Love Came Down at Christmas

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14

While I ascent to the power and truth of this verse from my lips, I often find that in my heart they ring hollow. How does Word become flesh? Dwelt among us? We have seen His glory? These are simple yet monumental words of truth, full of wonder and mystery, written from the hand of God through the pen of John. In one sentence they tell a profound story of how big and full of grace and mercy God is and that we desperately need to be rescued by Him.

Over the centuries Christmas has become more of a warm fuzzy, where we give gifts to express gratitude, we say “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” The season is full of shopping for the perfect gift that either gets returned or re-gifted. Try to find gift tags, Christmas cards or Christmas wrap that conveys any hint of the Biblical message of Christmas! It is getting harder.

As I watch the hustle and bustle of the season, the visible stress on people’s faces as I venture around a store it causes me to wonder, “Do they know the cost?” Not the cost of what’s in the cart, but the cost of what it meant for Word to become flesh, dwell among us and display the glory of the Father. Have I become so short sighted that I have missed the point?

Pause! Think! Ponder! In her day Mary was seemingly pregnant out of wedlock. How could that be? Shame and scorn begot Joseph and Mary before they were even married. And at the appointed time, they had to make the decreed census journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem because Joseph was from the lineage of King David. I can only imagine how confused, weary and worn they were when they arrived, only to find there was no place to stay, no room at the Inn. The only thing left was a barn and it had a trough. The story gets more tense; she went into labor. In a lowly barn, a tired and worn young couple give birth to a Son begotten of the Father of heaven, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. A barn had become a palace and the Word had become flesh to dwell among us so that we could see God’s glory fully displayed in grace and truth. Jesus, Immanuel, God with us, who is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature who upholds the universe by the word of his power (Hebrews 1:3) has come. He is the perfect gift and it cost God everything. Will you receive it? (photo from Revive Our Hearts Ministry)

Thankful

He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. 
Psalm 232b-3a

Every year during the Thanksgiving season we are more inclined to count our blessings and focus on being thankful than other times of the year. At our house, and for anyone who knows my husband, you always need to be ready to answer the question, "What are you thankful for," whether it is Thanksgiving or not.

Several weeks ago at church during our ABF he asked the question! Several people responded in various ways how they were thankful. A hand meekly went up and Byron gave the nod to answer. Through choking tears and simple, yet profound honesty the person attached to that hand responded, "I don't have anything to be thankful for!" Tears were streaming from eyes around the room as we gathered around her seated in her chair and laid our hands on her and began to pray for her that God would meet her in her deepest moment of need and that he would restore the joy of her salvation. God had met us there in that place. He heard our cries and he answered our prayer.  The bond between my brothers and sisters in Christ were knitted together more tightly that day as we brought our sister into the very throne room of God.

In this season of Thanksgiving celebrations if you asked me what am I thankful for? I would tell you. I am thankful for the meek hand that raised up and had the courage to say what was going on deep in her soul and for the group of people present in the room who were willing and ready to drop everything and take her to the throne room of God.

  

Room 130 Part 2: The Value and Importance of Scripture Memory

I delight to do your will, O my God: your law is within my heart. Psalm 40:8

I have stored up your word in my heart, that I might not sin against you. Psalm 119:11

This past year has taught me many life lessons. There is a strange curiosity about dying that causes wonder as one sits by the side of a loved one who is slowly sleeping and slipping away. What is she thinking or is she thinking at all? What does she hear? What does she see? Can she feel my touch? These are all questions that raced through my mind in the last days of her life.

We saw it coming! It was a slow process much like a balloon that deflates because of a tiny pinprick. Her life began to slowly slip over a year ago.

For nearly a year before her gentle decline Byron began to read Psalm 23 to her. Each Friday she looked forward with anticipation for us to visit, and for Byron to read Psalm 23, 100 and 103 to her. Besides hearing scripture, ironically, the other favorite thing she liked was a cup of cold water. After her gulps and sips she would always say, “Oh, that is so good.” It was evident that she was truly refreshed by water and the Word.

