The Callings God has for us...

Sometimes it's hard for me to discern the call of God from the pleadings of other people or the desires of my own heart.

It's hard for me to say no to things. Hard to not give myself away in time, money and talent when asked. This may seem generous and magnanimous, but if it's not a request that comes from my Lord, than my motives are most likely impure.

Motivation, motivation: such a sneaky, underlying villain. Oftentimes I find that I give something away and then begin to feel resentful. What does that reveal? Well, most likely, it shows that I wanted something in return. I wanted accolades or recognition. I wanted to be liked and appreciated. I wanted to be given something back reciprocally...

What does that have to do with love? What does that have to do with self-sacrifice and the giving of oneself freely, as unto the Lord? 

Zilch.

I like keeping people happy. I don't like it when people are mad at me. I like to be seen as a generous and serving person. What does this mean? I am a people pleaser.

Having this personality can make it hard to figure out when God is asking me to do something versus just wanting to keep someone happy. I can swing between extremes: either I am giving until I drop and burn out, or I wall up and refuse everyone. I believe this happens when I am not listening to my Lord very well.

He, of course, has perfect boundaries. He's plenty busy but never made urgent by others' demands.

When Jesus walked on the earth, he knew his Father's mind and did exactly those activities for which he was called. He healed one paralytic at the crowded pool of Bethesda. He cast out demons from a particular man of the Garasenes.  He stopped and chatted with one outcast woman at the well in Samaria. He knew what to do and what not to do. He was not swayed by the crowd sentiment or their plans for him.

I hope I can grow to be more like him.

Lately I've been convicted about participating in ministries to which He has not called me. I've just said yes when asked, thinking that since they are doing good things in the name of the Lord, surely I should join in. But this attitude about life gets me into quite a few pickles. I find myself stretched thin, taking on projects that consume my time. I find that the work is joyless. I feel my resentments growing. I feel the burden more than an assurance of God's will. And because I hate to break a commitment, I stay too long in works that I never should have taken on in the first place.

It really isn't very fun.

But thankfully, there are times when I truly have walked in the call of God. It helps me to know the difference. It is so important to ask Him what his will is for our lives. So important to stop listening to the other voices and focus in on the still, small Voice that holds our future.

I know the difference between an authentic call and the counterfeit.  The real call is not bereft of struggle, but has assurance and peace wrapped up in it. The real call opens my soul to more of Christ. The real call holds joy.

I know that I was called to be involved with Young Life. I know that I was called to mentor one specific girl through a dark valley of her life. I know that God was the architect of my time with a young man who had special needs. I know that I am called to my neighborhood. I am called to be an artist for the glory of God. I know that God has given me the privileged call of walking beside one man for the rest of my life, to know him and be a grace giver and receiver. And now I know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I am called to a new little life, growing inside me.

Here is our little one! A mere 2" of perfectly formed,
miraculous little life.

We don't know if it's a boy or a girl. We found out that this baby was with us on the day of my last post. (Hence the ensuing silence. How could I nonchalantly write about anything else with this beautiful secret in my life?). We don't know if it will be sick or healthy. We don't know what kind of personality our child will have. We don't know how long we will get to have this little one with us. Will he or she bury us in old age? Will we bury this one in youth? None of this is secure. None of this is promised.

But one thing I do know. For as long as I live, I am called to be a light, a love-bearer, a teacher, a grace-giver, justice-meter, a comforter, a safe place, and a truth teller to this little soul. I hope I never forget the importance of this calling.

Having this little one on the way makes the counterfeit calls all the more apparent.  I just cannot waste my time or God's, focusing on things that he has not asked of me. It amounts to rebellion. It might look pretty, but it's still disobedience.  It also means that the one who would be called to that ministry languishes on the sidelines, waiting for me to get out of the way.

I think I've often believed that a call from God brought some sort of clout, recognition, or position of importance. Being in active ministry put a feather in my cap that allowed me to feel secure in my own righteousness. I used it as a way to prove my worth and value.

But now I see that most calls are hidden and humble. He asks us to be present to one particular person, to pray one specific prayer, to be present at one seemingly insignificant moment.  Some calls are grandiose, but most are clothed in the commonplace and mundane. No fanfare accompanies a dirty diaper cleaned up without grumbling or a report honestly conducted.

