Neighbors! Gee Wiz!

Anybody else find it hard to love thy neighbor? Kids in Ethiopia, I'm all over that, the homeless guy down town, I'll give 'em a buck. Troubled teens, bring them on. But the lady who lives next door who hates kids and has a mean yappy dog...well, she's just plain unlovable.

"Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?"
Jesus replied, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it, "Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments."

Gnarly. There's no loop hole...I've looked...but still all the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.

So earlier today when the "Mean Lady"(as she has been not-so-affectionately labeled by the neighborhood kids) approached me, wagging her finger and hollering complaints and annoyances, clearly I had not only a responsibility, but was actually commanded by the creator of the earth and skies…to love her.

I told her that if she didn’t like it here she should just move out.

She pointed her finger at my face and told me I was evil and my children were evil and that she didn’t know what sorts of things I was being taught at my so-called church but that I wasn’t a very good Christian.

She said that to me and stared me down with her beady little eyes…while over a dozen kids sat out in the driveway watching.

Well, this just made my Russian blood boil!

In my defense, for the past two years since the Mean Lady moved in, she’s done nothing but scream and yell and complain and alienate every neighbor on our street. And in all this time, I’ve never had so much as a single unkind word with her. But she’s been so unbearable for so many of my friends that I figured this time, she had it coming.

Or did she?

Two commandments, Love God, love your neighbor. The first is the greatest, but the second is like it? So you mean to tell me that loving this Mean Lady is like loving God?

Gee Wiz!

So the drama continued with just about half a dozen ticked off neighbors gathering to talk smack while she huffed and puffed and took pictures of the kid’s scattered toys and sidewalk chalk drawings. She said she was gonna get us all restraining orders. A few of us said we were gonna get em for her too.

Then she stormed into her house and we let off all the steam we could muster. We said, “Yeah, you’re right…she’s mean…she’s crazy… you don’t deserve that…”

Then a moment later, she came back. She was shaking with big-baby tears pooled in her eyes. “We should talk,” she says.

Now I reckoned that this was a divine appointment.

So me and two of the other Christian moms stood with our arms tightly folded across our chests. And then she hollered a bit more and then we hollered back…nobody really listened much. But somewhere in the messiness of all the “she said, she said”…the Gospel shone through.

She said, “I just feel like you all just hate me,” which wasn’t entirely untrue.

But then she said, “I just wish we could have a fresh start.”

Ahhh..so there it is…the loop hole…a fresh start. Loving God and loving your neighbor is in it’s very nature all about screwing up and having the graceful opportunity to try again. And somewhere in the messiness of it all, is truly where the magic of God’s love is glorified.

“Well,” I told her, “we are actually all about fresh starts.” Then we talked for a good while about the healing and restorative power of Jesus Christ of Nazereth and then we even prayed together …and like balm to a wound, things softened.

Eventually, we came to some compromises on her demands and we all promised to wave and be more friendly. Turns out, although her list of gripes was long, at the very top of that list was that she felt unloved.

I wonder if now would be a bad time to tell her that her yappy dog woke me up at the crack of dawn this morning?

The Day is His

I was reading in my daily devotional this morning, "Echos of Eternity" by Hal Helms, and felt compelled to share. I love when the Lord settles my soul with the knowledge of His utter control over this entire universe. Hope you enjoy.

April Sixteenth
"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? When the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" Job 38:4,7

The day is Mine. It is a gift of My love to My creation. The sun shines at My behest, and light goes forth according to My will. My creation does not understand, and takes it all for granted. But a few souls can see and know. Be one of them, My child, and enter into the secret joy of thankfulness. Take nothing for granted any more. Praise and gratitude carry their own reward. You cannot become what I created you to be by any other path.

The Wonderful Cross

I am especially thankful this Easter for the wonderful cross. Life is overwhelming, our country is in crisis, the world seems to be spinning off its axis and the future is unsure. I cannot describe the peace I find in the cross of Christ. I felt it flood my heart and soul last night as we sang the old hymn, When I Survey the Wondrous Cross, at church. I've said it before that hymns have a way of beautifully describing the truth of our faith. This one brings me to my knees in adoration of the One who holds the whole universe in His hands. I encourage you, as I have before, take time this Easter to meditate on the following words. Let your mind attempt to wrap itself around their meaning. Let your soul take a weary breath inward and be filled with peace.


