Saturday is my Sabbath, the one day per week I attempt to focus away from this world and fully on God. On this particular Saturday I was awoken by strong winds outside my window. I find irony in being woken from sleep so I can start resting, but life is often that way.
I started the day with this verse, the classic and probably most quoted passage on rest. My intent was to read it and pray my way into this day of spending time with Jesus. But irony struck again when I found myself drawn to a particular phrase in those familiar verses, as God began to peel back another layer from his Word and reveal something new.
If you missed the last two blogs in this series, you might go back and review what I was pissed off about and how we can go from pissed off to peace. Now that I’ve taken hold of peace and made it a priority in my life, I am ready to tackle the topic of love.
As I was preparing to write this blog I attended a conference during which one of the speakers addressed how we go about loving the God who loves us. In fact, the conference theme was “Pursuing Christ Together in Love.” Funny how he delivers the words you need at the right time.
It was the coolest morning we had seen since spring, the first hint of fall, and the day of my son’s tenth birthday party. The sun was rising, birds were chirping, an excited boy was up and preparing for his day, and I was looking forward to coffee on the patio before it all got started. Walking into the kitchen I saw something on the floor, and quickly realized what it was: the birthday cake. Half-eaten, icing licked off, and completely ruined, there sat the cake I had picked up just twelve hours prior. The perpetrator of this crime walked over, happily wagging her tail and greeting me, unaware of how perturbed I was with her at this particular moment. This was not the peaceful fall morning I wanted.
Walking through this latest season of pandemic surge, I had not been able to shake loose this dark cloud I felt over me. I went about my usual things: prayer, Bible reading, exercise, work, family time, even summer fun times. None of them settled this dust bowl I was in. It’s been swirling around me, pulling me into its filth and blinding me from seeing anything good. I knew it was there and I didn’t like it, yet I could not escape. It took some time to realize the reason for my entrapment. The problem wasn’t the dirty vortex of opinions, accusations, and misinformation that seem to continuously spin around as we debate politics, masks, vaccines, and international terrorists. What was tethering me in my position was not an external force, it was an internal choice to remain pissed off.
I began to realize that, while life has brought me many meaningful and humbling lessons, I don’t want to rehash the past. I hopefully have a full life ahead of me, but I don’t feel like pondering the future either. What feels right is to sit this forty-year-old rump down, exactly where God has planted it, and experience today.
Hello, I’m Jen. I’m new to writing this blog. My husband said he didn’t want to be married to me on Christmas Day. There you have it, the concise introduction — a three sentence and 27 official word summary of my current moment. My current moment. A timeline in my journey, a fork in the road, an opportunity for reflection, a chance to start over, a road to a brighter future, a welcome from Christ to get back to know him.
Christians today often refer to themselves as the hands and feet of Jesus, but I never hear anyone boldly proclaim to be Jesus’s ligament. When I read Paul’s description of the body of Christ, I was struck by his chosen emphasis. He could have mentioned so many parts of a body. Out of all the organs, bones, and complex components that make up our bodies, the two things Paul chooses to highlight in this letter are Christ as the head, and ligaments.
Last week we all watched as yet another public display of people behaving badly. More deaths, more destruction of property, this time at our nation’s Capitol. As the events unfolded, people reacted. Many are once again shocked and upset, and it’s understandable. Over the last year I’ve heard people ask if we’re going to hell in a handbasket more than once, and I get the sentiment.
To others it might seem cliche: a suburban family going on their annual ski trip. To us, it’s memories in the making and legends of a lifetime. For whatever reason, we tend to run into travel woes on these trips, and I thought it would be fun to recount them. The following is the account of our adventures.
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