Desires of the heart

Seeking What Sustains through a Lesson from the Birds

~ Hope Surrendered ~ 2 Comments
My winter view from that leopard-print chair...
My winter view from that leopard-print chair.

Winter’s snows have passed. Throughout the cold, harsh months of winter, I enjoyed watching the birds at the feeders.

I have a set of comfy, micro-leopard-print chairs in my library, one of which sits in front of a window. Between the chairs, a not-really-big-enough pedestal table holds my Bible, tablet and study materials, and also a coaster for the all-important cuppa coffee or tea. The cathedral ceiling rises high to the wrought-iron railing lining the loft, and the ebony oak bookshelves with their rolling ladder dominate one end of the room. It’s a haven for me. The room was once a vision and a dream, but now it’s a respite I enjoy.

The chairs used to face into the room, but the view of the birds was always at my back. It’s amazing how “doing a 180” can change a person’s perspective. Turning around one of those chairs opened up my pondering thoughts in a whole new way.

I can accomplish a lot of talking to God and listening for his “voice” from this place.

The two large feeders just a few feet from the window needed to be filled every 10-14 days during the winter. At any given time, there were a dozen birds there to choose between the black-oil sunflower seeds, the cracked corn or the millet. The finches, cardinals, wrens, sparrows, titmice, chickadees and even the occasional downy woodpecker would come to feast from the feeders, while the other cardinals and the juncos seemed content to patrol the snowy ground to catch what would drop. Now that the weather has turned, the community has started to change and move on, but I’m still blessed to see the cardinal family and their new addition, the towhees, and an occasional goldfinch join in to see what might still remain.

There wasn’t a time when they didn’t have food to eat during the winter. The feeders were always there with an adequate supply for them. On snowy and blustery days, there were dozens of birds flitting to and from the bushes to the feeders; on dreary and rainy days there were fewer birds, but still many who came to eat.

But the sunny days? The ones where the snow shimmered like diamonds and the sun warmed the spirit for a welcomed retreat? There was rarely a bird on these days. I’d go to the chair to enjoy my study time, and there would only be an occasional bird to distract my pondering mind.

It boggled me a little. Those sunny days were the days I felt so motivated to read and accomplish more page turning in the Word. I would SO want to sit there to study and watch the birds, but few would come. These were the kind of days I’d MAKE the time to pray for longer periods of time, take the time to talk longer and in a more focused way with God, and would always accomplish so much more. These were the days I loved getting out to walk in the snow or to take the dog out for her runs. The sunshine would bring light into my days like the bleak and gray winter ones could not.

The overcast and almost ne’er-ending days of snow would be the days I’d have to give myself a pep talk to go anything beyond my daily commitment to the Word. These were the days where the distracting voices or mental to-do lists would interrupt my prayers, and the conversations with God were much shorter. These were the days in which my grumbling “might” tend to increase. 😉

But the birds?… they’d be there in abundance … so much so that they often seemed to be fighting one another for a chance to roost on one of the 12 perches to indulge in the seed smorgasbord.

We share a Creator, so how much are we alike? You know … us and the birds?

How much do we yearn to get outdoors on a sunny day and stay close to home on a dreary one?

For those of you who run (um … that is not me), how much do you look forward to a run in the sun and fresh air as compared to a run on the treadmill on the cold and rainy days?

Don’t we all appreciate the crunch of the snow underfoot when the sun is shining overhead, yet grumble at just another winter’s day when the storm clouds skew our view of the sky?

Where were all the birds on those sunny days? Had they, too, been yearning for the sunshine and mild weather? Had they, too, been looking forward to a flight in the fresh air and sunshine? Were they, too, tired of staying close to home in the warmth of the bushes?

I just have to wonder if, they, too, were a little more motivated to meet with their Creator on the bright and beautiful days …

Spring is here.
The birds are moving on, so the feeders will come down for the next few months, as there are now plenty of chances for them to find their sustenance away from my window and my seat in the library.