When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the death of Christ, my God
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to his blood

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
Bids me come and die
And find that I may truly live

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
All who gather here
By grace draw near and bless your name

See, from his head, his hands, his feet
Sorrow and love flow mingled down
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown.

Were the whole realm of nature mine
That were an offering far too small
Love so amazing, so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
Bids me come and die
And find that I may truly live

Oh the Wonderful Cross
Oh the Wonderful Cross
All who gather near
By grace draw near and bless your name.



Colossians 1: 13, 16-17 says this:

"For He (the Father) delivered us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son...For by Him (Christ) all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities-all things have been created by Him and for Him. And He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together."

Our pastor pointed out last night that it's a little weird to sing, "oh the wonderful cross". You wouldn't hear people singing, "Oh the wonderful guillotine" or "the wonderful gas chamber". But the cross is so good because it did what no man could ever do. It reconciled us back to our creator. Christianity is different from any other religion in that no other object of worship took the penalty of sin on his own shoulders. Our savior did that. And because He did that, because He rose from the dead, is seated at the right-hand of his father, and still holds the whole world together, we can rejoice and rest in peace.

Oh the Wonderful Cross...bids me come and die, and find that I may truly live. I sure needed a reminder to lay down all the things in my life that occupy my mind and stress me out. Lay them at the wonderful cross...and find that you may truly live.

Thank Therapy

I‘ve been whining a lot lately. Sometimes it just feels like my life is harder than others'. My kids aren’t easy. My son has some mild developmental issues that make school and sports harder for him than for most kids. It also makes my life harder. My daughter is really strong, assertive, and at times volatile…not really easy for me, who hates conflict and just wants everyone happy, to parent. And so the conversation with God goes something like this: “Geez, wasn’t it enough that these kids were really hard get”, recalling in my mind the months and years of infertility, the difficult and lengthy process of adoption, the lost babies, the negative pregnancy tests… “But now these kids have to be so much work!?” So quick is the slope into self-pity and ingratitude…these thoughts lead to longing for what others seem to have…easier kids, lovelier homes, more money for vacations and clothes, an easier marriage…and the list can go on forever. Amazingly, the Lord quietly listens. There’s no strike of lightening, no condemning burning bush appearing in my bedroom, just the sense of a loving Father listening…patiently and gently.

Then I went to the dentist. As he was checking my teeth in a routine exam, he stopped and said, “Did you bite your lower lip or something?” For years, I have had this vein in my lower lip that seems just a little more pronounced and visible. “That….I’ve had that for years.", I answered. “Hmm…” He says. “I’ve never seen it this obvious…looks like it’s gotten bigger. I think we should have an oral surgeon look at it…just to be safe.” Safe from what…I am thinking. “He’ll check it out and decide if it should be biopsied.” Okay…I don’t know about you, but if a doctor uses the word ‘biopsy’ in any context referring to me, panic is quick to follow. “BIOPSY…are you serious?” I wanted to yell. “I don’t want you to lose sleep over this, but we should just get it checked out to be safe.”, he said, probably reading the horror in my face. “Uh huh…” I’m thinking, “Isn’t that how every sad story of someone dying of cancer starts out?”

Suddenly, the voices of all my little complaints became completely silent. My body began to float in the dark space of this thought: “It’s possible I may die before my kids stop needing me.” I love how one thought leads to another… “Let’s get it checked to be safe” leads to a cancer diagnosis which leads to: “What will Craig do without me? What if I’m not around to see my kids get married…or have babies…or fulfill their God-given purposes on this earth?”…all flooding my mind within seconds. Almost instantly, I went from just checking something to “be safe”, to my untimely death and its consequences. I found myself longing to just have the school/sports difficulty and the strong-willed child challenge again. “I love my life…really, Lord, I do. I pray you don’t have to kick me in the teeth to remind me of just how good I have it.” For two days, I had this worry hanging over me…it’s not fun. As I sat in the oral surgeon’s office, having him examine, measure, and take pictures of the crazy-lip-vein that might end up killing me, I thought…please just say, “I think it’s probably nothing” When he finally said the word, “benign”, possibly the best word in the English language, and tried to explain all the other harmless things he thought it was…I swear, the sky outside became more blue…I think I could even smell the beautiful flowers growing across the street. I danced to my car filled with life, with gratitude, with joy, and with an appreciation for this short, fragile, lovely and wonderful life I have.

