Why the Old Hymns Bring Tears

Image by PinkMoose via FlickrI had a precious time in the Scriptures with my two youngest children Sunday morning. It was a divine appointment. We were supposed to be at the first hour of church/Sunday School, but we just weren't able to get it together in time. My hubby took our oldest to youth group, but the two youngest stayed home with me and got ready late.

And somehow I just knew that God wanted to meet with us.

When the kids were ready, we sat down in the Living Room and opened the book, "Don't Waste Your Life" by John Piper. I read to them from it, and some good conversation came out of that.

Then I got out the old hymnal and went looking for a song that would fit what we'd been discussing. I came upon "Jesus is All the World to Me," and I knew I'd found what I was looking for. I knew I wouldn't be able to sing it. I get too choked up. But I figured I could at least read the words to the children.

Wrong.

I got partway through, and suddenly the tears came. It worried the kids a bit, until I helped them understand that these were caused by joy, by beauty. In the end, those tears added a great deal to the sweetness of our time together.

Why can't I sing hymns any more? Why the huge lump in my throat, and the streams from my eyes?

Partly its the joy of seeing old friends. The songs themselves, I mean. So many precious friends rest hidden in between the covers of that old hymnal...friends that filled my mouth not just on Sunday mornings, but throughout the week. Friends that visited me over the radio. Friends that I sang next to my dear Nana in the choir loft, where she taught me to sing harmony. So many friends that I haven't seen in far too long. They've been replaced in church services by the new songs on the block.

I miss them. And when I get to sing them again, it's too sweet to bear, especially when we slow down and sing them at a pace that lets me savor the words.

Sometimes the tears come because of old associations. Faces of those long gone, who once stood beside me and sang those sacred words with me. That's true of all the old familiar hymns, because I sang them all with my loved ones so many times. But there's one hymn in particular that slays me because of a very strong tie to particular people. I had never even heard "Be Thou My Vision" until my uncle and aunt chose that as their "life song." They had lived far from the Lord for decades, but had repented and turned to Him, and then felt called to the mission field in Ireland. "Be Thou My Vision" was sung at their dedication service, and in my heart it is forever linked with them.

My uncle was killed in a motorcycle accident several years ago. I can't help but weep when I sing that song now. Or rather, when I mouth it. I can't actually sing it around the lump in my throat.

Partly hymns make me weep because of the deep meaning of their words. Modern songs sometimes can match their earlier counterparts for depth and richness. "In Christ Alone" is an exceptional example of a song almost too good to be new. I'm thankful for those types of songs, and glad that we sing them in our church. Some of them bring tears, too.

But there's a slightly different taste to the tears that come from the old hymns, and I've recently realized what it is.

It's fulfillment.

Think of a movie that has made you weep because of its happy ending. Think how the fulfillment of the promise of joy at the end felt so moving, especially contrasted with whatever hardships had to be overcome to get there.

That's what I feel from the old hymns. When I sang them as a child, they were unproven theories. Untested promises. Unfelt praise to an as-yet unknown God. I enjoyed them then, but they were only implanted seeds. I could not yet taste the fruit of promises kept.

Now I taste it.

Oh, the hardships I've known on my way here! The grief, the heartache, the overwhelmedness... and all of that only makes today's joys sweeter. Jesus is becoming "all the world to me." I've spent time "In the Garden," and I know there really is delight in His presence there. I've truly come to cherish "The Old Rugged Cross." Jesus is becoming my vision. "Trust and Obey" is starting to take root and blossom.

And all of the old associations become more precious. It's not just that I used to sing that song with Nana. It's that Nana now enjoys, with unveiled face, the God about whom we sang. And call me corny, but I feel a growing kinship with people I've never met, people perhaps in long prairie skirts and bonnets, singing the same words a hundred years ago. I feel as if my voice joins in a chorus that stretches back through time, all affirming the eternal goodness of our mighty God.

And when you boil it all down to its main point, it's really Him. The greatest sweetness of all is not just that promises were fulfilled, but that He fulfilled them. I feel no kinship with anyone who sings hymns only out of religious duty. I sing in chorus with those who love Him, who cherish Him, who praise Him, many of whom now see Him face-to-face. He is the promise of the hymns, and the fulfillment of them. He is their melody, and their harmony. He is their heartbeat.

Why do the old hymns bring tears? Because they touch me with the music of the One I love.

Conviction Gets Personal

Yesterday I promised to tell you about the day that changed everything. If you haven't read yesterday's entry, "Convicting of Judgment," please do that first, and then come back here.

I'd been a "Christian" for decades. I may have looked fairly good if people didn't look too closely, and I could truly say I wasn't guilty of any of the big outward sins (you know, I didn't smoke, didn't drink, didn't cheat on my husband, that sort of thing). Yet I had no real victory over the sins that I did indulge in, no love for God Himself, no joy or peace in tribulation, no signs of the Holy Spirit at work in my life.

In fact, I pretty much loved me, myself, and I, and any sin that served me. My sins may have not been on the "Comfortable 21st Century American Christians' Big Bad No-No List," but they reeked in God's nostrils.

Well, I guess I can't say that there were no signs of the Holy Spirit at work. As I've said before, the Spirit was working on me. But the best way I can think to describe it is that He was working on me from the outside, not yet from the inside. And any time that I had the good sense to wonder if I really was saved, I would pray with an unspoken attitude that said, "I hope God will be reasonable, do right by me, and make sure I'm really going to Heaven." My head-knowledge would have known better than to say something like that, but my heart lived there.

That changed one night.

I lay in bed feeling the Spirit's conviction about my love for my sin. He seemed to be peeling off layers of denial and opening my eyes to the depth of my depravity. After a while my soul sank down with the knowledge...no, the certainty that God would be absolutely within His rights to condemn me eternally. He would be just if He did so. I truly deserved no better.

I didn't just think this in my head. I felt it in my heart.

How do I know it was the Spirit, and not just a self-generated guilt trip? Well, in addition to all of the previously discussed differences between conviction and guilt trips, there was also this:

For the first time, true faith dawned.

You see, when the Spirit showed me my own hopeless depravity, He also showed me Christ's mercy as my one and only hope. That was one of the most wonderful gifts the Spirit has ever given me. I felt, for the first time, the preciousness of God's grace and mercy. Whereas before I had intellectually assented to some facts about Christ, on this blessed night I threw my helpless soul completely onto His mercy, knowing that if He didn't catch me, I would fall into the inferno.

That leap in my heart was saving faith.

He caught me, and nothing has ever been the same.

I can't tell you how long ago that was, because I seem to have lost all ability to judge the passage of time. But it couldn't have been more than a few years ago.

