Hi Friends!
I’m trying something new: an audible Bible study for Lent. Each day is a short podcast with study notes. I want to look at Joshua’s journey into the Promised Land to find ways to deepen my faith and courage.
I hope you’ll join me! Unfortunately, a podcast requires a new platform. So click this link, subscribe over there, and you will get the daily updates.
“For who could ever love a beast?” So begins a favorite fairytale, Beauty and the Beast. Disney transports us into thinking if we are charming, beautiful, strong enough we can tame a beast and make him into a prince.
But once again, Disney lied to us. The truth is, we pretend to be prince and princess, get married, and wake up to find we’ve married a beast…
And soon we realize… we are a beast.
Selfish, self-centered, with a nasty temper when we don’t get our way.
Someone once said if you want to know how selfish you are, get married. We easily get frustrated when we have to share our friends, our family, our feelings and our finances, our bed and our shed, our space, our attention, our goals, etc., etc., etc.
God uses marriage to teach us and change us. And Jesus used marriage as a metaphor for us to try to understand the depth of His love for us.
The Perfect Groom
In Jesus’ final hours, He continued to exemplify perfect love for His disciples.
John 13:1 says “…Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved His own who were in the world, He loved them to the end.”
The time before Jesus’ excruciating death begins with the Passover meal. Everyone had began to eat when Jesus gets up and starts to wash feet. He didn’t pull rank or victim, saying he should be the last one to have to do it because of his status or because he was having a hard time. He was able to look past himself, see a need, and be the first to fill it.
How? How could He do such a thing with so much going on in His mind? We can see a hint in John 13:3: “Jesus knew that the Father had put all things under His power, and that He had come from God and was returning to God.”
Jesus knew who He was. He didn’t have to have others understand.
A farmer married a town girl and brought her out to his land. When she offered to help with the cattle, he insisted she was too good for that, and he would not have her get her hands dirty in the barn.
After a few months of marriage, a blizzard was coming and the farmer was frantically trying to secure everything before the storm hit. He asked his bride to help with the cows. ‘Oh no,’ she said, ‘I was your precious bride before—too good to be in the barn—and I haven’t changed just because we’ve been married longer.’
Too often, when it comes time to serve each other, we refuse to humble ourselves because we fear being devalued. ‘Do you know who I am? You can’t treat me like this!’ we cry.
But Jesus knew who He was in the Lord. He didn’t need validation from the people. So He was able to humble Himself—the God of the Universe washing dirty feet.
Jesus served His disciples. In the race to get ahead in marriage, we should race to serve each other. In a Christian marriage, we should not be saying, ‘Well, I did this-this-this, so it’s your turn to do that!’
Secondly, in Jesus’ last evening with His friends, He supported them. He encouraged and comforted them (John 14:1), He prayed for them (John 17), and He held them to a standard. We too can make or break our spouse by how we speak to them and about them. We need to be intentional about encouraging them. Praying for someone grows love in both the praying person and the receiving one.
In John 18:10-11, Peter steps out of line by cutting off the ear of a soldier. Jesus stopped him, showing love for him by setting boundaries and holding him to it. “I love you too much to let you be less than your best,” said author Tim Hansel’s wife.
And finally, we know Jesus sacrificed for us, His bride (John 19:18). Jesus’ endless love changed us from beasts to His bride. From those incapable of love to people who can also be the first to serve, support and sacrifice. He made us worthy of being invited to the wedding feast, because of His perfect love.
And when we love each other, we witness to the world what true love does, and the God who freely gives it (John 17:25-26). Our marriages are gifts. Our capacity to love is a gift. And our transformation is a gift.
Celebrate this gift, Little Sister, and share His love every chance you can get by serving, supporting and sacrificing for others. A mighty circle of witnesses will be praying for you.
Despite the multiple dangers, I trudge into the Christmas decorating. I’m not talking about burning the house down with an over-dry tree or giving everyone food poisoning with old turkey or even burning family relationships with accidentally bringing up politics. Not even getting one kid more toys than another. Besides all that, you can break things. Not just limbs from hanging lights on the roof. Fragile, tiny things that you love.
I’m placing the final Christmas decor up for the year. Porcelain figures spell out the word ‘rejoice’ with cherubs playing in the letters, holding out stars and doves. Sadly, my innate nature clashes with these fragile figurines every year. They seem to be top heavy, so invariably, one gets knocked over each year and some part breaks. One dove has rings of super glue around its feet, holding it to the ‘I’. Another dove is missing a tail—a permanent maiming due to my inability to be careful enough.
