The Watchers

He said, "I want to be the same as Uncle Rick."

Children understand mistakes. They don't mind that their parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents and friends make them. They hate hypocrisy, however, and I believe their little "hypo-dars" can spot hypocrisy and differentiate that from a mere mistake. Too many adult children disown their parents and very few of them are angry about their parent's mistakes. I met a man in a small group a few days ago who simply said, "He calls himself my Dad. I just can't stand the hypocrisy." I don't know really what he meant, but his bitterness seeped thickly and belied a relatively cool and simple response to a question about his family.

My Dad-in-law took his motorcycle driver's test yesterday. He didn't work it out this time and I suppose he felt a little foolish. The test isn't as easy as it looks. He said something like, "I feel a little dumb, but I loved the ride here and I loved the ride back home. I'll take the test again in a couple weeks." He has a permit y'see, so must ride with another motorcyclist until he achieves his full license. I'm that guy for the most part. I'm watching. I'm good with dad's mistakes. And his mistakes yesterday did not belie a man after God's own heart. He bore good fruit, and I was watching.

My wife's bike tire went flat on our morning ride. We were disappointed. God provided a bike shop close by, but the shop hadn't yet opened. She said, "Oh well, we'll ride this afternoon. Ride home, get the car then pick me up. I'll hang at boomer's coffee shop until you're here or until the bike shop opens."

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control--the Holy Spirit's fruit--delicious, juice-filled fruit. We rode through a construction zone, a mistake. But my bride didn't belie her fruits by hypocrisy. I was watching.

Monique shaved my head so I'll stay cooler next week when we ride the week-long bicycling event RAGBRAI. My five-year-old nephew watched in wonder as my hair fell to the ground. I could tell his proverbial light-bulb was turned on full. Monique shaved and my nephew Aaron finally said, "Auntie Monique can you do that to me and I want to look like Uncle Rick!" Aaron's hypo-dar read-out said I was safe. He wanted to be like Uncle Rick. I sat somewhat impatiently on my chair, shirt off, shorts on, hair-cut bib on. My nose itched, my neck itched and I got hair on my tongue. But Aaron's hypo-dar was clear, the young man was watching and he wanted to be like me. He wanted to look like Uncle Rick. He wanted to be my little twin. Long term, if he wants to look like me, what does that mean for him? I should want to know.

Later he sat on my lap and leaned against my chest. He turned and I felt his small hand graze over my buzzed head. He did the same to his own head, then leaned against me again.

I've made mistakes. But that day all was clear on the hypo front.

When asked why he didn't go to church, one gentleman said, "Because all Christians are hypocrites!" He's right. I've been a hypocrite. The moment I did something against God's will I hypocrited (is that a word?) God's name. I don't have to say God's name out of context to take his name in vain because the moment I disobey God's will I've taken His name and made it vain. I'm a sinner therefore I need a Savior. Some days there are blips on the children's hypo-dar. I wish that weren't true. But life on this side of eternal life is met with the same unconditional love as the other side of eternal life. I'm glad about that. But what about the blips? What about the oft heard, "He calls himself my dad..."? What about...

Open the closet, wade through your skeletons and bring out, then attach your own hypocrisy meters and wear them like a pace maker on a bad heart. Whatever is true, noble, right and pure; whatever is admirable, excellent and praiseworthy, I urge you to think about such things.

You do, and your children will be there when you're old.

They're watching.

What do you know of Light?

There is never another day when you will get to see the light for the first time. To be born again--not only an apt description of the moment you first see God, it's the only one. Imagine the battle taken from dark places, a struggle ensues, a push, a gasp, a wail--your body, your head misshapen. Everything about where you were seems so warm, so right and yet for some reason you feel compelled to burst forth and all the while the blood and sweat and cries of the one who gave you birth covers you from head to toe. Lux Aurumque--turn on the light in your own home and your satisfied and glad for it. You take your steps, retrieve this or that, move through your home...it's been only moments and you've forgotten the light.

But to be born again is to know that even if you had ever seen the light before, the place you were was so dark, so heavy, so...internal, as to have forgotten light existed. The relief...the joy that comes from even a sliver leaves one feeling foreign but adopted, resplendent yet dumb-founded, like hearing a language without voice and completely unfamiliar as to never gain understanding. Like being stripped naked without feeling sacrificed but completely borne. A light not only overwhelming, but absolutely stunning--stunned into silence--stunned into such an awe-filled existence as to never again express the first day you saw light.

Let me tell you something. I've a Christmas story I'll tell you each and every year until you hear my voice. You may not believe the Christmas story, I understand that. But if you hear it told, I want you to know the full story.

You already know the story in Luke 2. A Census was called and Mary and her Husband, both descendents of King David left for Bethlehem to be counted. Mary, a virgin, was pregnant by the power of the Holy Spirit. They entered Bethlehem where the Son of God was born. Hosts of Angels visited Shepherds in the night and announced the birth. Folklore tell us that a sweet Choir of happy angels visited the Shepherds and while the Shepherds lay face down on the ground the Angels enjoyed a little sing-a-long. Fat baby angel swirling around the sky firing rubber "joy" arrows at the Shepherds.

