This Brother Business

Genesis 4

The lesson is pungent, and though told from antiquity, those who seek truth and who strive to live righteously clutch the story, delve deeply into its essence, and insist on knowing the significance to their own lives. The book of beginnings–the Genesis–had taken scant time to make the metamorphosis from paradise to murder, for in verse 8 of chapter 4 are the chilling words ” . . .Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him.”

Think about it. These are children of the first humans, Adam and Eve who were created in the image of God, and by Him, were given dominion over the earth. Now, a few years later, one of their sons killed the other. It worsens. Verse 9 sees God staring at Abel, if you will, calling him to account: “. . . Where is Abel thy brother?”

who? Me? Talkin to me? Stammered and stuttered about no doubt, then finally through his lying arrogant lips, Cain spoke back to God. I don’t know. “Am I my brother’s keeper?”

Oh, Friend, what bloody words are those, for rising as a toxic cloud from a tainted mass sound the cries of Abel, spiraling upward so that it was God who heard those awful sounds.

Cursed, Cain. You are cursed. ” . . . a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.” verse 12

But what does that mean to me, you ask? I have no inclination to kill anybody, much less my brother. What do these words mean to me? While I don’t purport to have anything approaching a full understanding of Scripture, I submit there may be no generation more in need of understanding the lesson–indeed the warning–in this account than we who currently populate the earth.

Wider in scope than the mandate against physically killing one’s brother is the clear implication here and in other scripture that God will call us to accountability concerning the treatment of our brother.

Our brothers’ keepers? Are you kidding? This is the ME generation, I’m busy, I’m stretched thin already, have my own close ones to care for, my own home to maintain, my job, my own church commitments . . .Things are tight, don’t have a lot of money, need to work more . . .need more education, must attend another conference, concerned for my own children, am stressed, need a vacation . . .

During the past few years I have attended home mission churches more than at any other time during my adult life, and this has no doubt contributed to my deep sense of the neediness of our brothers in small churches. Do we understand what a blessing it is to these congregations to just show up? Can we possibly know how it feels to have 20 or 30 members, and then have a family from another church decide to visit a mid-week service or a revival service at the home missions church? To see an unfamiliar car pull into the parking lot, a smiling family emerge, then join in with the singing, the praying, the worship is as brilliant light shafted against a cloud-darkened day. Ever think of asking your pastor if you can help out in one of these churches for six months or so? Ever think of offering to take care of a Christmas program or an Easter program or a children’s choir or a youth outing for a home missions church . . .? Ever think of skipping a restaurant meal and giving the money to a small church, or offering your skills to the pastor for a needed project? (While in particular, I am speaking of ministering to home mission churches today, I believe this scripture has a wide arm and would include our neighbors, a stranger on the street, welcoming new people in very large churches, etc.)

Many of you have tended your brother. I know it. Not long ago, a home missions church in Arizona had a particular desperate need; some of you learned of the situation, and immediately tended that brother. I wept when I heard it, and I weep now on recalling your generosity.

Are you my brother? I ask myself today. . . and do I care at all? Later this afternoon as I walk about my village, God help me to look into the eyes of those with whom I come in contact and to fully understand this issue of brotherhood, and to altogether comprehend my crucial and personal responsibility.

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New post on my main blog here and on my photography blog here.

An Abundant Utterance

They shall abundantly utter the memory of Thy great goodness, and shall sing of Thy righteousness. Psalm 145:7

As I read in Genesis this morning, it struck me anew how amazing it is that God created everything! With His words and with His thoughts and with His hands (?) He structured all.

Verse 26 of Genesis says, ” . . . Let us make man in our image, . . . ”

and as I read there, I saw that in a previous reading of this portion of Scripture I had noted Ephesians 1:11. I turned there to read.

In whom also we have obtained an inheritance, being predestinated according to the purpose of Him who worketh all things after the counsel of His own will:

So, then, not confusing are the words let us. God took counsel with Himself! Job confirms this understanding when he points out that God alone was the creator.