The call of Jesus is to be faithful in these little things. He adds the significance with His presence. After all, he took a meager lunch of bread and fish and turned it into food for thousands.  Only he knows what he will do with the humble acts of a faithful life lived to honor him.

We will get to meet our baby in February, right around Valentine's day. :)

An Old Issue, With Resounding Repercussions...

I live in a predominantly black neighborhood, and it is a great community with amazing people. It is also a community of scars and gaping wounds. How can healing truly take place here? The problems manifest today in my community are a short step away from the history of segregation and racism in our country.

It is true that we are responsible for our actions, good or evil, and I don't wish to make excuses for perpetrators of crime, but perhaps it would be easier to understand the prevalence of problems in this neighborhood if a few things were brought to light.

I've attached this link because I think it can be helpful in beginning to think critically about race in our country. It's long, but worth watching. It's called "A Classroom Divided" and was one teacher's way, by segregating her kids by eye color, to show the mess racism causes.
 video.google.com/videoplay?docid=6189991712636113875

After watching this Frontline, a few instances really stuck out to me.
1) That the group of students in the "lower" position scored worse on tests. After only a day?! What if this racism went on for generations?  What would it do to an entire population?

2) It was amazingly easy for the kids is the "higher" group to start bullying the "lower" group, even if they were best friends before the experiment.

3) When it was used on adults, one person said, "Well, not all of us are like that", a complete buy-in to the lies that having a certain eye color meant that you were stupid, untrustworthy, lazy. Instead of pushing back on the fallacy, he wanted to be the exception to the rules being propounded by the teacher.

If one day's exercise had this potent an effect, what would a century of this behavior create? What about two centuries?

I know that a person is culpable for his or her own actions, but behind the actions are beliefs, and behind beliefs are truths or lies. Insidious lies abound here. Lies of superiority and inferiority. Lies about worth and virtue and intrinsic beauty. Lies that we have bought into with alacrity.

The father of lies has been hard at work in this country.

I am praying for real reconciliation. I am praying for hearts that are healed and transformed. I am praying that the kingdom of God comes here, because I know that His kingdom will destroy the lies and break these patterns.


I'm praying that as one of his ambassadors I can tell the truth and tell it in love.


Jesus once said, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.” John 6:29

It is hard work to believe in Jesus, only possible with God. It is hard work to believe the truth, only possible with God. And if Jesus is the truth, than everything he said about love, forgiveness,worth, beauty and need is also true. We need God in this community and country. We need him to rewrite the internal dialogue of destruction propagated for centuries.

So Jesus said to the Jews (and to us) who had believed in him, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” John 8:31-32


May the truth set us free. I see no other way.

Walking Mornings

It takes determination to get out of bed on a walking morning. Every other day of the week is not so difficult, but always, a walking morning struggles with me.

Perhaps it is a mind game, but life feels weightier on those mornings. I am setting about to do some work in that walking, and the burden of my neighborhood thunders down on my belly.  A murmur at my ear says, "Just sleep today, maybe tomorrow will be more fitting." As I reject that idea, another advances,  "You are wasting your time with this useless activity. You have a lot of other things to do today."

How true that feels, but I know better than to trust my feelings. Feelings often defy the truth.  They are fickle, inconsistent friends. This walking feels so unfruitful, but then, we are about unseen work, aren't we? This walking is for rough places made smooth and the crooked made straight. We are not struggling against flesh and blood, root and earth. We are about eternal business on these walks.

I tie up the laces and close the door behind me.

Where do we go today? Turn right at the corner, walk down this street.

What do I see this time around?

This neighborhood is so foreign, but I need it to become home. Home worth fighting for. These residents are a mystery, but I hope they become MY neighbors and I wish to neighbor them. These walks are transforming my eyes to see rightly.

What do you want me to lift into your hands today?

Look down. Liquor bottles, cheap and little, litter my path. Perhaps forty or fifty along the sidewalk in this two mile walk. Ah Lord, the addiction runs so deep and for so many generations. The claws go in so far... throw this mountain into the sea. Please save these families, restore the soul. Help them to fight back.

And what of those barren yards, more weed and dirt than grass? Who is neglected in that home? Lord, love them, come to them, show me how to love them well.

See those ramps for the aged and infirm? See the aging of this neighborhood? Please, Father, bring healing and joy to the shut-in. Help me to learn them, walk alongside them.

What of these flowers and trees and manicured lawns? Praise you, Father, for people who have interest in making beauty. Encourage them to be light in this community. Help them to have kind and humble hearts.