And what about now?

I still have weaknesses for sins. Satan still has the ability to pull the wool over my eyes. And I know that I have a long, long way to grow. BUT...

My insides feel different. My priorities are changing. Old bitternesses are healing. Loyalty to God is growing. I feel a newly-budding desire to love others. Sin's grip on my affections is loosening.

God is at work. And when He decides to do something, He does it. Who is going to stop Him? So while I have a long way to go, and I know I won't "arrive" while I'm on this earth, I feel ever-increasing confidence in what He (not I) will do.

Not everyone will have the same salvation experience. If we did, then each of us should have had a blinding light strike us, like what happened to Paul (Acts 9:3). Of course that's not the case. But there are certain things that will be a part of every true Christian's life. And among those will be the Spirit's work of conviction about sin, righteousness, and judgment (John 16:8).

Christians, let's never shy away from speaking the truth in love, even unpopular truths about such things as sin or judgment. Remember God's warning to Ezekiel (Eze. 3:18-21). You might even want to memorize it. The Holy Spirit is the one who applies such truths to people's hearts, and He may even do it as a result of something you've shared. You will not lose your reward.

To those of you who may not be believers, my prayer is that God will grant you the precious gifts we've been discussing in this series, and will bring you to the point of receiving the very greatest that He has to offer...the gift of Himself.

(Photo from Stock.xchng by Scyza)

Convicting of Judgment

In Part 1 and Part 2 of this interrupted series based on John 16:8, we've talked about recognizing Image via Wikipedia the true ministry of the Holy Spirit versus counterfeits. We've talked about how He convicts the world of sin and of righteousness.

Today we continue this series with the fact that the Holy Spirit will convict the world of judgment.

I guess that means He wouldn't be welcome in most places, including in many churches.

That may also mean that this blog will be unwelcome on some computer screens, but that's a risk I'm willing to take. Why? Read what God said to the prophet Ezekiel in Eze. 3:18-21.

When I say to the wicked, 'You shall surely die,' and you give him no warning, nor speak to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life, that same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood I will require at your hand. Yet, if you warn the wicked, and he does not turn from his wickedness, nor from his wicked way, he shall die in his iniquity; but you have delivered your soul. Again, when a righteous man turns from his righteousness and commits iniquity, and I lay a stumbling block before him, he shall die; because you did not give him warning, he shall die in his sin, and his righteousness which he has done shall not be remembered; but his blood I will require at your hand. Nevertheless if you warn the righteous man that the righteous should not sin, and he does not sin, he shall surely live because he took warning; also you will have delivered your soul.

There are warnings to be given, and there are severe consequences for those who refuse to give out that warning when they should. But there can also be joy in this message, and it's infinitely precious.

The fact is, before we can appreciate the good news, we've got to come face-to-face with the bad news. (More on that subject here.) So here's some of the stuff that's hard to read, coming from the mouth of none other than our Lord Jesus.

"Whoever says, 'You fool!' shall be in danger of hell fire." (Matt. 5:22)

"Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire." (Matt. 7:19)

"But I say to you that for every idle word men may speak, they will give account of it in the day of judgment." (Matt. 12:36)

"The Son of Man will send out His angels, and they will gather out of His kingdom all things that offend, and those who practice lawlessness, and will cast them into the furnace of fire. There will be wailing and gnashing of teeth." (Matt. 13:41-42)

To keep this entry from getting too long, I'll stop there. But if you want to read more, just hover your mouse over these verse addresses: Matt. 5:28-30, Matt. 7:21-23, Matt. 18:23-35. They're not a complete list, but they give the idea.

When Jesus spoke those words, crowds of people stood around and listened. And since those words were written down, countless millions have read them.

For some people, these words have led to disdain for Christianity. They have rejected it as harsh and unloving.

For some it has led to rejecting certain portions of Scripture, while continuing to accept the parts they like. (And they fail to realize that the parts they like become grossly distorted without their missing counterparts.)

For some it has led to fearful legalism, the desire to protect themselves from God's judgment by jumping through religious hoops of some kind.

For some it has led to a healthy fear of the Lord, repentance, forgiveness, faith, and love.

What makes the difference?

It's the Holy Spirit. He convicts the world of judgment. And the key word there is "convicts." It's a heart-work, not the mere delivery of a message. The heart change required to respond properly to God is a precious gift, to be received with thanksgiving.

I speak from very personal experience. I grew up in the Word, enjoyed memorizing it from an early age, and often shared my Biblical insights with others. Yet I had the uncomfortable awareness, down in dark corners of my heart, that no supernatural transformation had ever taken place in me. Sometimes, when I would be expounding truth to others, my heart would tug at me. That hasn't been your experience.

When I read Biblical warnings of judgment, I usually reacted in a purely academic fashion. Nothing emotional. After all, I "believed," so none of that applied to me. If I did respond emotionally, it would either be with avoidance, resentment of this 'judgmental God," or the uneasy feeling that I needed to do better so I could feel reassured.

Then, finally, came the day that everything changed. I'll tell you about that next time.

In the meantime, what are your thoughts, or what is your story? Please leave a comment by clicking on the underlined "comments" link below.

(By the way, it has come to my attention that some people were unable to post comments earlier in the week. I had recently made a change in how Blogger handled comments, and evidently it wasn't working. I have changed back to a different setting now, and hopefully that has fixed the problem. If you tried to leave any comments and weren't able to do so, please feel free to try again.)

Friday Fiction: Erasmus and the Ant

Friday Fiction

I originally wrote this fun little piece for the FaithWriters Weekly Challenge, under the topic, "Bridge."

Erasmus and the Ant

When Erasmus Lee Gold
Became eighty years old
He did the day up with rare style.
He got into a plane
With no fear in his brain
And waved his goodbyes with a smile.


Image via Wikipedia

"I told them I'd do it!
I could! I just knew it!
But no one ever believed me.
They said, 'Pops, you're unsound,
Now stay put on the ground!'
But the thought of quitting grieved me."

Through the glass he could see
Oh, so melancholy
His children and all of his grands.
Daughter Sue wiped her tears
Oh, that gal's silly fears!
And the rest stood wringing their hands.

Image via Wikipedia


Soon he zoomed way up high
In the clear, azure sky
With the chute fixed tight to his frame.
His palms felt all sweaty
Like first kissing Betty.
"Next to that leap, this one is tame!"

Now, unseen way below
Crawled a red ant named Joe
An ant of the leaf-cutting kind.
Bit off more than could chew
What on earth should he do?
He was in a horrible bind.

