We have not the device to measure your
grace
Nor does your love for us make
sense
The unmerited devotion which flows from
You
fills our cup till we can hold no
more
If earth is the trial ground let us seek to
return
in whatever way we are
able
learning each day to give back to you
Lord
what you’ve served so well at your
table
The other day my wife came home and announced something that clearly had her somewhat distressed. We have a pleasant enough front yard, I suppose: a couple little trees, some lawn, a nice flower bed. The house is a Victorian. It’s over 100 years old, and is dark gray with several shades of green trim. There’s a little porch in front of the red door, which has a nice wind chime next to it. Apparently, Lori was fine with everything until I added the hummingbird feeder. That took her over the edge. Anywho, back to my wife’s distress. When she walked in the door she announced, “Joel, I have a grandma’s house!” I asked her if it was the pictures on the wall in the living room of our two granddaughters that provided her with the first clue. If my comment amused her, she made a good show of hiding it. She said that when she parked her car and got out, she looked (apparently really looked) this time. “It’s just all so nice. And now, with the hummingbird feeder, something clicked in my head and I realized that I live in a grandma’s house.” I believe she’s come to terms with this now. However, I may want to run changes by her in the future, just in case. First though, I think I’ll fix her a nice cup of tea, with maybe a few cookies.
Think of a day
as a moment harvest,
gathered nuggets of time
nourishing moments you pick from the field
of your day.
Gather them in a big cloth sack,
then spread them out when the sun goes down
put them on a scale
to see what they weigh.
Waking up next to your wife.
Quiet time with God.
A hot cup of coffee.
The sun coming up.
Time spent with men you respect.
Reading a good book.
A drive to work (bonus *with your daughter*)
A call from a friend thanking you for advice.
Playing with your dog.
Admiring your garden.
Dinner with your family.
Time to think and write.
Time to rest, recuperate,
and dream.
If I continue looking at all my days
as moments harvested
just like that,
I imagine the only thing
I’ll ever need
is a bigger and stronger
cloth sack.
Blessed by the God and Father
of our Lord Jesus Christ, the
Father of mercies and God of all
comfort,
who comforts us in all our
affliction so that we will be able to
comfort those who are in any affliction
with the comfort with
which we ourselves are comforted
by God.
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
Heavenly Father,
Comfort those in mourning,
whose loved ones’ hearts beat on
in memories joy and pain filled
during lonely nights and dawns.
Comfort minds lost and broken,
those who cannot rest. Bring
them caregivers gentle, angels
heaven sent.
Comfort broken limbs and burned
skin, arms and legs no longer there,
that still send messages of pain,
phantoms in the air.
Comfort First Responders, who see
more than they should, who go when
others stay, who do more than others
could.
Comfort enforcers of law,
the ones who wear the vest,
who put our safety first
while making their arrests.
Comfort the military,
our red line around
the world, the ones who
often run into harms way
with our flag unfurled.
Comfort the healers,
who administer best aid
for our ills small or
grievous, their dedication
never wains.
Comfort for the Pastors,
who count everyone their
flock, whose hearts might
stretch out of their chests
while they point the way
to the walk.
Lord, if we can’t give comfort,
at least let us not add pain.
Let us, like all the other helpers,
be there for those in need
when sorrow rains.
Lord, so much baffles and confuses us,
causes consternation and pain.
Much like acid rain,
we insist on short term gain
to our detriment.
It’s our right!
and it’s a mystery.
We got really good at making,
and then at selling,
then consuming.
China was impatient
to grow too,
and so they did.
Now in their cities
they hardly ever see the sun
or blue sky,
but they’re getting so much better
at building fancy cars.
It’s their right!
and it’s a mystery
You have yours
so I’ll have mine.
Let me manifest my destiny!
Don’t get between me
and my ocean.
When did wisdom become
a dirty word,
or a stumbling block
to progress?
When did the law
and justice
become enemies,
the first for revenue,
the latter
to symbolically appease.
Might may make right,
but all fists
grow old
and lose their grip
on fortune.
It’s giants’ rights,
and it’s a mystery.
Is it just my sore knees talking
or the explosions in the news?
Why are so many
willing to kill
to express their views?
I confess to being weary
with us,
the human race,
the evil
too easy to express.
Father, help me lift up my head.
I’m not strong enough
on my own to abide,
so help me with Your Word
to find peace inside,
and believe that this all
will pass away,
and
a new earth
will replace
this way.
Lord, help us learn to build
instead of tearing down.
Help us practice solutions
and build bridges.
Let us replace Facebook rants
and political hate
with better choices
and level voices.
Let us be the men and women
we admire.
