Delight

When I was in Cannon Beach a few weeks ago, I had an amazing spoonable chocolate at the Chocolate Café. It was a tiny cup of thick rich dark chocolate, thicker than mousse, more elegant than pudding. (It’s in the photo above, with an equally delicious truffle.) The portion was perfect—I could not have eaten one more mouthful. But I ate and enjoyed every bite. I delighted in that chocolate. I relished it. I took a picture and sent it to my husband. I talked about that chocolate. It was fantastic.

Today I read about a third of Psalm 119. I noticed the word "delight" several times. 

I will delight in your statutes;

I will not forget your word. (verse 16)

Your testimonies are my delight;

they are my counselors. (verse 24)

Lead me in the path of your commandments, 

for I delight in it. (verse 35)

For I find my delight in your commandments, which I love. (verse 48)

The Message version takes the word “delight” to another level in verse 16:

I relish everything you’ve told me of life…

Relish.

A lip-smacking delight in every crumb.

I remembered that amazing chocolate and the great delight it brought me. As I endeavor to just be with Jesus, I want to delight in his word. I am not seeking to read it at breakneck pace, but to savor it and relish it every day.

I ponder every morsel of wisdom from you,

I attentively watch how you’ve done it.

I relish everything you’ve told me of life,

I won’t forget a word of it. (Psalm 119:15-16 The Message)

Just Be With Jesus

The one thing I ask of the Lord—the thing I seek most—

is to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,

delighting in the Lord’s perfections and meditating in his Temple. 
(Psalm 27:4 NLT)

One of the most influential books in my spiritual life is Sacred Pathways, by Gary Thomas. I read it about 10 years ago, as I was beginning to figure out what in the world I was doing in Las Vegas, and what God might call me to do here. This book urged me to have a fuller spiritual life, to connect with God in new ways and to be more aware of his presence. It also helped me understand why friends and family members worship God in such different ways from mine. I love to worship God at home, with my open Bible and a cup of coffee. My husband loves to worship God on the church platform, playing an instrument or singing any part he is needed to on a particular weekend. 

This spring I had the opportunity to lead a small group through a discussion of Sacred Pathways. My friend Kim gave us scripture reading assignments to go with the book. I was delighted to share this book with my friends, but I was surprised to find that it had a new message for me.

As I studied, I realized something that had contributed to my season of spiritual emptiness. I connect with God intellectually through study and sharing what I have learned. I also connect through my senses—tasting and smelling and touching. And thirdly, I am what Gary Thomas calls a “contemplative.” I just enjoy being with Jesus. (Mary of Bethany is the most obvious example of this worship temperament in the scriptures.)

Over the last few years, I have focused on the intellectual side of worship. I am always studying or writing an outline or thinking about how I might share what I just read in the Bible. 

During our season of moving, I was too tired to do anything quite that structured. I was too tired to savor the clementine oranges that were in season--too tired to praise God for their taste and fragrance. And I forgot how to simply be with Jesus. He was here. He was not absent. I just forgot, as I lost my usual way of worship, to value other worship paths. I forgot to play Petra or Albinoni. (My prayer music is varied.) I forgot to whisper simple prayers while I soaked in the bathtub. 

Over and over, as I read Sacred Pathways, as I soaked in the message of Fight Back with Joy, as I prayed for a Life Unstuck, and as I walked on the beach in Oregon, I heard his whisper: "just be with me."

I have stepped back from my orderly schedule of reading Psalms in 30 days, and I have given up my plan to really dig into Isaiah this summer. Instead, I light some incense or pour a cup of coffee (coffee fumes are Baptist incense). I open a book or two (Set My Heart on Fire and Pray Like a Gourmet are on my current list). I read a Psalm or two or six. I write down a few words that touch me today. I try to carry those words with me throughout the day. I am still humming "Show Me Your Glory," though I am trying to move on to U2's "Gloria". I am trying to capture photos of God's artwork in parking lots and my backyard.

I think I will go back to all the blogposts I shared this month, and label them "Just Be with Jesus" because that is what all of my prayers and experiences have led to. This is my new hashtag, my prayer, my goal.

Lord, show me how to enjoy your company,

away from structured outlines

and planning my next book.

I want to remember how to

simply be with you.

“Be still, and know that I am God. 

I will be exalted among the nations,

I will be exalted in the earth!”

