spaghetti

Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God. ~ Matthew 4:4

Visiting for a long weekend, my dad sits on the built-in bench behind our kitchen table watching me cook. “How long do you boil your spaghetti?” he asks. “Nine minutes.” Knowing he’s grasping at conversational straws, I can’t help but goad him. “Why do you ask?” He answers with grave solemnity, lowering his voice as he scrunches his face, staring off into a void. “Your mother always cooks it for thirteen. It gets… mushy.” We exchange a significant glance. Poor guy. “Well, right here on the box it says, 'cook 9 to 11 minutes.’ We like it al dente so I always follow the nine-minute rule.”

As I set the timer and stir the sauce I can’t help but chuckle. This is so like them: enduring fifty-two years of bad spaghetti without so much as a glance at the instructions printed on every box.

Humankind is no better. We assume we know how to live, without reading God’s instructions for living. What a recipe for disaster. The bible is God’s written revelation of himself to and for us, "useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness," (2 Timothy 3:16). The wise few embrace this gift; as a result, they feast on excellent spaghetti, and are satisfied. Life is a tasty meal when prepared according to the instructions.

I know people who discard the Bible entirely as untrue, never having read a word of it. What pride! Is it any better to pick and choose which parts to believe, or to read it through once and assume you know it all? I’m sure my mom (the sweetest woman on earth, whom I adore) read the instructions on the spaghetti box at some point, early in her married life. She must have set the timer properly for a while. But, over time, her imperfect human brain muddled the information. By never reading the instructions again she operated for years under a false assumption, and we all—one guy in particular—suffered as a result.

Reading the bible daily is a spiritual discipline. In her book A Woman’s Guide to Fasting, Lisa Nelson writes that spiritual disciplines (prayer, bible study, meditation, fasting, etc.) "are your way of cooperating with God while He transforms your eternal soul." Who wouldn’t want that? Cooperating with God is a whole lot easier than the alternative.

Every believer needs to eat God’s word daily, or her spirit will starve. That’s not good for her, or the people for whom she's responsible. Why should any of us muddle through on our own? God’s Word is alive, active, and available on a massive scale. Interacting with God through Scripture is the tastiest of delicacies. Join the feast today, tomorrow, and every day. Until you give it a try, you won’t know what you’re missing. Just because you’ve gotten used to overcooked pasta doesn’t mean it’s any good.

Through the Word we are put together and shaped up for the tasks God has for us. ~ 2 Timothy 3:17, The Message

battleaxe: Thanks

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My thoughts are out to get me. They attack at all hours: "You are such an idiot, Catherine. What were you thinking? How could you have said / written / done that?" I run from these guerilla warriors daily. The chase is exhausting and frankly, it's annoying. 

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Jesus gives us plenty of armor; apparently, though, these wicked unseen snipers have found my chinks. Mind control is the answer. I wield the Sword of Truth, meditating on and reciting Scripture: "For God so loved me, he sent his only Son," (John 3:16). "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus," (Romans 8:1). "Nothing can separate me from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord," (Romans 8:38-39).

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Another weapon: giving thanks.

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As I park my car, today's mental attack is so severe I can't even remember why I've come to the market. Heaving a sigh, I climb out and look up. "Thank you, God, for the blue sky. Thank you for these beautiful clouds." I feel better. Oh yeah, Fred is grilling tonight. We need chicken. "Thank you for this concrete walkway, God. Thanks that this building is sturdy. Thank you for automatic doors, conveniently placed recycling bins, and air conditioning." That's right, we need cereal, too. And dog food. "Thank you that my legs work, that my lungs are healthy, that my heart beats just fine." As I push the cart through the aisles thanking God for everything from florescent lighting to muzak, I chop those evil distracting thoughts out of my head. By the time I make it home (with almost everything I was supposed to retrieve), I am on the other side of the attack—in the presence of God, ready to enjoy the rest of the day with my family.

Enter God's presence with the password: "Thank you!" ~ Psalm 100:4 (The Message)

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In his presence is fullness of joy. ~ Psalm 16:11

dawn

During Gray's summer break my office doubles as a rumpus room. As I click away in Photoshop he hovers at my elbow hoping I'll take a break so he can check his Farmville plantation. He is bored. I wish we could ride our bikes up to the neighborhood pool, but I am rushing against a deadline; in fact, I have been, all summer. For two and a half months I do my best to squeeze full work days into a few measley hours. When that inevitably fails, sleep is the first thing to go. I count down the weeks before his various day camps with the expectancy and anticipation of a heart patient awaiting a transplant, simultaneously hating myself for harboring such longings. I adore my son. He is God's gift to me; we get on like peas and carrots. This will be the only summer of his life that he is nine. I don't want it to go by in a big blur of boring. And so, I pray. "God, please help Gray have fun today. Please send friends to play with him. Please occupy his mind, inspire his artistry, give him ideas to pursue. Thank you for this work—help me do it well—and please, Jesus, help me to be a great mom, too."
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Every day in a varitey of ways, God answers my prayers. Lego buddies for Gray routinely appear on our door step. As for me, I am the recipient of supernatural rest—rest that I should not have, considering how little I have slept. And, September is only a few weeks away: dawn is breaking.
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"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." ~ Matthew 11:28

bo peep

If it doesn't break your heart, it isn't love. 
~ Jon Foreman (Switchfoot)
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Shepherds smell like sheep*. I laughed when I first saw this little saying on a home-made placard in my friend Nathan's office; then, it made me think. Christian leaders are shepherds. If we don't smell like sheep, we're not mixing it up enough with the flock. Admittedly, at the time I was probably smelling a bit too fresh—unacceptable for a shepherdess with over seven years of intense Christian leadership training under her belt. I had led countless groups with a fair amount of success—however you gauge that—but, I knew I was standing, crook in hand, behind a wall of glass: a ceramic Bo Peep figurine, who'd be more effective as an action figure. "God, help. I have a deep, deep fear of sheep. Please fix me. Make me a better shepherd."
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This prayer required no small amount of courage. I am a raging introvert, you see; socially inept to a diagnosable degree. Or rather, I was. Life has completely opened up for me since praying that prayer. God has sent some real stinkers (she wrote, affectionately) into my life, and I love them, every one—even the few who don't love me back. My little flock has been through so much in such a short span of time, it boggles the mind: addiction, divorce, suicidal thoughts, co-dependancy, irrational fears, intense poverty, you name it. Very adult problems. Although exilarating, trying to shepherd hurting sheep through their individual valleys has been a roller-coaster with extreme highs and murky lows... including an occasional helping of heartbreak and humiliation for Yours Truly. In the thick of one particularly tough shepherd/sheep moment, Nathan unwittingly helped me out again. "If your heart isn't broken yet, you're doing something wrong," he announced, during a routine latechurch leadership meeting. Precisely what I needed to hear.
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Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. ~ John 15:13

*From the book, They Smell Like Sheep: Spiritual Leadership for the 21st Century, by Lynn Anderson

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