Image via Wikipedia

See, he'd made a fool's bet
And would soon be in debt
If he couldn't haul this load back.
Many leaves of huge size
In his jaws like a vise
Nearly gave him a heart attack!

"That dip once seemed so small,
Before I had to haul
This load that has left me so tired.
Now I can't get across,
And my wager's a loss.
If late, I may even get fired!"

"Oh dear Lord," he prayed, "first,"
I am dying of thirst
And second, it's six forty-eight.
If I'm tardy, my boss
Will get terribly cross
And seven-oh-one is too late!"

Just then, high in the air,
Without even a care,
Erasmus jumped from his safe perch,
So enthralled with the view
That he shouted, "WHOO-HOOO!"
As his parachute caught with a lurch.














Now, aerodynamics,
And fluid mechanics
Did just what they naturally do,
So his false teeth came loose
Thanks to wind and "spit juice"
And flew from his mouth in mid "HOOO."

Once affixed to a crown,
Six teeth now spiraled down
As if they'd never been anchored.
They touched down with a "thud"
Right near Joe, in the mud...
The answer for which he'd hankered!

"Hallelujah" he cried
When the blessing he spied
At just five minutes to seven.
An arch stood, nice and neat,
'Cross the dip near his feet...
A bridge that fell down from Heaven!

Image via Wikipedia

This week's Friday Fiction is being hosted by Patty Wysong and Patterings. Be sure to drop by there for links to more great entries.

(The skydiver photo is from Stock.xchng by janky)

Spurgeon on Psalm 119:3

Image via WikipediaSpurgeon on Psalm 119:3
(From his commentary, "The Treasury of David")

"The holy life is a walk, a steady progress, a quiet advance, a lasting continuance. Enoch walked with God. Good men always long to be better, and hence they go forward. Good men are never idle, and hence they do not lie down or loiter, but they are still walking onward to their desired end. They are not hurried, and worried, and flurried, and so they keep the even tenor of their way, walking steadily towards heaven; and they are not in perplexity as to how to conduct themselves, for they have a perfect rule, which they are happy to walk by. The law of the Lord is not irksome to them; its commandments are not grievous, and its restrictions are not slavish in their esteem. It does not appear to them to be an impossible law, theoretically admirable but practically absurd, but they walk by it and in it. They do not consult it now and then as a sort of rectifier of their wanderings, but they use it as a chart for their daily sailing, a map of the road for their life-journey. Nor do they ever regret that they have entered upon the path of obedience, else they would leave it, and that without difficulty, for a thousand temptations offer them opportunity to return; their continued walk in the law of the Lord is their best testimony to the blessedness of such a condition of life. "

This world could use some more Spurgeons, couldn't it?

Doesn't this description of the Christian life make your heart yearn? Re-read it. Savor each thought. Isn't this kind of life better than one of worldly riches and ease?

May the Lord grant each of us steady progress on this journey.

Praising with the Emptiness

In an earlier post I promised to share how God moved me to deal with a problem...the problem of feeling empty in the middle of a worship service.

This past Sunday I was settling into my usual way of handling such things; just going through the motions, and not admitting to myself that anything was wrong. But then I felt an unexpected nudge from the Spirit. It wasn't the emotional boost I might have hoped for. In fact, it was something better.

Can you worship Me with the fact that it's all empty without Me?

What? I felt a bit of delight creeping into my soul as the idea sank in. Even perhaps a touch of relief.

Yes, Lord. I certainly can.

So while my mouth sang words that my heart didn't feel, I offered this praise to my Father.

See, Lord? It's all empty without You. When I can't feel You, I can't be satisfied. That's because You're what I really want. You're what I really need.

Yes, Lord, what wonderful praise!

I won't insult You by trying to create my own emotions like any non-believer can do at a rock concert. I want Your joy, not man-made feelings! And if Your joy is lacking in my heart today, I will do You the honor of missing it!

I will do You the honor of missing You.

Yes, Lord! You can't be replaced by hype! You're too wonderful to be traded in for any substitute! I would rather hunger and thirst while waiting for you, than fill up on my own artificially-sweetened snacks.

This is a whole new kind of praise for me, and I like it. I like it because:

• It's real
• It's God-centered
• It's not demanding what I want to get out of a praise service, but rather praising Him as He deserves, to the best of my ability at that time
  
• It stands to receive all of the blessings He has promised to those who wait for Him.

Can I extend this principle to other areas of my life?

One of the things I absolutely despise about housework is the emptiness of it. It lacks so much that my heart craves.

Can I offer that emptiness to God? Can I refuse to fill my soul with substitutes? Can I actively cultivate a hunger and thirst for my Creator?

If I can do that, then the emptiness itself can become a blessing. What if I wait for His blessing instead of manufacturing my own, believing that His will be infinitely better?

It is impossible to cultivate hunger while constantly munching. So tomorrow, when housework threatens me with its seemingly life-sapping demands, and the computer beckons with all of its delights, can I willingly shoulder the drudgery and offer it to God as praise?

Lord, I know that You have given rich meaning to housework, but I can't feel it. Never have been able to. I've always resented it, always hated it. But now I want to lift this emptiness to You. I admit that it seems lifeless to me because I can't feel You in it. I confess that there must be sin in me that's blocking our fellowship. In the past I have always "dealt" with this by avoiding the work, or doing it grudgingly, or at best doing it in the power of my flesh for as long as I could stand to (which was never very long). I always thought I hungered for more computer time, more writing time, more amusement time, more ANYTHING time. That's where I have had it all wrong.

What I really hunger for is You.

This emptiness is really praise, because I refuse to fill it with idols. I praise You by believing that this soul-void really CANNOT be filled with anything but You. If You tarry, I will wait patiently while continuing to obey. I will do this because I believe that You only feed hungry hearts. I want to stop glutting on the world's Twinkies so I can be hungry enough to feed on You.

When sin (laziness, wrong priorities) beckons, please God help me to remember You in Your ways, and to rejoice in doing righteousness (Isa. 64:5). And then feed me. Oh Father, please feed me!

But until You do, give me the courage, the hope, and the faith to wait on You, as Your Word so clearly tells me to do.

I write this with some fear. Hunger hurts, and I've never been able to avoid spiritual junk food for very long. In fact, as I was writing that prayer, I realized that it bore a pretty strong resemblance to something I wrote back in August. God's been trying to get this through my head for a while, and I haven't come very far with it.

But I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. Even hungering.

Yes, Lord, by Your grace, even hungering.

The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him. (Lam. 3:25)
Blessed are those who hunger.... (Matt. 5:6)

(Photo from Stock.xchng by scol22)

RefTagger

This is a departure from my usual kind of posting, but I wanted to let you know about a new addition to the blog which can help all readers, and may also come in handy for those of you who have your own blogs. It's called RefTagger.