The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress. 
(Psalm 46:10-11)

photo copyright 2015 Ruth J. Leamy

Glory

Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me;
let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling!
Then I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy,
and I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God.
Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. (Psalm 43:3-5)

For weeks I have been asking God to speak to me and to give me a new awareness of his presence. When I pray this sort of prayer, God often plants a song in my mind as I wake up the next day.

Since the Retreat at Cannon Beach, the song “Show Me Your Glory” has been stuck in my head. Stuck. I do not know very much of this song—just the chorus—and frankly, I am very tired of it. It took me a day or two to connect the song to my prayer.

I searched for "show me your Glory" in the Bible. I found it in Exodus 33:18. Moses asked to see God’s glory. I thought this was kind of a demanding prayer. Really, Moses? God sent plagues of frogs and lice and parted the Red Sea to get you out of Egypt and you ask to see his glory? Wasn't your deliverance enough? Well, no, because after the deliverance came the long years of leading a people who were not always calm followers.

I looked up the whole story in Exodus 32 and 33. Moses had been on the mountain with God so long that the people gave up on Moses and turned to a golden calf instead. God did not take their disobedience lightly. There were harsh consequences. Now Moses is praying after the whole terrible experience is over. In verse 13, he asks, “Show me now your ways” and in verse 18, he prays, “Please show me your glory.”

My ESV study Bible points out that “Moses is asking him to signify his presence as he did when the covenant was confirmed at Mount Sinai.” Remember the cloud of God’s presence that led the Israelites as they journeyed?

Moses is crying out to God. Is God still with him? Will God guide his next steps? He needs a signal.

I pondered this, and the song that is still stuck in my head. "Show me your glory" is not a selfish prayer for a supernatural experience. It is a simple cry for a fresh awareness of God.

Remind me that you are here.
Help me feel and notice your presence.
Today I am seeking you in your word.

The one thing I ask of the Lord—the thing I seek most—
is to live in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
delighting in the Lord’s perfections and meditating in his Temple. (Psalm 27:4 NLT)

photo credit: IMG_9881 via photopin (license)

Anchors

The days of my life [were] all prepared before I’d even lived one day. (Psalm 139:16 The Message)

On April first, my husband pulled the moving truck up to the house as my phone rang. I was far too busy for phone calls, but the Oregon number caught my attention and I answered. It was Cannon Beach Christian Conference Center, asking me if I wanted to come to a women’s retreat in May. I had signed up on a waiting list months before and there was a room available now.

“Um. Wow. I don’t know! Can I come right now?” I asked for a week to think about it. My best friend and I talked (I texted her in the middle of my moving day) and we decided to do this. The speaker at this conference was Margaret Feinberg. Lissa and I had read her Joy book (among others) and wanted to hear her in person. We also wanted to walk on the beach and go to coffee shops near the beach.

It was good to have this getaway to look forward to during the month of April. The move threw me off kilter and my husband was in the middle of his busiest season, and it was all just crazy.

I have a lot to say about this conference, but one detail of the messages really stands out. Margaret spoke of casting anchors into the future. When we experience rough times, one way to find hope and joy is to look forward. Plan something. Something you can actually do (not, as she mentioned, a trip into space). 

I realized that this trip to Cannon Beach was an anchor for me. When I couldn’t find half my clothes or the last box of china, I looked forward to walking on the beach. When I felt empty and out of touch with Jesus, I looked forward to hearing his message through Margaret.

Margaret pointed us to the book of Philemon. She reminded us that Paul, writing from prison, asked Philemon to get a room ready for him. He was planning a trip.

Lissa reminded me, in times of spiritual emptiness, to “get a room ready for Jesus.” I was intrigued by this thought. I am sure that each of us prepares for worship in a different way. (My preparation for a quiet time of worship at home involves some incense from a Greek monastery, a cup of coffee, and a Baroque music CD.) Planning a time of worship in the afternoon can be a simple anchor I toss out in the morning. 

Casting anchors into the future expresses our faith that God has our future planned--a future full of hope and joy.

Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me;

let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling!

Then I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy,

and I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God.

Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?

Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my salvation and my God. (Psalm 43:3-5)


photo credit: Cannon Beach via photopin (license)

Not Hidden

You are my God. I worship you.