He alone stretches out the heavens and treads on the waves of the sea. Job 9.8 NIV

What a stunning world we inhabit. On New Year’s eve, Jerry and I walked beside the creek pictured above that feeds into Lake Gregory. The weather was mild, the beautiful tree pictured below was perfectly lighted; God’s creation was magnificent. I so want to always speak of His wonder, His goodness, His love.

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I have been writing this blog for several years now, and it astounds me that my blogs have been viewed more than one million times. I’m humbled and grateful for your interest.

In recent months, though, there have been substantially less visits here, and very little interaction–few comments. I’m thinking a couple of reasons account for this: First, I have been posting less here and more frequently on Facebook, often with a link to a post here. I like Facebook, quickly hear what my friends are doing some days, and have made connection with people I hadn’t heard from in years. That’s all nice, but there is a lack of depth to Facebook, and not frequently do persons engage in thoughtful and a bit deeper conversations. Also, when comments are made on Facebook about a blog post here, they feel “lost” to me. They are not posted with the article in question, and take lots of scrolling around to find them.

So, because I enjoy writing, and because I especially enjoy your interaction, I’ve decided to no longer routinely link my articles to Facebook, and am hoping to increase traffic here. I may pop over to your place with a link every now and then as an invitation to come visit me here. Remember that you can subscribe to this blog so that you will be notified when I make a new post.

I want to hear from you. Please comment when you have interest about something I’ve written.

Blessings always…and a wonderful new year!

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Stain

Oh, it was a stain all right, one that could never be washed away, nor dissolved, nor could any amount of explaining stop the whispers nor the guarded looks nor the snickers behind the hand. We believe she was merely a teenager when she learned of the situation. She was not married. She was pregnant. Her name was Mary and she was now stained.

The conception was of the miraculous and it was an angel who told her the implausible news. Mary tried to account to Joseph; I expect he stared incredulously at this girl he loved as she recounted the strange tale, but as much as he adored her, he could not believe. He mulled over the situation, knew he was not the father of the baby, and resolved to break the relationship. Then an angel talked to him and the angel’s story was the same as Mary’s, so Joseph believed, and together this young innocent couple lived with the stain, with the shame.

The stain was enduring and was a thing of beauty, but they didn’t know about that, only about the reproach of the pregnancy and of their daily difficulties. Little did they understand that the blood of the baby born that night in Bethlehem was of the eternal and that its shedding, its staining of the wood of Golgotha, would be that to redeem mankind.

So, the beauty of stain becomes apparent. It becomes of efficacy, of potency, so that a piece of textile subjected to pots of color and to the clacking of loom is transformed into an item of beauty and of benefit.

Strange, is it not. Rare. A lesson to be learned.

To Believe

Philosophies abound. Those who are believers, those who are atheists, and even those who are agnostics all have considered the subject of whether there is a God, and most have settled on a stance. Papers and books have been published–words by the tens of thousands–arguments and debates continuously resound throughout the world. In speeches and sermons, a consortium of thought is routinely examined as rationalizations and justifications for each belief is fervently discussed.

All who read my work know I am unequivocal in my belief that there is a God. Superior, everlasting, with no beginning and no ending is God: God, who created all things.

I am convinced that even if I should be wrong–that there really is no God, no Heaven, no Hell, no life after death–I still have chosen the better way. Consider with me that if it should turn out that my life, or yours, is no more significant than that of a loved puppy or a cherished stallion, and that when we are laid into the earth, it is truly the end. There is nothing else; no resurrection, no Heaven, no God, no Hell. Even should this be so (understand I adamantly reject such thought) I am yet convinced that my belief in God and all that view entails is the preferable way and would have given me a happier, more contented and fulfilled life than has the one who lived as a non-believer or as an agnostic.

