Hands Outstretched

imageIf you’ve ever doubted that your body is miraculous, I challenge you to simply take a close look at your hands. Stretch them out in front of you and really look at them.

Each hand is composed of 29 major and minor bones, 29 joints, at least 123 ligaments, and 34 muscles to move the fingers and thumb – most of which which are located in either the palm of the hand or the forearm, since the fingers themselves do not have muscles. A hand also has 48 nerves and 30 arteries, and nearly as many smaller branches. About one quarter of the motor cortex in the human brain is devoted to the muscles of the hands. *

But these marvelous facts still don’t do the hand justice. Hands are our most important tools. We use them to lift, pull, and push. Nearly every movement, from the smallest to the most grand, involves the hand. Hands can caress, carry, convey, correct, and criticize. They can be used for love or violence. They are powerful in every way.

So what does it mean that Christ willingly outstretched his hands and allowed nails to be driven into his wrists?

In my reflections on this Holy Thursday and Good Friday, I feel the bones in my own body, its connective tissues, and remember the fact that most of the time it functions without complaint. Then I consider the brute physicality of Christ’s sacrifice for me.

Sit in this sacred space. Study your hands and your feet. Listen to your breath. Thank Him for what he endured. Seek to understand that He did it for the greater glory of your eternal salvation, and that of all the world.

The crucifixion began. Jesus was offered wine mixed with myrrh, a mild analgesic, pain-reliving mixture. He refused the drink. Simon was ordered to place the patibulum on the ground, and Jesus was quickly thrown backward, with His shoulders against the wood. The legionnaire felt for the depression at the front of the wrist. He drove a heavy, square wrought-iron nail through the wrist and deep into the wood. Quickly, he moved to the other side and repeated the action, being careful not to pull the arms too tightly, but to allow some flexion and movement. The patibulum was then lifted into place at the top of the stipes, and the titulus reading “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” was nailed into place.

The left foot was pressed backward against the right foot. With both feet extended, toes down, a nail was driven through the arch of each, leaving the knees moderately flexed. The victim was now crucified.

As Jesus slowly sagged down with more weight on the nails in the wrists, excruciating, fiery pain shot along the fingers and up the arms to explode in the brain. The nails in the wrists were putting pressure on the median nerve, large nerve trunks which traverse the mid-wrist and hand. As He pushed himself upward to avoid this stretching torment, He placed His full weight on the nail through His feet. Again there was searing agony as the nail tore through the nerves between the metatarsal bones of this feet.

At this point, another phenomenon occurred. As the arms fatigued, great waves of cramps swept over the muscles, knotting them in deep relentless, throbbing pain. With these cramps came the inability to push Himself upward. Hanging by the arm, the pectoral muscles, the large muscles of the chest, were paralyzed and the intercostal muscles, the small muscles between the ribs, were unable to act. Air could be drawn into the lungs, but could not be exhaled. Jesus fought to raise Himself in order to get even one short breath. Finally, the carbon dioxide level increased in the lungs and in the blood stream, and the cramps partially subsided.

Spasmodically, He was able to push Himself upward to exhale and bring in life-giving oxygen. It was undoubtedly during these periods that He uttered the seven short sentences that are recorded.**

Since he endured this, surely we can recommit to paths of holy surrender to the One who loves us infinitely and far beyond our understanding. Our final thoughts on this ought to be Scripture:

Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. 

– Hebrews 12:1-3 (emphasis mine)

 

**Excerpt from “The Crucifixion Of Jesus: A medical explanation of what Jesus endured on the day He died” by Dr. C. Truman Davis – A Physician Analyzes the Crucifixion. New Wine Magazine, April 1982. (Originally published in Arizona Medicine, March 1965, Arizona Medical Association.) Full text available online here.

*E-hand.com The Electronic Textbook of Hand Surgery

Perennials

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It’s not much to look at today. But just a week ago, when I bought it for $2.99 at our local grocery, it was adorable. Tiny daffodils in full bloom. Perfect for the middle of the kitchen table.

I’ve been thinking of deadheading it, wondering if it would bloom again? My husband said he didn’t think it would. Not right now. Not in its current state. “But,” he said, “don’t throw it away. Save the bulbs.”

It occurred to me today as I think about those bulbs, hiding dormant for a future bloom, how much this situation is like the parable of the sower.