  In my heart, I long for you, as I would long for a stream

  in a scorching desert. (Psalm 63:1 CEV)

It is appropriate that I am reading Life Unstuck on Mother’s Day. This daily devotional book by Patricia Layton discusses Psalm 139, one verse at a time. I knew I had to read this book, because Psalms 139 is my Psalm. My favorite verses are 13-16:

For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.

My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret,

intricately woven in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them,

 the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them. (Psalm 139:13-16)

These verses are my story. Or the beginning of my story. When my mom was pregnant with me, she had some health issues, and her doctors took some x-rays (they did that to pregnant women forty years ago), but they found nothing. 

When I was six months old, my mom was diagnosed with cancer (multiple myeloma, to be precise). The doctors looked back at the previous x-rays and found things they hadn’t seen before. My mom and dad always felt that God hid the tumors from the doctors while Mom was pregnant, so that she could give birth to me without making any hard choices about keeping the baby or having treatments while pregnant. Mom lived another twenty four years after that diagnosis.

When those tumors were hidden from the doctors, I was not hidden from God. He saw me. He planned every day of my life.

If you had handed me a book on this subject a year ago, I would have yawned at you and said, “I know that!” It is, after all, based on my Psalm.

But this spring I needed to read that Psalm again. And Patricia Layton's commentary on the Psalm is encouraging and nourishing. It is funny and thought-provoking. (I have a feeling I describe all my favorite books in those same words.) I love the way Pat shares her life stories with the scriptures. She shows that the Bible makes a difference in her life. Pat’s humor will make readers want to read several daily sections in a row. I recommend slowing down a bit and really absorbing the truths of Psalm 139.

Like an open book, you watched me grow from conception to birth;

all the stages of my life were spread out before you,

The days of my life all prepared before I’d even lived one day. (Psalm 139:16 The Message)

photo credit: In With The New (January 1/8) via photopin (license)

Empty

I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched.

My eyes fail, looking for my God. (Psalm 69:3 NIV)

But I pray to you, Lord, in the time of your favor;

in your great love, O God, answer me with your sure salvation. (Psalm 69:13)

One of the beautiful things about God is his amazing timing. I have been feeling so empty and out of touch with the Lord and with life in general. (It bothers me that I am forty years old and suddenly blindsided by feelings. I blame the fact that I live with a thirteen year old, an almost eleven year old, and a nine year old. And they are all female.)

I am very involved with a women's Bible study at our church. One of my duties is to oversee the choosing of books to study every year. I have a lot of input from others and I am certainly not in charge, but I make sure that we have books and facilitators for every class. This means that in the spring, I read a lot of books to see if they might be good options for the upcoming year.

So here I am with all these feelings, reading Fight Back with Joy and Set My Heart on Fire and Romans: a Double-Edged Bible Study.

Today, on the first daily reading of Set My Heart on Fire, I read,

"Were not our hearts burning within us while He was speaking to us on the road, while He was explaining the Scriptures to us?" (Luke 24:32). When your heart is dry, downcast, or in despair, the conditions are just right to ignite your heart on fire with the transforming power of the Holy Spirit. When the Word of God confronts even the driest of hearts and the good, strong wind of the Holy Spirit blows, that heart is set on fire. And oh, how that fire can spread to others both near and far away." (Catherine Martin, Set My Heart on Fire, page 21)

Oh Lord,
have you swept away my familiar place of meeting you
(in the window seat of my previous house)
swept away my easy chatter with you,
swept away half my books for now
(where are they hidden?)
to replace them with a clearer desire for you?

You are my God. I worship you.
  In my heart, I long for you, as I would long for a stream
  in a scorching desert. (Psalm 63:1 CEV)



photo credit: Valley of Fire via photopin (license)

Ellen

Listen, GOD! Please, pay attention!
Can you make sense of these ramblings, my groans and cries?
King-God, I need your help.
Every morning you’ll hear me at it again.
Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life
on your altar and watch for fire to descend. (Psalm 5:1-3 The Message)

I stood in the doorway of my closet with a huge empty box. The cat wondered what I was doing with the box. So did I. I talked to her. She's a good listener.

“Where should I begin to pack up this far corner of my house? There are maternity clothes and cloth diapers in here! Our youngest child is nine! Maybe I should check my e-mail first. Yes. I’ll think about packing in five minutes.”

