Passover

Monday night (the beginning of Tuesday by Jewish reckoning), we celebrated Passover with some friends via Skype.  Despite some technology glitches, we were able to have a delightful time together, laughing, listening in awe to the story, reading truth together, letting tastes linger as tangible pictures on our tongues.  Remembering the One who is our great Deliverer.  The Bread broken for us.  The spotless Lamb of God. 

Homemade matza (unleavened bread)

The other end of our Passover table was hundreds of miles away! :-)

Take, eat, remember.

Remember the story of deliverance.

Remember the Light who shines in the darkness.

Am I too comfortable?

Disturb us, Lord, when 

We are too well pleased with ourselves, 
 

When our dreams have come true 

Because we have dreamed too little, 
 

When we arrive safely 

Because we sailed too close to the shore. 


Disturb us, Lord, when 

With the abundance of things we possess

We have lost our thirst for the waters of life;

Having fallen in love with life, 

We have ceased to dream of eternity
,

And in our efforts to build a new earth, 
 

We have allowed our vision 

Of the new Heaven to dim. 


Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly, 

To venture on wider seas 


Where storms will show your mastery; 


Where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars. 


 

We ask You to push back 

The horizon of our hopes; 

And to push us into the future 

in strength, courage, hope, and love. 


 

This we ask in the name of our Captain, who is Jesus Christ. 

 

Sir Francis Drake, 1577 

 

 

*"The Hostage" was painted by Edmund Blair Leighton.

Of Jeeps and Joy

Has the Lord ever used something as silly as a finicky car to bring joy your day?

Today as I was out running errands, the Jeep decided to die quite suddenly. Thankfully I was stopped at a red light, but I'm afraid I panicked. One of my first thought was of the people in the pick-up behind me, but the gentleman held up a hand of patience, as if he knew I was stressed out and trying to restart my vehicle.

I tried turning the key. Nothing. Again I tried. After what seemed like long slow minutes (really just a few seconds) I thought to put it in park, then tried again. With a grunting, reluctant chug, the engine started! I waved a thanks to the guy behind me as I cautiously started forward.

"Thank you, Lord!" I felt tearful gratitude and a wave of relief wash over me. I finished my last few errands and drove home, all the while acutely aware that the Jeep might decide it never got enough appreciation, and would try the dying act again.

But God has rescued me in car troubles before, and He probably will again. Of course I know every one of them had a mechanical explanation for why things went wrong or right. But that doesn't make the Lord any less involved in my rescue.

Today I was surprised to find that, as horrible as car troubles are (especially to a panic-prone, over-sensitive, needing-to-control person as me), I am actually so greatful when they do happen. Because the remind me I'm in God's hands - and what could bring more joy than realizing that!?!

We're all like cars, actually. From the outside we might look beat up, or brand new, but only He knows and controls how long we will last. I could die any day. I have no garuntee or promise that I will take another breath, so in the meantime, every one I take is a precious gift. If only I would remember that all the time! That's the sort of adventure every one of us lives, every day, though we (or at least I) rarely have eyes to see.

In Prince Caspian (book, not film), Trumpkin the Dwarf has been doubting the existence and power of the great Lion, Aslan, all his life. He is terrified to meet the huge Lion at last, and even more so when Aslan gives him something quite different from a dry lecture.

“And now!” said Aslan in a much louder voice with just a hint of roar in it, while his tail lashed his flanks. “And now, where is this little Dwarf, this famous swordsman and archer, who doesn't believe in lions? Come here, son of Earth, come HERE!” - and the last word was no longer the hint of a roar but almost the real thing.

“Wraiths and wreckage!” gasped Trumpkin in the ghost of a voice. The children, who knew Aslan well enough to see that he liked the Dwarf very much, were not disturbed; but it was quite another thing for Trumpkin, who had never seen a lion before, let alone this Lion. He did the only sensible thing he could have done; that is, instead of bolting, he tottered towards Aslan.

Aslan pounced. Have you ever seen a very young kitten being carried in the mother cat's mouth? It was like that. The Dwarf, hunched up in a little, miserable ball, hung from Aslan's mouth. The Lion gave him one shake and all his armour rattled like a tinker's pack and then - heypresto - the Dwarf flew up in the air. He was as safe as if he had been in bed, though he did not feel so. As he came down the huge velvety paws caught him as gently as a mother's arms and set him (right way up, too) on the ground.

“Son of Earth, shall we be friends?” asked Aslan.

~Prince Caspian, by C. S. Lewis~

I love it! :-) Sometimes I feel like that when less-than-desirable things happen. Often I think He sends things to remind me how little I'm believing Him. I may be trembling after He tosses me sky-high. But there He is, the King and Father, His smiling eyes alight with excitement! And I can't help but smile back.

Second Thoughts on Butterflies

I must confess found myself wanting to kill butterflies yesterday.

Ever since I was little, I have liked most sorts of bugs. I loved butterflies and moths. I wanted a pet praying mantis to keep on a string and catch pesky flies and misquotes. I was the advocate for fly spiders, those black, fuzzy, stocky-legged, hopping arachnids, and when their indoor lives were threatened I usually managed to remove them to the safety of outside using a cup and sheet of paper. I'm not fond of all bugs, but the only ones which consistently give me shivers and call out no amount of sympathy are cockroaches.

Butterflies? Why would I want to kill such harmless pretty things?

Let me explain. If you came to visit, I could show you the scenes of carnage wreaked by those "harmless" flying worms. These horrible scenes are found mostly on our little red cabbage plants. I pulled the worms off in disgust the first time I thought to look. Holes don't appear by themselves.

But let me tell you how those holes get there, may I?

First, it starts with an egg, generally hidden on the underside of the doomed leaf.

See those specks? The eggs are the size of a comma or smaller. Usually there are more than one. After a while (I'm guessing a day or two), out comes a tinsy weensy worm, barely bigger than the egg, threadlike and "cute".

The first act of said "cute" worm is to devour its surrounding and grow rapidly.

Now, I've begun waging a battle. Every few days I try to inspect each vulnerable leaf and carefully clear it of those tiny white specks, before they become large green monsters-er, worms. Our newer cabbages, thus far, are relatively hole-free. But every time I step outside, there are the butterflies, fluttering about like white petals, flitting from flower to flower... and hanging around the cabbages. I begin to make some connections.

I like cabbage. I want my family to be able to eat bountifully from our garden. Worms will eat it first if given the chance. Butterflies make worms, and more worms make more butterflies to make more worms. I might be bigger, but there are more of them. Who will win?

So, yesterday I gave our cat Bella permission to munch on any butterfly she might catch. And I wondered how hard it would really be to begin squishing them all myself.

Thus goes the spine-tingling backyard drama. But would you believe there is a spiritual application as well?

Here it is. Butterflies are like sins which appear harmless, fun, and pretty. But they have dire consequences in our lives. We must be constantly on guard, and we must have help!


Are we the gardener or the cabbages? Well, we are called to put away sin and things that entangle us, to resist the devil, to wield the Sword of the Spirit. In those ways we are like the gardener, and must be diligent and wise. The realization that butterflies were gorging themselves on our cabbage was the final thing that clicked. In a similar way, the best call to action against sin is the realization of what is at stake, of loving the good that is being lost.

But even with our best efforts, we cannot defeat sin alone. In that case, we are as helpless as the cabbages. Praise be to God, the Master Gardener, for saving us from the worms!