The book Endurance by Alfred Lansing, has been labeled "A thrilling reading experience! One of the greatest adventure stories of our times" by the New York Times Book Review. I began this tremendous read in October during a trip to the Rocky Mountains with my extended family. My father, bless his heart, fell ill during the holiday. Nothing tragic or life-threatening--simply a virus which chose to infect his body and thus thwarted his relaxing, recreational getaway with loved ones.
Feeling sorry for his need to stay at the cabin and rest while the lot of us enjoyed the delightful 60-70 degree weather, I loaned him my book, stating he was sure to enjoy it's adventurous tale of true events. In short, he took to the the pages of Endurance with such gusto, I could only steal it away from him during his naps, which, upon awakening, turned his mood quite sour. Reluctantly, I returned the book to him to finish.
Around Thanksgiving, I requested my book returned me. My father said he had placed it safely in the side compartment of my son's duffel bag upon our last visit. "I have not seen it," I replied confused and a little perturbed. My mind had not ceased in repeating the journey (as far as I had read) of the twenty-nine men on their Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition gone array. "Maybe someone took it from the bag..." he suggested.
The only possiblity lay with my mother-in-law who, at the time, housed my brother-in-law who himself had tarried three times on the frozen continent of Antarctica. She may have stumbled across the book in the boys' bag and understandably thought it his instead of mine. My assumption proved correct when I found a copy of the book (he had the exact edition) stashed inside the guestroom nightstand. The personally named bookmark remained entombed at the spot I had paused my reading and loaned to my father.
My heart was delighted and I wasted no time devouring the book for an hour.
Per the usual for non-fiction biographical recollections, parts proved painfully slow and so commenced my mental consumption. Other times, I comprehended and read with enthusiasm. My goal was to finish in a week or two, but other books, the Bible and my current small group study manual, vied for my attention and the early 20th century story often went to the wayside
The year's end closed quickly. Determined to finish the inspiring tale of Ernest Shackleton, I read and read and, on December 31, 2010, I finished Endurance, a book which, as trivial as it sounds, moved my soul like no other book aside from the Bible itself.
If you have never read, please do not hesitate to pick up and pour yourself into the tale of unsung heroism, terrible odds, undying hope and ultimate triumph. This book has made it into my personal hall of fame. Even as I type this blog, my heart's in a vice; tears are near falling. These men may have known Jesus as their Savior, or they may not have had the privilege. Truly, I hope they came to know Him after surviving such an exceptional voyage seen through by only God Himself, which has inspired me (among others, I presume), to live my life with new enthusiasm and wonder.
Yet, I cannot help but ponder, "Could I have accomplished such a feat? Not necessarily physically, but mentally? Could I today, in my immediate state, persevere through such daunting occurences, bleak outcomes, and dismal surroundings?" These men were tough, not only in physique, but in mind and soul. That said, they could not possibly have survived, without a heavenly hand guiding each of their steps during such a perilous trek.
As I have seen/heard others do as of late, I am giving a title for my 2010 and aiming a name for my 2011. This year, which has passed, has been wrought with heartache for me. Difficult circumstances God has allowed in His sovereignty have brought me further into His confidence, revealing His nature like I have not known before. My faith has wavered, yes, doubts about my path in life has entered, but I have not set foot on another road. The Holy Spirit, in His wise counsel, has kept me steadfast amidst many questions that continue even now. You see, my 2010 has been a disappointment in many ways. I feel more a sinner and further from understanding God than ever before and in the same breath I cannot cease in praising His unconditional love. Therefore, I give the name, BROKEN, to my 2010.
2011 may prove to be simliar in many respects. Trials and hardships are certain, as any believer may concur. But Shackleton's voyage has given me hope. I long to not only be prepared for the Lord's return, but, like the 23 marooned men on Elephant Island who awaited their leader's rescue, I desire to do so with faithful anticipation. American Christians have been labeled "light weights" by brothers and sisters in Christ around the world. We experience little persecution in comparison. Our hardships are set more to the course of staying pure in a defiled world. Not becoming deluded by Satan's stomping ground. Continuing the course, as lights shining in the darkness. Doing deeds indicative of Christ Himself.
