Simple Prayers

"On the third day a wedding took place at Cana in Galilee. Jesus’ mother was there, and Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine was gone, Jesus’ mother said to him, 'They have no more wine.'"  (John 2:1-3)


As a mother of three sons, Mary's relationship with Jesus intrigues me.  There are not a lot of details of his growing up years.  There's his birth, his dedication, his foray into the temple.  And then there's this simple, yet worldchanging story of attending a village wedding with his mom.


I love to imagine him there.  Eating the wedding feast.  Singing the songs of blessing over the couple.  Dancing to the music of celebration.  Toasting the new family's prosperity.


And then, this interruption.  The moment his mother comes to him and quietly whispers her prayer.


Because that's what it was.  A request for him to move, to act, to intervene in the natural unfolding of events with the force of the supernatural.  And I love that what moved Mary's heart to seek out Jesus wasn't to save the life of someone choking on a lamb bone, but rather to save a neighbor family from embarrassment.  She knew that running out of wine would mark the family with shame in front of the entire village, and being sensitive to those who live in shame, she simply caught Jesus' attention and said five words.

That's it.  One simple phrase.  "They have no more wine." 

There wasn't a long drawn out explanation or a detailed description of what she wanted him to do.  Just a sentence that defined the need and communicated the complete trust she had in him to make any decision that needed to be made.

And I 've come to believe that is the exact way my own prayers work best.  My prayers seem to be the most effective when I refrain from telling Jesus exactly how He should meet my needs or giving Him all the reasons why I have the need in the first place.  They seem to produce the most fruit when I simply catch his attention and whisper the equivalent to, "I have no more wine."  My simplest statements  are the ones that speak of complete dependence on who He is and my complete trust that His decisions are enough.  It's when I feel the need to explain, to beg, to tally up the words like points on a scoreboard that I find my faith in both His goodness and sovereignty is wavering. 

So, again Mary becomes a role model.  An example of presenting the need and trusting that He hears.  But, she also does one more thing.

"'Woman, why do you involve me?' Jesus replied. 'My hour has not yet come.' His mother said to the servants, 'Do whatever he tells you.'" (John 2:4-5)

She not only brought the need to His attention.  She readied the environment around Him for obedience.  She prepared the way for Him to move by aligning herself and those she had influence over in agreement with whatever command He might give after her one sentence prayer.

She prayed and she obeyed.  And it made all the difference.

"Nearby stood six stone water jars, the kind used by the Jews for ceremonial washing, each holding from twenty to thirty gallons.  Jesus said to the servants, 'Fill the jars with water'; so they filled them to the brim.  Then he told them, 'Now draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.'  They did so, and the master of the banquet tasted the water that had been turned into wine. He did not realize where it had come from, though the servants who had drawn the water knew. Then he called the bridegroom aside and said, 'Everyone brings out the choice wine first and then the cheaper wine after the guests have had too much to drink; but you have saved the best till now.'"  (John 2:6-10)

Revolutionary

More than 2,000 years ago, the Jewish people were waiting and watching for their war hero.  The one who would redeem them from Roman rule and free them to be a nation unto themselves.  They were looking for a revolutionary. 

And they got Him.  Just not the one they were expecting.

Because Jesus didn't come to fight wars against flesh and blood.  He came to break His flesh and spill His blood so that all men can be free from the rule of sin.

All men. 

And all women.

Because if there was any area in which Jesus revolutionized the culture He lived in, it was in the way He interacted with women.  When the angel Gabriel came to Mary to tell her she had been chosen to carry the Son of God, that slip of a girl didn't have a voice in her own culture.  She had virtually no rights in the eyes of the law and very few in the eyes of her spiritual leaders.  She was a small piece of the lowest class in her world, not just because of the financial status she was born into, but simply because she was born a woman.

And yet, she was the first person God invited to the baby shower of His only child.