Help us to be quiet enough
to hear you speaking.
Let the mystery of
why so many harm
become the mystery
of why so many heal.
With your grace,
help us be the ones
who reveal
Your love for human-kind
through Your death
and resurrection.
Thank you Lord,
for listening.
Give ear to my words,
O Lord,
Consider my groaning.
Heed the sound of my
cry for help, my King
and my God,
For to You I pray.
In the morning, O Lord,
You will hear my voice;
In the morning I will
order my prayer to You
and eagerly watch.
Psalm 5:1-3
I wish I started out every day like the Psalmist.
The truth is there are way too many days
that are off to the races before I’ve really
given God a chance to be involved in my
plans. David wasn’t afraid to throw it all
on the table before God. My favorite part of this
Psalm is at the end of the third verse where he
says, “In the morning I will order my prayer to
You and eagerly watch.” For David, his God was not
cold, silent, and still. He put his prayers out before
God and “eagerly” waited to see what God would do.
God wants to be involved in your life, but your attitude
and expectation will greatly determine His degree of
involvement.
As we all consider the evil that has once again put itself on display, this time in Boston, at the sight of the yearly marathon, I believe it’s important to remember that God is just. We may think occasionally that the people who perpetrate these kinds of horror go without punishment, but this is not true. While it is our responsibility to deal appropriately with those responsible, ultimately nothing escapes Gods judgement.
You have a strong arm; Your hand is mighty, Your right hand is exalted. Righteousness and justice are the foundation of Your throne; Loving-kindness and truth go before You. Psalm 89:13-14
Finally, the words of my wife’s mother, Marlene, who passed away in 1976. She wrote this song to express the freedom she had in the Lord. I would like to dedicate it tonight in her memory to the victims and their families in Boston. It is entitled “I Am Free.”
I am Free. In Him do I
abide. Molded, yielding,
a promised bride.
He set my spirit free; on
wings I can ascend, to
light and uncharted places,
to commune with my Friend.
Indwelling Joy floods my soul,
lifting, filling, in His control.
I am free. Jesus set me free,
on wings on high, to melt
in Jesus’ holiness. To praise
Him, extol Him and Glorify.
M.C.
More than just contentment stole my heart that Summer day
when He took hold of all of me and settled in.
The certainty of being in
right time and place and will,
made it easy to surrender mine to Him.
You’re the notes for the song I’m singing, Jesus.
You’re the rhythm, You’re the key, and You’re the rhyme.
You’re the anchor that I hold onto, new colors when I’m feeling blue,
I welcome You this morning like the first time.
Although my world swings
out of orbit sometimes.
I’m not always sure
of what’s around the bend.
When my mailbox is full of bills,
my head is spinning and I’m ill,
I count on what dear Savior
You will send.
You’re the notes for the song I’m singing, Jesus.
You’re the rhythm, You’re the key, and You’re the rhyme.
You’re the anchor that I hold onto, new colors when I’m feeling blue,
I welcome you this morning like the first time.
It’s never mattered how frightening the storm,
never mattered how frightening the storm,
Jesus you are bigger than my storms!
You’re the notes for the song I’m singing, Jesus
You’re the rhythm, You’re the key, and You’re the rhyme
You’re the anchor that I hold onto, new colors when I’m feeling blue,
I welcome You this morning like the first time.
Like the first time.
minister sans ego
tender hearts hear beyond words
shared burdens lightened
Yet it was our weaknesses he carried;
it was our sorrows that weighed him down.
And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God,
a punishment for his own sins!
But he was pierced for our rebellion,
crushed for our sins.
He was beaten so we could be whole.
He was whipped so we could be healed.
All of us, like sheep, have strayed away.
We have left God’s paths to follow our own.
Yet the Lord laid on him
the sins of us all.
He was oppressed and treated harshly,
yet he never said a word.
He was led like a lamb to the slaughter.
And as a sheep is silent before the shearers,
he did not open his mouth.
Unjustly condemned,
he was led away.
No one cared that he died without descendants,
that his life was cut short in midstream.
But he was struck down
for the rebellion of my people.
He had done no wrong
and had never deceived anyone.
But he was buried like a criminal;
he was put in a rich man’s grave.
Isaiah 53:4-9
For the moment all had scattered
the kingdom at an end
thoughts of grandeur,
of a place at the table
with their king,
vanquished.
This was to be the king
who set things right
the one worth fighting
beside
they would follow him through
hell-fire
wouldn’t they?
but…
now?
It was over,
wasn’t it?
Silence
and a distant storm
rumbles
The veil,
torn
the world,
no longer the same
Write here, Joel. 