Thus, the title I pronounce upon my 2011 is ENDURE. For that is what I desire, with all my heart to achieve from this day forward. Endure in faith; endure in hope; endure in love. For the darkness is coming and the Lord's is about to return.
Will you join me, friend?
Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Oh, so tired
I recently met a woman. She looked awful. No, really, she looked terrible. Haggard, weathered, worn. Just plain tired. I inquired of this woman what could be the reason behind her tiresome appearance. She informed me of this: "I am exhausted."
No offense, but yes; that is obvious. But of what? Why?
"I don't know."
Really?
"Yes, really," she replied her eyes not even able to shift from the floor to meet my gaze.
You mean to tell me you have no clue what it is that makes you so super-duper sloth-like?
"You got it," a smirk came across her down-turned lips, or at least I think so--my view of her mouth has been impinged by her humped back. "I'm not real sure--well, that's not true. I'm pretty certain my exhaustion does not come from physical labor. And I am quite sure mental stress has nothing to do with my tired state. Emotionally, I am up and down a little. I tend to cry more than usual, but--you know, now that I think about it's--it's spiritual."
What?
"Spiritual!" Her reply came quicker, surer and with a little more passion than she had employed the moment earlier. Her point of reference, which she seemed to be fixed upon, still remained on the floor; yet instead of gazing at the tops of her flip-flopped feet, her eyes had moved forward slightly. She now stared at the tops of my dirty athletic shoes--a good three feet to the better.
I continued my questioning. How could I not? The woman was in distress; I truly desired to be of service. And, selfishly, I wanted to know more.
Prompted not by me, the woman spoke freely. "Spiritual. Yes, that is what makes me so tired, so weary, so, so...sad."
Are you a believer in Jesus Christ? For if so, He has freely given us the gift of eternal life through faith in Him...
"I am, dear sister in the Lord. And this I already know. Yet, yet...I hear from so many other followers of Christ that I must do more to retain my salvation. And because I am not sure if they are wrong or not, I have been re-baptized (once sprinkled for my Methodist friends, and another time submerged for my Baptist friends). I partake in communion often (using grape juice for my Evangelical friends and wine for my Lutheran friends). I sing songs to the Lord (contemporary praises for my young friends and hymns for my aged friends). I pray often (outloud and in tongues for my charismatic friends and silent and reserved for my Catholic friends). You see, the list goes on and on."
Oh. Wow. I do see...
"You do? You see what?" The woman raised her eyebrows, and like a puppeteer, her glazed eyes shifted futher north. She now stared at the heighth of my knees.
I see why you're so tired. Do you not know that none of that matters for your salvation?
"Well..."
Do you not remember that "God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life" (John 3:16)? As I spoke God's Word, His wonderful Truth, the woman seemed to lighten. Her back rose slightly, bowed with an unseen weight, and her eyes moved up--ever closer to my own.
I continued. "For we are saved by grace through faith and not by works so that no man may boast" (Ephesians 2:8,9).
"Oh...oh..." It seemed the modern day equal to the miraculous healing times when Jesus walked the earth in human form. Right before my very eyes, this poor, sad, down-trodden, burdened woman seemed to grasp the desperatley needed balm in the Word of the Lord.
Her eyes were so very close to meeting mine. Who are you? I wondered. Scripture poured from my spirit: "The one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out" (John 6:37), "This is the will of the Father who sent Me, that of all He has given Me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up at the last day" (John 6:39), "He who believes in Me has everlasting life" (John 3:47), "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 6:23), and "But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8). You see, poor woman, Christ has already done all the work for salvation. You can rest in Him...
With each Word, with every syllable of God's undeniable Truth, the woman morphed physically; mimicking her internal spiritual change. Gradually, slowly her posture straightened and her eyes moved up, up, up... and I saw her face.
The woman...was me.
No offense, but yes; that is obvious. But of what? Why?
"I don't know."
Really?
"Yes, really," she replied her eyes not even able to shift from the floor to meet my gaze.
You mean to tell me you have no clue what it is that makes you so super-duper sloth-like?