In high school, my pastor taught us what he called, “Thank Therapy”: Every time you feel down, depressed, alone, or hopeless, stop and find 7 things you are thankful for. The first one is always the hardest to think of. There were times back then that the only thing I could think of was that the sun had come up that morning. But the thing is, as soon as you find that first thing, amazingly, all the other wonderful things…big and small… seem to flood your mind. Inevitably, you find yourself thanking God for far more than just 7 things. Afterward, you feel blessed and joyful…even in the darkest times of your life. I know “Thank Therapy” sounds a little too easy, juvenile, and maybe even corny, but actually it is a profound practice that does help remove the fixation we have on the hard stuff in our lives and our suffering. I have used this therapy many times in my life and it really works. It takes you from a place of depression to a place of peace and joy. But sometimes, when I forget or refuse to do this process, the Lord will drive me to the “thank therapist’s” office Himself. This time the therapist was the possibility of cancer. From my therapy session came a gentle reminder from my God: “You are blessed. You are healthy (at least for today). You have a man who adores you and comes home to you every night. Your kids are miracles and gifts to you…struggles, challenges and all. Stop comparing yourself to others for always there will be someone who has more and someone who has less. I love you, am with you, and you are blessed.”

Nothing like the word “biopsy” to thrust me into necessary thank therapy.

Divorce Line

“Is there anyone here who needs a new restraining order?” asked the portly lady from behind the counter. The sign dangling just above her head read “Family Law”.

A tall, black woman with exotic eyes painted up like a super model, timidly raised her hand. “I am,” she said softly. Her baby fussed in his stroller as she shuffled towards the counter.

Mayli looked over at me with her big blue eyes and shook her head in amazement. I knew what she was thinking, the way women who have been friends for twenty years just know.

My chest ached.

“Next!”

The man in front of us was tattooed from his elbows down to his wrists, and smelled of fresh cigarettes. His pants hung so low that they revealed his brown plaid boxers in their entirety. He stepped up to the counter, “Yeah I’m here about a divorce.”

I raised my eyebrows at Mayli.

A tired woman with bleach-fried hair opened up the partition at the end of the counter, pressed her palms up on the desk and leaned her body towards the line-up, her sagging breasts spilling out of her blouse. “What are you here for?” She asked the last woman in line.

The woman cleared her throat, “Um, a divorce…”

“K, you can stay in that line…what about you?” She asked as she pointed her bitten-down fingernail towards the Hispanic lady who was next in line.

The lady replied, “How you say…?” Her eyes darted towards the rest of us in the line.

I smiled back at her wanting to say, “It’s okay, you’re alright…this is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“How you say…” She bit her lip and shook her hand in front of her mouth, “Como se dice…uh…cusdideo… bambino?”

“Child custody dispute?” Bleach-fried asked.

“Si, si,” the woman nodded.

“Yeah all right, you need to get in that other line.”

“Okay, what about you?”

“Yeah, a divorce also,” the next man up answered. He was short and balding with thick glasses and yellowing teeth. He carried stacks of folders and loose papers under each arm.

“Alright, stay there…and you?”

“Yeah, uh…paternity.” A man in his mid-forties with a tattered baseball hat chomped on his gum and said, “She could never prove the kid was mine.”

Mayli’s eyes widened even more. “She’s gonna ask everybody in the line, she’s gonna ask me!” She turned her back towards the woman and faced the wall.

And like a shotgun, one by one, Bleach –fried fired her way up the line…divorce, restraining order, custody battle…the kid’s not mine. She sorted each of the torn-up lives into the correct lines.

“You…excuse me, Mam? I’m talking to you…”

Mayli slowly turned around. She didn’t lift her head, “Yeah, a divorce.”

I wanted to throw something. I wanted to throw something at Bleach-fried.

“Hey Lady,” I said under my breath, “how much time do ya got?”

Mayli smiled and shushed me.

“No seriously,” I continued. “You really want to know why she’s here? It all started about twenty years ago, she met this guy, she fell in love, she had dreams…”

The man behind us laughed. “Yeah, seriously!” He said.

And Mayli laughed too.

We stood there shaking our heads at the absurdity of it all.

“They better give you a sticker with a smiley face on it when you leave here,” I told Mayli, “like when you give blood… and a chocolate chip cookie too.”