“A sower went out to sow his seed. And as he sowed, some seed fell on the path and was trampled, and the birds of the sky ate it up. Some seed fell on rocky ground, and when it grew, it withered for lack of moisture. Some seed fell among the thorns, and the thorns grew with it and choked it. And some seed fell on good soil, and when it grew, it produced fruit a hundredfold.” 

-Luke 8: 5-8

A hundredfold. Fruit (or daffodil blooms) can reproduce many, many times if planted in the right place and nurtured.

Jesus’s teaching here gives me pause. I do my best to be the good soil. I desperately want to be the place where the seed of the Word falls and is “embrace[d]…with a generous and good heart.” I want to “bear fruit through perseverance” in study, prayer, and a faithful walk with the Lord. (Luke 8:15)

But what about my kids?

How can I help them prepare the soil of their souls for the Word?

Last night in the car, we somehow ended up in a discussion about hearing God’s voice. But I was reassured to hear, yet again, that my kids know it. Even the littlest one, who is just 6, and it was all I could do to keep the wheel steady when he said,

“God talks so quietly. It’s hard to hear Him, deep in my heart.”

The day had come full circle to a verse I’d heard in a lecture that morning.

Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give to you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk [or drive] along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the door frames of your houses and on your gates.

-Deuteronomy 6:4-9

This was a “teachable moment” in which the Lord was calling me to share the Truth with my children. To till the soil of their souls by reinforcing their own observations. To confirm that this voice – God’s voice speaking in their hearts – is the One voice they need to listen to above all others. It is the seed that will bloom for them time and time again throughout their lives, particularly on dark days when the surprise of a flower is a bright spot of hope.

My job is to continue to turn over the earth, to nurture my kids’ faith with His love – Love that was planted in me long ago.

That verse from Deuteronomy commands this of me as a parent, but as I’ve also learned, obedience to God’s commands brings joy that simply doesn’t compare with any earthly happiness.

I want that joy for my kids – more than anything else in the world.

So I’m saving the bulbs, and I’ll carefully plant them again, assured of the promise that God brings life out of dark places, if only we persevere.

 

Use What You Have

For many months, my oldest has been trekking off to Taekwondo in pants that are about 3 inches too short. They look very silly, but he didn’t need a new pair. This pair fits him well around the waist. But yours truly hemmed them up last year, and then my son grew. A bunch. As kids are wont to do. And I’ve been busy. As moms are prone to be.

Anyway, the thick of summer is finally here and I’m tackling miscellaneous projects, so I broke out the seam ripper and have been undoing two levels of hems in these pants. My gosh I was thorough. Did I really need to use the smallest stitches on the sewing machine for these hems? Ripping them out is taking forever!! Lesson learned.

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Nevertheless, I find a strange satisfaction in doing little bits of handiwork like this – picking up a piece of clothing that could be tossed aside or given away out of frustration and giving it a second life. I’m so grateful my mom taught me to use iron-on patches to reinforce the knees of jeans that are wearing thin, and how to fix a snagged sweater with a crochet hook. In learning little tricks like these, I also grew to understand that the usefulness of things can be extended, and that value is to be determined by what something means to us, not by what it means to others.

So, weird as this may seem, whenever I settle into the couch and start ripping out hems or mending holes, I feel rich. I’m not rich, mind you, but recognizing that I have what I need within the walls of my home makes my heart swell, and I remember again that my life is overflowing with blessings.

One day a few years back, I almost fell over in surprised joy at this feeling of abundance. I had been telling friends that I thought my husband and I needed a bookshelf. We just had so, so, so many books and no place to put them. We were busy with two kids at the time, and our basement was a wreck, with toys, extra furniture, and boxes of books shoved every which way and all over the place. No organization whatsoever. I couldn’t stand it, but of course, no one but us was going to fix it. No fairy godmother was showing up with a magic wand to whip everything into order.

My complaints had reached a climax and I was climbing over the stuff in our basement’s back room, where a door leads to a storage area. In a rant about buying more containers to clean up and compartmentalize the mess, I wasn’t thinking about what might be in that storage room.

Right behind that white door was a basic 6-foot bookcase my father-in-law built 40 years ago. It was exactly what we needed. It was right in our house all along. And I had completely forgotten about it.