Spring is here.
It’s not only time to “do a 180” and turn that chair back around, but it’s time to be obedient as I feel Him moving me with gentle direction and giving me plenty of chances to find His sustenance … not only in His Word and in my quiet time with Him, but also out there … out there where the birds fly.

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Finding the Good in Friday

~ Hope Surrendered ~ 5 Comments

CrossOnHill.HSGood Friday.

For the longest time, I did not understand how this particular Friday could be labeled as good.

To be beaten, flogged and scourged to nearly unrecognizable;
to have a crown of thorns pressed into my head;
to be nailed to a tree with spikes through my wrists and feet;
to die by crucifixion alongside common criminals …
No. None of this, I’ve imagined, could be good if I would have had to experience it.
I didn’t have to, but I knew Jesus had experienced it all.
How could it be that we’d wind up called this a “good” kind of Friday when He had to go through that?

I attended a Presbyterian church as a child. Church was something we did on Sundays, and during my high school years, I also attended a youth group during most weeks. I was raised with good morals. We were taught to do the right thing, to fear and respect authority, to pray before dinner and bedtime, and to be good people.

Sunday mornings at church were almost the same each week. Being there wasn’t the most enjoyable part of my week, but there were two particular services I especially looked forward to each year:  the 11 p.m. Christmas Eve Candlelight Service and the solemn Good Friday service.

The Good Friday church service was also known as the Tenebrae Service. “Tenebrae” is a Latin word meaning “shadows” or “darkness.” This service was different from any other during the Christian year because it was supposed to be very solemn. There were a few quiet hymns, readings about the events leading up to Christ being nailed on the cross, and sober readings from the Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke and John) about Jesus’ time on the cross.

Much of the Tenebrae Service was done in dim light or candle light. Following the readings, the chancel area in the front of the church was stripped of the Bible, the offering plates, and the gold cup and plate. The candles were extinguished and the gold candlesticks were removed, and the cloths that covered the front table and pulpits were taken away. All of this was done in silence. Everyone would sit in complete silence while observing these items being removed from their places in the church.

Then, we’d leave in silence. The lights were turned up just enough for us to see, but we’d all leave in silence. Complete silence. There were no greetings, no hugs, no handshakes, no well-wishes to one another. There was no Reverend to greet us as we’d make our way out the door. We’d just walk back the aisle, down the steps, out the door, and we’d get into our car to go home. The silence even continued in the car.

I think this service touched me in some way, because it seemed to contain emotion. I remember often being bored with the monotony of Sunday services. The hymns, messages and sermons varied each week, but the order was always the same. I don’t remember feeling much joy or worship-filled emotion about the services unless we’d sing something like “Go Tell it on the Mountain,” “Alleluia,” or “Jesus Christ is Risen Today.”

The Tenebrae Service did have emotion. I felt the emotion, even though it wasn’t full of joy. The service always felt mournful. It felt dark and without light — a mere glimpse of what it must have been on that crucifixion day two thousand years ago.

Jesus was nailed to the cross in the morning at about 9 a.m.** after enduring questioning, a trial and brutal beatings. Once that cross was set in place, He hung there until noon, at which point the skies overhead darkened. The darkness lasted for three hours, and around 3 p.m., Jesus cried out amid His suffering and suffocation to proclaim, “Tetelestai!” before giving up his spirit and breath of life.
It was finished.

Most of us automatically equate the “it is finished” to His life, since, just moments afterward, His life was over on this particular Friday afternoon — the day we commemorate in remembrance as “Good Friday.” However, the “it is finished!” was much more than just a part of the final words he uttered in the final moments of His life before giving over his life and spirit. The “it is finished!” was His “paid in full” proclamation regarding our sin.

He paid the ultimate price by taking the sins of all mankind – the past, present and future sins of the past, present and future mankind — upon himself and shedding His own blood to redeem us in exchange for Himself. The ransom price was paid, and the salvation plan was now complete. He had completed the will of God and the will of the Father.

That’s where the “Good” comes in. He suffered for us. He demonstrated his self-sacrificing love for us and for our wrongdoings by dying for us (Romans 5:8). What He did for us once, does not have to be repeated by all of us (1 Peter 3:18) in order for us to live eternally in His presence (John 3:16).