Today I attended a funeral. It was a happy occasion. Happy? you say. Yes, happy. Oh, there were tears, and I know the family of Brother Kendrick are suffering deeply with inexpressible grief, and that the dull ache his leaving has ripped into their hearts is heavy tonight. Even so, even for them, there was happiness today at the funeral in Bakersfield, CA. For we are believers. We believe in Heaven and we believe in God. Heaven is a real place, and tonight Brother Kendrick has escaped the suffering of this world and is present with God. It’s a good thing to believe that. It is comfort. It is of such joy that today when hundreds of us sang hymns of the church, coupled with the sadness of our loss, there was a definite spirit of rejoicing.

Yes, it’s a good thing to believe in God, in the Bible, and in Heaven. It’s a good thing to share these beliefs with dozens and hundreds and thousands, so that when we are together–even as we huddle about a casket–we smile, and sing, and look into the eyes of our friends with that knowing, faraway look. One day . . .one moment . . . for each of us . . .

Not long after we moved into our home here in Crestline, our dear next-door neighbor, a gentleman now in his ’80s, said to us one day as we entertained him in our home. “I envy you.” He smiled as he looked at both Jerry and me. “I’m not a believer. I wish I were. I envy your faith.” Somehow Bill–an agnostic–understands that to believe is the superior way, the way of peace, of joy, and of happiness.

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Blessings always…..

Moved By the Holy Ghost

“I had my hands in sink water when it happened,” he told me. “I began to tremble and knew something unique, something unexpected, was happening. I left the bathroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and picked up my phone that I use for making notes. I began to write, the words tumbling from me, rushing as a river.”

Those were the words a person very close to me related two days ago. “May I send the entire piece to you?” he asked, and when I read the long poem, I began to weep, recognizing that God had spoken to my loved one in a powerful, personal way.

Under an unction from God, the Bible was written by men–prophets, kings, evangelists, and apostles. “. . . holy men of God spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost.” 1 Peter 1.21. The Bible is complete; nothing is to be added, nothing is to be removed. Yet it is hard to imagine any sincere Christian denying that God still speaks to people–sometimes in profound and direct ways. Holy men today are moved by the Holy Ghost; such anointing and revelation is of the Divine, and one trembles in its manifestation.

I am aware of several such occasions. I recall once many years ago that my husband came in the house, leaving the lawn mower he had been using, and sitting down to write a message that God was giving him. Jerry is a great speaker, but is not known for his writing abilities; indeed, he will say he finds no pleasure in such exercises. But the Spirit of God moved on him that day, and he wrote. On other occasions, God has spoken specifically to Jerry, one of which I will relate here. The incident was when God was letting Jerry know it was time for us to resign our church in Garden Grove, CA. and to assume the pastorate in Rialto, CA. Having absolutely no knowledge of impending change, he dreamed that Pastor Murray Layne was resigning the church in Rialto. The dream was so vivid and its effects so gripping throughout the next day that, although feeling awkward, he called Pastor Layne. Pastor Layne was stunned, and believed Jerry to be teasing him. He has just been elected pastor in Mesquite, TX. (The details of this scenario are found in my book, Road Tales.)

It never fails to impact me when I learn of God speaking to someone in a way that would be difficult for anyone to dispute as being supernatural. Such experiences graphically remind me that this life is but a moment. In a second we will be gone. Reality is unseen and of the Holy.

God, a Newborn, and Engraving

Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she would not have compassion on the son of her womb?yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.

Isaiah 49.15

Even though I have heard of such an action before, I never fail to be astonished when I hear of a mother abandoning her baby, whether it be a new-born or one of a few days or of a few years old. While I reckon with knowing there are some mothers who because of their circumstances are doing their child a favor by relinquishing his/her care to another, it startles me when I hear of a mom just walking away from her baby, without assuring that another will extend loving care to her little one.

Again this morning, I read of such an account and when I looked at the accompanying picture, I had a deep sense of sorrow for that precious baby. Charlie, the nurses are calling him.

