Kiss the Son...

"Blessed are those who put their trust in Him..."
Psalm 2:12
NKJV

I am reading a wonderful little book right now by Janet Davis, entitled My Own Worst Enemy.  Janet is a spiritual mentor who focuses primarily on women's issues and growth in their relationship with the Lord.  Her books are very insightful and easy to read - always very rich in application to our lives. 

One of the issues that she explores is the difference between following Jesus out of a sense of duty versus following Jesus out of a passionate, all consuming love for Him - the difference between night and day!  We are so often taught to follow him methodically, ritualistically, out of a sense of duty, as if "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and strength" is a recipe we are following - 3 cups of heart, 1/2 cup of soul and a pinch of strength equals the exact right ingredients needed to bake up a nice warm batch of love of God!  It is dry and boring and something we will gladly postpone until whenever we get around to it.

Contrast that with so many pictures we see in the Word of God describing an extravagant display of unabashed, passionate love of God. Consider Mary breaking the alabaster jar to anoint Jesus with the precious oil she had saved drop by drop over her lifetime.

Mary doesn't tiptoe into the center of the Pharisees and ask if she might be able to put a drop of two of ointment on Jesus - but only if it's OK with them!  No - she runs to the Savior, weeping and making a scene which would embarrass most of us with her uninhibited display of love for Jesus.  She makes a royal mess of it all by breaking a beautiful, expensive jar and pouring the contents all over the head of this One she adores.  There is oil everywhere, broken pieces mixed in with her tears, because, of course, she cannot stop crying at the feet of Jesus.  She seems to be lost in the moment.  She doesn't even realize everyone is staring at her.  The religious leaders in the room are disdaining her reckless abandonment to the moment.  She is in love with her God.  She doesn't care who's watching.  She is out of her mind with love for this One she has found that is worth it all.  She is sold out to Him.  He owns her.  She belongs to Him.  Let everything else be lost.  She has found the Pearl of Great Price.  The Living, Breathing God of her desire.

Have you ever had such a moment of sold out love for God?  I did.  I remember the exact moment I was "born again" an overused term that often fails to capture the miracle of birth that takes place in a new believer's life. 

I had gone to visit a little church in the new neighborhood I was living in and "just happened" to be there at the end of a time of revival, when the Spirit was flowing unhindred by religious ritual.  I responded to an invitation to come to the altar for prayer.  I was one of many people who went to the altar that day.  The strange thing was, I had been raised in a denomination that never did this kind of thing, so it was brand new to me.  Not one to put myself on display, I did not plan on doing anything but praying quietly at the altar.  But, as I knelt to pray that day, the Spirit of the Lord fell on me with such power that I crumbled weeping uncontrollaby to the floor of the sanctuary.  In that moment, I know I had met my Saviour.  I could not stop crying.  The reality of my sin and my need for a Savior overwhelmed me.  I lost track of everyone around me and stayed at the altar long past the time that was "appropriate".  I finally looked up to see the Pastor kneeling beside me, calling to me, trying to bring me "back" from the edge I had apparently fallen over.  I have no idea how long I was weeping at that altar.  I didn't even care.  I had met my Savior and I didn't even want to come back.

From that day on, I have tried to follow Jesus.  I haven't always succeeded.  I am not a follower of His because I do it so well.  I am because He is faithful.  He holds onto me.  He sustains me.  He loves me.  With all my heart, I hope you find Him as I did.  Fall in love with Jesus.  You will never be the same...

I Spy!

"Where can I go from Your Spirit...
Where can I flee from Your Presence?
If I ascend into heaven, You are there;
If I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there..."
Psalm 139: 7,8   NKJV

I spy.

I spy You.

I spy You spying on me.

I spy You in everything I see.

I spy You in Your heaven.

I spy You shimmering in the sun.

I spy You dancing in the stars.

I spy You sleeping in the moon.

I spy You whirling in the wind,

I spy You convicting me of sin.

I spy You shouting in the storm,

“Run to Me, run to Me, I will shelter you from harm.”