"You got it," a smirk came across her down-turned lips, or at least I think so--my view of her mouth has been impinged by her humped back. "I'm not real sure--well, that's not true. I'm pretty certain my exhaustion does not come from physical labor. And I am quite sure mental stress has nothing to do with my tired state. Emotionally, I am up and down a little. I tend to cry more than usual, but--you know, now that I think about it's--it's spiritual."
What?
"Spiritual!" Her reply came quicker, surer and with a little more passion than she had employed the moment earlier. Her point of reference, which she seemed to be fixed upon, still remained on the floor; yet instead of gazing at the tops of her flip-flopped feet, her eyes had moved forward slightly. She now stared at the tops of my dirty athletic shoes--a good three feet to the better.
I continued my questioning. How could I not? The woman was in distress; I truly desired to be of service. And, selfishly, I wanted to know more.
Prompted not by me, the woman spoke freely. "Spiritual. Yes, that is what makes me so tired, so weary, so, so...sad."
Are you a believer in Jesus Christ? For if so, He has freely given us the gift of eternal life through faith in Him...
"I am, dear sister in the Lord. And this I already know. Yet, yet...I hear from so many other followers of Christ that I must do more to retain my salvation. And because I am not sure if they are wrong or not, I have been re-baptized (once sprinkled for my Methodist friends, and another time submerged for my Baptist friends). I partake in communion often (using grape juice for my Evangelical friends and wine for my Lutheran friends). I sing songs to the Lord (contemporary praises for my young friends and hymns for my aged friends). I pray often (outloud and in tongues for my charismatic friends and silent and reserved for my Catholic friends). You see, the list goes on and on."
Oh. Wow. I do see...
"You do? You see what?" The woman raised her eyebrows, and like a puppeteer, her glazed eyes shifted futher north. She now stared at the heighth of my knees.
I see why you're so tired. Do you not know that none of that matters for your salvation?
"Well..."
Do you not remember that "God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish, but have eternal life" (John 3:16)? As I spoke God's Word, His wonderful Truth, the woman seemed to lighten. Her back rose slightly, bowed with an unseen weight, and her eyes moved up--ever closer to my own.
I continued. "For we are saved by grace through faith and not by works so that no man may boast" (Ephesians 2:8,9).
"Oh...oh..." It seemed the modern day equal to the miraculous healing times when Jesus walked the earth in human form. Right before my very eyes, this poor, sad, down-trodden, burdened woman seemed to grasp the desperatley needed balm in the Word of the Lord.
Her eyes were so very close to meeting mine. Who are you? I wondered. Scripture poured from my spirit: "The one who comes to Me I will by no means cast out" (John 6:37), "This is the will of the Father who sent Me, that of all He has given Me I should lose nothing, but should raise it up at the last day" (John 6:39), "He who believes in Me has everlasting life" (John 3:47), "For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord" (Romans 6:23), and "But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8). You see, poor woman, Christ has already done all the work for salvation. You can rest in Him...
With each Word, with every syllable of God's undeniable Truth, the woman morphed physically; mimicking her internal spiritual change. Gradually, slowly her posture straightened and her eyes moved up, up, up... and I saw her face.
The woman...was me.
Friday, October 22, 2010
The Bestest Birthday Yet
Yes, you English grammar snobs, I do know "bestest" is not proper, but heck, it's my blog and my birthday so I'll cry...err, misspell if I want to.
Ok, enough of that silliness, my birthday began in a wonderful manner. Allow me to explain (cue transition music).
It started like any other morning. I rose from my bed, groggy and grumpy, thanked the Lord for His goodness and faithfulness (which washed away a good measure of my bad attitude), and walked downstairs to exercise before reading and cooking breakfast. My workout finished, I proceeded upstairs to stare into my practically empty fridge and wonder aloud, "Why is there nothing to eat?" A usually untrue statement in America. Nevertheless, I managed to whip up a batch of pancakes and soon enough my children and I were sitting at the table enjoying flapjacks and good company.