Until you read the story told in Revelation 12. Satan, a mighty dragon waited at the doorstep of the birth so that he might kill the Christ. But God's Angels were there and they swooped Him up to Heaven while his mother fled to safety in the desert. A mighty war ensued in the heavens...a battle greater than all wars in time and space put together. Michael and his soldiers, God's Army, commanded to surround God's son at his birth and take him to his Father in Heaven. He would not be devoured by Satan under any circumstances. The one task complete, God turned towards Satan and directed His army at them. They swooped into the battlefield with such fury as to shake the heavens and God's army conquered the Devil's army with might and surety. Satan and the other angels were all hurled to earth--the place where Satan himself tried to murder the mother of the Christ. When she escaped Satan vowed to reek havoc on her offspring, namely those who are adopted children of Light...those who know God...and those who, as with His son, shall never be taken. Yet Satan vows to bring you misery and hopes to take you to such dark places where even your own fingers float into memory.

Luke 2 says that a host of angels appeared before the Shepherds and that they were very much afraid. If Angels, weapons gleaming, armed to the teeth, appeared before you, would you not fall prostrate? DO YOU HEAR ME? They asked. "Do not fear", they said, "We mean you no harm."

"Glory to God in the Highest" they said. It's like the confident cry of the United States Marines..."Hoo-rahh" they say, Semper Fi. A group of men and women so ardently in love with their country, so beholden to their task, patriotic to the bone...hoo-rahh. Take that times a million, maybe more. A race of Angels persistently, joyfully and without a second thought lift their voices in the most joyful, fierce, loyal, proud, yet humble cry of any age up until this very day. Listen...I said LISTEN--"GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST AND ON EARTH PEACE ON WHOM HIS FAVOR RESTS!" Angels, battle hardened angels, honed their skills, ripped their muscles and sharpened their tools--hoo-rahh, Glory to God in the Highest, Hoo-rahh. The greatest war of any time and space would occur..."DO YOU HEAR ME?" They would knock Satan's guts straight out his back...

And we have them "Sweetly singing oe'r the plain." No. Absurd. NO! NO! A host is an army and by all that lives and breathes an eternal war raged amongst beings whose strength we could never comprehend, acting as a language no man could even recognize as such, and even so, scripture says that they were sent to serve us.

Sweetly singing. Comical. Cute. But untrue.

Some of you might not believe the story told in Scripture. In my opinion Santa's harder to believe than the story of the birth of Christ God's Son.  But even then, should you hear the story of Christ's birth told this year, keep in mind that, at least for me, I'm glad the full Angelic power showed up that night.  Ripped, ironclad Hosts drew their most powerful weapons and witnessed God's son enter Earth. I would've fallen over too.

What do you know of light?

I'll tell the story again next year.

Merry Christmas.

We are the Body of Christ.

Well...here's a religious thought again. You can elaborate on your own because my last one sort of got long winded, but I still hope that it was worth the read for those who read it. That is why we write right? We don't have to have something incredibly profound to say to be read, enjoyed and interacted with. It's why we join up on blog sites and Facebook etc. It's why we talk on the phone and write letters too. I'm not complaining at all, but it does lead to my point.

The Church as a whole has made such a big deal about having a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. We've become individual Christians who have individual stories. But I think it's also led many Christians to claim that they came to Christ in their own very personal, individual way. Many of us have a difficult time moving beyond our own "personal relationship" with Jesus Christ. This personal relationship has allowed us to find and relate to Christ in our own ways, our own methods, using our own ideas. Our own style of relating to Christ allows us, maybe Americans and Western Europeans and Australians in particular, to remain individualists. It allows Christians to have troubles and not talk about them because "it's just between me and God." It allows us to have "God moments" kept personal because "It was a moment between me and God."

I don't mean to suggest that our experience with God isn't very personal to us. But I believe that God's Word says that our relationship is a communal relationship. God says that there aren't many ways to come to Christ...God calls us to Himself through the blood of His Son Jesus Christ...that's it. He is the way, the truth and the Life. Even though we are all different parts of the body (I am the hand, you are the foot, someone else is the neck etc.), each body part exists in community with the rest of the body. The heart, the brain, the kidney, the hand and the ear cannot work without the rest of the body, period. You were never intended to be personal or separate from God or the rest of the Body. We are all the Bride of Christ...not Brides of Christ. God calls us His people as a body, a community of believers, a single unit...supporting, unifying and loving one another. There are so many Scriptures I could use to prove this to you...I think you know me well enough by now to know the truth of that statement.

I encourage you as a body that if your church seems to be acting as a congregation of many individuals, encourage them to be as one...God never intended anything different. I think my cousins Jeff and Jayne, and little Dalaynee, and the whole family of those who have surrounded eachother through crisis get the meaning of community. My family, my friends and Monique and I have experienced the power of a communal relationship with God. I think we can all find God's Word to a time in our lives when Christianity meant community. Listen to the song by Casting Crowns called "If We are the Body." It's one place you can learn about the principle of community.