Weeks passed; the routine continued. Friday morning visits full of scripture and cups of cold water. Over time she began to memorize Psalm 23. She was ninety-four.

One particular day after she quoted, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,
 for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.” She paused and asked, “Does that mean I don’t have to fear death?” Stunned, we answered, “Yes, Lu, Jesus is always with you. He is your great Shepherd, you need not fear death.”

Weekly visits began to take on new meaning. Although we did not fully grasp it right away, our regular visits were becoming preparation for eternity. Those cups of cold water that she loved so much were more than just cups of cold water. They had become like living water (John 4:14) as she drank in the truth of the words she had memorized and heard. She was being washed by the Word (Titus 3:4-7). God was busy in Room 130 preparing her for eternity, and we had become active observers of His sovereign power and merciful providence in the process.

Recently, as we stood by the graveside, tearfully, we reflected on this past year and arrived at the conclusion that when it is all said and done there is not much in this earthly life that really matters. We have a little plaque hanging by the door in our mudroom that says it well, “Only one life, twill soon be past, only what’s done for Christ will last. “To me to live is Christ,” Philippians 1:21.

This past year has taught me the value of scripture memory as well as learning and memorizing the words to hymns and choruses. Hiding God’s Word in our heart is valuable not only to keep us from sinning, but also to prepare ourselves in this life as we journey into eternity. 

Who will be at my side in my latter days? What will I be thinking? What will I be hearing? What will I be seeing? Will I be able to feel the tender touch of those nearby?  Through this past year, the life lesson I have learned in all of this is: While I am still able I want to hide God’s Word in my heart so that one day it will be living water that washes over me as I journey from now into eternity!

               

                       

Room 130

For we know that if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. For in this tent we groan, longing to put on our heavenly dwelling, 2 Corinthians 5:1-2.

For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain. Philippians 1:21.

It was 2:58 AM when we got the call. “She is fading fast can you get here soon?” was the message on the other end of the phone. We had gone home nearly eleven hours earlier knowing the end was near. She was ninety-five.

We hurriedly dressed, and in the still of the night when most of our side of the world was sleeping we made what would become one of our last journeys that had been the weekly ebb and flow of our lives for over 3 years. Mostly we were quiet as we drove our familiar forty-five minute path. It was a trip we had made so many times we could almost do it in our sleep. And now, we were making it while the world slept.

Silence was interrupted by occasional questions, “How did we get here so fast?” “Where did the time go?” Waves and floods of memories began to flow, that had spanned our lifetimes, as we neared our journey’s end.

Lucile was the most gracious and giving person I have met. Suffering and affliction had taught her well and it was evident by the way she lived her life. She knew pain and she knew loss. She learned patience as she waited three years for her husband to return home from the beaches of the South Pacific beaten and worn from the trauma of war. She understood sacrifice when she and Chuck took family members into their home and cared for them in their later years. Over the years, as arthritis began to gnarl her hands and back pain became persistent she did not flinch or complain. She pressed on spilling mercy and love into the lives of those around her.

Just as Lu was gracious in living she was gracious in dying. She loved Psalm 23 and had memorized it over the last year or so. Every visit she wanted to say it and have Psalm 100 and 103 read to her. Even in her final days when her body was wasting away and her strength to speak was nearly gone I could see her try to mouth the words as Byron read them to her.

It was 4 AM when we arrived. The stillness of silence was loud, but there was only one thing that mattered. Grasping her old and gnarled hand for the last time we bent over her bed and into her ear said, “Lu, we are here, we love you, Jesus loves you.” Life was draining from her body in a very visible way. In the stillness of night and a dimly lit room at 4:15 AM that Sunday morning God was very busy at work as Lu breathed her last breath, left her earthly tent, and entered into eternity. Tears of sorrow and joy mingled as we quietly wept and pondered the bitter sweetness of death. Loss is gain. Loss reminds us of the fact that she will be missed. Gain reminds us of our eternal home. It is only one breath away.

In the coming days and years, as I think about Lu, I will remember how she lived and died graciously. The character qualities of mercy, patience, grace, goodness, and perseverance that she modeled have left a deep impression on me. She lived her life well. So too, must I. 