Will you lift up these churches? Come, Lord Jesus, be in our presence. Be high and lifted up in these places. Move mountains through your people.

See how graffiti smears these fences, the tokens of gang and violence? Please, please bring your peace here. Help the disenfranchised. Remove the drugs. Light a desire for a future, for a different life, for freedom.

Notice these schools? Please Lord, provide for these children. Help them to grow. Give them nurturing teachers and parents. Protect them from harm. Keep them safe. Teach them truth. Help them to know their value.

Hear those angered voices? Please, Father, destroy the violence in the home. Remove hearts of stone and make flesh. Provide for the finances, bring work to this community.

See the skin tones, tan and chocolate next to your white? Lord, the festering scar of racism runs deep and wide. Please heal the wounds of this community. Justified resentments drip from a glance. Bring forgiveness, Lord. Make me an instrument of your peace.

See your neighbors? I will make a way for you. I will show you how to love, and help you step into what you do not understand and cannot control. I will take you beyond yourself and you will see my glory in this place. You will see my goodness in the land of the living. I answer prayer.

Lord, bless my people.

And then I walk up to my front stoop, and close the door on another walking morning.

Beware the Side Effects of the Right Hand

My knee has taken on a clicking noise. Kind of like castanets, but not nearly as nice. It's one of the many signs that my body is not as resilient as it used to be. In other words, my flesh is slowly failing. I know that it will only become more apparent as I age.

And some days, my heart fails me too. Sometimes I am filled with doubts about God. Sometimes I struggle with anxious thoughts, sorrow, confusion and inconsistency. Life gives my soul an occasional beating.

Have I depressed you yet? Good. Because what I really want to talk about is JOY.

Joy in pajamas, circa 1983

Lucky for me, JOY has nothing to do with what is happening to my body or heart. It's not something I can attain for myself at all, and I have to say, you can't attain it either. It only comes one way.

(And to clear up any confusion, JOY is not about feeling happy.  JOY means peaceful, hope-filled, inner contentedness that stays with you regardless of what is happening in your life. It is much bigger and better than happiness.)

JOY is a side effect.

JOY is inevitable when you really begin to understand the state of things. Come, take a mental walk with me.

We live in a messy world.  Within ourselves we are a messy mix of good and bad motives with the consequent inconsistent behavior. Our good-will is circumstantial, and we cannot be good enough for heaven.
What does "good enough" even mean? By whose standard is that judged? Scary to think that each individual would determine it. What if your neighbor's version of "good enough" included robbing your house? No, we can't be so relative about it. We are biased, unfit judges.

No, there is a standard outside of us, and that standard is perfection. Heaven is a perfect place and only perfection is allowable there. Met any perfect people lately? Me neither. All that is wrong in us sticks like unscrubbable dirt. We cannot make ourselves clean, no matter how much good we do. Our presence in heaven would be like a stain on white cloth. So we are a bit stuck, or at least we would be but for this beautiful truth. Here is the beginning of JOY.

God loves us and wants us close to him. He has made a way. He does the cleaning. He does for us what we cannot do.

"My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my life and my portion forever." Psalm 73:26

"He saw that there was no man, and wondered that there was no one to intercede; then his own arm brought him salvation, and his righteousness upheld him." Isaiah 59:16 

"Now I know the Lord saves his anointed; He answers him from his holy heaven with the saving power of his right hand." Psalm 20:6 

It is the saving power of his right hand, his arm. The "right hand" is used in the Bible to mean authority, power, strength. How did he use this for our benefit? How does his right hand save us?

Isaiah tells us:

"Who has believed our message, and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?"

"Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed."53:1, 4-5

In other words, His "right hand" suffered the consequences for us, in our place, to make heaven available to us. He came as a man, Jesus Christ, to take away the sins of the world. We are saved by the power of his sacrifice. As Jesus was being condemned to die for us, they demanded, "Tell us if you are the Christ, the Son of God." And he replied:

"Yes, it is as you say. But I say to all of you: In the future you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven." Matthew 26: 64

This is where the JOY really takes hold. After he ascended into heaven, Stephen, Peter, Paul and John all talk about his being there, seated at the right hand of God.