RefTagger recognizes Biblical references ("verse addresses") in the text of the blog, and makes them into links without any effort on the blogger's part. It provides a pop-up window with the text of the verse whenever the mouse is hovered over the reference. Test it out by hovering your mouse over this reference: Is. 46:9-10.

So, for those of you who are readers, the verses will be handy whenever you want to see them.

For those of you who are bloggers, it's a simple matter of going to the RefTagger site, choosing the options you want, and copying some HTML code into your template. It will automatically make links of every reference in the blog, past entries included. And it's free! I anticipate that this will save a great deal of copying and pasting of texts into my entries, and I wanted to share that benefit with you!

Thanks to the "Thoughts on the Way" blog for introducing me to this great feature.

Do I Really? - "In Other Words" Tuesday

"In Other Words" Tuesday

I wrote this poem a while back, and in my heart I can imagine it becoming a song. It's about being honest with ourselves before God.

Do I Really?

I sing of bowing down, and I call Him my King,
I pray to the Lord, “Thy Kingdom come,”
But do I really hear the humble words that I sing?
Or has my heart grown distant and numb?

Do I really yearn to see His Will being done
On Earth as it is in His Heaven?
To take His yoke, to bear my cross, to die like the Son
To search out and purge sinful leaven?

Before His just commands do my knees truly bend?
Do I mold my will to match His word?
For Jesus will I leave my treasures, family, and friends
Stake all on the promises I’ve heard?

How can I pretend to want His kingdom to reign
If I won’t let Him rule within me?
Can I refuse His righteous call, His lordship disdain
Then say that I want Him to win me?

I sing of bowing down, and I call Him my King,
I pray to the Lord, “Thy Kingdom come,”
But do I really hear the humble words that I sing?
Or has my heart grown distant and numb?

We can't know our own hearts, according to Jer. 17:9. And Ps. 36:2 tells us, "For in his own eyes he flatters himself too much to detect or hate his sin" (NIV). And yet we are commanded to examine ourselves (2 Co. 13:5), and King David sets an example by asking God to examine him and point out where he needs to repent (Ps. 139:23-24).

What if we don't like what we see?

The humble heart will repent and seek a closer walk with God. But the proud heart will make excuses for itself and will put on an act for others. Sadly, when it does so, it pushes God even further away.

For God resists the proud, and gives grace to the humble (James 4:6).

The key to humbly loving others, instead of using them to stroke our own egos, is to altogether abandon the search for self-esteem, and to focus on growing our God-esteem.

Unless, of course, we really believe that true joy, happiness, and life are to be found in ourselves more than in God...

May God keep us from believing such lies, and help us find our lives in Him!

----------------------------

Today's "In Other Words" Tuesday is being hosted by Lynette Kraft. Be sure to drop by her blog for links to more insights based on today's quote.

To Know Him - Monday Manna

Monday Manna

There's a hidden place in my soul.
I barely know it's there, but I defend it fiercely anyway.
Its walls stand firm and imposing, like Jericho of old.
They've grown thicker with every assault.
Attacks only serve to make this fortress stronger.
No enemy can ever breach its defenses.

Its surface is emblazoned with the graffiti of years.
Words in lead paint.
Poisonous.
"Toughen up!"
"Life's rough! Get over it!"
"Suffer in silence!"
"Faker! Phony!"
Dagger-words spoken in response to
my childhood tears.

Love had to be tough
To prepare me for a cruel world
A sink-or-swim world
Where no one, no one
Will ever really be there for you.

Most don't love.
But those who do
Are too overwhelmed with their own pain
To help you bear the weight of yours.
No one wants to hear your problems, anyway.

Alone.

Solitary.

Bereft.

Always.

So there was a little girl.
A little blonde girl.
A little blonde girl who cried.

I locked her away.
She had no right to cry.
If she insisted on doing so
she certainly had no right to be heard.

Life is tough.
Get over it.

She still lives in the fortress, where even I barely ever hear her.

For years the graffiti on her walls has gotten thicker.

The one with the spray can is me, showing her "tough love."
I have to thicken her walls, because if anyone sees her, they might hurt her.

She already hurts too much.

But someone knows her.




He has met with her sometimes.
Always by surprise.

He does not knock holes in her walls
or dig tunnels underneath
or use high explosives.

She's prepared for all of that.

He uses
the gentlest of touches
the kindest of looks
the softest of voices...
sometimes just in her heart
sometimes through His other children.

Walls melt.

She stands, exposed
but somehow not afraid.
Not of Him.

She weeps, always, when He finds her.
But her tears are sweet
because of the tenderness of
The One
who wipes them away
and perhaps most of all
because what she wants more than anything
is love.

She cannot bear to be exposed for long
so He hides Himself
for gentleness' sake
until she's ready to see Him again.

She wants...

no...


I...
I want...
to know Him.

His resurrection
is life
from this tomb

The fellowship of His sufferings...

sufferings which do not make Him belittle my lesser pains
but rather transforms them...

the fellowship of His sufferings
erases the word "Alone."

His death
is so much more beautiful
than the living death my soul has known.
I want to trade my death
for His
because His is full
of eternal life
and love.

I want to know Him
because
God help me!
I have heard my own voice
crushing my children's souls.
I've have seen my own hands
with bricks
and mortar
and lead paint
giving them the same
"tough love"
that smothered my soul
in airless darkness.

Dear God,
I want to know You
not just in my head
but in the deepest parts of me
the parts that need to feel
Your love, and
Your gentleness
and then pass them along to others
whose souls ache and languish
like mine.

Please
God.

Amen.

------------------------------------

Monday Manna is being hosted this week by Joanne over at An Open Book. Be sure to drop by for more food from Heaven, and remember to leave comments if an entry touched your heart.

Emptiness on Sunday Morning

I had an "empty" time this morning.

It was Sunday morning, and I stood in church with everyone else. We all sang, and I liked the songs well enough.

But I felt nothing.

Don't you just hate that?

I wish I could say that that was the first time I'd ever felt nothing during a worship service. But of course it wasn't. And when that sort of thing happens, I'm left with some choices.

• I can face the deadness, refuse to participate, and decide there's nothing to Christianity, OR
• I can face the deadness and put on a good front for the other churchgoers, OR
• I can refuse to face the deadness and ignore the fact that I'm merely going through the motions, OR
  
• I can feel panicked about the deadness and reach deep into my flesh for the feelings I want to achieve, trying to pump up emotions from the rhythm of the music, or from some other human-powered thing, just like any non-believer can do at a rock concert, OR
• I can pray for God to give me the emotional experience I crave, OR...
  