Jesus I My Cross Have Taken

I have not forgotten about blogging. I have been a bit distracted lately, but will be getting back to some blogging soon. In the mean time I will be posting some hymn favorites for your edification.

 I love old hymns that have been updated for the purpose of revival in worship. I love the artistry of Indelible Grace. I hope you do too.

There is a Hope

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is revealed to us, Romans 8:18.

Have you ever had those days where life feels like the ocean tide is permanently in and may never go out to sea again. Wave after wave of sorrow, disappointment, and suffering come crashing in with such force you fear the tide will pull you under. If we are honest with ourselves we would admit that we do have waves like this hitting us.

If there is anything I have learned in the difficult times, when I feel hemmed in, God has not left me alone. He is completely trustworthy. In fact, He is working in and through the very difficulties I face to grow me deeper and more dependent on Him. He makes the Son shine through the billowing waves, calming the raging torrent of my soul causing the tide to go out to sea. I need not lose heart, for there is hope!

A Sovereign Axe

"You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me!" Psalm 139:5-6

August 7, 1942 is a date, for most people, that has little to no meaning. For the Tabbut family it has everything to do with the sovereignty of God and life.

Sgt. Perry Tyler Tabbut was part of one of the battalions that were the first to land on Guadalcanal in what would become the beginning of the offensive assault in the Pacific Theater during World War II.

For two months the Marines waged war on the Japanese before they took the high ground which became known as Bloody Ridge. They were shelled nightly by Japanese ships that were off shore. 

Not long after the ridge was secure they received orders to move operations to the low lying area around Henderson Airfield to keep it secure from the enemy. They were, now, more exposed to direct hits from the enemy

Foxholes! The shovels flew as they dug holes in the dirt up to three feet wide and more than 6 ft deep. Fortunately, the dirt was softer so the digging went fast. They needed to get the job done quickly because they knew the enemy was relentless. The ships in the harbor and the planes that flew overhead regularly were a constant threat to their very lives.

Perry was a simple, quiet man. He grew up on the farm in Northern Minnesota. He spent a lot of his youth cutting down trees and digging out stumps. He knew the value  of hard work. The night before he set sail for Guadalcanal, he spent his free time quietly making two purchases, a watch and a map, before he went back on ship. He wanted to get an idea of where he was going and understood  the value of keeping time. In time, both purchases would become extremely useful.

As Perry stood on the beach that warm October day, scanning the terrain, he noticed the number of downed coconut trees from previous skirmishes. Thinking back to his tree cutting days on the farm, he said to the boys," If I only had an axe I could chop those trees to use for a roof over the foxholes making them safer." He had not seen an axe since he had left Minnesota. Looking down at the ground one of his buddies immediately replied,"Look, over there, in the grass, its an axe." Little did he know, it would become an axe that changed the course of Tabbut family history. He never saw an axe again for the remainder of the war.

If we don't stop, look carefully and reflect, we miss the evidence of God's sovereign care in our lives. For Perry, that day, the sovereign axe meant protection of life. Though their foxhole took on shrapnel, if they had not put the coconut tree roof over their heads Perry would have not made it out of the hole alive. The Japanese planes flew low dropping bombs through a partly cloudy sky with good visibility.

That was 1942. Perry continued as a Marine through the remainder of the war. He nearly died of Malaria, but recovered, and went on to fight in more bloody battles in the South Pacific. He returned home in December of 1945 to his waiting bride to be.

Perry and Margaret raised a family of three children, Mary, Susan and Byron. His health was never the same. Frequent bouts of Malaria would change the course of his life and work. Perry died in February 1981 at the age of 66. He has been long remembered as a wise, but simple soft spoken man.

On this Father's Day may we thank God for our fathers and the legacy they leave. A sovereign axe laying in the grass nearly 70 years ago meant that Mary, Susan, and Byron would be given life and families of their own, who have gone on to have families of their own. There are no chance encounters with God!