And there were many others.  So many women who got an invitation.  Wealthy women like Mary and Martha and Joanna.  Demon possessed women like Mary Magdalene.  Poor women like the widows of Nain and Zerapheth, the woman with the issue of blood, a crippled woman bent double, and a forgotten woman holding two pennies.  Little girls like Jairus' daughter.  And old women like Peter's mother in law.  Even women the world passionately despised, like the one caught in adultery who was drug to the town square to be stoned until Jesus stepped in.

Women from all walks of life.  He saw them all.  And His eyes saw past their physical appearance to their needs and to their worth. 

For thirty-three years, He showed the world how a man is to treat a woman.  He never shamed them.  He never demeaned them.  He never treated them with anything other than honor.

My Jesus, a revolutionary.  The One who is still issuing invitations to every woman in the world.  The One who hears and the One who sees every single little girl, the ones known and the ones forgotten, the ones who are treasured and the ones thrown away.

My Jesus, a healer.  The One who has taken the sin of mankind upon His shoulders, so that the wounds of women and the wounds of men can be healed.

My Jesus, a king.  The One who will make all things new.

Transition

I have a bathrobe I adore.  It was once white and it was once fluffy.  It's now mostly white and decidedly unfluffy.  But, I don't mind.  I wear it every morning to shuffle in to the coffee maker.  I put it on every night with my glasses and a messy bun to watch Netflix with my husband.  And sometimes, when I come home on my lunch break, I put it on over my clothes and curl up on the couch with a cup of coffee to just breathe before I head back into life at full speed. 


As much as I'd like to be known for Princess Kate fashion, I have a sinking feeling that if my kids were asked to draw a picture of me, I might be wearing that robe.  And I don't even mind.  In fact, I'm not sure I'll ever get rid of my bathrobe.  I can't.  Because when I put it on, I feel at home.  When I wear that robe, I'm completely, absolutely, 100% comfortable.  And I like that feeling.


It's a feeling I don't have much of at this particular juncture in life.  I am completely, absolutely not comfortable.  Instead, I am in transition.  Transitioning in every conceivable part of life.


Transition.  The process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another. 


The definition doesn't sound like it should be hard.  It sounds clinical, like something you should be able to observe from a distance before remarking, "Success. The subject has now changed."  But, I'm not finding it to be easy or clinical.  I feel more like someone has taken my bathrobe and is holding it hostage indefinitely.


A change in jobs.  A move.  A son going to college.  An uprooting of everything familiar.


New city.  New home.  New assignment.  New relationships. 


They're all big, white, fluffy robes.  Lovely, but untested.  Warm, but unfamiliar.  And I know the only thing standing in between me and comfort is time.  I love my robe because I've had it a long time.  I know it well, and it knows me.  We have mutual respect.  We've been there for each other.  We both smell faintly like my dachshund.


And I can arrive there again, even in a new place.  It just takes time. 


I think that's the reason the clearest word from God I know I've heard during this season of transition is, "Be patient."  It won't happen in one day.  It can't happen in one day.  Very few treasures in life can be purchased in a day.  They take time, which is what makes them treasures in the first place.


And I think that's why He's gone out of His way to hold me.  It's a prayer I often pray.  "Hold me."  In two words, I'm asking Him to come into this moment, into this unsettling place I find myself, into the insecurity and the change.  I'm asking Him to pick me up, wrap His arms around me, and put me on his lap.  I'm asking Him to look me in the eye in the middle of my uncertainty and to let me know it's going to be ok.  I'm asking Him to be the thing, the one thing in my life that never changes.


And He does.  Every single time, He holds me.  And He has never once changed.  His love, His stability, His character, His compassion, His faithfulness.  They have never changed. 


He is the friend who never leaves.  And He never smells like dachshund. 

Grace Defined

Something hugely frightening happened to me recently. 


I shrunk my sweatshirt.


My sweatshirt.  The one that changed my life.  The one my husband gave me for Christmas that I had hardly taken off for three months.  The one I loved and the one that loved me unconditionally in return.


I had plans to only take it to the dry cleaner for the rest of my life.  But, I didn't pay attention and it ended up in the wash.  And then the dryer.  And then it shrunk.  And I came the closest I have ever come to a panic attack.