But this year, they came out of the box unscathed from hidden injury in storage where moth and rust destroy. A good sign. And I’ve chosen a new place: the windowsill by my kitchen sink. Flat, accessible, sheltered. It should be a good year for “Rejoice.”
Which is a plus because my attitude has been more begrudging than rejoicing. Only 1 of my 3 adult kids will be home this year. As I decorated the Christmas tree with ornaments that hold memories for our family, I realized I was probably the only one who will really look at them. And I was only doing it to place them on the already shedding evergreen limbs.
Christmas is just not as fun without children enjoying the elements and encouraging the excitement. Still, there would be friends over. And, I resolved, I can pray for others to share the joy with.
But as snowmen ornaments unboxed in a dusty grey like the end of March snow, it was difficult to not question it all. Does plastic garland add to the meaning? Is God glorified in the sacrifice of a live pine tree? When its incense fills my home, is it pleasing to Him? These lights with fizzled bulbs, wrinkled bows, broken balls…is it worth the fight?
I continue. And having placed my happy little cherubs in a setting of boughs and balls and holly berries, I stand back a little happier. I will enjoy looking at them. But maybe, I’ll add a ‘Hark the Herald Angels’ picture behind them.
I get the wooden frame situated behind the boughs. One letter wobbles, then topples over. Hmm. If the frame falls forward because of, say, a door slamming, they will all go. So I start to shift the frame to make it lean more solidly against the window.
I push one stick of holly too far.
Suddenly, several letters fall, and not just flat on the window sill, but end-over-end into the sink and the dishes therein, hitting hazards all the way.
My mouth says a very un-Christmas word. My eyes blur and brim.
And my heart says ‘why bother?’
I pick up pieces. Here a dove’s wing, here an impossibly dainty hand. There again the dove for the top of the I. Here an angel broken off at the ankle. Little feet without a body. Chip fragments too small to place. Mass casualty.
What’s the point?
I continue to search for an answer and pieces to lay on the counter. But then, I find it, like the little star: why paint a cardinal red? Why illuminate a fleeting sunset that few will appreciate? Why bedazzle the night sky with stars?
The Source of all beauty is generous—extravagant—ridiculous in His dishing beauty out. He serves it up in heaping amounts like a grandmother spooning mashed potatoes and piling up biscuits. And though my clumsy fingered, fat-crayon efforts are certainly mere scribbles, maybe it can reveal—highlight—emphasize this God-with-us for someone? For me? Surely He enjoys my rejoicing as I join Him in celebrating His presence.
And what’s a party without decorations?
Thank you God for our men.
Thank You for their strength, their work, the way they think.
Thank You for the things You help them to come up with—their tools! Screws and screw drivers! Saws and squares and levels and clamps! Metal benders and cutters and tape measures! With it they build stalls and structures and sky scrapers!
Not to mention the wisdom You give them for cars and planes and boats…
Forgive us women, God, when we tear down these men to try to bring ourselves up. What kind of upside down thinking is that?
Instead, today we say thank You for the men.
Thank You, God, for surprises, starting with the fireflies that look like falling, flitting, blinking stars in the forest and summer squalls that blow up all bubbly and burst to soak the smiling farmer and the buzz of a bird that actually hums when it breezes by so closely or trees that blush red in autumn or what about hiccups–how hilarious!
Perhaps we need all these surprises because we get so callous to the mundane miracles, so we need a little shocking. We don’t even blink at the dinner-plate sized Magnolia and the ants that carry more than their weight and tissue-paper butterflies flitting about for over a thousand miles.
And then there’s the biggest surprise of all–that You would love us even to the shocking scandal of sending Your Son to die for us.
And so we say, thank You.
Thank You for the children’s prayers:
For the “Dear Hope-enly Father” who continues, “I hope Mommy doesn’t die. I hope Daddy doesn’t die. I hope my sisters don’t die.” May she always bring her hope-list to the Hope-enly God.
And thank You for the staller who starts, “Deeeeeeeeeaaaaaaarrrrrrr Goooooooooooood.” May he get another minute before he has to climb in bed. And when he is chided to continue and then asks for heavenly assistance with, “Please help Mom not be so meeeeeeeeaaaaaaan,” may his request be granted.
Thank You for the thankful, who could go on and on. “Thank You for the rainbows and the rhinos and the hippos and the triceratops and the T-Rexes and the swings and the…” May they never find the end to their list.
Thank You for the straight business prayers of “Thank You for this food but I hate broccoli.” May we all remember to stay honest and open with You.
Yes, Lord, thank You for loving us as we love ours.
Thank You for reminding us to come as a child.
Amen.