I spy You in the rainbow, I spy you in the puddle,

I spy you in the beginning, in the end and in the middle.

I spy You in the dreams I dream of all that I can be.

I spy You in the beauty of all I touch and see.

I spy You in the midnight watch,

I spy You on Your knees.

I spy You crying with me

For countless dying pleas...

I spy You weeping.

I spy You shaking and bowed down.

I spy You in the Garden, praying on Your knees.

I spy You screaming out in agony for what was yet to be.

I spy You ripped and bleeding
I spy You hanging from a cross.

I spy You severed from the Father,

I spy Your deepest loss...

I spy the never ending ways You love me still today.

I spy You running after me when I have run away.

I spy You never giving up on me, when I already have.

I spy You dreaming dreams for me that I forgot I had.

I spy You crazy loving me,

I spy You holding onto me until the very end.

I spy the One Who died for me,

I spy my Dearest Friend...

No Plastic Gods...

"Take heed that you be not deceived..." Luke 21:8

I stopped into a church today.

They were singing and shouting Alleluia's all around.

I wondered, was it God that they were praising?

Was it God that I had found?

Did anyone hear me screaming? Did anyone see my pain?

I'm so desperately in need of Him; I cannot play a game.

I'm laying down my victories, so empty in the end.

I'm a sinner lost and broken down. I seek the sinner's Friend.

Does He really touch lepers, heal the blind and love the lame?

I thought just now I heard Him calling out my name!

Is it true that He searches for sinners just like me?

Does He really have the power to set the captives free?

Do you know Him? Has He found you, forgiven all your sins?

Is He with you in the storm and in the midst of all your pain?

I have felt the breath of Satan, heard Him laughing at my door.

He swore that he'd destroy me, that Jesus couldn't save me anymore.

But far away, I heard a voice,

Calling me and wooing me, giving me a choice,

He says He knows me through and through and loves me anyway!

There's the Sweetest Spirit coming close!  He stole my heart today!

Overcome by Mercy, bowed down by His grace,

I seek the One Who died for me – can I find Him in this place?

I am the apple of His eye! He told me so, you know!

He said He left the 99 and searched for me alone!

I don't need a God who demands of me perfection.

I need a God who understands the depth of my rejection.

I need a God who promises to walk along with me,

Who knows about my suffering.

I don't want to serve a plastic god who looks and sounds like Santa Claus.

I need a God who bleeds with me, who joins me in my suffering.

Please set me free from plastic gods, and bless me with reality.

Come to me and rescue me. Sweet Jesus, join me in my suffering.

The Simple Hospitality of My Parents...

Give us this day our daily bread...

Poverty was a well known bedfellow in the home I grew up in. One of eight children, we simply never had enough. Never enough clothes, shoes, toys, books, money, or, the most basic of necessities – food.

As kids we learned the lesson that food was, more often than not, a luxury on our table. Nobody had to tell me about the theory of 'survival of the fittest'. At our table it was survival of the fastest, the strongest, the - boldest.  When the food came to the table, it was no time to be shy – grab what you could as fast as you could or you would leave the table hungry. There was no such thing as seconds – many times there were barely firsts. As a little girl, seated at a table with four hungry and aggressive brothers, I often went to bed hungry. In the morning, when we got up, there was very rarely anything for breakfast. I could not wait to get to school in the morning to drink the carton of milk the school provided for each student. That was the only breakfast I would see on most days.

As time went on, my father managed to find part-time work to supplement the meager salary he made as a Chicago cop, which was certainly not enough to support a family of ten. Little by little, fortune began to change and the table was one of the first places we could see the change. Even a little increase in the food brought enormous relief to a mother and father with eight hungry and growing children, depending on them for survival.

When I look back on that time, what I remember most is not the poverty, although I do remember that. Not the hunger, although I do recall the pain of never having enough. No. What I remember most is the stunning example of hospitality offered from a place of need, not surplus, by my parents to anyone who ever knocked on our door. As a child, I watched as an unexpected guest would be welcomed into our living room by my father, who would invariably call to my mother to “put on some coffee and make something to eat” for Joe or Sue or whoever had come over. It was simply unquestioned that they would lay a meal out, however simple, for anyone who came to visit us.