I discovered it late at night, right before bed, and Eric came running to answer the shrieks of pain from the laundry room. 


He then followed me to our room as I yelled, "No, no, no, no, no, no!" while I tore off my pajamas and put the sweatshirt on.  The sleeves were short.  The bottom hem didn't come to where it was supposed to.  The whole thing was off, wrong, ruined.


My husband watched from the bed as I mourned.  It was a slow process, this coming to terms with losing one of your best friends.  All five stages of grief played out in the microcosm of my closet.


And when I was finished, he told me to come lay my head on his chest.


I did, utterly spent.


And that's when he pulled out his phone and showed me that my new sweatshirt would be arriving in less than 48 hours.  A carbon copy of the one that would now fit my dachshund BEFORE its date with the dryer of death.  My new best friend.


We won't talk about how long my husband let me lament before he shared what he had just done (evidently I'm very entertaining when I'm upset), but let's take a moment to reflect on what he did do.


He gave me grace.


I had misused and mistreated his first gift.  And he offered me another, brand new and perfect, without a word of shame or reproach. 


He paid the price.  Twice.


So very much like my Jesus. 


The One who came after me after I walked away. 


The One who bought back what was already His. 


The One who loves to see me wearing His ring, His clothes, His name.  So much so that when I mess up, He offers me a brand new start, with nothing but love in His eyes.

A Surprising Chapter

Two summers ago, our ten year old broke his arm after only a few short hours of arriving at summer camp.  It was a quick trip to the emergency room and then home for him.  While his friends continued on with a weekend of excitement and adventure, he spent the next couple of days with his arm in a sling, waiting for the swelling to go down enough for the bone doctor to put it in a cast.

He was a trooper.  Didn't complain much.  But, you could see the disappointment in his eyes for days. 

And now, two summers later, out of the blue, came a gift.

His dad was asked to be the camp pastor this year, which meant mom and dad would both be attending kids' camp.  But, the older brothers would be away on a hiking expedition. 

Which left one lone boy who needed a place to be.  He would get to come to kids' camp again, even though he is now in middle school and shouldn't have been able to attend.  When he heard he could stay in the cabin with his parents and still take part in all the exciting activities, his eyes shone.

"Mom," he said while we were packing.  "I think this is God's way of making that summer up to me.  An extra year at camp."

And of course it is.

For God is a God of second chances.  Of gifts and surprises.  Of redemption.

Watching my boy roam the campground last weekend was pure delight.  He sure knows how to enjoy a present. 

And now he also knows an important truth.  His story might have some disappointing chapters, but it's never over when the book is in his God's hands.  There is always a new page to turn.

A Mother's Prayer

My son was in an accident a couple of weeks ago.  It was in a school vehicle with several other students, and it could have been very, very bad.  But, it wasn't.  Everyone is safe.
 
It took my heart several days to sort through the emotions that rose up during that first phone call.  It's taken many more not to allow fear to dominate when I see him pull out of the driveway in his own truck.
 
We are fragile creatures, us mothers, our hearts battered daily by this call to raise human beings.  A call that demands we let those same human beings, once tiny in our arms, loose to fly on their own.  It's that process of wrenching the heart in a million different ways, a different one every day, that envoke the apron string jokes and the pillows in boutiques with large letters emblazoned, "Call Your Mother."  Because it's a life-long wrenching.  It never stops.
 
And that kind of constant wrenching hurts.
 
And is exquisitely beautiful at the same time.
 
Because without the wrenching, the babies don't fly. 
 
Without the wrenching, no nests are ever built, one generation turning into the next.
 
Without the wrenching, a mother's job is not fulfilled.
 
So, it was not lost on me the gift my God gave me this week.
 
A nest.  Built in the lantern on my front porch.  A nest built by a mama who sits and waits patiently every day for her babies.  A mama who flies away every time the front door opens, protecting her young by drawing attention away from her brood.
 
But now, in a few short weeks, I'll be reminded all over again, that a mama's tucking of the feathers around her babies lasts only for a season.  And then it's time for them to fly.
 