Knowing how most people react to such an account, God spoke to the issue through His servant Isaiah, reminding us of His abiding, immutable love for us, His people. What comfort that brings me, what stability. Underneath our fears and unsteadiness is this great knowing–this knowing that God will never forget us. Strongly beneath the shaking world with its agitation and severe challenges is the sure knowledge that God is in control, that He will never forget us. He will never leave us, never abandon us.

In the next verse, God writes further:

Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands;…”

Though I’m sure this description is a figure of speech, it serves well to emphasize how deeply and closely God cares for us.

And little Charlie? I prayed this morning that someone will provide him with a loving home. His mom? I also prayed for her; wish her peace, and that she can come to know Jesus.

Of Strangers and Angels

It was late, our first night there. We were in our motor home parked by the side of the church in Safford, AZ. when I heard a forceful and rapid knock. Without thinking, I unsecured both the locks and swung wide the door. A man stood there staring at me. I was startled, for our friends Pastor and Mrs. Kris Keyes had just dropped us off after a nice dinner together, and they had said they needed to go into the church for something. I expected to see one of them when I opened the door. Instead, one who appeared to be of the homeless types stood there.

The young man stared at me. Jerry was in the shower, and had the man evil intentions, he could easily have rushed me and pushed right into the motor home. I don’t know if I asked what he wanted, or if my expression did so, but he motioned across his throat and made some unintelligible mutterings. “No,” I said, and slammed shut the door.

I sat down on the couch, and immediately had regrets about slamming the door…and yet, one part of me acknowledged the wisdom of such action. But, maybe he was hungry, and I could have made him a sandwich or something like that.

This morning I told Jerry about the incident. And I thought again of this scripture.

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” Hebrews 13:2

While, again, I acknowledge the need for caution, I do want to be kind to everyone, including strangers. It is easy to make snap evaluations and to judge a person by their demeanor, their clothing, and by their level of skillful articulation.

This morning I learned of this person who indeed was homeless and destitute, but who now may be indeed rich. I love this story, and think you will also. Just click on the link to read about him.

To my visitor from last night, I send prayers and wishes for your well-being, both physically and spiritually. And…if you are an angel, please forgive me.

The Startling Significance of Our Words

“… for of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaketh.” Luke 6:45

Few things–if any–tell so much of us as do the words that course from our mouths. Now I’m familiar with such truisms as actions speak louder than words and Emerson’s “What you do speaks so loudly that I cannot hear what you say.”

I quite understand these remarks, and am not in disagreement, for through the years I have seen plenty of people who blustered about with little more than words tailing them. When such people wave their hands about in a meeting calling for volunteers or for someone to give money to a project, the leader marks in his mind: That may or may not happen. Understood. Been there. Seen that. I’ve been told that missionary boards set budgets much higher than what is actually needed, for much of the pledged money never appears.

Yet, Jesus taught that it is from our hearts we speak. Our words, I believe Jesus is emphasizing, tell of our hearts, our intents, our interests. It is that I want to address today.

A few years ago after I returned from a ladies conference, I caught myself rattling on about it to the extent that Jerry’s eyes, if not glazed over, were on the cusp of such a state. I have a definite memory of saying to myself that I was talking about the event too much, and that while he was politely listening, my sweet husband really wasn’t all that interested in what I was saying. During the last couple of years I have developed a deep interest in photography, and I have noted that I run on about lenses and settings and the slant of light–such as that–most likely to the dismay of those about me. During the past week, I finished the first draft of a book, and during the intervening days since then, I have noted myself to be talkative about certain aspects that circle about my writing project. A few times I have warned myself: Be quiet.

Jesus’ words in the first part of this verse direct our attention to the differences between two classes of hearts: “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart bringeth forth that which is evil.” This teaching of Jesus is easy to understand, indeed its logic is further revealed in the latter part of the verse that I have already posted: “…for of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaketh.”