Then the phone rang. My friend had called to wish me a happy day of my birth and we began our usual lengthy discourse. During this time, my two sons covertly transformed the living room into a festive dwelling few could deny as absolutely extraordinary--especially considering their ages (4 and 5). In a matter of fifteen minutes, the two had carried in the children's plastic picnic table from the deck, pulled a comforter from their bed to serve as a tablecloth, decorated the walls and furniture with easter eggs and stuffed animals, while providing entertainment with a puppet show, slight of hand magic trick, and my favorite board game "Mystery Mansion." To top that (I know, how can you?), the two scoured the house to find items from my childhood. They presented me a box overflowing with nostalgia: a cowgirl hat from my youth, a stuffed dog I had long ago named Cuddles, and my childhood detective kit (or all the pieces the two could find).
If my day would have decided to turned into a Grinch-style birthday, I doubt it would have phased me. The Lord used the wonder, joy and compassion of children to give me one of the bestest (shhh!) birthdays I have ever had.
Ok, enough of that silliness, my birthday began in a wonderful manner. Allow me to explain (cue transition music).
It started like any other morning. I rose from my bed, groggy and grumpy, thanked the Lord for His goodness and faithfulness (which washed away a good measure of my bad attitude), and walked downstairs to exercise before reading and cooking breakfast. My workout finished, I proceeded upstairs to stare into my practically empty fridge and wonder aloud, "Why is there nothing to eat?" A usually untrue statement in America. Nevertheless, I managed to whip up a batch of pancakes and soon enough my children and I were sitting at the table enjoying flapjacks and good company.
Then the phone rang. My friend had called to wish me a happy day of my birth and we began our usual lengthy discourse. During this time, my two sons covertly transformed the living room into a festive dwelling few could deny as absolutely extraordinary--especially considering their ages (4 and 5). In a matter of fifteen minutes, the two had carried in the children's plastic picnic table from the deck, pulled a comforter from their bed to serve as a tablecloth, decorated the walls and furniture with easter eggs and stuffed animals, while providing entertainment with a puppet show, slight of hand magic trick, and my favorite board game "Mystery Mansion." To top that (I know, how can you?), the two scoured the house to find items from my childhood. They presented me a box overflowing with nostalgia: a cowgirl hat from my youth, a stuffed dog I had long ago named Cuddles, and my childhood detective kit (or all the pieces the two could find).
If my day would have decided to turned into a Grinch-style birthday, I doubt it would have phased me. The Lord used the wonder, joy and compassion of children to give me one of the bestest (shhh!) birthdays I have ever had.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Did I Misunderstand?
So, yesterday, I posted about my family's new direction--a whole new world, if you will. Well, I tell you what; if it's God's path for us, it sure has been bumpy.
I'll spare you from a retroactive explanation, to those maybe one or two of you who are reading. No need to tell the tale of where we have been regarding our journey thus far. But I will bring you up to speed by sharing my "today" story. Oh, yes--it's a daily dredge.
Over the weekend, God moved--big time. My husband, who had normally not been an extremely interactive individual when it came to conversing over the adoption option, became very open and outspoken. He said, "Ethopia, baby. And what about twins or siblings?" What the... never mind.
Excited as I was, I prayed in thanksgiving for this affirmation on our road to adoption. My husband recalled an article in our local paper about an adoption agency in Texas focusing on Ethopia.
Enter Monday morning, I called the agency. "We're sorry. No more applications are being taken for those seeking young children from Ethopia."
"Okay. Thank you."
What to do, what to do? Pray. So, with frustration dominating my mood, I chose to bow and pray. Thanksgiving parted my lips, even though my heart felt far from grateful. "Well," I contemplated, "there is another agency we've been looking at. Suppose I could give them a ring..."
As the story would have it, I dialed the toll-free number for a local agency who had a good reputation. We had family and friends who had been adopted through the organization.
"Hello, my name... I was wondering if you could tell me about your Ethiopia program?"
"What do you want to know?"
Hmmm...okay. "Well, I guess, fees and such. Also, if your program is still accepting applications. Others I have contacted are closed."
"Well, we're still open. What else do you want to know?"
This type of conversation continued between me and the director of this program for my area for about 5-10 minutes. After I hit "end" on the cell, I decided to send a comment to the program's information center. Here's what I wrote:
"Hello--I called and spoke with 'a' today about working with 'z.' I admit, I hung up disappointed in the way I had been treated. Maybe I had a case of the Mondays or maybe she did, but I am a Christian and believe 'z' represents the same--yet, the way 'a' spoke to me was abrupt, rude and I plain felt as though I had been bothering her by asking questions. When I inquired if there is anything else I needed to know, she literally laughed, making me feel about an inch high. Her attitude and approach were unappreciated and I hope, if we decide to work further with 'z,' that this is not the case again."
