Made for Eternity

My friends Pierce and Natalie got married today in a beautiful gospel-proclaiming, Jesus Christ- honoring ceremony. It was in the low 50s during the afternoon, with partly cloudy skies. That was a definite blessing, because this being Wisconsin in early spring, the weather is pretty much a toss-up. Today’s meterological niceties bump up against tomorrow’s wind and sleet and 4 inches of snow.

During prayer time at church on Wednesday, my friend Julie prayed specifically for “temperatures between 50 and 60 and partly cloudy skies [which are good for pictures]”. And God answered equally specifically. When I left home to head out to the wedding, the temperature was 50.4 degrees, the sun was shining between the clouds, and I imagined Him smiling.

He is my Father after all, and like any father, he delights in heaping blessings on his children. So why not ask? And what do little children ask for? Yes, they may ask for the “big things”, like food and clothing, but they often request those special little items.

“Daddy, can I have a popsicle?” “Daddy, can you read Fox in Socks to me?” “Daddy can you push me on the swings?” “Daddy, can you make it between 50 and 60 degrees and partly cloudy on Saturday so it’s nice for the wedding?”

Nothing is too big for God. And nothing is too small, or too specific. As today’s events clearly show, my Father loves giving his children popsicles.

Psalm 68:19 “Blessed be the Lord, who daily loads us with benefits, the God of our salvation!”

Today was not a good day. This morning, I was barely 4 hours into the work week and I was already feeling beaten down, idiotic, and incompetent. This feeling is to be expected occasionally when you’re in your first year of a profession, so I wasn’t surprised. Still, I definitely needed encouragement.

During lunch, I grabbed my Bible from my desk drawer and turned to my favorite book whenever I’m in a brokedown place – the Psalms. I opened up right where I needed to be:

Psalm 56:8-9 “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book? Then my enemies will turn back in the day when I call. This I know, that God is for me.”

Now, my circumstances are nowhere near as dire as David’s when he wrote these words, but that beautiful truth is just as true. I love knowing that whoever is against me, my GOD is for me.

Today I was talking to one of my friends about field hockey. We got on the topic whilst discussing tennis, in which skirts are worn and I mentioned that there is another sport where women wear skirts. Sadly, my friend had never heard of field hockey despite coming from Minnesota, which is like the capital of ice hockey in America or something. Of course, green sports fields not located in domes are hard to come by in the Great White North, so I guess I can’t really blame her ignorance.

That said, hockey was beyond a doubt my favorite sport in high school. I discovered it in 10th grade during P.E. class and became somewhat obsessed. For the unintiated among us, field hockey is played on a soccer-like field with a round ball (which weights a bit more than a baseball) and wooden sticks that are flat on one side and rounded on the other. You can only use the flat side for contact with the ball. The object is to get the ball into the goal which is a good deal smaller than a soccer goal – maybe half the size. Pretty straight-forward, no?

I never made the actual school team, but had a great time playing intramural hockey on the dusty field as well as the grittier version we played in the gym on Sunday nights. During those games, the ball skittered at high speeds across the floor and few people wore shin or mouth guards. The boys played too, which always added an element of danger. I well remember the sharp clack of the sticks hitting one another and the blister-inducing rub of the taped-up wood in my hand. I also still have the tender area on the bone just above my ankle where someone swung hard, missing the ball but making excellent contact with my shin. 

Ah, hockey. I miss it.

That’d be the 16th President. 

He’s 200. 

And this is what he said back in 1863:

“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate — we can not consecrate — we can not hallow — this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

I don’t often put my poetry on here for various reasons, but some of my dear ones are going through a tough time, and this one expresses my heart:

Psalm 34:18 “The LORD is near to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

There are days when God takes this child

Through a storm so strong and wild

That the pain blinds me

And the disappointment binds me

With cords of numbness

And confusing lostness.

I weep through the rolling thunder,

As my storm-battered heart wonders

How is this trial ever going to end –

Will my upset world make sense again?

Yesterday I saw a clear blue sky

With whispers of clouds that floated by.

Today it turned dark shades of gray

And I’m afraid – I’ve lost the way.

 

Then a tender voice I hear,

Whisper gently in my ear,

“Do not fear My little one,

I know that you can’t see the sun,

All you feel is waves and wind,

But trust Me, child, I know the end.

I have brought you to this place,

You’re surrounded by My grace.

You’ve no one to trust but Me alone,

So rest, My child, I’ll take you home.”

I look around, and there I see

The oceans of His love for me

They spread about me, vast, deep, and wide

I could not measure them if I tried.

So in this dark and dreary day

I’ll trust in Him, He’ll lead the way.

He alone is truly good

And these things that are not understood

Pale as I grasp this verse anew

And know deep down that it is true,

“Whoever trusts in Him

Will never be disappointed.”