For the longest time, I didn’t understand how His death could be “good” and recognized as “Good Friday.” I knew He died for us, but I guess I just didn’t fully grasp that He died for ME.

About 13 years ago, I went to a new church. On my first visit to this church there was a song sung by the congregation which stood out to me. I didn’t know it, so I didn’t sing it. I just listened. I didn’t understand what the words meant, but that song awakened something within me.

The song was Above All. The words which resonated with me were:

“… crucified, laid behind the stone.”
I understood this.

“… lived to die, rejected and alone.”
What did this mean?
Ok, He died on that cross, but what did it mean that he “lived to die?”

“… You took the fall and thought of me above all.”
Me? Me?!? What did that mean?
What did I have to do with what He did?
I didn’t get it, but I was curious.

I’ll never forget those words. An awakening within me had begun. I had come to that new church with questions, but now — after only one visit — there was an even bigger question burning within my mind … and in my heart. That question was one that would lead to knowing what He did for ME, and one that would lead to me knowing HIM personally.

That’s what is good about Good Friday.

He died for US.
He died for ME.
If He died for us, and if He died for me, then he also died for YOU.
That’s what is good about Good Friday.

CrossOnHill.HS.Verses

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 **Notes about the times of day:

The Gospel of Mark uses “the third hour” to designate when Jesus was crucified or put on the cross. This would have been 9 a.m. (Mark 15:25). Mark then goes on to say that at “the sixth hour,” darkness came over the land (Mark 15:33). This would be noon or 12 p.m. In Mark 15:34, we are told that Jesus cried out in the ninth hour, at 3 p.m., and then, shortly afterwards, took his last breath (Mark 15:37).

The Gospels of Matthew and Luke use similar time designations (see Matthew 27:45 and Luke 23:44). This way of calculating time was based on the Jewish method, where 6 a.m. would have been the first hour of the day, so noon would have been the sixth hour and 3 p.m. would have been the ninth hour. It is believed the Gospel of John, which presents a different time for the start of the crucifixion, used a Roman method of time calculation, which would have started the day at midnight (John 19:14). There could have, however, been a three-hour period of time between his sentencing before Pilate (sixth hour) and time Jesus spent under the charge of the soldiers, time spent carrying his cross (John 19:17) and arriving at Golgotha where the crucifixion took place.

Various commentaries show a consistency in these interpretations of time. I’ve used Sonic Light, The Bible Knowledge Commentary (see my Recommendations page on the last tab above) and Got Questions for my sources in this post.

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Finding Hope in the Unexpected

~ Hope Surrendered ~ 1 Comment

Donkey.HS

What am I expecting?
Hoping for?
Looking for?
Longing for?

Two thousand years ago, they were hoping for a way out of oppression.
They were longing for freedoms.
They were looking for a king …
… a king who would do all of this and more for them.

This past Sunday, Palm Sunday, marked the commemorative start of the Christian Holy Week. In many of our churches, we marked it by handing out palm fronds. Sometimes the fronds have been woven into a cross-like symbol meant to be kept as a remembrance. Some churches give out a single spear from a palm leaf, some give a small frond, and some hand palms out to wave during a particular worship song.

Last year I happened to be in Montreal, Canada, for the start of the Holy Week, and I visited the Notre-Dame Basilica just before Palm Sunday. I had been there as a teenager on a senior trip with my French class, and I wanted to see the grandeur of that church again. The only way to see the interior of the church on that particular day was to pay for a narrated program, laser light show and brief tour. That wasn’t what I had been hoping for. It’s amazing how one’s perspective on a church building can change after a few decades.

I also wanted to revisit the Gardens of the Way of the Cross at St. Joseph’s Oratory of Mount Royal in Montreal.  We came upon the glass doors leading into the garden only to find them locked. Deep snows covered the ground, so we couldn’t take in the peacefulness of the Stations of the Cross. The “Gift Shop” with a book about the Gardens was closed, too, but, those palm frond crosses many churches hand out on Palm Sunday? They were selling them inside the entry on this particular afternoon. That wasn’t what I was looking for.