For example, Paul tells us in Romans that Jesus is at the right hand of God interceeding (pleading) for us (8:34). It is what he promised to do seven hundred years prior in Isaiah, where it is written that he made intercession for the transgressors and bore their sin (53:12). Stephen, as he was being stoned to death, saw a vision of Jesus at the right hand, and it filled him with such peace that he asked Jesus to forgive those who were killing him (Acts 7:55-59).

I think Stephen felt peace because he knew that Jesus was for him, mediating for him, bearing the brunt of any wrong that he had committed in his lifetime.  In the face of death, he didn't have to worry, because in Jesus, Stephen was made perfect. Stephen could be with God because Jesus had stepped in to save him.

That is a cause for deep JOY. If we only accept his sacrifice for us, Jesus makes us fit for heaven, fit to live forever in the presence of God. He, the right arm of God, has made us clean. Through Jesus, it is possible to be close to this perfect, loving, creator God. It is possible to really know him and talk to him, to enjoy Him. JOY! And heaven is all about enjoying God. (This is a brilliant gift- but I'm afraid if you don't want this, you probably don't want to go to heaven either.)

What on earth can steal this JOY from you? Nothing. No bad thing you do can override your perfection in Christ Jesus. No bad thing can separate you from His loving presence. No loss or need can make your place in heaven less secure. JOY!  You have the love of God to bolster you in any misery, and his promise to turn all things to good for you. JOY! You have been given life forever with a perfect and beautiful God- no earthly happiness can come close. JOY!

JOY is a side effect of being close to God through Jesus Christ. Ingrain this in your heart and mind. Do not forget it. It is a deep treasure of your life.

"You have made known to me the path of life, you will fill me with JOY in your presence, with eternal pleasures at YOUR RIGHT HAND." Psalm 16:11

"Do not fear for I am with you. Do not anxiously look about you, for I AM your God. I will help you, surely I will strengthen, surely I will uphold you with MY RIGHTEOUS RIGHT HAND." Isaiah 41:10

Via Crucis

Hello there!
Happy Holy week to you. Sorry for leaving the sonnets up there for so long.

If you are in Denver, perhaps you'll have a chance this week (or month) to visit an art show called Via Crucis (Way of the Cross) that is being held at Now Artspace on Tennyson St. (Link:Via Crucis)

It is a modern representation of the stations of the cross and the grand opening is tomorrow night. I have created a painting for Station 14: Jesus is buried.
It's based on photos from friends that were in Haiti after the 2010 earthquake. Here is a quick preview.

Jesus is Buried, Acrylic on Canvas, 30"x40"

When I though about what it meant for Jesus' followers to bury Him that terrible friday, the words that came to mind were: devastation, catastrophe, unimaginable loss and hopelessness. They did not know that Sunday morning would dawn with the Son of glory back in their midsts. 

I felt that the survivors of the Haitian earthquake felt much the same thing. Their world had collapsed and yet, they were left behind trying to pick up the pieces. I tried to capture the varying responses to tragedy: overwhelming sorrow, despondency and shock, confused sadness, and insufficient attempts to make things better.

The proceeds of this painting will go towards the continuing work of my friends and their church to help the people of Haiti recover from this tragedy.

Move over, Jon Donne!

Not really. Not even close. But I was looking through some old sketchbooks and found these sonnets I wrote a long time ago.

I know. Sonnets. Iambic pentameter and all. I suppose this reveals something about what I do with my free time.

Anyway, here they are. They are not good poetry, but the insights surprised me a little bit.  (And a warning, they have a lot of O's and thy's and whatnot. I forgot what century I belonged too.)

Shadow Man, Shadow Woman

O shadow man where lies your weary soul?

Thy lady veiled awaits a fallen mask,

So Truth may speak and honest question ask

Sans repercussive fears in heart to toll.

O shadow woman, awkward as a foal, 

Release thy timid steps to canter free.

'Neath shroud, thy form your suitor cannot see,

Or tread the path which light does not extol

O son and daughter, Eden's offspring cursed,

A barricade of shame doth separate,

And sinful wounds with arrows prick pure love,

Each slung by minds askew with lies well nursed.

O Rescuer, redeem our wretched fate! 

Unite and Cleanse, O Father, Son and Dove!

(Didn't I warn you about the language? But it does have some truth in it. )

Isolation

Why, Jack, do mumbles fall across your lips

And dribble down your bristled, unshorn  beard?

Among your tombs, a mind encased, afeared;

You dwell alone, with phobos your thoughts drip.

What brought you to this sorry, unwashed state,

Where reason left a vacant room inside?