– from Made for Eternity: Reflections on Time and Timelessness © 2006

 

My sister sent me this dire message last night:

help me understand my college assignments! From tonight’s reading: “It follows from this that to understand a text must be to understand both the intention to be understood, and the intention that this intention should be understood, which the text itself as an intended act of communication must at least have embodied.” huh?

To which I replied:

It follows that my implicit reasoning for expressly expressing my thoughts to you is in order that you may infer all inferences that you wish to infer, regardless of my intention (or lack of direct intention {though presumably, at the very least, an inkling of intention would be noted in the reasoning with which I embarked upon this current communique}) and my desire that the meaning of my expressly expressed thoughts would in no way be obfuscated by the sudden and unintentional (though, it may be possible that in some ways it was intentional) logorrhea that has poured incessantly (although, cessation may be soon be in the offing) from the fertile lexicon of my cerebrum.

Hope this helps.

The scary thing is, writing intelligent sounding drivel ain’t all that hard . . .

Nearly completely lost in the adoring (worshipful?) coverage of the pre-inaguaration events is the fact that today is Mr. Bush’s last day in office. This makes sense for a few obvious reasons – we are a forward-looking country, the media loves (loves, loves) Barack Obama, and the media hates (hates, hates) George Bush.

So I want to take this opportunity to thank my President on his final day. I’m not one of those who agreed with everything he did. I cringed a few times. But, Mr. Bush, thank you.

Thank you for taking on the nearly impossible job of leading our nation. Thanks for being tough on terrorists. Thank you for protecting the youngest among us. Thanks for not always doing the popular thing, but what you thought was the best thing. Thank you for supporting Israel. 

Tomorrow Mr. Obama will become my President. My prayer is that in four years, or eight years, I will have much to thank him for as well.

And though we’ve never deserved it, may God continue to bless this land that I love.

Ah, this is the time of year when it’s good to be a Philadelphia sports fan, but not good to live any further north than, well, Texas. I was walking to work this morning when the air was still and the ambient temperature (i.e. not including wind chill) was six degrees. And I found myself thinking, this isn’t all that bad. That is until you add another 6-8 inches of snow by Wednesday, the mercury loses sight of zero (on the wrong side) for a while, and the wind kicks that “real feel” temp down to -40. 

I’m just sick of global warming. Stupid greenhouse gasses. We need to cool off already!

This evening I went over to the Marquette University library and checked out Good Morning, Little Fox. 

And thought about how doing so perfectly shows the dramatic shifts in my life over the last year – from grad school to elementary school, from spending most of my days with adults to spending most of  my days with little ones,  from heavy reading on speech sound development and language disorders to watercolor pictures and simple rhymes.

It’s been a good change.

It’s gone . . . at least for now. After the Phils took the World Series in October, I no longer feel like we can never ever win anything. 

So, despite the extremely low prospects that the Eagles will break through and win the Super Bowl in a month, it doesn’t feel like such a crazy idea anymore. After all, lightning struck once, so it can strike twice . . . .

Right?

My failures and the hardness of life in a disappointing and sin-sick world  – these are the things that often capture my mind when I have too-long breaks. Because they are difficult to dwell on, I attempt to drown them out with many “doings” that are not necessarily productive or profitable. But sometimes the music is off, the DVDs are on the shelf, the books are closed, and the only sound I hear is the humming of the refrigerator.

And I think. 

In those moments, I have a choice – to contemplate those dark details of sin and self . . . or to contemplate God. The former leads to despair and disillusionment. But the latter leads to a restful ease, a quieted heart, for in focusing on God (and particularly on my Savior, Jesus Christ), I focus on the best, most glorious, righteous, and true Being.

The things of earth grow dim in that Light.

to start a new year on:

Philippians 3:12-14

Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. 

Happy ’09, friends – Maranatha!

First, it’s an interesting linguistic error. I’m guessing this individual pronounces Jews with an s sound at the end instead of a z sound. Actually, I’m 99% sure he does.

Secondly, it’s getting really old, this hatred of Israel; several thousand years old, in fact. And what does the Bible have to say about it?

Genesis 12:1-3 Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. 2 And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. 3 I will bless those who bless you, and him who curses you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” 

This promise has never been revoked.

I recently started teaching Sunday School, and not because I’m so adequate or spiritual. There was a need, I was asked, and here we are.

Thus began some intense humbling. Pastor suggested I start a series on the attributes of God for my seven year olds. OK, I thought, sounds good to me! What better to teach these little minds than truths about the one true God?

It’s one thing to know it’s a good idea, it’s another to actually study it out and boil down God’s infinite characteristics into something that can be consumed by second graders. As I started looking up verses on God’s holiness – the first attribute – I started to get a tiny bit of a sense of Isaiah’s response to seeing God in his throneroom. 

Truly, to quote the prophet, “Woe is me!” In modern terms, that’d be, “I’m in deeeeeeeep trouble!” The more I read about God and his holiness, the more I am aware of my stinkiness as a sinner. No wonder Isaiah later wrote about even our “righteous” acts as being “filthy rags”. 

