What are you thankful for? We usually ask that question in November, and here it is June. More often than the answer includes our family, our friends, our good (if it is good) health, perhaps a special possession or two.
After a week or more of evacuations, fire, and loss, many here are incredibly grateful to God, and to the firefighters and other first responders who risked their lives on our behalf. Everywhere you look, there are signs of thanksgiving. I mean that literally.
I have a loudly purring cat sitting on my lap. If I stop petting her, she gently nips my arm. Ahem, she says, keep scritching those ears!
In spite of the purring, this is one majorly disgruntled kitty. Usually quite friendly, she’s currently furious with me. I had the audacity to scoop her out of her kitty bed, where she was happily dreaming of tuna, and shove her into a pet carrier even before she had her eyes open. Even worse, I put that carrier into a car and drove for 45 minutes. She hates being in a moving car!
Little by little the Black Forest fire is being put out. Hot spots continue to smolder under the pine needles carpeting the forest floor, and teams have to check every square foot of ground before residents are allowed back into an area, so it’s a slow process.
Our little neighborhood remained upwind of the flames and never burned, although there are blackened trees only a few blocks away. Yesterday the mandatory evacuation for our address was lifted. Even though we were warned that both natural gas and electricity (which also powers the pump in our well) were turned off, Pete and I couldn’t wait to get back into our house. We just wanted to be home!
We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog for another special announcement….
Here we are nearing the end of day four of our mandatory evacuation, with no end in sight. I’ve finally gotten past the “shouldas”—shoulda grabbed this and shoulda done that. Of course it’s totally useless to ponder such things; there’s absolutely nothing I can do about any of it now. But the thoughts had continued to circle, wearing a rut in my gray matter no matter how illogical. Finally, it seems I’m moving on to the next stage: boredom.
This Sunday is Father’s Day. You remembered, right? If you believe the ads, we’re all supposed to run out and buy our dads a tie / polo shirt / hand tool / golf club and wrap it up in manly paper. Along with that, we’re to buy a card thanking him for fixing everything / providing money / putting up with our youthful selves, and promising him a day in the hammock / on the golf course / at the BBQ.
You’ve made your gift list… something for your dad: check. Your father-in-law: check. If you’re a mom, the father of your children: check. If you have grandchildren, don’t forget to include your son or son-in-law. Now you can relax and look forward to the big day!
Well, there’s someone you forgot. Or should I say Someone. Ohhh, right, God is our Father too. Good grief, what do we give God for Father’s Day?
Photo: Samantha Lynch
The forest is burning. If you’ve watched the news at all, you know that Black Forest, just north of Colorado Springs, is on fire. Thousands have been evacuated, and estimates of 100 or more homes have been destroyed.
We live in Black Forest. While our home is on the western edge of the evacuation zone and the winds were blowing the flames eastward, we too were told to leave. We’re lucky that our house is currently still standing, and I had time to gather a few important items before driving away.
Do we need to repent?
The blogosphere is all up in arms over Cindy Jacobs telling Native Americans and Mexicans that they need to repent for the idolatry of their ancestors. You can read various takes on it here, here, and here, for starters. Or you can go straight to the source and watch the video on Vimeo. Yes, I watched the entire ten minutes.
Naturally, this video has caused quite a ruckus. Maybe that’s because of some inflammatory statements, such as:
If you have in your bloodline any animus, any Native American blood, for instance, not all Native Americans worshipped the serpent or crocodile, many did, but you might want to renounce that and repent for the generational iniquity.
I’m in the middle of raising the funds needed for my mission trip to Swaziland this October. A number of exceedingly generous people have contributed to my church account, but I have a long way to go. I admit, I’m struggling.
It’s not that I doubt God’s ability to provide. Pete and I have a long track record of God meeting our every need, even when things looked humanly impossible. My God is a God of miracles.
It’s not that I doubt my “call” to go on this trip. God clearly told me to go. I hadn’t even considered going to Swaziland before I heard his prompting, so I know I wasn’t confused by my own desires. The way he has put his motivation into my heart confirms his direction.
No, the problem is that I have a hard time asking anyone for money.
I finally have a day off.
Believing that God wants us to take a day out every week as our “Sabbath,” I’ve set aside every Thursday as my day of rest and reflection. (Sunday might be traditional, but it doesn’t work for us, since we volunteer in our church’s café at 6 a.m., then attend Sunday school followed by the service, then take my dad out for lunch and shopping afterward. We get home mid- to late afternoon, exhausted.)
Taking Thursday off might be my intention, but it doesn’t always fit reality. For the last few weeks, I’ve spent the day packing for a camping trip, cleaning the house for guests, balancing our checkbook and paying bills… and I couldn’t do those things earlier because I was doing other important and urgent things. Life happens. But this week, I’m taking a day off to rest, relax, drink tea, read, pray, and contemplate the state of my world. It’s heaven.
“While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of Simon the Leper,… ”
I’ve read Matthew 26 plenty of times, and skimmed right over verse 6 on the way to the “good part”—where an unnamed woman anoints Jesus with an alabaster jar of expensive perfume. But as often happens when I reread familiar passages, this time the Holy Spirit pointed out something I’d missed before.
Simon the Leper. This man, who surely had other, more positive aspects to his person, was known to everyone as “Simon the Leper.” His disease defined him.
Compost 