Bleach –fried hollered out to Como Se Dice Lady, “Yeah, uh, now you’re gonna have to get back in that other line again!”

Como Se Dice fumbled around like someone had just smacked her in the head with a baseball bat. Then she settled back in the line, cutting, just in front of me and Mayli. She pressed the palm of her hand into her forehead and smoothed her wiry black hair from her face.

She spoke to Mayli, “How you say, muy difficult-a?” She stuttered for a minute, muttering words in Spanish.

I have heard Mayli talk to her gardener in hurried Spanish for years.

“She speaks Spanish,” I told Como Se Dice. “She comprehendo…”

Como se Dice smiled brightly. “Oh, bueno, bueno…” and off she launched into a series of blended words. I picked out dios and amiga and ninos. Como se Dice waved her arms and pointed to the sky and to her heart. Her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

Mayli nodded her head and said, “Si, si, oh, si…”

Both women wiped water from their eyes.

“What did she say? What did she say?” I asked.

“She said she got divorced a year ago and it was very difficult, now she’s back to fight for full custody because her X went loco.”

Como se Dice smiled at me and nodded for Mayli to continue.

“But she said if you have God you can get through it, if you have God you can get through anything and God will give you a friend too, to be your angel.”

And then Como se Dice pointed to me. “An-hell,” she said.

I smiled at Como se Dice wishing I knew her real name.

“Next!”

The line shuffled forward, Como Se Dice waved her papers in the air and scurried up to the counter squalling in broken English.

Mayli was next. I watched my dear friend, her hands tightly gripping a red folder. She has beautiful hands, long and slender. I always thought she could be a hand model.

When it was her turn, she took a deep breath and said, “Here we go.”

The portly lady behind the counter had gray eyes and gray skin. She didn’t smile. She sat beneath a blinking fluorescent light and a sign that read, “Please Don’t Leave Your Children Unattended.” There was a basket of candy on her desk just beyond our reach.



When Mayli and I were young moms we went for a girl’s night out. We walked around the mall and drank peppermint tea. We went into this one store that sold rubber stamps and rainbows of ink pads. It was wall to wall unicorn stamps, teddy bear stamps, flower stamps and stamps with little phrases on them like “I Love You” and “Thank-you”. We thought it terribly funny. I love you, but not enough to write it all the way out myself. Our favorite was one that read, “Praying For You.” We’ve laughed about it for years. I don’t actually have the time or energy to write it, but let me just use this handy-dandy stamp and I’ll be sure to remember to pray for you.

Mayli motioned me towards the pile of stamps on the counter. Divorce, Fee Waved, In Process, Sign Here.

“Praying For You,” she whispered to me with a weary smile.

Then she turned to the woman behind the counter and asked, “Now, I was told I could have the $350 waived if I don’t have a job, is that true?”

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes. “Well, did you fill out the Fee Waiver forms?”

“Uh… no.”

“Well, Mam, that’s a different line, see down at the end of the room where that counter is? You’ve got to get in that line to get the forms and then you’ll have to get back in this line to process them.”

“Do I have to get back at the end of this line?”

“Yeah, and you better hurry cause there’s about six pages to fill out and if you’re not back in line by 3:00, you’ll have to come back another day… Next!”



Damn Alex.

Yeah, yeah I know there’s always two sides to the story, but I’m on Mayli’s side. Truth be told, everyone who knows their story is on Mayli’s side.

Alex went loco. He said being married was too hard.

My ass Alex! Standing in this line all day is what’s hard. Dividing up pennies and debt and weekends with the kids, (if they’ll even go with you) that’s what’s hard. Emma so distraught by her daddy leaving that she cries until she throws up, that’s hard. The suffering you’re causing your wife and your daughters because you can’t man up and get through the “hard” times, well that’s just nasty, mean, selfish hard!

Jon and I met Alex and Mayli on a weekend marriage retreat twenty years ago. They had a minivan and a job with health benefits, which to us, back then, were the moon and the stars. Mayli and I were both pregnant. We giggled as we ran to the bathroom to throw up our pancakes.

The Monday after the retreat my baby died inside my belly. Mayli came to my side and that’s where she’s stayed ever since. She knew all too well the ugly pain of losing a child.

I got back in the line we had just spent the better part of the afternoon in, while Mayli ran to get in the line for the Fee Waiver forms.