Or what? Is there another option?

What do you do under such circumstances? I'd love to read your comments.

Monday's entry will be taken up by "Monday Manna," and Tuesday's entry by "In Other Words," but on Wednesday I'll share what the Lord encouraged me to do with my emptiness this morning. Perhaps it might bless someone as it blessed me.

In the meantime, please share your thoughts

(Photo from Stock.xchng by Zoostory)

Friday Fiction: Making Concentrate

Friday Fiction

Making Concentrate

"Father, what are you doing?" Asher’s curiosity wouldn’t let him stay quiet any longer.

Father looked at him with one of his unfathomable smiles. "I'm making concentrate."

Asher's eyes widened. He was a newcomer here, and there was much he didn't understand. But he enjoyed the wonder and awe that surrounded everything Father did.

After a while he spoke up again. “Who’s that?”

"Her name is Elizabeth." Father's voice grew a little quieter. "It means, 'Consecrated to God.'”

"Concentrated to God?" Asher asked.

Father laughed, clearly delighted. "That's not what I said, but I love it. It's really the same thing, after all."

Asher nodded, though he didn’t understand.

The most wonderful thing about living in Father's house was how perfect everything was, even the unknown. Curiosity wafted over Asher like the mouth-watering aromas of Thanksgiving mornings, filling him with anticipation. Yet the anticipation itself fed his soul, so that the hunger didn’t hurt. Desire felt as delightful as fulfillment, and fulfillment never disappointed.

“I love Elizabeth,” Father said softly.

"But you're making her cry."

"Yes, Asher. I know all of her tears. I’m keeping them safe with me."

What does he do with them? Asher looked back down into the world where he once lived. "She's through crying already."

Father chuckled. "It seems like 'already' to you, but you're outside of time now. Ten years just passed for her. She doesn't even remember what she was crying about before. But I remember perfectly...both the trial and my beautiful purpose for it." He put his hands on Asher's shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I've kept that safe for her, too."

Asher smiled.

Father gave Elizabeth many things, and then after a while he took something away from her.

"She cried a little, but not as much," Asher noted.

"She trusts me more now, because she knows me better. Every time I’ve taken something from her, I’ve offered her more of myself in exchange."

"Cool!" Asher exclaimed.

Father's eyes took on a faraway expression. "It’s glorious seeing them learn to love, and trust, and delight in me. When your mother took dangerous things away from you, you would get upset. People often don't understand why I take things from them, especially when I take away good things, in order to replace them with what’s best."

"That's you!" Asher jumped up and down, delighted with his understanding. "You're what’s best for them!"

Father smiled. "Of course."

They looked at Elizabeth again.

"She’s already old!" Asher stared, astonished.

"Yes, it's almost time for her to join us." Father beamed. "I can't wait to give her the joy of fully knowing me!”

"What did you say you were making?"

"It was concentrate. You remember concentrate."

"Yeah. Mom made orange juice out of it."

"That's right. I made 'concentrate' with Elizabeth by taking away unnecessary things that weighed her down. Now she's highly concentrated. Very little left to take away." He took Asher's hand. "Come on."

"Where?"

"We're going to greet Elizabeth. She's about to arrive."

"But there's one thing I don't understand."

"What?"

"We always add water to concentrate."

Father smiled like Christmas, like gifts about to be given.

"True. I am the Living Water, remember? But I like to add other water, too. Water which isn’t perfected yet. I will perfect it when I perfect her."

"What other water?"

Father smiled his Christmas smile again. "Go and get it for me." He pointed at a vessel that Asher hadn't noticed before.

Asher ran and fetched it, savoring delicious curiosity.

Father carried the vase until they arrived at the great gates.

"There she is!" Asher clapped and pointed.

“Welcome, my beloved!” Father wrapped Elizabeth's withered body in his embrace, pouring life-giving love into her dehydrated soul. Then he added the water from the vase, and as it touched the Living Water, it became just as sparkly and lively.

"See, I make everything new," he said, setting the vase down and gazing on his glorious bride.

"But what’s that other water that you perfected?"

Father smiled wider. "Think about it while I show Elizabeth around."

A wonderful idea began to grow in Asher’s heart. Could it be? He rolled the vase over until he found the inscription.

"YES!" Heaven echoed with his joy.

Father turned and smiled like the sun, only brighter and more beautiful.

Asher couldn't restrain himself. He danced in circles around the empty jar which once held Elizabeth's tears.

--------------------------------

Today's Friday Fiction is being hosted by Dee over at My Heart's Dee-light. Be sure to drop by for more great fiction.

Convicting of Righteousness

(This is the third in the series which began with, "How Does The Holy Spirit Really Help Us?"

Image via Wikipedia

And when He [the Spirit] has come, He will convict the world of...righteousness... (John 16:8)

The kingdom of God is...righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit. (Rom 14:17)

How many times does the Bible talk about righteousness? Just a quick check with my electronic Bible's search function pulls up 565 verses.

In how many passages does God's Word talk about people speaking in tongues? I may have missed a few, but I was only able to find seven such passages.

Which do you suppose is more important to God?

Would He rather see a dozen righteous people who do not speak in tongues, or a dozen people who speak in tongues but are not righteous?

It's not my intention to address the topic of tongues, or any of the other showy, popular (and often counterfeited) works of the Spirit. What I really want to do is plead for priorities that match our Lord's.

How badly do we want the miraculous work of the Spirit that's called "righteousness?" How often do we pray for it, yearn for it, study it, apply ourselves to it? Or do we consider the flashier gifts more important?

"But wait," you may protest. "We are made righteous in Christ. It's a done deal, so I don't have to worry about it any more."

Well... yes... and no.

It is true that we are given Christ's righteousness when (and if) we are truly saved. It's a process called, "Imputation," and it means we're given credit for the perfect righteousness that we won't actually experience until Heaven. God lives in the eternal "Now," so He doesn't lie when he declares us righteous. He simply takes the reality of eternity and credits it to our present time.

We do this sort of thing ourselves. For example, when someone is diagnosed with incurable, terminal cancer, we might say of that person, "He's a dead man." He's still alive, but his fate is sealed, and there's nothing that's going to change it.

In the same way, when and if we are truly saved, God declares us righteous. Though we still have sin in us, righteousness is our sealed fate (2 Co. 1:21-22), and nothing will change it. Praise God!

But how do we know if this genuine work of the Spirit has happened in us? We look at ourselves, and we see that sin is still present within us. How can we know if Christ's righteousness has truly been imputed to us?