Did I misunderstand? Are we not supposed to adopt? (Yes, I am easily discouraged...)
A silver lining appeared later today.
After speaking with three different agencies (that was just today), we ended up picking Bethany Christian Services. Not the one I would have chosen initially, but then again, it's not about me...is it?
I'll spare you from a retroactive explanation, to those maybe one or two of you who are reading. No need to tell the tale of where we have been regarding our journey thus far. But I will bring you up to speed by sharing my "today" story. Oh, yes--it's a daily dredge.
Over the weekend, God moved--big time. My husband, who had normally not been an extremely interactive individual when it came to conversing over the adoption option, became very open and outspoken. He said, "Ethopia, baby. And what about twins or siblings?" What the... never mind.
Excited as I was, I prayed in thanksgiving for this affirmation on our road to adoption. My husband recalled an article in our local paper about an adoption agency in Texas focusing on Ethopia.
Enter Monday morning, I called the agency. "We're sorry. No more applications are being taken for those seeking young children from Ethopia."
"Okay. Thank you."
What to do, what to do? Pray. So, with frustration dominating my mood, I chose to bow and pray. Thanksgiving parted my lips, even though my heart felt far from grateful. "Well," I contemplated, "there is another agency we've been looking at. Suppose I could give them a ring..."
As the story would have it, I dialed the toll-free number for a local agency who had a good reputation. We had family and friends who had been adopted through the organization.
"Hello, my name... I was wondering if you could tell me about your Ethiopia program?"
"What do you want to know?"
Hmmm...okay. "Well, I guess, fees and such. Also, if your program is still accepting applications. Others I have contacted are closed."
"Well, we're still open. What else do you want to know?"
This type of conversation continued between me and the director of this program for my area for about 5-10 minutes. After I hit "end" on the cell, I decided to send a comment to the program's information center. Here's what I wrote:
"Hello--I called and spoke with 'a' today about working with 'z.' I admit, I hung up disappointed in the way I had been treated. Maybe I had a case of the Mondays or maybe she did, but I am a Christian and believe 'z' represents the same--yet, the way 'a' spoke to me was abrupt, rude and I plain felt as though I had been bothering her by asking questions. When I inquired if there is anything else I needed to know, she literally laughed, making me feel about an inch high. Her attitude and approach were unappreciated and I hope, if we decide to work further with 'z,' that this is not the case again."
Did I misunderstand? Are we not supposed to adopt? (Yes, I am easily discouraged...)
A silver lining appeared later today.
After speaking with three different agencies (that was just today), we ended up picking Bethany Christian Services. Not the one I would have chosen initially, but then again, it's not about me...is it?
Sunday, October 17, 2010
A Whole New World
I am turning 30-years-old this coming Thursday. Yes. I am no longer in my twenties. Does this bother me? Not as much as I thought it would. But I definitely think my thirities will hold a fantastic new world. One with a surprising amount of reality, truth and light, while offering less of the antonyms associated with said trifecta.
As some may have realized, I am a follower of Jesus Christ. A follower, whom I pray, does not give Jesus a bad name. But knowing my downfalls and sinfulness despite full forgiveness through belief in His death and resurrection; I'm sure I am a poor ambassador at times for the "J" man.
This coming year, as I turn 30 and leave my twenties behind, I look forward to what the Lord has in store. "Look forward" is said lightly; God often throws twists, turns, trials and many difficult tests into the lives of those who long to sit at His feet. Though I often find my mind wandering when He desires my full attention, I do (in my broken way) desire to rest in His teachings. "Come to me all you who are weary and heaven-laden and I will give you rest..." Jesus goes on to explain that we can exchange the burden of the world for His yoke (teaching). He swears it is light and does not work us to the bone. Do I believe this? Yes. I have experienced this. Christ's "yoke" requires no work on our part in light of eternal salvation; He has completed the task, run the race, fought the fight. And He did not do so for selfish gain. No. He did so for the benefit of the elect--all those who come to faith in Jesus Christ are sealed until the day of salvation in the Father's hand. We are forgiven, redeemed, saved.
