What Not to Say to a King

“Wow! You’re shorter than I thought you’d be.” – Me at 16 to King Karl Gustav the 17th, King of Sweden.

I am really glad they don’t behead people anymore. I’m pretty sure I would have lost mine after that little social mistake. It’s sometimes surprising to me, when I look at our world and discover we still have kings and queens. With all of the advancements we’ve made in civilization, I really don’t see the point. What isn’t so surprising is the reality that their positions are more image than impact. They don’t really get to do much any more. They have parliments and people who make the rules and laws for them. Royalty today, is pretty much relegated to kind of a rock star status. They are worshipped by many but carry with them very little clout.

I’ll make a king out of anybody it seems. The problem is, once I do and they come up short so to speak.. I might stop listening.

Matthew 23 1-3 (The Message)
Now Jesus turned to address his disciples, along with the crowd that had gathered with them. “The religion scholars and Pharisees are competent teachers in God’s Law. You won’t go wrong in following their teachings on Moses.

I almost missed it. In looking through Matthew 23, writing down names in my self-indulgent pitty party,I almost missed a very important passage. The NIV states “Those who sit in the seat of Moses.”

Jesus tells them – and us – to listen to them, referring to the Pharisees and Judges. It’s their job to know scripture, we’d be wise to follow their teachings. Just don’t copy their lives. They aren’t perfect. Yes they come up short,(and so do I.) but listen to them- they know what they are talking about.

Just don’t confuse those who sit in the seat of Moses with the One who sits at the right hand of God.

cont…

Be yourself…

Stop Setting Yourself on fire already…That’s my job

“Holy Fire, Burn away
My desire For anything
that is not of you and is of me.
I want more of you and less of me. Empty me..” – Zion’s Fire

Whether or not I realized it, I was in a fire – not of my own making, but of Gods. Why? He needed to make room. My temple was cluttered with too many voices, and too many things.

Matthew 21: 12-17

Jesus entered the temple area and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. “It is written,” he said to them, ” ‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’ but you are making it a ‘den of robbers.'”

The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them. But when the chief priests and the teachers of the law saw the wonderful things he did and the children shouting in the temple area, “Hosanna to the Son of David,” they were indignant.

“Do you hear what these children are saying?” they asked him.
“Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read, ” ‘From the lips of children and infants
you have ordained praise’?”

And he left them and went out of the city to Bethany, where he spent the night.

—————————————————-

So how does a dirty cup, a triumphal entry and a cleared out temple tie into Matthew 23? Easy – I can talk the talk but stumble the walk. In missing the most important part, (John 3:16) I spend my time making up for lost time and hoping you don’t notice. And if you do notice, I might just set myself on fire.

Early on in my Christian walk, I wanted to fit in. More realistically, I wanted to morph into the walls and be invisible. I copied everything I saw until I looked on the outside how I really wanted to look on the inside. Right down to the shoes. If they wore it, I wore it, if they joined it, so did I. I’m not sure what I was hoping really, osmosis through copy write violations perhaps. False shame and false guilt turned me into the proverbial foot washer, hoping somehow my actions would make me as clean on the outside and everyone else seemed on the inside. I walked the “Jesus died for you, and I’m sneaking in on a borrowed halo” theology line. I talk a good line – but I don’t live it. Not when I spend my life looking grace in the face and working behind the scenes as if to say it’s not enough, twisting the fruit of repentance into groveling and penance.

I tend to set myself on fire just prove I fit in. Case in point:

I was attending a local women’s league event and at break went outside, and around the building to smoke – and hide. I had just lit my cigarette (with three other hiders like myself by the trash bin) when out walks a local pastor.

He wasn’t just any pastor – but the pastor who is over a church that we are considering joining. I wanted him to like me. I needed him to like me, because I wanted to join his church. Our pastor had taken a call out of state and we (my husband and I) were church shopping. I had (in my humble opinion) believed I’d tricked the first pastor in allowing me to stay and I needed to hone up on my costume changes to keep that going. I’m wrong on that assessment – but that’s another story.

Without thinking, I shove the pack of cigarettes in my pocket, and stick the lit one behind my back. That’s the funny thing about idols, they can breed fear, shame and dishonesty. In an instant , I communicated fear, dishonesty and distrust. The smoke billowing up over the top of my head comminicated the fact that my dress was about to catch fire. I can laugh about that today. But not then.

Lighting myself on fire, is not a new thing. It would take Christ to make an old thing like that, new. I needed a different kind of fire if he was going to have his way with me.