After all, anyone can claim to have achieved a right standing with God. Millions have claimed it on the basis of having washed their bodies in the Ganges river. Other millions have done so on the basis of the recitation of certain prayers, or floating candles on paper boats, or any of countless other rituals.

God's word tells us that there will even be many "Christians" who believe themselves righteous, but who will be in for a horrible shock on Judgment Day.

"Many will say to Me in that day, 'Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Your name, cast out demons in Your name, and done many wonders in Your name?' And then I will declare to them, 'I never knew you; depart from Me, you who practice lawlessness!'" (Jesus, in Matt 7:22-23).

How can we know?

Praise God, He does not force us to wallow in doubt. When there has been a genuine work of the Spirit (which includes imputation of righteousness), there will be undeniable, impossible-to-counterfeit evidence. And two of those evidences are:

1. Growth in righteousness

Who Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree, that we, having died to sins, might live for righteousness—by whose stripes you were healed. (1Pe 2:24)

For everyone who partakes only of milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, for he is a babe. But solid food belongs to those who are of full age, that is, those who by reason of use have their senses exercised to discern both good and evil. (Heb 5:13-14)

All Scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work. (2Ti 3:16-17)

Flee also youthful lusts; but pursue righteousness, faith, love, peace with those who call on the Lord out of a pure heart. (2 Tim. 2:22)

that you put off, concerning your former conduct, the old man which grows corrupt according to the deceitful lusts, and be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and that you put on the new man which was created according to God, in true righteousness and holiness. (Eph 4:22-24)


2. A love of righteousness (Why? Because the Spirit makes us more like Christ, who loves righteousness! Ps. 11:7)

You have loved righteousness and hated lawlessness; therefore God, Your God, has anointed you with the oil of gladness more than your companions. (Heb. 1:9)

For we through the Spirit eagerly wait for the hope of righteousness by faith. (Gal 5:5)

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, For they shall be filled. (Matt. 5:6)

You meet him who rejoices and does righteousness (Isa. 64:5)


This love of righteousness will be a humble love, not a prideful one (Luke 18:9-14).

If the Lord is working in your heart to create growth in godly righteousness, and a humble love of righteousness, you can be sure that this is the result of the Holy Spirit in you. Even though you won't be perfect in this life, you can reassure your heart when you see His Spirit changing who you are and making you more like Christ.

If this kind of growth, and this love, are absent in you, I can only beg of you along with the apostle Paul,

Examine yourselves as to whether you are in the faith. Test yourselves. Do you not know yourselves, that Jesus Christ is in you?—unless indeed you are disqualified. (2Co 13:5)

Please add to the richness of this post by commenting below!

The previous (second) post in this series was: "A Genuine Work of the Spirit?"

Friday Fiction: Spiritual Autism

Friday Fiction

I wrote this back in 2006. It has often struck me how "autistic" we must seem to God when we tune Him out and focus only on ourselves.

Spiritual Autism

A mother's view:

He lives in a universe apart, almost another dimension. We stand side-by-side, but his gaze passes right over the world that I see.

I take care of all his details. I bathe him while he ignores me, coax him into clothes to protect his nonexistent modesty, hide medicine in chocolate milk. I put away sharp objects, lock doors, provide food that his too-skinny body needs yet disdains. I hold his hand to keep him out of dangers that he neither notices nor understands.
He doesn't realize that I do these things for him.

The firefighter smiles at the children, catches their eyes, engages them. He talks of pumper trucks and hoses, of sirens and water tanks. He displays his fire-resistant clothes and sharp-pointed axe. His words evoke images of danger and heroism, of lives risked and lives saved.
Phillip cannot be persuaded to stay. He must go to the station's utility closet and stare at the vacuum cleaner. He studies it with the intensity of a guru in meditation, and touches it with something close to reverence.
The vacuum sits immobile, undeserving of the awe it has inspired.

The children skip along on the sidewalk, excited to enjoy a walk with their family. Little fingers point at birds above and sun-dried earthworms below. Cars whiz by, prompting yet another parental lecture on road safety. Questions pepper the air as young minds eagerly soak up knowledge.
Phillip sees none of it, hears none of it. He stands a little ways off, communing with a fire hydrant like a medium consorting with the nether world. The ears which ignored his family's words now press close to hear whatever the hydrant has to say.
The hunk of metal stands in silence, at least as far as I can tell.

The teacher places another flannel-backed figure onto the board. She speaks of miracles, of courage, of fear and hope. Her questions cause hands to shoot up and waggle in the air, accompanied by the universal "ooh, ooh" cry of children who have answers.
Phillip pays no attention. He paces back and forth behind all of the other students, absorbed in his own thoughts. His eyes periodically grow wide with excitement and he jumps up and down, hands flapping, neck muscles standing out in sharp relief, emitting strained, throaty sounds.
He is his whole world.

I long to reach him. I love him so much!


The Father's View:

She lives in a universe apart, almost another dimension. I am everywhere, but her gaze passes right over the world that I want her to see.

I take care of all her details. I offer cleansing while she ignores me, try to coax her into spiritual armor, provide Myself as a balm for her soul. I restrain her mortal enemy, guide her through the right doors, provide spiritual food that her starving soul needs yet disdains. I hold her hand to keep her out of dangers that she neither notices nor understands.
She doesn't realize that I do these things for her.

The Bible rests on my children's laps, catches their eyes, engages them. It talks of living springs and water gushing out of rocks, of last trumpets and spiritual baptisms. It warns of eternal fires, and cuts like a two-edged sword. Its words evoke images of danger and heroism, of lives consecrated and souls needing to be saved.
One daughter of mine cannot be persuaded to stay. She must close its pages and stare at the television. She studies it with the intensity of a guru in meditation, and sacrifices time on its altar.
The TV sits immobile, undeserving of the devotion it has inspired.

My children walk in my outdoors, excited to enjoy their fellowship. They marvel at my birds above and my earthworms below. Worldly temptations call to them, prompting yet another discussion on how to resist. Questions pepper the air as their minds eagerly soak up wisdom.
This daughter of mine sees none of it, hears none of it. She stands a little ways off, communing with a storefront window like a medium consorting with the nether world. The ears which ignored her family's words now press close to hear the siren-song of materialism.
The pile of brick and mortar stands in silence, but only I seem to realize that it has nothing to say.

The pastor reads more verses off of the big monitor screen. He speaks of miracles, of courage, of fear and hope. His questions cause heads to nod, accompanied by an occasional spoken "Amen."
This daughter pays no attention. She sits with all of my other children, but she is absorbed in her own thoughts. Her eyes periodically fill with tears and she shifts around in her seat, neck muscles aching with tension, emitting self-absorbed sighs.
She is her whole world.