However, my thought today extends beyond what is blatantly good and evil. It is not evil for me to speak of photography or of other good activities with which I am involved. They are satisfactory things. They are not of evil. …yet they do reveal my heart. If all you hear from my mouth is of such things–though within themselves, they may be harmless–you may well question my heart. For as a child of God, my heart should go to God and His work, to His people, to evangelism, to the Word of God…It would be silly for me to suggest that all we are to talk about is God. That is not at all what I am suggesting. Certainly, I will continue to talk about my book and my photography and my grandkids…and so will you. And we should. We should listen to each other, be interested in others’ goals, dreams, visions, and accomplishments. But today, my soul has thrown a warning: My true interests, my passion, my heart is revealed by the words that issue from my mouth. Of what I speak, of what I think, of what I write is my substance, is my heart.

Guard my heart, God. Guard my heart. Help me hear–truly hear–the words I utter. Amplify the thoughts that rush through my mind today, so that I honestly will examine them in the light of God’s Word. Enlarge in me the consideration of my bent, my interests and my goals. Help me with my heart, God. Give me a heart after You, so that the words I say will be an honest revelation of my passion for You, Your people, and Your work.

When Full Is Empty and Empty Is Full

There were some nice little Easter activities going on today here in Crestline, so on my way back from Arrowhead, with my camera on my shoulder, I parked my car near Lake Gregory where I especially wanted to see the rubber ducky races.

It was empty.

Oh, there were people there, alright, hot dog vendors had set up, colorful balloons were bulging, plastic eggs were bountiful, flavored ice was shaved, popcorn was caramelized, and as planned, the pink plastic ducks and blue ones and yellow ones raced down the water slide, their significant numbers carefully applied to their little bellies or stuck to their backsides.

But it was empty.

It didn’t go quite as planned, and many people who had sponsored a duck had not arrived from the other activities before the duckies did their watery run. A small boy cried because he hadn’t seen his duck race, and his dad consoled him, and patted him on the back.

“So sorry, no one is here that has a winning number,” the lady with the megaphone said to the faltering group who yet watched and with whom I stood.

Rabbit had climbed on board the boat whose workers now scooped up the duck persons, and when he saw I had my camera trained on him, he waved.

Abandoned all about me now were plastic eggs. By the exit gate was a cardboard box with a sign: Recycle your eggs here, and into the box by the dozen were thrown the Easter Eggs.

It was empty.

I have no problem with secular Easter activities; indeed I’ve beautiful ceramic eggs setting about my house now, I’ve eaten my share of Easter candy, and when I go to visit Rebecca tomorrow I will take her a charming dish filled with jelly beans, wrapped and tied in a beautiful way. I have a new pink jacket I will wear to the Easter service we will attend in the morning.

I spoke to a little boy, though, and asked: “What is Easter? Do you know? Why do we have Easter?”

He dropped his eyes and stammered about a bit, realizing he should know. “Uh, is it when Jesus was born? Uh…I’m not quite sure.”

Especially striking to me this afternoon was the consideration of the difference between the reality of Easter coupled with its true significance, and those other cute trappings which ultimately are empty and un-fulfilling. Stay with me and consider the words of Matthew as he describes the Easter morning scene:

In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.

And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.

His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow:

And for fear of him, the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.

And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.

He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.

And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.

And they departed quickly from the sepulchre with fear and great joy; and did run to bring his disciples word.

And as they went to tell his disciples, behold, Jesus met them, say, All hail. And they came and held him by the feet, and worshipped him.”

I pray that all of us who have dabbled in the secular side of Easter will also fully immerse ourselves in the richness and truth of the resurrection. May we understand that it is the empty tomb that has filled our lives with joy, with thankfulness, and with the expectation that one day we will live in Heaven with Jesus!

By The Way (A Photo Essay)

You shall teach them to your children, talking of them when you are sitting in your house, and when you are walking by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. Deut. 11:19

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April 18. New post on my Photography Blog regarding our fleeting lives.