SO I'll go back to the beginning. I don't mind that you don't comment on my blogs and I love it when you do. I encourage you to challenge yourself on some hard reading and enjoy some light reading. I want you to participate with me and I want to learn how to better participate with you. It seems that this is not only what Jesus would do...but what He is doing.

I am intimidated by Creation

Creation scares me sometimes. Creation always stands trustworthy and right and even rocks cry out. Intimidated?  Thorns grow by God's command not because it has committed some evil. Sap falls from trees and delights the wiles of sweet teeth. Creation swallows man into the ground and from his dust springs new life...creation groans not because I stand upon her but because she perfectly loves and desires her maker.

I'm not saying that earth reigns over mankind, I'm not. I am saying that I am swallowed up by floods and tornadoes and hurricanes, by avalanches, forest fires, by lightening and thunder, by earthquakes, by monsoons, and tidal waves, by hills and valleys and the highest of mountains, by ants and snake and bee, by bear and lion, by shark and stingrays, by frog and even by plant. My instinct lies toward imperfection while theirs lies in obedience and praise.

And still I am allowed to adore Him who called me good; Him who looked into my eyes as one in His image. I feel intimidated by my environment but my voice rings out to God like a conversation in the dark. I do not fear creation as if it is my enemy--I am also created. I am simply intimidated by unfettered obedience and that makes me glad because each day I step outside my door I witness an act of praise that will one day be my privilege. I cannot wait until my heart is wholly gratified by simple praise, glad of law and accomplishment and purely grateful for salvation.

My dad used to say "Don't do anything to disparage my good name." I'm grateful for this piece of advice yet I resented such favor as a name because I did disparage it. My dad fought with the bravest of men. He and the integrity of the men who fought by his side were disparaged in youthful petulance often enough I'm sure yet when the commander spoke there were no questions in their minds and I remain free because of men who stand in mighty company with their peers. I am grateful. One could say they are slaves to the commands of their superiors and yet through it they gain freedom. Like them, I can say I am no longer a slave to chaos, but a slave to Christ and by Him I am free.

I am intimidated by Creation. But creation groans not because I walk upon her, but because she yearns for the day when the entirety of creation might be fulfilled unto His name even as the entirety of creation already bows to His command.

Count Your Blessings Name them One by One.

It's not often that my wife and I forget to pray for all you. At the same time we attempt to also count our blessings.

I do that differently than I used to...count blessings that is. I don't see prayer as a way to twist God's giant wrench as the Fix-it-man's right hand helper. I simply pray because it gives my faith Endurance. I see God work when I don't pray and I see Him work when I do. It just seems that when I'm in His Word and when I'm talking to Him, that I'm paying more attention to His inevitably great work, for better or for worse...for better I suppose.

And so be thankful in all things...not necessarily for them. Count your blessings. Watch God work.

We've all experienced a loss of one sort or the other. We have, I have. My friend Heidi wrote about the losses she's experienced and I'll share that with you in a moment. But one of them was her Husband Layton, also a friend I knew. After his death were a couple of others including our baby, Opa, and Uncle Eddy last year. But Before him it was Tina and before her, Diane. In there was Grandma Josie and John...there were others. Now we pray for Mom and Jeff and Uncle Bill and...count your blessings. Not because it was one of Grandma's favorite songs. Not because it's the Christmas season, although it is. Not because the lights are up...and they're bright. Not because the music plays--you play good music. Count because they're there. Entrust them to Him so that at the end of time and at the cusp of eternity, He'll show them to you there (II Timothy 1:12).

The poem below is Heidi's. She's counting.
May God be with you and bless you.

Layton and Samara

The love of my heart.
The fruit of my womb.

On the same long advent day strung apart by years,
You both lay in the same building.

Whirring machines breathing your breath and beating your heart -
A whirring machine looking inside you

as you slept an unnatural sleep.

"He's going."
"She has cancer."

I'll never forget what you felt like in my arms that day.

How warm you were.
How heavy you were.
How still you were.
How light you were.

I lost you that day.
I thought I was losing you that day.

I let you go... into the Father's keeping.

And now you dance and have your being in a place or time or dimension
so far away, or perhaps so close?
Perhaps as close as you - who dance in winter boots
and holiday dress by the Christmas tree.

A saint above.

A saint below.

You are healed.

O Child of God, I miss you. And I will see you someday...
O Child of God, I miss you.
And I will see you this afternoon, after work.

Your mothers' arms long to hold you

On this long advent day.

I'll never forget what you felt like in my arms that day.

How warm you were.
How heavy you were.
How still you were.
How light you were.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Layton Reid De Vries, my first husband, died seven years ago today on December 11, 2000 as a result of injuries sustained in a car accident. In the same hospital, Samara Grace was diagnosed with neuroblastoma one year ago today on December 11, 2006.