One truth Christ's yoke has attempted to etch onto my heart: the importance of prayer. I have sat at His feet and asked for things and yet never received. Why? Because I ask with wrong motives so that I may spend it on myself. Lately, the subject at hand: children.
Having endured two back-to-back 12 week miscarriages (complete with DNC's) I found myself demanding things of God. And all I received in return was silence. That made me confused and hurt. But God was not silent--He was just waiting, whispering, willing His onto this Earth. My hands held the task of patience, full submission and utter trust.
Well, I haven't even turned 30 yet and I forsee a wonderful life-changing event coming my way: Adoption.
My husband and I have put the subject at the foot of the cross and it seems the Lord is moving us in that direction. My sarcastic human side wants to scream, "Finally!" Yet, God is: never late, never early, but always on time. I have no idea what this journey toward/into adoption will look like. But I do know my God (the one and only God) is good and great. I find rest for my weary bones only in Him.
And that, my friends, is the beginning of my whole new world.
So long twenties.
Enter the thirties.
As some may have realized, I am a follower of Jesus Christ. A follower, whom I pray, does not give Jesus a bad name. But knowing my downfalls and sinfulness despite full forgiveness through belief in His death and resurrection; I'm sure I am a poor ambassador at times for the "J" man.
This coming year, as I turn 30 and leave my twenties behind, I look forward to what the Lord has in store. "Look forward" is said lightly; God often throws twists, turns, trials and many difficult tests into the lives of those who long to sit at His feet. Though I often find my mind wandering when He desires my full attention, I do (in my broken way) desire to rest in His teachings. "Come to me all you who are weary and heaven-laden and I will give you rest..." Jesus goes on to explain that we can exchange the burden of the world for His yoke (teaching). He swears it is light and does not work us to the bone. Do I believe this? Yes. I have experienced this. Christ's "yoke" requires no work on our part in light of eternal salvation; He has completed the task, run the race, fought the fight. And He did not do so for selfish gain. No. He did so for the benefit of the elect--all those who come to faith in Jesus Christ are sealed until the day of salvation in the Father's hand. We are forgiven, redeemed, saved.
One truth Christ's yoke has attempted to etch onto my heart: the importance of prayer. I have sat at His feet and asked for things and yet never received. Why? Because I ask with wrong motives so that I may spend it on myself. Lately, the subject at hand: children.
Having endured two back-to-back 12 week miscarriages (complete with DNC's) I found myself demanding things of God. And all I received in return was silence. That made me confused and hurt. But God was not silent--He was just waiting, whispering, willing His onto this Earth. My hands held the task of patience, full submission and utter trust.
Well, I haven't even turned 30 yet and I forsee a wonderful life-changing event coming my way: Adoption.
My husband and I have put the subject at the foot of the cross and it seems the Lord is moving us in that direction. My sarcastic human side wants to scream, "Finally!" Yet, God is: never late, never early, but always on time. I have no idea what this journey toward/into adoption will look like. But I do know my God (the one and only God) is good and great. I find rest for my weary bones only in Him.
And that, my friends, is the beginning of my whole new world.
So long twenties.
Enter the thirties.
Monday, April 5, 2010
OK. So, it's been a while since I've published a few of my thoughts onto the Inter-web. A long while. My time has been filled with less writing and more reading/digitally publishing the wonderful written work of others (not a bad gig).
Other than messing on the computer and taking care of my boys, what has been on my mind? Good question. My answer to that excellent inquiry is this: Trust.
On so may levels, trust is fundamental to a healthy relationship. Love remains primary, but faith (I consider that practically synonymous with trust) comes in a quick second. See, trust is falling apart all around me theses days. A close relative and her hubby of almost ten years are separated. Long story, and too personal to put on the web, so I won't, but basically--they aren't sure if they can trust each other any more. Lies and broken promises have become battering rams to the heart.
A close friend is going through the same thing with his wife of, oh, I don't know--20+ years of marriage. She hurts with her words (I'm sure he isn't innocent, either) and therefore the vital runner up recipient "trust" is coming in first to last.