So how often do I forget about what I actually have? Every day. It’s so easy to look around at what others have and think they have it better than me. Better hair. Cuter clothes. A prettier house. More worldly success. Some vague happiness that is greater than mine – as if that can be measured. As if what they are showing on the outside is in any way a true reflection of what’s really happening on the inside.

This is exactly what the evil one would like for me to think about, right? And these malicious whispers in my head that would divert me from the Life that Jesus came to bring to me are lies. Lies. Jesus tells us the devil “was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies.” (John 8:44)

So do I have what I need to fight these thoughts? If I have access to a Bible and a mind to pray, I do. But I’ve found that no matter how wonderful it feels to fill up on God’s Word, be it on Sunday at church, or during Bible study with my friends, I cannot walk through this life and expect the satisfaction of those times to last. Daily immersion is required. I cannot run on fumes.

And why is that? Because God is alive! And I have a relationship with Him. Every time I seek Him out the experience is new. He opens the doors to show me what I have forgotten or neglected to see – in myself, in the world, in all dimensions of my life. He plants His Word in my heart. The more I read it and pray on it, the more I recall it when I become challenged. Baffling situations are less intimidating, for I am confident the Lord is with me. I know the feeling of His presence.

Sitting with Him, studying what I have right here with Him, blesses me beyond words. And that’s why I come back, to use what I already have, and to more deeply appreciate the lasting, eternal value of His endless love. All glory is His forever.

All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, for training in righteousness; so that the man of God may be adequate, equipped for every good work.

–  2 Timothy 3:16-17

Of Books There Is No End….

I love books. Love, love, love books. To look at them, hear and talk about them, collect and share them, and of course, devour them with my mind.

One of my fondest memories of plowing through a big ‘ol stack is from fifth grade. My parents had given me a boxed set of all the Laura Ingalls Wilder books for Chriimagestmas, and I spent the two weeks before I had to go back to school lying on our olive green and harvest gold plaid sofa reading them back-to-back. Those were the days!

Today, I can’t read as voraciously, as the responsibilities of adulthood – and more to it, parenthood – have changed both my priorities and my schedule. Nevertheless, this year I’ve been doing a Reading Challenge with some friends, and have so far read 16 books in a variety of categories. It’s been an intellectual joy to read James Michener for the first time, and to rediscover authors like F. Scott Fitzgerald and Tennessee Williams, whose works I hadn’t laid eyes on in decades. I’ve also read some popular new authors, like Garth Stein and Mitch Albom, and others I think have written modern classics, such as Sue Monk Kidd.

But the most interesting development for me during this little “challenge,” has been that I may not complete it, due to the fact that I can’t stop reading the other books which I’ve found feed me. I’m talking about spiritual reading – by authors like Stasi Eldredge, Ann Voskamp, and Allen Hunt. Their books redirect my thoughts to the higher plane. The place where I am called to live, and move, and have my being.

These authors also send me reaching for God’s Word, because they continuously point to the Source of their souls’ joy, and the more I grow in faith, the more I want to read His words myself.

I have always sensed that there is something more powerful about the Bible than any other book, and that’s probably why I avoided reading it for nearly 35 years. Simple verses here and there, taken out of context, were like sips of water on the tongue. Non-threatening. Ephemeral. Enjoyable for a short time.

But eventually I had bigger questions that only Love could answer. So, when I finally stopping wading in to the Bible only to my ankles, and instead dove in and spent real time swimming around in it, I found it is indeed powerful. Life changing. Living. And best of all – more satisfying than I had EVER imagined.

And my journey into this fascinating tome – the amazing depth and breadth of God’s love story to each of us told through many authors over thousands of years – will never end. For new discoveries can be made every time it is opened. It speaks on the topics of….well, everything. Just today, I happened upon this passage, which prompted me to write this post.

         Of the making of books there is no end, and in much study there is weariness for the flesh.
         The last word, when all is heard: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is man’s all; because God will bring to judgment every work, with all it’s hidden qualities, whether good or bad.
– Ecclesiastes 12:12-14

Truly, people have and are writing books about everything imaginable. “Of the making of books there is no end.” It’s a colorful, gorgeous world, which begs to be celebrated in the written word. But my flesh grows weary without the sustenance of the Lord. And I am called once again to consider the books with which I spend my time.

Watchmen in a Lofty Tower

My second job after graduating from college was working for Chanel. Yes – the fashion company. I had majored in French and got my position as an assistant to the president because I would be answering many phone calls from France, and I needed to be prepared to launch into whichever language the caller preferred.