God's voice spoke gently, but it was clear.  "You get them for a while.  To tuck and to nurture.  But, you can't hold them back.  They weren't born for the nest."
 
The wrenching hurts.  But, it's good. 
 
Today, I held up the camera to snap a photo, wanting to see how many eggs the mama ended up with in her nest.
 
When the camera came back down and I saw the number, my tears flowed.
 
"Thank you, God, for the gift of my babies.  I treasure them.  And I will let them fly."
 

 

 
Author's Note:  Happy Mother's Day to all the mamas who read Treasure the Ordinary.  Blessings to you as you celebrate the beautiful call that has been yours because a child was born to your nest.

My Gardener

"When my anxious thoughts multiply within me, Your consolations delight my soul."  - Psalms 94:19

I commented to my husband this morning that with my poor gardening skills, weeds are the only thing that seem to grow for me without a great deal of effort.  He responded, "That's true for everyone.  I've never heard anybody say, 'Man, I just can't keep those roses out of my yard!'"

Our conversation made me laugh, but the truth of it is ringing in my soul today.  The seeds that need to grow in my heart are often the ones I neglect, while the crops that spring up without any care on my end are the ones I really don't want to be harvesting.

Especially the seeds of worry.

I don't have to work hard to get a worry harvest.  It seems to come faithfully, all by itself.  And what an abundant crop it can be, multiplying again and again from one small, errant thought.

It's why Psalm 94:19  is such a balm to my heart. 

When my anxious thoughts are threatening to stomp out all of the life within my soul, He comes like the gentle gardener that He is. 

And prunes. 

And burns. 

And breathes. 

And nurtures.

And grows.

What a relief to give Him the harvest I do not want today, and receive instead the beautiful fruit in His outstretched hand.

I Love You Because

My husband and I have pages and pages of lists in our bedroom, and every list answers one question.  "I love you because..."

It was a sweet little tradition we started in college, filling up entire pages with all the reasons why we loved the other one and hiding them as tender suprises.  Through the years, we've continued it here and there, the stacks of lists growing as we entered each new phase of marriage and parenthood.

This morning, as I read the love letter on my shelf from my God, I was stunned by the words of the psalmist in Psalm 116:1, "I love the Lord because..." 

So, God enjoys getting those letters, too!  He likes to hear why his children love Him, why their heart is bent towards Him, so much so that He included someone's list in the pages of Scripture.

My mind has been working on a new list all day.  Lord, I love You because...

And the answers can fill notebook after notebook.

I have no doubt He would love to receive one from you as well.

Grafting

"God sets the lonely in families."  (Psalm 68:6)

I read it again this morning.  And how true it is.

For He looks upon the broken, the rejected, the cast-aside, and He claims them as his own.

He sees the pain of the wounded heart, the fearful, the shamed, and He says, "This one is mine."

But He doesn't stop with "just" redemption.  He goes a step further...

He finds the one that will fit with another, and he brings hearts together.

He pieces the heart that vowed "never again" with another jagged edge, and together they heal.

This is my God!

I have witnessed His tenderness in lives all around me, as they have been grafted in to more than they ever dreamed possible. 

The woman with no family who found a Godly husband late in life. 

The man whose wife had left him and would not heed his pursuit for reconciliation, who now can't stop smiling as he looks at the second chance who thinks he hung the moon. 

The divorced friend who had never known the love of a church family, until now. 

The couple who tried for years to conceive, and now raise two precious ones that came into their arms through the joy of adoption.

And one who is very dear to my heart--my mother.  She, who thought life was over with a husband who did not want her and a baby just six months old.  She, who smiles triumphantly on the arm of the stepfather who raised me.  She, who knows that even the pain of rejection can be healed under the oil that flows from His hand.  She, who will soon celebrate thirty-four years of marriage to a man who looks at her as if she is the most desirable woman on earth.

God sets the lonely in families.