There is hope.

God also promises to replace those self inflicted fires with a new one -2 Timothy 1:6
“For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands.”

Once he got me to stop setting myself on fire, and set me on fire for him through the Holy Spirt, we still had work to do.

Her husband can trust her… She brings him good not harm all the days of her life


Prov 31:10-12

10 Who can find a virtuous and capable wife?

She is more precious than rubies.

11 Her husband can trust her,

and she will greatly enrich his life.

12 She brings him good, not harm,

all the days of her life.

Being married to a worship leader can be a lot of fun. I love listening to Jeff play, practice, and write. His heart for God deepens mine and brings me joy, most of the time. Other days, I’m not quite that spiritual.

I do not share his gifts for music, and there are times when I feel a bit jealous for his abilities to lead worship, write and sing with passion like he does. And there are times where I’m not always understanding of the time commitment that sort of dedicated life requires. Lacking understanding does not a motive make. I’m just saying that now.

Housework is not my strong suit. I’m more of an Erma Bombeck than a Martha Stewart. I hate housework and am convinced that my grandmothers white glove approach to cleaning wiped out all domestic genes in my body. There is only so much bleach water a body can stand and besides, I’m not really that good at it in my opinion. But that doesn’t keep me from trying and doing my best.

We have a room in our house dedicated to music. It’s full of guitars, a keyboard, drums, sound board etc.. this is a “musician’s only room please.” kind of room. And even though I do pick up the Gibson from time to time (I’m trying to learn how to play) I pretty much stay out of it.

Until today.

Today, I decided that it would be nice if I cleaned it up for him while he is away at a conference in Michigan. It was a nice thought, I meant well, really. So, I pulled everything off the bookcases, dusted and oiled all the wood. Cleaned the windows and blinds, swept the floor, carefully dusted all of the equipment – using a feather duster so as not to scratch anything and as I was about to leave the room I decided to check the fireplace.

I should have left the room. Instead I looked inside to see left over soot from last winter. How hard can it be to clean that up? So I pulled out my Kenmore vacuum cleaner and cleaned away.

I learned somethings today.

If you are going to vacuum out a fireplace keep an eye on what is going on behind you.
A hepa filter can only work so well.
Kenmore vacuum cleaners don’t like soot.
Freshly dusted musical instruments are soot magnets.

I’m pondering some things now.
1. Why did I dust before I cleaned the fireplace ?
2. Is my life insurance up to date?
3. Does anyone know how to get soot out of a Taylor guitar?

So, trust I’m not so sure. Ditto good. I am however pretty sure I enrich his life … I’m just not sure how.

Holy Bible, New Living Translation ®, copyright © 1996, 2004 by Tyndale Charitable Trust. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers. All rights reserved.

Early Morning Raccoons Can Make one Pentecostal


Not to make fun of the Pentecostal church, it is just that I have a baby raccoon on my back porch. Or at least I did before I baptized him – and everything else on my porch. You’ve heard of Baptism by Fire? well this was Baptism by Folgers. I was trying to protect my dogs who were just trying to protect their kibbles and bits. Note to self – Never, ever, open my back door while it is yet dark without turning a light on first. And use the restroom before letting your dogs out, or it can really get ugly.

Being surprised by wildlife at 5 am should in my groggy opinion, warrant the use of well, words preceded by “Holy.” That makes it okay right? I mean it’s kind of like following gossip with the phrase “bless her heart.” Down south, as long as you cap it with that, you are in the clear.

My dogs spotted our intruder feasting on kibble well before I did. They knocked me to the side when they bolted out the door. In my surprise, somewhere amidst the hissing, barking, growling, chasing, climbing screens (smart baby), and running came a string of phrases that would turn the ears of a teamster red I’m sure. I blessed everything from procreation to bodily functions, I questioned not only it’s legitimacy, but it’s mother’s temperment as well. And when I ran out of words, I simply uttered things intangible while I swung my broom at nothing.

This little bugger is not stupid. While they chased him to the doggie door, he jumped up onto the screen and watched them leave. He then jumped down to go back at their food. That’s when I baptized him with my coffee, grabbed a broom and started chanting. Out the door he went and back up the screen. It seems my border collie was laying in wait.

I finally got my dogs to come back in, sat down with a fresh cup of coffee to focus on my morning devotional and my friend came back AGAIN. I didn’t baptize him this time. It was then that I saw he was just a baby. He sat there for a little bit, looking at me with these incredible forlorn eyes. I felt sorry for him for a moment – looked him in the eyes and said “don’t even think about it.” and with that, he left.