But, oh how wonderful to realize the beauty that is my God. To have the wonderful privilege to be reconciled to him because of his Son’s work for me. And to joy in the fact that he is utterly not me. 

He is holy.

My version of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” is pretty much the same as the original, except for the following phrase:

Please don’t have snow or mistletoe/Just a view of the Great Rift Valley

So of course I was dreaming of a green Christmas . . .

But this is Wisconsin. There was about a foot of snow on the ground when I woke up on the 25th and the temperature hovered near zero. I forewent (is that the past tense of forego??) my Christmas Day walk as I’ve had enough of braving the elements already this winter season. Sigh. Mom sent pics of their Kenyan Christmas, and I vicariously enjoyed the green.

Then a funny thing happened. Last night we had a thunderstorm. Weird. And this morning when I took my trash out, I was shocked at how unseasonably warm it was. In fact, my first thought was, boy it feels just like early morning in Kijabe after a rainstorm. I ran back inside and looked up the weather. Mid-fifties/rain. Then I looked up the weather over there. Tonight in Kenya, the temps would fall to the . . . mid-fifties – with a chance of rain. 

I put my light jacket on, left my hat and gloves inside, and went out for my slightly delayed Christmas walk. It was just like being in Kenya – well, except for the mounds of snow and ice. But the heavy rains from the night had melted much of the snow in areas, and there was green. 

Some might think today is the lousiest weather day we’ve had in a while. It’s dark, rainy, foggy, muddy. But for one homesick girl in Milwaukee, this brief weather transplant  is just fine.

Thank you, Lord.

I know, it is literally dirt, but I’m obviously talking in a more figurative sense here.

It’s like when you drive down a dusty road in the back of a pick-up truck and the dirt and grime fly into every crack and wrinkle of your skin and hair and your mouth is just caked and dried with the stuff and your snot turns reddish-brown – or what ever color your dirt may be . . . gray, perhaps? (Sorry about the last reference, but it does make the idea a little more vivid, eh?) 

What do you want most of all upon arrving home? Yeah, a refreshing shower and about a gallon of water to drench every crevice of your mouth and thorougly rinse out that nasty dusty flavor. Some nice cool sweet tea would do the trick, too.

So, our days in the world are the ride in the pick-up truck. We come home with a layer of dirt clinging us – all that human philosophy and fallenness that we encounter (from inside us and outside us) – and we need a shower and some sweet tea to wash it all away. We need the “renewing of your mind” Paul speaks of in Romans. 

Has your mind been refreshed lately?

 After spending 45 minutes outside in below zero windchills (Why? That’s a long story that involves a clumsy grip due to thick gloves, a slippery bus pass, a sudden gust of wind just as the bus came, and . . . well, you get the picture – I missed it while retrieving the pass, had to wait for the next bus, and oh, I guess you know the story now.), it is important to get warm. I would recommend the following:

1. Make a steaming hot cup of coffee – preferably with special seasonal eggnog creamer.

2. Curl up in bed.

3. Watch the 2008 Phillies highlights DVD. What better to bring along a little warmth than to enjoy the summer-y game of baseball?

4. Dream of places like  . . . . Kenya.

2 hours later, only my toes are still a tad chilly. Hurrah for homeostasis!

Sometimes I get shocked again by the fact that I am one whom Jesus loves. I hear it all the time, but sometimes there’s that stop-dead-in-my-tracks moment when it comes at me from a new angle (and considering the fact that it is an infinite love, there’ll be forever new angles). In that moment I am awed and humbled afresh. Me = crummy sinner. God = holy. I have nothing to offer; he offers everything. God became a man, died, and rose again so that by simple faith I could live forever in his heaven.

And all I can think is: Jesus. Loves. Me.  

Wow.

Just for fun, my mom sent this picture of my brother Noah in Kenya to us Morrison kids on this side, and asked us to “please submit a caption for this picture”. Here were the results:

Luka: This is a very rare sight indeed, the Pajero allowing a human to get this close.

Me: Just a split second too late, Noah realized the front bumper of the car might not be the best rugby tackle dummy.

Pete: noah skillfully avoiding mom’s “dinner dishes radar”

Em: Noah, a little too eager to ride shotgun, shows off his calf muscles.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love my family’s sense of humor?

Last night I was watching that good ol’ Charlie Brown Christmas special. The no-frills animation and barely-acting vocal talent is classic. I’m always amazed that I get chills when the Linus comes on the stage and proclaims the portion from Luke 2 on the birth of our Savior. No music, no drama, just an understated recitation of the first part of the gospel for all to hear as “the true meaning of Christmas”. I’m even more amazed that this still gets airtime on the secular networks.

Of course, the jolt back to reality came when the screen switched from the Peanuts stage to the Target stage where little children were singing the praises of holiday bargains at the big box store. Alas, commercialization is still with us.

But for a little relief, here’s that wonderful passage (in the Old King James, which is how I always like to hear it):

Luke 2:8-13

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'”