And it's that God who calls us to join Him.  To find the lonely.  To bring them into the family.  To wrap His arms around them through ours.  To say, "You're wanted here."  And to keep saying it until it is believed.

Another Christmas Birth Story

At Christmas time, we’re used to reading the story of a birth.  Just maybe not this birth.

"When the time came for her to give birth, there were twin boys in her womb. As she was giving birth, one of them put out his hand; so the midwife took a scarlet thread and tied it on his wrist and said, “This one came out first.” But when he drew back his hand, his brother came out, and she said, “So this is how you have broken out!” And he was named Perez. Then his brother, who had the scarlet thread on his wrist, came out. And he was named Zerah.^”  - Genesis 38:27-30

What a bizarre story found in this tucked away corner of the Scripture.  One son waves hello, gets a scarlet thread tied around his wrist, and then disappears.  The other son somehow intrudes into the process of birth and makes what the text refers to a “breach.”  He pushes his brother back so he can break out into the world.

And the mama?  A woman named Tamar, whose story is not a family friendly tale.  She went through a lot of family disfunction, was sinned against, sinned herself, and ended up unmarried and pregnant by her late husband’s father.

And then comes the birth, with this odd occurrence.  Two sons.  One named Perez, meaning “breach” or “broken out.”  The other named Zerah, meaning “dawning” or “brightness.”

And these twins are a picture of you and your big brother.  Your big brother named Jesus.

This brother Perez – he is everything we are.  A man who will push to get his own way, a man who causes brokeness and breaches.  A man who carries the sin nature.

This brother Zerah – his situation is a foreshadowing, a hint of the redemption that was on the way.  A man who was here before we were, yet came after man to save man.

Jesus lived before the beginning of time.  He is eternal God.  Yet, since sin entered the earth, the whole world had been waiting for Him to arrive in the flesh.

And none of it was a surprise to God.  The fall of man.  The entrance of sin.  The withering of mankind.  He wasn’t shocked or astounded.  He had a plan.  And it was the same plan He had from the beginning.

The plan was Jesus.

From the moment Adam drew breath, the sin of the world was tied to Jesus with a scarlet thread.  God knew His own son would have to come to save us, so we could be grafted into the family.  And He still did it.  Knowing His son would have to die a brutal death to save us, He still created us, mankind. 

And even more amazing.  Jesus said yes.

He said yes to the virgin birth.  He said yes to taking on flesh.  He said yes to coming to earth as a baby, putting the fate of mankind into the hands of a carpenter and his teenage bride.   And in doing so, He said yes to the cross.  To the agony of bearing the sin of the world on His perfect and blameless shoulders.  To the humilation of dying naked on a tree.  He said yes and He came.

He said yes because it meant having you.

And for all the years from the garden to the manger, He waited, with a scarlet thread tied to his wrist.  It was his love for you.

There’s another labor story we don’t think about much at Christmas. 

Jesus’ labor on the cross.

After Jesus had been on the cross for awhile, with every sin of mankind placed upon Him, after every vile act from tiny lies to genocide had been tied around His neck, He was ready to finish what He started in the manger.  He bore those sins to the very end, and then He shouted “IT IS FINISHED!” and He gave up His spirit.

And a soldier came a stuck a spear into His side.  And John the disciple, an eyewitness, tells us in John 19 that when the spear pierced his side, “immediately blood and water came out.”

It was the fulfillment of the scarlet thread, the fulfillment of the promise.  It was the greates birth story ever told.  Because the only time blood and water flow together under natural circumstances is during a birth.

And Jesus was indeed birthing something.  He was bringing into the world a new covenant, a new man.  He was closing a door, and opening a new one.

Paul calls Jesus in 1 Corinthians 15 the “last Adam.”  This means something terribly important for everyone who follows Jesus.

It was the first Adam who brought sin into the world.

It was the last Adam who brought redemption into the world.

The first Adam caused mankind to fall.

The last Adam redeemed it.

The first Adam imparted a curse to all his sons who came after him.

The last Adam made a way for all those sons to come home to the Father.

Paul also says in Colossians that Jesus is the “firstborn of many brothers.”