My border collie is still sniffing the grounds looking for him. My regular collie – won’t use the doggie door now – she a bit on the prissy side, and it may take her a while to get over the fact that it’s been defiled. I had to let her out the regular screen door. But at least it is quiet again.

Oh yes, this is going to be a glorious day.

I’m not right – Really.

School starts in three weeks, and I’ve already embarrased my oldest. We were looking through Eline (The online system at school) for his classes and materials lists and I came across the syllibus for 12th grade Bible. David (his teacher) posted they will be studying “Joshua and Judges, Wisdom Literature, and the Pauline Epistles.”

Now it could have happened to anyone really. I mean who refers to Paul’s Epistles as Pauline Epistles?

So I emailed David and asked, in all sincerity, “Who’s She?”

Well, she is really He (Paul) and not some distant cousin, sister, or alter ego. But after sharing my mistake with a girlfriend, we fed off each other and decided that the world really does need a Pauline and her Epistles. So, we’re working on a list of things Paul would have written if he were female…

And now for something completely different: This is the action figure I found in Chicago. “Miracle Hands Jesus” complete with water to wine jug and loaves and fish. The hands even glow in the dark – I thought it was hilarious and wanted to bring it back to show the team, but Jeff wouldn’t let me buy it. Seems he was afraid of lightening striking our car or something.

That reminds me. I dated a boy with miracle hands in high school.

We used to call him the octopus.

If he kept his hands to himself, we considered it a miracle.

———————–

Okay – I’ve told enough bad jokes for one day – be blessed ya’ll and have a wonderful week.

“You know you come from a backwoods church when

your pastor sneezes and you think it’s a baptism.” – Pauline.

Things a Mom Says

I wish I’d written them down. You know those things you wind up saying as a mom that you can’t believe you’ve ever said? Those really weird phrases that go beyond the momisms like “brush your teeth and sit up straight” to the realm of “wow, blue hair. Nice. Yes you can keep it for the summer.” And “no you cannot get your (fill in any body part except ears here) pierced – you’re 12!”

I’ve said a lot of things over the years I can’t repeat mainly because my boys trust me and they are too personal. (They save the really shocking and personal stuff for when Dad is out of town. I return the favor by being equally shocking, honest and personal back. It’s fun.)

There are also other times though that invoke a different type of communication from me. Some of this communication involves my screaming and scrambling behind my sofa (snakes in the house) and others bring out simpler questions like, “So are you trying to kill yourself or did you just want to give me a stroke?”

I have actually learned phrases like “Is there blood? No. Then you’ll live.” And so will I.

And yes, I’ve even said over the years – “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

Never ask a child that, they might tell you.

This weekend, I added two new phrases to my book of I cannot believe I said that statements.

1. “No, you cannot climb onto the roof to make your go-cart look like it’s flying away.”

and

2. “You cannot send a toad into outer space with helium balloons, let it go and use a GI Joe instead please.”

It’s all in a day’s work.

Speaking of a days work, Anita Renfroe (one of my favorite women of all time) put together a video clip of everything a mom might say in a day to music. Enjoy.

There’s a Hole in Our Wall, Dear Jeffrey

(Sung to There’s a hole in the bucket)
I bought a new cabinet
Dear Jeffrey
Dear Jeffrey
I bought a new cabinet
For our bathroom downstairs
——————-
I looked for your drill bit
Dear Jeffrey
Dear Jeffrey
I looked for your drill bit
Dear Jeffrey
And found it, I did.
————
I looked for the studs
like it said to
dear jeffrey
I looked for the studs
and low there they were
————————–
I missed them Dear jeffrey
Dear Jeffrey
I missed them Dear Jeffrey and I don’t know how.
————————————-
There are holes in our wall, dear Jeffrey
dear Jeffrey
There are holes in our wall Dear Jeffrey
Four holes
——————–
The cabinet’s not up yet dear jeffrey
dear jeffrey
The cabinet’s not up yet cuz I lost the bracket thingie that goes in the hole.
————————
we might need some plaster
and more paint
dear jeffrey
We might need some plaster
and more paint
to hide my mistakes.
—————–
Love you Honey!

The Neurotic Messiah

Oh no! What have I done? I cannot read a single note. Not one. This score is much more complicated Than I ever anticipated.

I haven’t sung in a choir for twenty year. And so began my chorus of fears.