“I need that three hundred and fifty bucks,” she said apologetically.

As I watched her move through the crowded room, I remembered her. I remembered her in her cut off Levi’s and peasant blouse, pregnant and in love.

His Story

“Tell me a story, Bobbie, please, please,” my little sister would beg, after we had been tucked into our twin beds and the lights were out. Telling stories had been my idea in the first place, but it was starting to wear thin, usually because I was too tired to think of anything very exciting and would rather have had someone tell me a story instead. A lot of times, our mom would let us listen to “Fibber McGee and Molly” or “The Great Gildersleeve” on the radio after the lights were out which gave us the captivating stories we both seemed to crave. (For those of you born after 1948, I’m sure you have no idea what I am talking about, but believe me when I tell you there is nothing like lying in the dark imagining the people in those radio plays, with the sound effects of footsteps and doors opening and closing.) Well, now that I’ve dated myself, I’ll go on with today’s story.

One of our first family stories had to do with my sister, Pam, calling me Bobbie. We really don’t know how or why she started doing that, but she did it until we were about 7 and 10. One time my grandfather bought a new plant for his yard called the Rose of Sharon. Pam ran into the house to inform everyone that Popsy had just planted the Rose of Bobbie.

Our family was big on nicknames, especially the southern branch who hailed from Tennessee. My mother’s parents were Mutts and Popsy. Her twin sister, Jane, was dubbed Nane Nane. These were all my doing as the first grandchild. But there were some doosies that came before me. When my mother and her twin were about seven, they went to the train station with their parents to welcome their aunt, Kate, arriving from Memphis. As the train pulled into the station, the parents said, “Look twinnies, here comes the choo choo. Well, you guessed it, Aunt Kate was known forever after as Choo Choo.

I could go on like this for many more pages, but the point is, every family has stories, stories that give meaning to their lives, past, present and future. These stories are passed down through generations and become traditions and part of the fabric of their family’s life. We need stories. Stories help us make sense of the world. They help us make sense of our lives. We all have our own stories, some of which we’re probably not particularly proud of, but we all sense that our life is telling a story, and we sincerely hope for a good outcome.

I remember when I was going through a particularly difficult time in my life , I would say to people, “I feel like I am living in a novel, and I can hardly wait to see how it’s going to turn out.” Have you ever lived that way? Interesting, isn’t it. And that’s the best light I can put on it

One of the things that has happened in these modern and post-modern years is that the world has lost its story. If there is no story, there is no meaning to hang your hat on. If there is no right or wrong, if everyone is allowed to have his own opinion on what is good and what is not, if everything can be figured out through our enlightened minds and managed through technology and science, then where do we find the meaning behind the universe? What is the meaning of our existence? How do we explain the devastation and degradation we see around us and the seeming futility of our efforts to make things better?

We say each man can decide what is right in his own mind, yet everyone knows what is wrong when it happens to him—when he is the injured party. So, even though we like to say it’s all relative, ultimately we do have to admit that there is a standard by which we all measure good and evil.

What would you think if I told you that God has told us a story? Of course, he used people to write it down in language so that we could understand it. What is this story? It is His story. It’s called The Bible. Now before you think, ”Oh that,” and discard this as another religious ramble, let me just tell you a little bit about this story.

First of all, it’s made up of many stories, stories about people and God’s efforts to reach out to them and love and guide them as his children. But as you can imagine, this is not easy. These pesky creatures keep insisting on doing things their own way and they get themselves into all manner of troubles. Hmmm. Sound familiar, so far?

He tries everything, first of all, he gives them a beautiful garden-like setting in which to live, and what do they do but mess it up. He gives them everything they need, and all he asks is that they not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. You see, he wanted to protect them from knowing evil, but oh no, they decide they want to know everything God knows and be “like God,” so they eat away. Right away they are sorry, but unfortunately, it’s too late. They know what they know and there’s no going back, so now they have to hide their nakedness, and guilt has entered the picture. And you can be sure, it’s not going to get any better after this.

Later, their oldest son tries to show off before God and gives a sacrifice out of pride, while the younger gives a true sacrifice of love, and so because God favors the second sacrifice over the first, the first son kills the second. Okay, so far we only have four people in all creation, two have disobeyed and are living with guilt and the third has killed the fourth. We’re not off to a good start.

