Getting to Jesus

My son did a school project. In it he was asked, "why did the shepheards follow the star?" He replied, "They wanted to get to Jesus." This phrase stands out to me because we always say "they wanted to see Jesus." But, I think getting to Jesus is the thing we most want to do. Seeing him from a distance is okay, but I imagine myself and the shepheards wanted to experience Jesus. Getting implies being involved with him and participating with him in his work. Seeing him implies that we want to see him from afar but not really touch him or experience him. Getting to Jesus - that is thing.

Sometimes Dancing is Our Work

Watch 200 people dance in a Belgium Train station. There is nothing like the sound of music.
Take time and to see what the world can be. Maybe we just need to switch our focus. If we could all dance in the trains station. . .maybe the world could change. Smiling children in a public display of happiness. . .now there is a focus. It's All in a days work.




If you notice, even the dance moves combine modern hip-hop styles with pinkies in the air tea drinking motions. This old versus new becomes a more obvious combination when the music itself switches and the macarena moves come out. Being where we are. . .as we go. . .it is tempting to long for the past, which we romanticize, but we must embrace this moment and create existence (and perspective) now. Or, maybe we should just dance in the train station.

To His Purpose or Fever in My Hands

When I was thirteen, I walked down the aisle of my church wearing my favorite yellow dress. I almost ran. I shook deacon's hand with fervor and said, "I am dedicating my life life and work to Christ." I had been down the isle the first time when I was 4 years old. But on this day of the yellow dress, I knew that my desire and existence had merged and I became a doer in the ways of Christ.

"What school will you attend?" he asked. Seeing my puzzled look, he put his hand on my shoulder and said, "there is plenty of time for that." (At thirteen I was unaware there was a distinct formula in Baptist life when you wanted to serve God as a"calling.") My heart knew then, and my head knows now that we abide in him and he abides in us.

We serve because we are made ready to serve. . . where ever we are. As we look for what our hands find to do, we can read, here, together about our wandering paths and His purposeful hands. Joining the Higher Calling Blogs Network is a way to share life, work, and faith with others who mingle these things together in various ways.

Today, I do not know which way the wind will blow, and most days I am sure I am missing something important, especially since I grew up in the era of the street evangelist with Bibles and the Roman's Road tracts in their hands. ( I really miss the orange stickers. Does anyone else remember those?)

Joining the conversation,

Melody

500 Calories A Day

I have a neighbor at the end of my street. She is old and lives by herself. She was without a refrigerator suddenly, so I took her dinner while she waited for her new one. I walked into her yard holding the bag of groceries ready to eat. She hugged me with great abandon, " It is so nice of you to think of me, but I can't eat this." It was chicken and rice and bread. "I only eat 500 calories a day. Oatmeal and dry toast in the morning, and my Healthy Choice dinner in the evening. I have to watch my weight." She took another drag from her cigarette. "It means so much that you brought me food." She held my hand.

She is not overweight, not at all. I looked her in the eye and explained why no adult person can live on 500 calories a day. She responded, "I eat my vegetables." I pushed, but I quickly realized there was no talking to her about this. I was tempted to call her son to see if he knew about this. I was concerned for her life.

I walked away frustrated at her. "How can she live? This has to change." I said to myself, but I was powerless to change her. She had made up her mind.

I, too, make up my mind and refuse to listen to others, sometimes.





Wisdom is supreme; therefore get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding.
Proverbs 4:7

Little Light of Mine

We were late to school today. A late long night caught in a tornado warning. . .standing in the bathroom of a convenience store. . .caused us to be up late. . .

My son starts every school day with chapel. (I should be so lucky.) He sings songs to Jesus first thing every morning. Today, I sat next to him. In the back of the church, we sat hearing voices bounce off the wooden ceiling while being dimly lit by the stained class windows that point heavenward.

Asa smiled and raised his finger in the air to sing "This little light of mine." I started to put my finger up. . .then. . . I paused thinking," I am too old to raise my little light."
Then, I balked. . .catching myself in the real issue. . .

a life lived in political correctness inside a world that is not kind to people who show their light.

I raised my finger and choked on the loss of my childlike boldness. I raised my little light.

Meeting at Calvary

My son is attending a new school named Calvary Episcopal School. I find myself making notes on my calendar / phone to try to remember all the meetings and special events. When it comes time to put in the location of the parent meeting, craft fair, or Christmas Pageant, I find my self typing "Calvary."

Before I type the word, I pause. Each time I freeze and see the face of Jesus. Then, I realize how often I fail to meet him, at Calvary, on my knees. . .really envisioning him . . . the cross. Even the word Calvary is largely absent from my daily vocabulary.

I think this school might teach me as I walk past the stained glass windows and through the garden to pick up my son at Calvary.

Why I Go To Church, Still

I go to church because they let Bill play baseball with his one arm and crooked leg. They let him play AND they cheer him on. When he swings, the weight of the bat and the force with which he swings spins his whole body. His misses his shot and wobbles to a stop. They hug him genuinely glad he is on their team. Bill smiles even when he misses. God’s love extends.

I go to church because old women dress up in their best clothes and put on their jewelry and voluntarily sit next to teenagers with ipods, blue jeans, and flip flops. God’s heart visible.

I go to church because Big B sits collectedly in a room of 5 year old boys calmly whispering the body of Christ with an orange crayon in his hand, modeling Christ’s heart for my son. Christ’s love shown.

I go to church because God shows up in his people, and his people show up ready to serve and love (most days).

I go to church because some days I need the love, and - some days - I am able to give it.

I go to church because God is there. I see him in wrinkled skin, and tattered jeans, the cracks, the hairnets, fancy jewelry, and the flip flops. God’s presence in crooked smiles and wobbly swings.