The starts, the stops, the highs, the lows The beats, the counts, the arpeggios. The conductors who speak in some foreign tongue Is it Latin, or Italian? I know not which one.

The M’s and P’s, and F’s and M’s. Oh, these aren’t your typical church service hymns. Am I an “S” or not an “S” I do not know and now they say my costume I need to sew.

Light the fire but don’t take it out?! Would someone please tell me what that was about?

Now I’m told to sing like Ethel Merman and that we aren’t singing, but giving a sermon.

Oh how I’m beginning to rue the day when Sue Paulison said “Come on let’s play. You don’t need to audition, just show up and sing. Being a part of “The Messiah” is a wonderful thing.”

I’m now thinking my impulse to do this was rash. This may be a check I’ve written that my body can’t cash.

This is not good, not good at all, but then again, does pride not come before the fall?

I drove straight home and on my bed I sat telling my husband, I’m not going back! And that is that!

Then standing in the hallway whom did I see but my 9-year-old son list-ening to me. “I thought you once said don’t ever quit. So please tell me now, why are you doing it?”

I searched through my brain to frantically look for some wise answer to get me off the hook. Failing that I tried for the truth Hoping somehow he’d understand, even in his youth.

“That may be true.” I answer, “But don’t you see? There’s too much to learn and it’s too hard for me. Besides, I really can’t sing, not like the rest.” And he said “That’s okay Mom; just do your best. God won’t mind, just wait and see. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”

And so I sat with a guilty heart wondering when my son got so smart. And wondering why he now would choose to remember my words and those words use.

Then henceforth came my next blessing I caught a cold while I was dressing. I coughed and sneezed and wheezed and gasped. My voice, once loud, now barely rasped.

I cannot sing and cough no sir, they have to let me drop now, I’m sure. No guilt, no blame, It’s not my fault. This cruel dance can finally come to a halt.

But Leon’s good. He doesn’t miss a trick. You’d better get well and get well quick. I’ll let you sing you’ll do just fine, people catch colds all the time. And so went my last excuse. Fighting God on this one seemed no use.

My costume’s all sewn by my friend Cyndi, with care, At least now I will have something to wear.

I thought a “piano” is what you played and not what you sang and this cold still makes me sound like a cat in the rain. I’m not an “S” and this much I know that’s to keep us from hissing during the show.

The Marys and Josephs have been picked out with care now if only they could decide when they’ll be there.

The last practice has come we should know what to do. Stand up straight, bend your knees, and that includes you. The Altos still outnumber the rest by a score, next year could you please try soprano some more.

The orchestra is with us, it’s coming together. Somehow I doubt we could get any better.

Tell us Pastor Carter how does it sound now that we’ve done this last go around?

“It needs to be crisp, we’ve lost that somehow. Remember, you are praising God, so let’s pull it together now. Sopranos are too strong, bring it down just a bit. Bass’s your not emphasizing the lines that you hit. Tenors and Altos your entrances are late, but other than that I think it sounds great.”

Our differences we have quietly tucked away, as all Tulsa Lutheran churches sing in har-mony this day. Clear and true our music does ring as we all praise and worship our new-born King.

All fears and joking are now put aside. This is a worship service and our joy we can’t hide.

The true story of Christmas can only be told through the lives of the ones who dare to Behold.

“Behold! I bring you tidings of great joy which shall be to all
people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior which is
Christ the Lord.”

Of Mice and Meaning

I found mice today, cleaning out a closet he said was too full.
He was right you know,
about the closet that is.

Underneath all of the clutter and stuff that is my life
was a nest of shredded books and papers.
A paper back that was once mine, was now theirs.

Chewed and torn and turned into a home.
Only the top half of the book remained.

I coudn’t even make out the author’s name
or the title for that matter.
Bill something not that it matters now
but it did once.

Digging deeper,
I found more papers
More torn books
half chewed and then rejected.

Perhaps the binding was too tough?
Or the reading too slow.

Who knows.

In a moment’s time
my trusty vacuum cleaner
swept through their home
and my life
like a tornado Ripping it to shreds
until nothing was left.

I set traps
sticky ones that were supposed to be kind
or at least mess free
but they aren’t
a baby got stuck and cried for it’s mother
only she never came

And he wound up in the trash

I won’t use those again
it’s much too sad.

I’d rather buy a cat,
but he hates them
so we have mice instead.

The closet is empty now
purged of it’s former inhabitants
and free of bothersome clutter

waiting to be refilled
or reorganised
whichever comes first

much like my life