In living death your broken soul resides.

Innert to love, true joys no longer wait.

What can I do? Though you my neighbor be,

Sufficient word or deed remains unknown.

Your shroud no human work can sure remove, 

No earthly salve can make your blind eye see.

But in the darkness, you walk not alone.

I pray your freedom by His perfect love.

(I think I was hoping to bring back the word "shroud" into everyday language. Every good sonnet needs a shroud.)

This one was literally for an old, senile neighbor of mine. I think he might have been a Vietnam Vet. No electricity, no running water, a house overgrown with weeds and dead wood.  His property abutted a beautiful estate where I worked. The contrast was remarkable. He was a difficult man. Obviously I was at a loss at how to love him well.

So there you go. God alone can reconcile the sexes, and prayerfully hope for your neighbor's redemption, no matter how far gone he is.

...And remember to include 'shroud' in a few of your sonnets.

No, I'm not Tina Turner.

When I was six years old, I went to a party for a young friend. In my little party-favor bag was a keychain that proclaimed, "No, I'm not Tina Turner". This was quite a thoughtful gift because, as you can see from these pictures, many people were mistaking me for Tina Turner, and the keychain would help set them to rights.  

Tina Turner, circa 1984

Beth, age 6 

It was on my house key for years, drawing awkward stares from people who had no intention of confusing me with Tina Turner. 

I was reminded of my honest keychain recently, and it has me thinking about mistaken identity (perhaps of a more believable nature).

I attend an art class for adults. The teacher is a very dear woman, but she has this crazy notion that I am very sophisticated and elegant.  I wonder how her opinion might change if she saw me rushing out the door in the morning, dropping my egg and toast on the patio, picking it up, brushing it off, and eating it anyway. Appearances can be so deceiving.

My husband and I often joke about the proverbial "hall pass" given to those who look like they have it together. If you look squeaky clean and well kept, many will assume that you have got your life in order. On the other hand, those who are a little rough around the edges, have the "wrong" skin or hair, wrong clothes, carry a few extra pounds... well, good luck to them. 

"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."  Antoine de Saint-Exupery

But who truly sees with the heart? Who is it that knows us rightly? Who are we, really? 

For those who celebrate Lent, Ash Wednesday was yesterday, and my husband and I went to a night service.  I love these forty days, culminating in the passion week and Resurrection. On Ash Wednesday, Lent begins with the reminder that we are dust, destined to experience death, caught by the curse of sin.

I went forward and received my mark, a cross of ashes on my forehead. The missteps of the week flooded my mind. All these petty, angry, selfish, fearful thoughts and actions played out before me.   Even the good deeds were tinged with pride and self-congratulation.  A slew of failures.

So this is who I am. Dust and Ashes. A piece of clay, full of cracks. 

But the Cross. It is a cross of ashes, a cross for ashes. The cross to save us... because make no mistake, we need saving. We are a compendium of private and public failures, trapped by inevitable death. 

The Cross for ashes. The great love symbol. The symbol of the One who sees with the heart, knows us completely, and loves us anyway.

So this is who I am. Beloved. Sought after. Saved by gracious love.

I place myself beneath the cross, a beggar with nothing to offer, so that I may be filled with Love again. And perhaps then this ash and clay, full of cracks, will show God's glory. 

"But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us." 2 Corinthians 4:7 

I think it's safe to say that no one will ever mistake me for Tina Turner, but maybe, on a very good day, when I have surrendered afresh, someone will see my cracks and mistake me for Christ. 

Meditation Exercise: A Testament

This reflection was created by a Jesuit from India named Anthony De Mello. It's intended to help us live more reflectively. I think it's worth doing with people we care about, a spouse, sibling, friend... And it's worth doing between ourselves and God, to take stock of who we have been, and who we are now. Perhaps you can take a moment, and think about one or two of the "points" listed below. 

A Testament

I imagine that today I am to die.
I ask for time to be alone and write down for my friends a sort of testament.  The following points could serve as chapter titles.

1. These things I have loved in life:
    Things I tasted,
    looked at,
    smelled,
    heard,
    touched.

2.  These experiences I have cherished:

3. These ideas have brought me liberation:

4. These beliefs I have outgrown:

5. These convictions I have lived by:

6. These are things I have lived for:

7. These insights I have gained in the school of life:
    Insights into God,
    the world,
    human nature,
    Jesus Christ,
    love,
    religion,
    prayer.