A girlfriend and her husband closed on a house just to find out that the previous owners had been dishonest. A few days after the deal went through, the couple found out the house has high radon levels (needs to be vented, which equals about $1000+). Instead of telling my friends the results of the test, the previous owners concealed the information until after the papers were signed, then cut the cords to the hot tub and ran out of town taking with them the appliances the families had verbally agreed upon leaving.
And this is the short list! I'm frustrated, people. Whatever happened to "my word is my bond?" When a man and woman stand before judge, friends, family, and uh, GOD, do we not take seriously the vows we recite? Am I mistaken or did such honor and integrity exist in our world at one time?
It did! Heck, read the Old Testament and see. When the Lord made a promise He kept His word. Likewise, the Israelites (God's chosen people) learned from their heavenly Dad. They knew the enormous importance of following through to the "t" on a claim made. Even if it meant giving up the life of your only child (I feel for you, Jephthah the Gileadite--read about J's commitment to keeping his word in Judges 11).
So, where does that leave us? With our world going to hell in a hand basket and so many people backpeddling on their promises so fast they stumble and fall, who is left to trust? Is there anyone?
The truth: no. No man is worthy of our trust. But just because our world lacks the conviction of following through with a promise doesn't mean we are left to walk in such a way, right? Or are we simply expected to follow in the misguided, death-filled footsteps of those around us? Is there no hope for me--someone who wants, no--rather longs to trust?
There is.
There is ONE who has not changed.
There is ONE who has never backpeddled on His word.
There is ONE who deserves all our trust, and in turn, aids us to love and maybe even trust those who are untrustable.
Do you know the ONE I speak of?
Ask me; I'd love to tell you all about Him.
Other than messing on the computer and taking care of my boys, what has been on my mind? Good question. My answer to that excellent inquiry is this: Trust.
On so may levels, trust is fundamental to a healthy relationship. Love remains primary, but faith (I consider that practically synonymous with trust) comes in a quick second. See, trust is falling apart all around me theses days. A close relative and her hubby of almost ten years are separated. Long story, and too personal to put on the web, so I won't, but basically--they aren't sure if they can trust each other any more. Lies and broken promises have become battering rams to the heart.
A close friend is going through the same thing with his wife of, oh, I don't know--20+ years of marriage. She hurts with her words (I'm sure he isn't innocent, either) and therefore the vital runner up recipient "trust" is coming in first to last.
A girlfriend and her husband closed on a house just to find out that the previous owners had been dishonest. A few days after the deal went through, the couple found out the house has high radon levels (needs to be vented, which equals about $1000+). Instead of telling my friends the results of the test, the previous owners concealed the information until after the papers were signed, then cut the cords to the hot tub and ran out of town taking with them the appliances the families had verbally agreed upon leaving.
And this is the short list! I'm frustrated, people. Whatever happened to "my word is my bond?" When a man and woman stand before judge, friends, family, and uh, GOD, do we not take seriously the vows we recite? Am I mistaken or did such honor and integrity exist in our world at one time?
It did! Heck, read the Old Testament and see. When the Lord made a promise He kept His word. Likewise, the Israelites (God's chosen people) learned from their heavenly Dad. They knew the enormous importance of following through to the "t" on a claim made. Even if it meant giving up the life of your only child (I feel for you, Jephthah the Gileadite--read about J's commitment to keeping his word in Judges 11).
So, where does that leave us? With our world going to hell in a hand basket and so many people backpeddling on their promises so fast they stumble and fall, who is left to trust? Is there anyone?
The truth: no. No man is worthy of our trust. But just because our world lacks the conviction of following through with a promise doesn't mean we are left to walk in such a way, right? Or are we simply expected to follow in the misguided, death-filled footsteps of those around us? Is there no hope for me--someone who wants, no--rather longs to trust?
There is.
There is ONE who has not changed.
There is ONE who has never backpeddled on His word.
There is ONE who deserves all our trust, and in turn, aids us to love and maybe even trust those who are untrustable.
Do you know the ONE I speak of?
Ask me; I'd love to tell you all about Him.
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