To this day, I can hear my father calling to my mother to make something to eat for this unexpected guest. I can see my mother in the kitchen frying eggs and bacon, preparing to serve something hot and fresh from the stove for this guest in our home. There around the little table in our already over-crowded, very recently impoverished home, my parents would sit down with their guest and enjoy conversation and a hot meal that spoke the words of welcome in such a clear voice. They didn't have the money to take him or her to a restaurant. Even if they had, I don't think they would have. To them, their home was where they welcomed a guest, made him feel a part of the family, and shared with them from their own “riches”. This might sound trite, but the riches they had to share were things that money could not buy - a genuinely warm welcome and an always open door to “come in and sit down with us – have something to eat...”

This is one of the strongest memories I have of my parents. How did they learn to give in this way? I don't know. They never told me. They never even talked about “hospitality”. They simply did it. No bells and whistles. No fancy parties. Just everyday, “pull up a chair and let's eat together” generous and gracious giving to a guest from the storehouse of their hearts. They left me with a legacy of love and pride in them for this simple act of kindness, played out a million times over in front of my young eyes. Did they know I was watching? Did they think about that? Did they realize what they were teaching me, without saying a word, about “hospitality”? I doubt it. It was just a part of who they were.

I will always remember, with great admiration and affection, the example my mother and father set for me. Simple and magnificent, all at once. They taught me what it is to practice hospitality. I will always love them for that.

There is something so incredibly loving about the simple act of preparing a meal for someone and sharing it with them. One of my favorite stories in the Word of God is the scene after Jesus' resurrection where He waits on the shore for Peter and the disciples to come in from fishing. He, the Lord of the Universe, cooks them a meal and sits down to eat it with them! There is an intimacy in this simple act of hospitality that is so loving and inviting. It is there on the shore, in the warmth and love of a meal, prepared for him by His Savior, that Peter finds His way back to the Lord. 


Jesus shows us over and over again throughout His Word the high value He places on hospitality.  How grateful I am that I had parents who never preached a word about it, but who lived it out every day before my eyes.  I cannot wait to sit down at the table of the Lord and share a meal with my Savior.  And with the parents who taught me by example the meaning of "hospitality."

“When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you truly love me...?”John 21:15

It's Christmas Time in the City...

Just wondering...

Is Christmas just for the rich of the world?

Is it just for those who can afford to buy gifts for everyone on their list?

Is it just for those who can afford to decorate with beautiful lights and expensive ornaments?

Is it just for those who can throw lavish Christmas parties in their beautiful homes?

Is it just for those who have all of their shopping done by the middle of December and all of their gifts wrapped and under the tree for all to admire?

Is it just for those who can afford to take a Disney Cruise for Christmas?

Is it just for those who can afford to go from mall to mall, buying whatever meets their fancy?

Is it just for Christians who drop a dollar in the little red bucket and feel like they've done their part for the 'needy'?

Is it only for those who sit down to a sumptuous meal on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, as well?

Would the Son of God, Who left all of the riches of heaven behind to be born in a dingy stable, naked and cold among the filth of the animals in the barn, recognize our Christmas?

Would He feel welcomed?

Would we even recognize Him if He came to our party, dressed in rags and begging for our care?

Would He feel welcomed in the richest church in the world - the church in America?  Even if He came, do we have any room for someone like Him at our table?  In our pew?  I wonder...

Or would He choose instead to spend His Christmas with the orphans, the widows, the poor, the abandoned, the neglected, the rejected and despised, the persecuted, the reviled, the lost, the sick, the dying, the brokenhearted?

Do we care where He goes as long as He doesn't mess up 'our' Christmas?  Or, does He think it belongs to Him?

Scripture Reference:  John 1:11   NKJV

"He came unto His own, and His own received Him not."