The reason this story is important is that it tells us how and why bad stuff entered the world. It tells a story that gives meaning to what we see around us today. And what we see today is a world that should be perfect in every way. We can see that perfection in nature, in the workings of the cellular structure of plants and animals, in the workings of our own bodies. But it is perfection that has gone bad. Something happened. The architect created a beautiful building but it has been bombed, and now even in its damaged state, we can see the perfect beauty that was intended.

The Bible then goes on to tell many other stories, settling finally on a family descended from a man named Abraham. Many times in the Bible we see God searching the earth for a faithful, honest man, a man he can trust, a man who will trust him. He decided he had found that man in Abraham and decided to guide and direct him and, in the process, bless him and his descendants forever. This is the beginning of Judeo-Christian history.

In succeeding generations, God found other men, not perfect men, but men who remained loyal and tried to do his will. These were people he could use, and did use to make himself known to the world, because that was what he was really after—the world—all of us, Jews, Gentiles, everybody. He finally did it through the perfect man, Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Now, how was it Jesus was able to be the perfect man you might ask, well, it’s because it was God himself in disguise.

That’s the really amazing part of the story. God realized the only way he could truly reach human beings was to become one, and so he did. He allowed himself to be born as a helpless baby and to live in the world as a human being in order to talk to people on a level they could understand, about who he is and who he created them to be. This is almost an unbelievable story, but it’s the story Christians believe. They believe it because it makes sense in light of the whole story. It makes sense on every level, psychologically, spiritually, intellectually, even physically.

Now you might say, “But why did Jesus have to die? Couldn’t God have brought people into a relationship with him without that?” No, he couldn’t. If God is a just God, then there had to be some payment for the evil that had occurred. Not only that, there had to be a way to pay for the future evil that would occur. How could a pure and perfect God just say, “Well, that doesn’t matter.” It matters a lot. What if someone purposely injures you or someone you love. Do you just brush it off? There is a standard of justice in the universe that says, no that’s not right. So, basically, for justice to be served, someone had to pay. And because God knew that the only person who could pay perfectly was the perfect person, He paid the price himself.

How does this story give meaning to our lives today? First of all, it describes us and those we see around us. It tells us why we sense that the world isn’t as it should be. It also explains why we find this rebellious spirit within ourselves. We all want to be the God of our lives, and it explains why our efforts are often so futile. But it also gives us a way to get past the sin and guilt that we know we harbor—a way to start fresh every day, recognizing and confessing our failures and receiving God’s loving forgiveness because of his son who died for us.

There’s also, for those who have managed to read this far, a really terrific ending to this story. It doesn’t end. We live forever with our creator and savior in a really beautiful place, where we finally are able to become all that we were created to be and to do.

I must tell you, I really like this story. I like living in it and knowing it applies to me. If you’re interested in learning more about this story, I would highly recommend reading C.S. Lewis book, Mere Christianity. It’s a delightful read. And if you’re really serious, you might just open a Bible and start reading God’s story. It’s fascinating. You could also join a Bible Study or go to a church. They tell parts of this story every Sunday and you never know what you might learn.

Solid Ground

Have you been feeling weary today? There's a lot we carry on our shoulders . Lots of things to worry about, very little we find we can trust. Take a deep breath...in and out...and soak in the following words from scripture. Maybe you'll feel the weight lifted a bit.

Psalm 62:5-8 "My soul, wait in silence for God only, For my hope is from Him. He only is my rock and my salvation, My stronghold; I shall not be shaken. On God my salvation and my glory rest; The rock of my strength, my refuge is in God. Trust in Him at all times, O people; Pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us."

Now, I am going to share with you a favorite hymn of mine. One thing I love about hymns is their rich theology and timelessness. I can examine one song written a century or more ago and reach new depths of understanding about my God that are completely pertinent to my life today. I invite you to take another breath...in and out...and slowly read, ponder, examine, and mull over the words of this sweet song.

"My hope is built on nothing less
Than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
But wholly lean on Jesus' name.

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand

When darkness veils His lovely face,
I rest on His unchanging grace.
In every high and stormy gale,
My anchor holds within the veil.

On Christ the solid rock I stand
All other ground is sinking sand
All other ground is sinking sand."

In these crazy, unsure times... in the midst of heartaches and confusion...if there's one thing I've learned and know for sure, it's this: Christ is the solid ground...everything the world has to offer is just sinking sand.

Rest in Him today.