Hope From A Hymnal

I love Hymns. They really speak to my soul. So many of them were inspired through great difficulties and losses, not unlike the Psalmists of the Bible. Their poetic words rooted in biblical truth offer hope and encouragement to the weary soul.

O Love that Will No Let Me Go is one of my favorites. George Matheson wrote it on the eve of his sister’s wedding as he sadly remembered his own loss. Years before he had been engaged, but when it was discovered that he was going blind his fiancée broke the engagement. She could not bear to go through life married to a blind man.

The next time you pick up a hymnal, spend some time reading the hymns. You will be amazed at the rich truths mined from God’s Word that have been borne through great sorrow. Your evening will turn to morning and your sorrows will turn to joy!

Lessons from the Master Gardener

Let your roots grow down into him and draw up nourishment from him, so that you will grow in faith, strong and vigorous in the truth you were taught. Let your lives overflow with thanksgiving for all he has done. Colossians 2:7
 
I have been on a quest for some time to beautify my gardens. I have enlisted the help of a friend who is a very creative gardener. We have split plants, rearranged plants, added new plants, and pruned plants. My gardens have never been so beautiful!

Spring has been slow in coming to our region. Consequently, the spring bloom has been behind. In the past week the weather has warmed significantly and everything is bursting forth - including the weeds.

The lovely beds of a few weeks ago have turned into a nightmare of thistles and dandelions. The, once, daily tending and care of the garden has slipped in it frequency at a cost. Beauty has been overrun.

Tap roots go deep and if not dug out the weeds come back stronger. Popping the tops of the weed is only a superficial solution. They must be rooted out.

My heart is a lot like a garden that requires constant tending. It needs the hand of the Master Gardener pruning, watering, amending soil and weeding out the bad roots.  The tender care of the gardeners hand causes the plants to be healthier, stronger and more full of blooms because the roots have more room to grow.

God has not left us to ourselves. He has given us His Son, His Word, the power of the Holy Spirit and the body of Christ to help us see the weeds and root out the thistles and dandelions of our hearts. We need to let him do His work. His Word can daily nourish us so that we may find joy in the journey as each thistle and dandelion is dug out.  I need thee every hour!

What A Difference A Year Can Make

Today as I drove home from my exercise class I couldn't help but think about what a difference a year can make. The wind is quieter today, but the temperatures are still frigid. It seems like we had March weather in January and are now having January weather in March. I stopped at the end of my driveway and snapped a photo of the same place I took a picture exactly one year ago.

Last year, during the Easter season we basked in the beauty and warmth that an early spring brings. The daffodils were in full bloom and the tulips on their way. It was such a vivid picture of death coming to life and almost made the reality of Christ's death and resurrection more evident, and perhaps, more worshipful in my foolish heart. Why would the sun's warmth and the beautiful palette of color splashing everywhere painting an amazing picture of brightness seem to make the resurrection more real?

Wind the clock ahead a year. It is once again the Easter season. Instead of the warmer southwestern breezes that mark the beginning of spring, we are experiencing subzero Alberta Clippers. There is not a trace of life bursting forth from the death of winter. But, the reality of the resurrection is nonetheless evident. Christ rose from the dead whether or not we see the visual picture of death bursting forth to life in the things that God made around us. Christ's death and resurrection served an entirely different purpose. His suffering had to happen so that those who are being saved could be freed from the old self's bondage to sin and be given new life found in the Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection. John Piper says it so well: 

"The resurrection of Jesus is God's gift and proof that his death was completely successful in blotting out the sins of his people and removing the wrath of God.[1]

True worship and reveling in the wonder of Christ’s death and resurrection is not about what is happening in my external world that matters, but rather what is going on internally in my heart.
Today as the cold winds blow and patches of snow are still present I wonder and marvel at the beauty and horror that met at the cross. Sorrow and love flowed from a bloody crown of thorns yet burst forth in the brilliant light of the resurrection whether or not it is warm and beautiful or cold and cruel feeling. Speechless, I think to myself, “He would do that for me?”

Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, 
(1 Peter 3:18).

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[1] Piper, John, The Passion of Christ (Wheaton, IL: Crossway Books), 100.