Anyway, one of my responsibilities was to cull through a stack of glossy magazines every morning until I found the Chanel ad. Then, I would place the open magazine on a stack in the president’s office for his review. (Now, if you’re thinking that this is beginning to sound like a job that’s a bit too simple for a college grad, you’ll be happy to know your line of thinking is right in line with mine. When I realized I wasn’t going to be able to hop departments, I took my perfume and cosmetic freebies, and a few heavily marked-down scarves and clothes, and politely scooted out of there in less than 6 months….but that’s another story.)

My point is this: at Chanel, we were selling a “look” and a “lifestyle.” Image truly was everything. Branding was the holy grail. Ad placement  was critical to success and to maintaining the consumers’ faith that our products were superior, favored by a certain class of people, and likely to help users fit into that social niche as well. This is what targeting sales to a particular group is all about. You want your buyers to feel they are “in.”

Fast forward twenty years. I don’t have a single Chanel cosmetic in my  home (I do have the scarves, I admit), but I’m still a consumer (and we all are) – just of a different sort. I don’t read many magazines…but here are the two currently on my coffee table:

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I’m a sucker for these – Real Simple and Good Housekeeping. I even like the titles. I mean, really – who doesn’t want to “streamline your wardrobe and your space,” “get a discount on anything,” “clean anything,” find “great gifts,” have fun in the backyard, and make easy meals your kids will eat featuring roasted red peppers cut into star shapes???!!  Me?!!?  I’m doing all of this – this week!!

Right. Sanity break. Or mental break down.

So, why do I bring this all up? Well, those of you who read my blog regularly know that I write about my faith. And this morning, I was shuffling through the Word when I came across two passages which just really spoke to me. The first is this:

O Lord, our God, other lords than you have ruled us;

it is from you only that we can call upon your name. 

 – Isaiah 26:3

If we think we have “no other gods before Him” we are deceiving ourselves. How often have I allowed my desires to have the perfect home, wear just the right thing, or look a certain way to encroach upon or supersede entirely, God’s place of highest honor in my life and heart? This is a hard, hard question for me to face head on, because I have a long history of caring way too much about what others think of me. But I know that living like that, is living in chains.

The second passage is this one:

Every counselor points out a way, but some counsel ways of their own; Be on the alert when one proffers advice, find out first of all what he wants, For he may be thinking of himself alone; why should the profit fall to him? …

A man’s conscience can tell his situation better than seven watchmen in a lofty tower. Most important of all, pray to God to set your feet in the path of truth.

– Sirach 37: 7-8, 14-15

When I worked for Chanel, our offices were on the upper floors of a gleaming skyscraper overlooking Central Park in New York City. The taxicabs and buses below were miniature vehicles driving on gray lines around a green rectangle. Pedestrians resembled ants. From that vantage point, knowing we catered to an elite clientele, it certainly seemed like we were watchmen in a lofty tower.

But today I know – I don’t need watchmen – whether they’re conveying their counsel through magazines or over cups of coffee. Because, however well-intentioned or ‘fun’ it might be, the key for me is recognizing that I already have everything I need to make wise choices in my life. It’s about me, my conscience, and deepening my ongoing relationship with God.

Now that’s Real Simple.

Cut Me Open

I watched a video this morning that pinned me to my chair.  I was consciously overriding nausea, because I just had to see. It was of a dead shark being cut open, and I get weak at the sight of blood.  In 9th grade Biology, I fainted while trying to help dissect a fetal pig (and knew right then I’d never go to medical school). I’ve even sworn off ever baking a red velvet cake. I did it one time. And once was enough. When the bright red batter accidentally splattered all over the counter and walls, my knees buckled and I had to grip the countertop repeatedly telling myself, “It’s only cake!” to be able to clean up the mess. So, it’s no small feat that I watched this video.  There isn’t even that much blood in it. This is a fish we’re talking about.

Anyway – the amazing thing is, inside this dead shark are 3 living baby sharks. And I was gobsmacked by the message I got from watching.  I am the dead thing, and there is a hand that wants to free me. 