I clicked on an e-mail titled “Ellen” from my women’s ministry leader. I figured it was a prayer request for my friend who was in intensive care due to cancer complications. The e-mail filled my screen and I gasped.

Ellen was gone.

“No,” I said out loud, “No. I just saw Ellen at Bible study two or three weeks ago!” Ellen was so alive, so passionate—“Ellen” and “dead” did not belong in the same sentence.

I remember a precious day with Ellen five years ago. She burst into the study I was leading, crying out, “I just came from the doctor and I have cancer.” Oh Ellen. Brave Ellen, to share such a fragile moment with her Bible study sisters. We gathered around her and prayed. Several women who had already walked this path told Ellen what to expect the next few months, and reassured her that she had an excellent doctor. (I was overwhelmed with all the hugging that happened in our class that day.)

Eventually Ellen chose a verse to cling to on her journey:

Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:2)

Now my friend is gone. Gone to a forever home with no more packing boxes. I glanced at the still empty packing box at my closet door. How could I think about packing while I grieved for Ellen? I rejoiced for her homecoming, but sorrowed for her three daughters, and for the fact that I will never again greet her in the church parking lot.

I am annoyed by cancer metaphors. “She lost her fight with breast cancer.” Ellen didn’t lose. Cancer didn’t win. Ellen finished her race, followed the perfecter of her faith, and now she sees him face to face.

Weeks later, as I write this, I remember Ellen's memorial service. The music was perfect. Ellen was a teacher, and she chose songs that told us who Jesus is. She wanted our last thoughts of her to be focused on him.

I wonder how I can adopt Ellen's verse. What does that mean, in practical steps? How can I stop staring at that pink oleander (did I mention I hate pink?) and look to Jesus?

I am worn out calling for help; my throat is parched.
My eyes fail, looking for my God. (Psalm 69:3 NIV)
But I pray to you, Lord, in the time of your favor;
in your great love, O God, answer me with your sure salvation. (Psalm 69:13)

You can read Ellen's writings at http://ellenehayes.blogspot.com/

Unknown photo source.

Pink Oleander

Two months ago, I looked out my bedroom window at the mountains that surround Las Vegas. This was my corner of the house. I leaned against the cushions of my window seat, thinking about a study I would lead the next day. My phone rang. 

It was my rental agent, shaking up my world with the news that the owners of our home wanted to sell it. We were given thirty days to leave.

We had almost forgotten it wasn’t our home. After nine years we felt like owners. Our youngest daughter was born in our bedroom there. I planted roses and herbs in the backyard and replanted our desert lawn every year. For nine years I prayed in my corner of the house, looking out at the mountains. I studied. I wrote a book every year. I talked to God about grief and ill health and parenting. I found contentment as I came to accept God’s plan for me here in Las Vegas. I loved my window’s view. The sleek windows of Red Rock Casino a mile away reflected sunrises and sunsets, and a new mall nearby added a touch of neon to the neighborhood. 

We looked at the calendar and decided to move out a week before we were required to move. This would allow us to move during my husband’s spring break. It would also give us a chance to repaint a room. (Always get written permission to paint a rental home.) Three weeks from now, we thought in bewilderment. We collected boxes and found a new home to rent. In the midst of all the chaos, my husband spent four days in Georgia at the only conference his job has sent him to in twelve years. People volunteered to help wrap dishes and pack the garage.

Moving week is a blur of sheer exhaustion in my memory. 

Five weeks after the move, I am looking out my new bedroom window. There are no mountains in my view, no color-changing neon—only a concrete wall and the neighbor’s pink oleander bushes. 

I really really dislike pink.

Oleander is poisonous. 

I am living on autopilot—cooking and shopping and doing laundry, meeting friends for lunch, leading a class at church—but I cannot hear Jesus. I cannot feel Jesus. 

I have learned, in previous seasons, to keep at it. Keep praying. Keep talking to Jesus. He will speak.
I read a study on Joy a few months ago. I think I need to revisit it.

Listen, GOD! Please, pay attention!

Can you make sense of these ramblings, my groans and cries?

King-God, I need your help.

Every morning you’ll hear me at it again.

Every morning I lay out the pieces of my life

on your altar and watch for fire to descend. (Psalm 5:1-3 The Message)

photo credit: Oleander via photopin (license)