Two thousand years ago, Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a young donkey.  His triumphal entry into the city is the day we now mark as Palm Sunday. On that particular day, the Jews laid their cloaks on the ground and laid branches, taken from nearby trees, on the road to hail His arrival and to celebrate Him as a the one sent to save them. This account is told in all four gospels, and it’s told from a slightly different perspective in each:

Matthew 21:1-17;
Mark 11:1-11;
Luke 19:28-44;
and John 12:12-19.

They were expecting Him to be THE ONE who would cleanse the Temple, free them from Roman oppression and help them to regain their national strength and identity. They expected a military leader, but instead, got a humble servant riding into the city on a donkey. He had come to save them for all of eternity, but not necessarily to save them from the Romans. That wasn’t what they had been longing for. When they realized He wasn’t there to do as they had expected, they turned on Him. Days later He was brutally beaten and nailed to a cross to die a criminal’s death.

That wasn’t what His followers had expected.

He was crucified on a cross on a hill outside of Jerusalem. The grave couldn’t hold Him, and His resurrection a few days later brought new life.
That wasn’t what His followers expected, either.

Life isn’t easy. We often make it more difficult by adding expectations to our anticipations. These often go unmet, and we’re left with disappointment. When hopes don’t turn into what we’ve longed for, do we turn toward Him, or do we turn on Him? Do we surrender our expectations, longings and hopes just enough, while yet still trying to control the outcome we’re looking for?

His resurrection did bring us the opportunity for new life.
With that life, we can find hope when we turn toward Him.

We’re heading into the heart of the Holy Week right now. It’s more than egg hunts, bunnies, chicks, chocolate, new clothes, a big dinner and church attendance.
I hope you can find a tad more than you are expecting.

What are you expecting?
What are you hoping for?
Looking for?
Longing for?

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Monday’s Musings — Nakedness, Noises & New Clothes

~ Hope Surrendered ~ Leave a comment

NakedForest.HS.1.5 - Copy

The trees still lay naked, clothed in their winter garb.

We just enjoyed an uncharacteristically warm spring weekend. It was one of those “get outside and do SOMETHING” kind of weekends where the sunshine, temperatures and blue skies beckoned and awakened the senses.

I spent quite a bit of time on the deck taking in the noises from the forest:  the birds chirping, the woodpeckers knocking their beaks against the trees, the turkeys calling, a few flies scurrying in the air. The sound that stood out the most, though, was that of the trees as they waved in the wind.

I can see far into the forest, yet all I see are grayed trunks. Our trees still lay naked, clothed in their winter garb. The only leaves they hold are a few of last year’s crinkled remnants of fall that refuse to give up their dangle. The noises that echo from the forest are the sounds of the branches rubbing, the trunks creaking as they rock to and fro in the spring’s winds, and the gentle rustle of the leaf-covered carpet beginning to dry out from its winter blanket.

The forest still looks dormant, yet I know it is waking. It, too, enjoyed the sunshine, temperatures and blue skies of the weekend, and it, too, beckons new life to emerge from within its depths.

We still have the possibility of snow in the forecast for one or two nights this week. Even so, a new season is upon us, and a rogue snowfall can’t stop the life waiting to spring forth.

This is the Holy Week. Yesterday’s Palm Sunday marked an entry into history, an entry into a city and the entry into lives that would be forever changed by the days to come. A new season was upon the people. Nothing could stop the death that would come and the life which would spring forth days later to conquer and to overcome. The time was upon them to clothe their nakedness and emptiness with a new garb … to shed the old and put on the new … a new garment as white as snow … a new life.

It’s not just history.
It’s each day.
It’s this week.
It’s right now.
It’s beckoning you … calling you.
A new season can be upon you.

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Finding Hope after Soaps

~ Hope Surrendered ~ 2 Comments

Soap.HS

Soap operas used to be a part of my weekday life.