8. These risks I took,
            these dangers I courted:

9. These sufferings have seasoned me:

10. These lessons life has taught me:

11. These influences have shaped my life
            (persons, occupations, books, events):

12. These scripture texts have lit my path:

13. These things I regret about my life:

14. These are my life's achievements:

15. These people are enshrined within my heart:

16. These are my unfulfilled desires:

I choose an ending for this document:
       a poem-- my own or someone else's;
       or a prayer;
       a sketch or a picture from a magazine;
       a scripture text;
       or anything that I judge would be an apt conclusion to my testament.


 (taken from Hearts on Fire: Praying with the Jesuits)

Got an Anxious on your back?

My Anxious

It is so easy to acquire an Anxious. All you need is something to worry about, an unknown with some negative possibilities attached, and presto! An Anxious can be yours.

I made mine fuzzy purple and green. Although cutely muppet-like, make no mistake, it is heavy. And it hangs on.

It thinks it's so welcome because of all those dire circumstances. It makes itself at home on my forehead when I try to go to sleep. It tags along in the car, reminding me that there could be dark clouds on the horizon.  It sits with me over tea, categorizing all the ways that something bad can happen. Its favorite phrase is "What if..?", but never with a nice outcome.

It really is a nuisance, this Anxious.

I know that for some folks, an Anxious is the result of a little faulty brain chemistry, eased quickly with a bit of medical help.

But my Anxious capitalizes on another faulty brain system: my memory.  I am so forgetful sometimes.  I forget that I am on a journey with a very good God, who loves me better than anyone else ever could. I forget that my big Father knows what is good for me and had made certain promises to me, like "I will never leave you or forsake you...I will help you, I will strengthen you, I will hold you up with my righteous right hand... I will work out all things for the good of those who love me... Every good and perfect gift comes from me.... I am your refuge, and nothing can separate you from my love."

When storm clouds start their ominous rumble, I forget all these true things.  I also forget that this Savior-Friend of mine has a track record of faithfulness. Even when my life has been horrible, he finds a way to make something beautiful. He has always provided for me. He's always taught me something new and important. He's never let me down... but I forget.

I forget all those things and the Anxious seizes an opportunity to latch on to my cable-knit for a ride.

I suppose I'm a slow learner. What was it that all those old testament prophets and patriarchs always said? Remember... Remember how your clothing and shoes did not wear out? Remember that sea, parting for your freedom when you thought all was lost?  Remember the child, promised and delivered in old age? Remember?  What was it that those New Testament disciples kept proclaiming? Remember... Remember how he fed 5000 people with so little food? Remember how he healed that woman, stopping to listen to her history of woe? Remember Lazarus coming out of that tomb? Remember "It is finished!" and "I have overcome the world"? Remember?

But if I really want to get the Anxious off my back, I have to do more than remember.  I have to trust. Trust that He who began a good work will bring it to completion. Trust that he will lead me if I will follow, and he never goes the wrong way. If I can remember his faithfulness, and commit my heart to trust him, that Anxious hasn't got a snowflake's chance in hell.

I need to remember. I need to trust.  Those things that hover threateningly? God is not surprised or frightened by them.  He's pretty big, you know, bigger than any ill wind or night terror. So if I am with him, hiding out under that big arm, holding that big hand, I don't need to worry about a thing.

I really can be anxious for nothing. I just need to remember the truth and trust it... He has always, always, always been faithful.

I love him, and oh man, I KNOW he loves me.  He is such a good God.

"Gallery" Day

Hello there!
I've been a little busy and am not thinking too deeply this week. I thought I'd share some of my latest artworks with you instead.

Dalhart Sunrise - Chalk pastel

The portraits are particularly fun to do. It's easy for me to understand that every face holds the Imago Dei because each one is so beautiful and unique.

"Vera" - Chalk pastel

"Grace" - Chalk Pastel

I just realized that there is a lot of pink in these paintings-- oh well. That's what you get with sunrise and little girls!
(In case you're wondering about the background change, I got a little bored. There's nothing like a random and out of place backdrop to get you thinking... Just call it "My Lime Green Putt".)

Lessons

I woke up one morning in the summer of 2008 with an itchy stomach. To my great dismay, I had five or six small bites decorating my midsection. Very itchy. Very disturbing.

The next day, I had more bites and a little streak of blood on the sheets around my ankle. More disturbing.