***In the spirit of Brian Doyle’s “Book of Uncommon Prayer” and with continuing praise to the Creator, Amen.
…which I tend to think of as mine and here for me. An overlooked servant, I ignore it, or curse it when it’s not there, or too much there. Or bless when the wind bites but it gives hope. Or wish on when it seems so cold and distant over a frozen tundra. And thanks for the moon, another gift just to me, to add to the magic of a garden of stars for an enchanting night.
Always there, whether seen or unseen, the sun and moon do Your bidding whether I like the day’s orders or not. They are Your created beings to rule the day and the night that will go on with or without me and have since before the dust that became Eve.
And though I fuss and cuss and pout and groan, and sing and dance and delight and swim and sled and sleep and eat and work with little thought to the perfectly spaced, massive ball of consuming fire above that is the reason I can live at all, I thank You now for its example, daily, of Your hope and faithfulness and sovereign plan which I can neither thwart nor hurry. I need that reminder.
And though the scientists tell me this sun will burn out and turn cold like it feels on an Alaskan January day, foreign and impotent, that is far beyond my ability to be concerned about. I can be content with that.
And so, thank You.
***In the spirit of Brian Doyle’s “Book of Uncommon Prayer” and with continuing praise to the Creator, Amen.
When I was in the castle, I was only thankful for the trinkets from afar.
When I was in the house, I was thankful for the roof.
When I was in the field, I was thankful for the shade and the breeze.
Somewhere deep inside my head, static crackled me out of a trance. The miles of Western Texas had lulled me to semi-comatose, and the roar of the high-warning winds left me isolated in my brain, even though I was wrapped around my husband on the back of his BMW motorcycle.
His voice coming over the headset inside my helmet might as well have been aliens—which I seriously wondered about, thinking I was hearing a crossed frequency in this empty, foreign land.
‘You good?’ his voice finally rooted me back to this reality. We tried to converse a bit about the moon-like landscape, the wind making us lean into it at a 20 degree angle. We attempted answers to ‘who would live here?’ when we passed the occasional old camper dropped in the middle of nothing. But when the wind covered even our speaker-to-ear connection, with the volume at the highest level, he would tap his helmet off, I’d hear the beep, and descend again into my alone world.
Except I wasn’t alone. Seven hours of silent retreat, I decided. I could pray. I could try this being quiet before God thing. Maybe I would hear His voice over the wind.
My husband and I enjoy road trips together. He’s my road warrior, doing most of our long distance driving, usually in a car. We found over the years a mutual enjoyment of the long periods of quiet. After going through the radio options, saying what needs to be said, we’d settle into our own thoughts in quiet content. Alone, together. A pause in the conversation that didn’t have to be filled out of insecurity, or lack of knowledge. A communication on a different level, beyond words. Sure, when we first met we’d talk for hours. But at times we love comfort of contentedness that doesn’t need anything.
My silent retreat with God didn’t start with my silence. Rather, like any child exposed to new, my words to Him flitted about to everything: awe of the massive sky, started prayers for each of my loved ones until I’d get distracted by one lone cow and I wondered how God kept her alive out here, thanks for the adventurous trip we got to go on, punctuated by panic prayers for protection as my man accelerated to pass, whisps of worship songs or memorized verses. But it all lapsed into forgetfulness.
It took a long time to get tired of myself and finally quit talking. I stilled. Did I listen, or just zone out? I know there was no voice coming through the statics. No reward stickers for having sat quietly. But there was the sense of peace. Joy, even, of being alone, together, as He watched me delight in a different part of His creativity. I felt the warmth of being in relationship where nothing has to be said.
They say people need quality time together. But I believe quality time is a myth. It can’t be forced, scheduled, pushed onto stage on cue. It has to be coaxed, earned, through quantity of time. One isn’t allowed the precious deep secrets till one has built up the trust of listening through all the labyrinth of thought. One can know much about a person, but it takes time and only time to know them.
And it is time we are most selfish with, for it is our life. We want to bill every moment spent; to set it on the scales and weigh it—time spent versus outcome—to judge its worth. But the value of relationship rarely shows on the scale when demanded. It frequently refuses to show its hand until the final call, when its most needed. It takes a lot of faith to keep dropping points into the opaque piggy bank.
But drop in we must. See the hidden value we must.
‘Invest in what you love. Love what you invest in.’ The principle continues to ring true. The Lord spoke of our investment of our treasure, knowing we love where we place our money. If time is money, then it too can be a down payment.
So, no. I didn’t receive any great revelation in the desert. But I want to do it again.
Tonia Stacey Gütting 