I long to reach her. I love her so much!

(Photo from Stock.xchng by boyonabike)

Other entries in "Self-focus."
Other entries in "Friday Fiction"

This week's Friday Fiction is being hosted at Back Door. Drop by for more great fiction!

God-Seasoned Tears

Thank You, Lord, that my tears taste different now.

They used to taste of

bitter despairacid rage
bloodied pride
choking hopelessness
acrid loneliness
fevered hatred
sulfurous distrust
cruel accusation
bilious self-pity.


You could have chosen just to numb the pain
But any old drug can do that.

You're no drug.


You could have kept pain away
Like a doting father who would spoil me until I got mushy and rank like an overripe peach.

You are a much better parent than that.


I could not have loved You the way I do now, if you had done either of those things. How would You have been better than what Earth can offer?

But You...

Only You could do this.

You taught me that tears can taste like

fountains of hope
oceans of mercy
wellsprings of love
streams of refreshment
brooks of camaraderie
rivers of trust
seas of acceptance
tidal waves of thanksgiving
floods of praise.

And they taste like...

Salt.

You have told us that we are the salt of the earth.

Perhaps we can only be salt
if our hearts have learned to shed
God-seasoned tears.

Betsy Markman

(Photo from Stock.xchng by Fishmonk)

Mirror People - IOW Tuesday

In Other Words

We love to look at the things we love. For many of us, that means we go through life with a mirror strapped in front of our faces, focusing on ourselves as if we were the source of our own lives, the fount of our own happiness. We are born loving ourselves, absolutely devoted to pleasing ourselves, committed to serving ourselves, and determined to make others serve us as much as possible (or else get out of our way!)

Image via Wikipedia

There we are, little clay pots, admiring ourselves as if we had created ourselves. And all the while we wonder why we feel so empty.

We try to fill that emptiness with other people's admiration, doing our best to make our own little lights shine in a way that will bedazzle them. Some fail miserably at that. Others succeed miserably. Either way, we find no joy there.

A few years ago I wrote a poem about how we can use our mirrors in a way that brings true joy to ourselves and others, and most importantly, brings glory to God. It's called:

Mirror People

I was born with a looking-glass
Set right in front of my face
No matter where I turn my head
It always stays right in place.

I know my world from what I see
There in my own reflection
Consulting my own image for
Life's meaning and direction.

Whatever works to make me smile
Will suit me quite precisely
And anyone who puts me first
Will serve me very nicely.

There's not much room to look at you
Around my precious mirror
But that's okay, I do not wish
To see you any clearer.

Unless you can somehow improve
My image, re-create it
If you can help me like myself
I'd sure appreciate it.

My world feels very small and close
My face no longer thrills me
I want to feed my self-esteem
Before starvation kills me.

But now a bold intruder comes
He really aggravates me
He wants all my attention, and
Sometimes I think He hates me.

He messes with my looking-glass
But won't make me look better
He says I ought to worship Him
Like I'm some kind of debtor.

He shows me all my flaws, and yet
He says that there's good in store
The problem is, I'm not allowed
To dwell on "me" anymore.

I let Him push my mirror down
No more than an inch or two
And when I take my eyes off me
I'm amazed by something new.

Such wideness and such majesty!
My overwhelmed senses reel
Such joy, such awe, such love are more
Than I thought I'd ever feel.

My hands fall to my sides and let
My mirror fall and shatter
I barely notice that it's gone
It doesn't seem to matter.

He smiles, and in His eyes I see
The source of all this glory
Now praise seems only natural
And not obligatory.

He gives me a new looking-glass
And instinctively I know
Which way I want to turn it and
Whose face I want it to show.

I never want to look away
This beauty feeds my spirit
I shout the news to everyone
And pray that some will hear it.

There, standing out among the throngs
I see some shining Others
Their mirrors turned toward The Light
My sisters and my brothers.

Our little glasses cannot hope
His glory all to capture
But each one can reflect some more
And blaze with holy rapture.

I fear this is too good to last
And then I hear Him praying
I scarcely can believe the words
The Son of God is saying.

"I pray that they will be with Me
In Heaven, where forever
My splendor they will always see
And from Me none can sever."

How can I thank or praise enough
For such a wondrous present?
The finest riches Heaven owns
Lavished on me, a peasant!

Friends, if you see me sorrowing,
My mirror turned to face me
Please help me point it back to God
And let His joy embrace me.

And if you're sad, I'll give to you
The best I could ever give
I'll help you turn your eyes to God
To look to Him so you'll live.


(Click here to find all posts related to the subject of God-Centeredness.)

Today's "In Other Words" is being hosted by Bonnie at her "Ink It" Blog. Be sure to drop by and read her entry, then scroll down to find links to all of the other participating blogs.

A Genuine Work of the Spirit?

Does the Holy Spirit sign His name to His work?

In an earlier article I asked, "What spiritual activity can you see in your own life that you know is not a counterfeit, and on what do you base that confidence?" Of course that's a question for myself, too.

Jesus said that, when the Holy Spirit comes, one of the things He does is convicts the world of sin (John 16:8). In other words, conviction of sin is one of the signature marks of the Spirit.

How's that going for you? For me? It's an important question, because any spirit that tolerates sin is not the Holy Spirit of God.

Maybe it would help if we asked ourselves a few questions. Do we really want conviction? How do we know if we really want it? And what's the difference between godly conviction and a religious "guilt trip?"


Is conviction of sin something we truly desire?

Why should we desire it?

Imagine if you had cancer cells lurking in your body, growing, multiplying, spreading. They can do so for a long time without you even noticing. In fact, they can reach a lethal state before you even know they're there. Image via Wikipedia

Do you want the diagnosis? I suppose that might depend on whether or not there was hope for a cure. Ignorance might be bliss if the situation were hopeless, but what if finding out could have changed everything?

Sin is spiritual cancer. It eats away, destroys, kills.

Conviction is the diagnosis, and if we're alive and able to feel the Spirit's convicting work, then it's not too late. There is hope.

That's why King David wrote, "Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me and know my thoughts, and see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." (Ps. 139:23-24) He wanted God to show him his sin so that he could repent of it and walk in the paths of life.

How do we know if we really want conviction?

Do we really want conviction, or are we secretly hoping to find a way to soothe our consciences without actually dealing with sin? John Owen, in his 17th-Century work, "On The Mortification of Sin in Christians", clearly describes a heart that doesn't really want conviction. Condensed and paraphrased in modern English (by me...blame me for any errors), he says,

If the heart searches for ways to excuse itself, and to keep its peace despite unconquered sin, and despite not even vigorously fighting against sin, then it's in a deadly condition. There are different ways that this can happen.

