhere to go.  I had a guarantee of warm food; he had to search for his.  Yet he was the one splashing in the puddle, not a care in the world, and I was knotting my brow, bent under the load I was insisting on carrying.

He must have a pretty trusting little heart!  He had surrendered all to the One who had big enough shoulders to carry his world. Like a small child who hands his jacket to his father so he can run and play, he had handed them all off to Someone.

The same Someone I claim to trust, but by my actions deny.

The robin had opened my ears to a still, small Voice in my heart.

"Don't you think My shoulders are strong enough to carry your world as well?  Don't you think I am wise enough?  See how I am taking care of this little guy?  Aren't you more precious to Me than he?"

 

Come Away With Me

"As Jesus and His disciples were on their way, He came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to Him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord's feet listening to what He said.  But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. 

She came to Him and asked, "Lord, don't you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!" 

Martha, Martha," the Lord answered, "you are worried about many things, but only one thing is needed.  Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her." " 

(Luke 10:38-42)

It was a busy day.  I pulled a double shift at work.  After I got off, I did homework and ran an errand, and then I came and got ready to sub for someone who had volunteered for something and then gotten called into work at the last minute.  It was one of those days where you go, go, go and don't know when you'll be able to stop for breath--you don't even think about it actually, you don't have time: the next thing is already waiting. 

Not only was my day busy, but my soul was busy too--agitated, worrying, all day.  Worrying about my friends, my family, my future; worrying about my classes, about money, and about not being good enough. Oh yes, my soul was busy too. 

After I got done volunteering, I just felt restless.  I had planned on going to the worship service that night, but I just couldn't.  Instead I found myself aimlessly wandering the halls.  I came to the door that led to the kitchen, and peeking inside, I saw a couple of guys still washing dishes.  I knew that they had been short handed that night, so I went in and offered my help. 

It was then, as I was bustling around in my high heels putting dishes away and imaging myself as some sort of beautiful angel of mercy or some kind of Cinderella (I couldn't decide which), that I realized just how busy I had gotten.  

So busy both outwardly and in my soul that I had shoved God aside to make room for my busyness. 

Yet even as I began to be convicted by that thought, I started to plan how I would make it into a blog entry! In fact, that was what I decided to do as soon as I got back to my room: write a blog about how I needed to stop doing things and make a little room for God! 

Sometimes it takes a lot to get through to me. 

Thankfully--Oh, so thankfully!--God is persistent.  He chases me down, even when I am refusing to be caught.  

I was so caught up in being Cinderella that I had missed the invitation to the ball.  My Lover was calling to me, "Come away with me, my love."  And I was going to blog.  

Well, He was determined.  

 I came back and sat down at my computer, but it wouldn't turn on. The battery was dead.  And I couldn't find the cord.  After searching and searching, I finally remembered where it was.  The girls had borrowed my computer to watch a movie the night before and my cord had gotten locked in their room. 

 I sighed, and then smiled, as I finally got His message. "Alright, Lord.  I'll come away with you."

Oh, Father.  Take my busyness, both inside and out, so I can walk with You in the cool of the evening.  Help me to focus solely on You.  I'm coming away with You tonight, my Lover.  Speak to my soul--open my eyes and ears and heart so I don't miss what You are saying.  Amen.

 

My Love is like a Red, Red Rose

 
Roses are my favorite flowers.  I don't care what color they are--white, pink, yellow, red, or any mix thereof.  They come in so much variety, and they never fail to make me catch my breath.  The intricate delicacy of their form, the softness of their petals, their rich, sweet smell, even their name thrills me.  I love everything about these flowers. 

Today is Valentine's Day, and consequently, I've seen roses everywhere.  I was even given two beautiful roses by my brother and my dear friend--two guys who decided to show us girls brotherly love.  

Earlier today I was talking with my mom about God's love.  She talked about several of the people that Jesus loved.  She shared with me several passages of scripture that speak of God's love.  Here are a couple that stuck out to me.

"The Lord your God is with you, 

He is mighty to save.

He will take great delight in you,

He will quiet you with His love, 

He will rejoice over you with singing."

Zephaniah 3:17

  

"Are not two sparrows sold for two pennies?

Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. 

Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. 

Don't be afraid;

you are worth more than many sparrows."

Luke 12:6-7

Last of all she mentioned this one.

"For God so loved the world

that He gave His one and only Son, 

that whoever believes in Him 

shall not perish 

but have eternal life."

John 3:16

After I hung up the phone, I sat thinking about these verses.  God's love utterly overwhelmed me. As I sat soaking up the warmth of His love and basking my soul in it, the lyrics to a popular praise song popped into my head. 

"Like a rose, trampled on the ground..."

  To bring me back to Him, to recapture my sinful and hurting heart, the Lover of my soul sent me the most beautiful Rose of all.

Your Word Like a Fire

"But if I say, 'I will not mention Him or speak any more in His name,' 

His word is in my heart like a fire, 

a fire shut up in my bones. 

I am weary of holding it in; 

indeed, I cannot." 

Jeremiah 20:9

Jeremiah had just been beaten to a bloody pulp.  Again he had spoken the words the Lord had given him, and again he had suffered for it.  If that weren't enough, before the blood had even dried, he was seized and put in the stocks. 

Left shivering in the chill of the night, weak from lost blood and stiff from the position he was in, Jeremiah was consumed by the injustice of it all. 

As dawn broke, they released him from the stocks.  Jeremiah again delivered the Word of the Lord, and then he stalked off. 

Back in his house, weakly wiping at the crusty blood on his head, Jeremiah cried out to the Lord. 

"Why, God?!  Why?!  You have tricked me!  I am the laughing stock of the town!  All I get for my labors are insults and bruises."

And then, deep in his heart, Jeremiah knew why.  "But if I say, 'I will not mention Him, or speak any more in His name,'" he sighed.  "His word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones.  I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot." 

This is my prayer for this blog, and for everything I write.

Lord, give me Your words to write.  I give my hands to compose whatever You say.  May each word bring glory to Your name and point people to You.  Let no obstacle--be it ridicule, abuse, or my own laziness--ever cause me to keep Your holy word to myself.

I cry out with Jeremiah, "Your Word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones.  I am weary of holding it in; indeed, I cannot."