I was raised in a household where watching the afternoon television dramas was the norm. If I was home sick from school or if it was summer vacation time, I remember them being on the family room TV. On early-dismissal days, I’d get off the bus and walk up the road quickly so I could catch as much as I could while they were on the TV during the afternoon. I knew the soaps weren’t “real,” and the morals I was being raised with rarely showed up on the screen. Even though our household morals bore no similarity to the soap storylines, I did see some dramatic similarities with what was on that TV in relation to how conflict was handled, often escalated and rarely resolved.

I caught the soap opera bug. I grew into the same habit.

When I went off to college, I started watching the afternoon soaps when I wasn’t in classes. I’d get my calzone and coke in a to-go box from the dining hall, and I’d head back to my dorm room to catch up on Cricket, Danny, Jack, Ridge, Brooke, Thorn, Tom, Margo, Reva, Billy and Josh.

Even to this day, I can still remember their names (oh, that’s just sad!). They were a part of my life. They were the part of my life that made it glamorous and bold to want drama, cat-calls, stilettos, attention, a big house, big money, a big family, a corporate career, and all that was beautiful, but not at all for the right reasons. My search-for-tomorrow dreams about the future launched my young-and-restless life into a search mode for a guiding light as the world turned around me.

The trend continued. With the invention of the video cassette recorder, I could spend a long day at work, come home and eat dinner on the couch, and burn through three-and-a-half hours of soaps in just over two hours while wearing out the decal on the fast-forward button. When the tape would get too fuzzy from record-over after record-over, I’d just toss it and pop a new one into the VCR. Gosh, how I hated when the power would go out and I’d have to reset that darned machine!

That trend continued, too. Then I had kids. At some point, it dawned on me that it probably wasn’t a good idea for my little ones to be taking in fights over who stole whose husband or the myriad of seemingly, slightly odd, father-in-law sleeping with daughter-in-law relationships that I enjoyed watching. … so I’d wait until the kids were napping or off to bed at night before popping the tape into the VCR.

My husband hated my soap-watching habit. He’d blame them for my dramatic outbursts or manipulative scheming to get my way. I’d brush it off saying that it would take me away to another world much like reading a good book would envelop me for a few hours at a time. “What was the difference?” I’d say.

While the soap trend continued, I also started going to a different kind of church. It was one where people carried a Bible with them on Sunday morning, where a band played great-sound music with lyrics I could understand, and one where people didn’t feel like they had to dress up to attend. This place also talked about that Book like it had relevance to my life today … like it was more than just a book filled with stories and ancient history.

So, the soap trend continued and the church thing got going … and then I noticed something else began to change. Church – which I had done most of my life – started to become something I thought about more than for just a few hours on a Sunday morning. It got to be more of a daily time in my life … where it would jump into my thoughts, where it would stop me in my tracks, where it would give me a flashback to a heard word, or where I’d be humming a few bars from a song we’d done on Sunday. That trend continued, too. The prayers in our house turned away from “God is great, God is good” and “now I lay me down to sleep” toward actually having a conversational praise, worship and thank-filled time with some “if I could also ask You for …” in them.

Somewhere along the way, I started to feel convicted about my soap watching. Convicted, as in “I probably shouldn’t be doing this,” as in “this makes me feel weird in a wrong way,” and as in “shouldn’t I be doing something more productive?” kind of way.

You see, “conviction” is one of those words that can be a double-edged sword. It’s one of those words that can have a negative meaning and a positive meaning … one of those words that can be used for offense and for defense. I was feeling “convicted” to stop watching soaps because of their content, and I was feeling “convicted” to move in a new direction.

After a few arguments with myself about the “take me away” aspects versus the “what are you feeding into your mind?” aspects, I decided to stop watching soap operas. Cold turkey. Yes, I decided that’s how I had to do it.

That was about 10 years ago. I have never regretted it. Never.

I think it was a part of that “conviction” thing. And, I also think it was about obedience.

I know now that it was He who was within me who was convicting me and calling me to be obedient to what He was trying to plant within me. It would have been much more difficult for Him to plant something within me that would bear recognizable fruit if my soil was filled with thorns, ridges, discord, jealousy, impurity, selfish ambition, dissension and the like.

Is He calling you? Is He convicting you with a double-edged sword?

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