Lately, for more than a couple days or hours, I’ve heard some edginess in my tone of voice.  I’ve become irritable with other people and with situations when they didn’t live up to my preconceived expectations. I’ve harbored a couple specific resentments, pathetically mulling over injustices done to me. And this shark video conveniently showed up in my life right after I read these words to my daughter in her devotional last night:

“When you sin, it’s like slowly cutting your soul off from God, and your soul starts to wither and die.  The result of sin is not a bad day or a bad mood, but a dead soul. The signs are easy to spot – lying lips and cursing mouths, feet that run to do evil and eyes that don’t see God. But….the soul can be healed- through Jesus. And all you have to do is ask.”*

I used to think the word “sin was antiquated. And that “sinner” really didn’t apply to me. I could justify anything I’d done that I knew was just “a little bit” wrong. But eventually, I realized that sin is just the term for anything that keeps me from a close relationship with God – and that I was full of it. I may not have lied constantly or committed a heinous crime, but I had murdered people’s reputations by speaking poorly of them, I’d stolen people’s happiness with sarcastic remarks that took advantage of their soft spots, and I’d cursed others by harboring jealousy in my heart for things they had but I didn’t, while failing to see blessings – signs of God and his love – in my own life.

When I came to this realization, I also knew I couldn’t free myself from what I’d done, because the voice inside – the one that told me all along what was right and what was not – had become so faint and muted. My justifications had been, to my mind, quite witty, and smart.  They were overpowering that voice.  I almost couldn’t hear it anymore.

Yet, I wanted to get rid of that dull, heavy, dead feeling I was carrying around all the time.  I needed to be free, and nothing I’d tried before had worked. So I tried the one “crazy” thing that lots of people before me had apparently tried – I asked Jesus if He was really out there, and could He help me?

The conversion of my heart was an unfolding event – a slow process of discovery that confirmed my suspicions. He really was out there.  And also, really right here.  And most of all, really real.  No, He doesn’t text, or email, or use the phone (though how I wish He would), but He does show up and talk to me all the time – through people I meet, things I hear and see, and when I’m still, often when I pray, through that little voice.  I can go along for a time ignoring Him, but the longer I do that, the deeper I sink into ugliness, until my I know my life is wasting away, because that’s what sin does: It kills me. 

So – back to the shark mother, dead on a beach… How does it apply to me?  For life’s sake, something must be done.  Today I choose to roll over and expose my vulnerable belly – to be gutted – by a loving hand.

I have come to accept that I will always be a sinner, because my time on earth is not about me doing everything perfectly.  I can’t.  Only He can.  But I can be free from the deadness within myself by asking Him to come in and strip it away, to let loose the new life in me. He does. And He will. Always. For this is His promise to us.  And as I’ve said before – He is absolutely pure.  Without sin.  So He cannot lie.  He can only keep His promises.

So Jesus said again…”Amen, amen, I say to you…A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy; I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” 

– John 10: 7, 10

* Max Lucado, Grace for the Moment – 365 Devotions for Kids (Nashville, TN: Tommy Nelson, 2012), 355.

 

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Day 25 – The Little Plant

My daughter’s little plant, in its clear plastic cup, was drooping when I came down for breakfast this morning. It sits in our kitchen bay window, where the night’s cold weather probably exacerbated its fragile state. Its’ tightly curled leaves clung from limp stems and for the first time, I noticed that its roots were pressed firmly to the sides of the cup, begging for H2O. ‘If it survives,’ I thought, ‘a repotting would be in order.’  I took it to the sink, sprinkled it carefully, and put it back in the morning sunlight.image

Often, things are more resilient than they appear. By the time I’d eaten, finished my tea, and read the paper, the plant was completely revived.  I had met its most basic need – water.

We all know there was no magic involved. The roots carried the water upward and nourished the plant’s cells.  So it is with me. I too, need water. Living water.  Too often I forget that it is always available to me – a gift freely given.  I rely only on insufficient ‘helps’ – my intellect, my creativity, my willpower, my handy electronic gadgets – to reach out in all directions, micromanage my time and my life, and cover as much ground as possible. The end is always the same. I hit my walls of exhaustion, resentment, and anger.

When I have done this to myself, and am therefore left weakened and easily battered by the elements of this world, the help I need is within.  The roots of my soul must reconnect with the living water. The Spirit is my refreshment, restoration, hope, and source of love and comfort.  And it gives me the assurance that I need never go thirsty again.

Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God

and who it is that asks you for a drink,

you would have asked him

and he would have given you living water.”

– John 4:10