Bed bugs? I tore apart my room to no avail. I made a homeopathic concoction to spray on my sheets and carpet to ward them off. This did not work. By night three I was barely sleeping. Even when I wasn't getting bitten, phantom bugs crawled over my legs. I tried sleeping on an air mattress in another room, hoping that the crawlies couldn't find me as easily. This also did not work.

My friend and I lived in a ratty two bedroom, attic apartment. She didn't seem to be getting bitten as often as I was. Say, a ratio of 5:1.  Apparently whatever was feasting on me had particular tastes.

Meanwhile, my life was continuing busily along. I did not have time or money to deal with the infestation, but it didn't seem to care very much about my schedule. The added stress and sleeplessness just made life harder and more uncomfortable.

After about a week, I finally caught one of the cheeky little suckers. It was not a bed bug. Smaller, grey, vaguely menacing, but not a bed bug. After a little internet research, I had a hunch that this little pest was a bird mite.

There are a lot of horrific bird mite traumas on the web. They are not worth looking at if you're facing an infestation. But they did help me realize that tea tree oil and lavender water were probably not going to be enough.  They also resolved the mysterious ratio problem. Evidently, bird mites choose a "host" and visit them most often. Never had I wanted to be more inhospitable. My roommate and I agreed that an exterminator would be necessary.

All of this was extremely inconvenient and disruptive. I was working two jobs and trying to launch my ever struggling art business. I had very little margin for this problem. "Thank God in all circumstances..." He couldn't possibly mean this situation.

We called Orkin, and a few days later Mike the Orkin Man showed up at the apartment, armed with his tools of pest destruction. Waiting on workmen is a patience builder for me. The window of time is the real problem: "We'll be there somewhere between 8am and 1pm.", and then they show up at 1:15pm.

But he finally arrived: Yes, Bird mites are the problem. They are coming in from the fire escape. Pigeons roosting under the eaves. The landlord needs to get rid of them. I'll spray around the baseboards since bird mites only crawl...

And then he stopped in front of one of my paintings.
"That's beautiful,"he said.
"Thanks," I said, "I painted it."

"Agape" --pastel on paper

"You're an artist?"
"Yes, well, trying to be, anyway..."
"Is is for sale?"
"Yes, but the original is a little pricey. It took me a long time. I have a lot of prints of it, same size."
"No, no. I want the original. Can we work out a payment plan?"

I think I went into a mild shock.  Then he told me about his wife, how she had gotten Hep C from a blood transfusion and was very ill. He shared that he loved growing orchids and used to be a wine merchant but it didn't make enough money. He told me he just felt drawn to this painting in an incredible way and thought his wife would love it too.

I was thinking, 'Are we looking at the same picture? I mean, it's nice and all, but I'm don't get this rapture your expressing.' But I was forgetting an important fact. This painting came from a mental image that God had given me in a prayer. We are the jars, many sizes and shapes, and his love rains down over us and into us until it overflows. The title is"Agape", pronounced  /əˈɡɑːpeɪ/.  It's a Greek word for love, but not just any kind of love. It's the word for God's love for us: divine, sacrificial, never-ending, and unconditional. He loves us so desperately, would spare no expense. Perhaps that was what Mike the Orkin Man was experiencing. I don't know if he even believed in God, but clearly God wanted to speak to him.

He rid of us bird mites and bought the painting. I sent along a little card explaining its origins and the transaction was done. I never heard from him again.

But now I believe that the reason for this painting's creation was Mike the Orkin Man and his sick wife, and any other person who is captivated by more than what is drawn on the paper.

"The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man, nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.  And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, and perhaps feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us." Acts 17:24-27

I see now that the bird mites, though a scourge of the earth, were the only way that I was going to meet Mike the Orkin Man. Although they were awful, God used them to bless us.

I really love the way He works things out. I was a starving artist. How normal is it that a workman would come into my house and buy an expensive painting when I was in need of financial assistance? The seed of this painting had been planted in my mind years before. And I had painted it for this unknown couple, a hurting husband-caretaker and his suffering wife. They must have really needed a dose of Agape love. At the right time, in the right dwelling place, he brought us together to make a blessing.

It was a good lesson. Thank God for the bird mites. Thank God for the disruption of our plans. Thank God when things seem to go terribly wrong. Thank God for inconvenience that interrupts our lives. And look for Him to show us what we need to see. He withholds no good thing from us.