Jesus…the most amazing big brother ever.

No longer do we have to live under the curse of sin.  Our big brother paid for us to be free.

Our brother who chose to wear the scarlet thread.

 

Bedtime Ritual

I watched a badly made TV movie this week.  My husband was out of town, and I was looking to pass the evening hours after the kids were in bed.  I knew two minutes into the film that is was going to have a predictable story-line and poor acting.  I watched it anyway, strangely intrigued at how badly a movie could be made and still make it to the television.

With an introduction like that, I won't share the name of the film.  All that needs to be known is the predictable plot part. 

The movie was about a woman who relives a day in her life over and over again until she gets it right.  Overdone in Hollywood, for sure.  Yet, I was somehow genuinely happy for her when she finally learned all the lessons she was supposed to learn, the credits rolled, and I was sleepy enough to go to bed.

As I crawled between the covers, I had one loose thought rolling around in my head.

"What would I do differently tomorrow if I was reliving today?"

I closed my eyes and thought back over the details of my day.  A couple of encounters rose to the surface. 

A conversation I wished I had worked harder to infuse with gentleness.

A moment I could have siezed to spend time with my daughter.

A phone call of encouragement I meant to make and didn't.

What if tomorrow I could get a re-do?  How would I change it? 

I don't advocate living in regret.  It makes a terrible life-partner.  But, there's something to be said for evaluation.  For repentance.  For change.  For making different choices next time. 

And I did choose something different next time.  The very next day, I recognized a conversation similar to the one I had wished I could change.  And it arrested me.  I didn't want to be lying in my bed wishing I had done this one differently, too.

So, I stopped.  Slowed down.  Thought about the words.  Took my time to make it what I wanted it to be.

When I  went to bed that evening, I asked myself the same question, "What would I do differently tomorrow if I was reliving today?" And that conversation didn't make the list.

Something else did. 

"The faithful love of the Lord never ends!  His mercies never cease.  Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning." 
                                                                                          - Lamentations 3:22-23

Praise In The Midst

Today has been a blessing.  It's the day the virus left the house.  For the past three weeks, my children and I have one by one taken turns running fever.  Only Dad remained unscathed.  First the body aches, then the fever, and then the sore throat and cough.  It hasn't been fun.

But, even in the midst of the mess, there have been blessings.

Holding each one of my children in my lap, smoothing their hair back from their foreheads.

Having each precious pair of arms encircle my neck, seeking comfort.

The slower pace.

Snuggling on the couch watching movies together.

Seeing my second son's eyes light up when I tried to tempt his appetite by bringing home his favorite cookies.

Finding the blessings in the midst of the mess.

It's what Paul wrote about in I Thessalonians 5:18, "give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

He didn't say to give thanks for all circumstances.  Some things are simply not good and should not be in our lives.  But, he did say to give thanks in all circumstances.  Even in the midst of bad things happening, I can give thanks to the God who gives only good gifts and praise Him for the way He redeems any situation.

And when I do, the mess gets less messy.  Even if it's just the mess in me.

Impossible?

The most beautiful experiences of my life have involved the impossible being brought into existence.

It was impossible for a girl who came from a broken home to grow up to have a healthy marriage, but she does. 

It was impossible for my heart to be freed from self-consciousness and embrace the beauty of who God made me to be, but it has.

It was impossible for my body to function normally after years of suffering disease, but it does.

It was impoossible for that person in my life to become a follower of Jesus, but they are.

It was impossible for four children to live lives that are such exquisite examples of the goodness of God, but they do.

It was impossible for a tiny church in the deserts of West Texas to grow into an oasis of life and love, but it is.

So, how could I ever doubt His power or question His faithfulness?  For He has taken the broken things and mended them.  He has taken the lifeless things and breathed upon them.  And He has taken the impossibilities and made them realities.

^"Jesus looked at them and said, “With man this is impossible, but with God all things are possible.”  - Matthew 19:26

I choose to remember this the next time I see an impossibility rise up in my life.  It, too, must bow to His goodness.