1. Whenever the man feels troubled by his sin, instead of applying himself to destroying it, he searches his heart for evidence of the good that is in him. When he finds something good about himself, he convinces himself that all will be well with him. This is the desperate plan of a heart in love with sin. Such a man clearly shows that he is content to be as far from God as he can be without suffering eternal separation. What can be expected from such a heart?

2. By applying grace and mercy to a sin that is cherished and coddled, the man can continue to deceive himself. This is using God's grace as a license to sin. (End of Owen paraphrase)

If there is a genuine work of God's Spirit, then an awareness of our sin will bring conviction and repentance.

Are we experiencing true, godly conviction rather than a religious "guilt trip?"

What's the difference? It's vital to differentiate them, because no one ever found true repentance as the result of a guilt trip.

A guilt trip manipulates how we feel about our own sin.
Conviction touches our hearts with how God feels about our sin, and teaches us to see it the same way He does.

A guilt trip focuses on what we've done and how to change our behavior in the future. It causes sorrow about specific incidents, and if it broadens its view, it only does so in a way that makes us feel hopeless and discouraged about ourselves.
Conviction focuses on who we are and our need for a changed heart. It causes sorrow about the godlessness underlying all those sinful incidents. In other words, while we do sorrow over the incidents themselves, and seek to make things right with those whom we've offended, we don't stop there if we've experienced true conviction. We see root causes, with the Spirit's help, and we also see the hope that He provides for real heart change.

A guilt trip focuses on self-reform.
Conviction focuses on coming to God to be changed by Him.

A guilt trip is laid on us by someone else for selfish purposes.
Conviction is laid on us by God with a desire to save our souls.

A guilt trip is "cured" by modern psychologists who convince us we're just fine the way we are, and who prescribe the numbing drug of self-esteem. This is what God condemned in Israel's false prophets. "They have also healed the hurt of My people slightly, Saying, 'Peace, peace!' when there is no peace." (Jer 6:14)
Conviction does not get healed, nor does it need to be. It causes healing when it brings about repentance. And the repentance it causes will not be on a surface level only. It will ultimately lead an individual to repent of self-centeredness and self-rule, in order to accept God-centeredness and God's rule.

In a heart which has been so utterly won over to God, sin cannot reign. It may cause stumbling, but it cannot ultimately conquer.

Time for your input. What personal experiences or Biblical insights can you share? Please post a comment.

Next entry in this series: "Convicting of Righteousness."

Friday Fiction: Snap, Pitter-Patter-Pit

Friday Fiction

A hearty "Thank-You" to Patty over at Patterings for allowing me to host Fiction Friday this week. After you're through reading my entry, scroll down for links to this week's other entries. (You might want to check back often, as submissions are likely to trickle in throughout the day.) I know all of the authors would be delighted if you would leave a comment after you enjoy their work.

I originally wrote this piece to enter in the FaithWriters weekly challenge, under the topic, "Snap."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snap, Pitter-Patter-Pit

Grandma keeps a steady rhythm with her rocking chair and her hands.

Snap, pitter-patter-pit. Breaking open pods, dropping peas into her old yellow bowl, tossing the empty pods into the compost bucket. Snap, pitter-patter-pit.

Her gnarled hands know their task well. They have worked on this same porch every Spring, making snap, pitter-patter-pit with that same yellow bowl since Grampa first carried her over the threshold. Before that, her hands had perfected their skills on the old homestead, starting even before they knew the right way to hold a pencil.

Snap, pitter-patter-pit.

A rose-scented breeze whispers past thousands of aspen and cottonwood leaves, giving them a voice of their own and enticing the daisies to bow and curtsy to one another.

"Your roses are beautiful, Grandma." I try to match her rhythm with my own bucket of pods, but my hands know how to extract peas from a can far more easily.

"Thank you, dear. Are you feeling any better now?"

"Yes, thanks. Did you have morning sickness when you were expecting?"

"I had some, but it wasn't too bad. Of course that was a long time ago. The years have a way of taking the edge off of such things."

Snap, pitter-patter-pit.

A jay perches right on the porch railing, cocking its head as it watches me work. Grandma and I fall silent, not wanting to scare the bright-eyed beauty away. It hops a bit, never taking its eyes off of me, until finally flitting away with a loud cry.

When Grandma was my age, she had already birthed two children and buried one of them. Her sturdy hands had boiled and wrung and hung up hundreds of cloth diapers. I'm planning to use the modern throw-away kind.

At my age she and Grampa had already tilled and hoed and harvested life out of this land for three years, in the hardscrabble days of the Great Depression. And she had done all of that work around a belly swollen huge by her third child, my mother.

"Did you ever worry that you wouldn't be a good mother?" I feel a little shy asking that question. I probably sound much more insecure than she would have at twenty.

Snap, pitter-patter-pit.

"I did worry about not having enough food to feed them, and about keeping them clothed. I sewed everything we wore back then, you know."

"I know. I can't imagine how you did it all."

"Love finds a way."

Snap, pitter-patter-pit.

The breeze picks up, and Grandma pauses to enjoy it. She sets her bowl down on the floor and loosens her apron.

Another question burns in my heart, but I'm not sure I should ask it. I don't want to pry. But life doesn't often bring me to this place where family roots dig deeper than tree roots. And I'm beginning to realize that the woman beside me is like the water table under the earth. My mother drew up a lot by tapping into that well, and I want to do the same.

While I still can.

"Did you and Grampa ever argue?" Asking this as a wife to a wife makes me feel less a grandchild, and more a peer.

"Of course we did. Still do. We argued this morning. Didn't you notice how quiet we were at the breakfast table?"

"Yes, but I had no idea you had been arguing. I never heard a thing!"

Snap, pitter-patter-pit.

"No point getting loud about it. Just upsets others. Besides, it was nothing important. It seems silly now. It usually does, when you've had time to cool off." She nods toward the barn. "Here he comes now."

Grampa's long strides have shortened a bit with the years, and his back curves forward a little now, but his bearing still reflects his earlier youth and strength. He brings with him a few daisies that he picked along the way, and tucks them behind Grandma's ear with a flourish.

She smiles into his eyes, and the look which passes between them needs no words. All is forgiven. All is forgotten.

He kisses her forehead, then goes inside whistling, "Let Me Call You Sweetheart."

Grandma, still smiling, picks up her bowl. Soon the familiar rhythm begins again, but this time she also hums in harmony to Grampa's whistling.

Let me call you sweetheart...

Snap, pitter-patter-pit.

(Photos from Stock.xchng by Lousam and lhumble)