You have to read the previous post first before this one.

Now add this "comment" to the previous thoughts and see if they jive.

"I find if I want to experience the fuits of the Spirit thats I good sign that I want it for my self."

A true understanding of the fruit of, and the gifts of the Spirit, is never for self, but always for a wounded and hungry world.

The branch speaks

…been thinking about grapes lately (well actually, more before Christmas than now, but I was too busy to write at Christmas time, so I’m doing it now). Vines, branches, dirt, leaves, sunlight, vinedressers, the whole bit. …been reading a book, hearing a preach, talking to God…about grapes and stuff. Jesus says that he’s the vine, I’m a branch, God is the gardener. The gardener prunes the branches to produce more fruit. …heard lots of stuff about what pruning looks like and why…some sounds good, some not so good. Heard less of what fruit looks like …mostly it’s implied that fruit looks like “good works,” an ambiguous cloud of things that, should I fail to produce them, will bring feelings of inadequacy and guilt. Even though Paul says that fruit is “love, joy, peace, patience, etc.”, and Jesus himself implies that the fruit is love for each other…I don’t hear that very often. I hear consistently that I am to bear much fruit…no fruit, is complete failure, small amounts of fruit are an embarrassment, and large, vast amounts of fruit are the thing to strive for. More often, of late, I’ve been hearing that branches don’t “strive”, they “abide”, that “fruit” happens naturally if the branch remains in the vine, and the gardener is about his business. This last bit is good news, takes the pressure off.

The other thing that keeps getting thrown in is this idea that, after all is said and done, and the harvest is in…I the branch, will lay this (hopefully) overflowing basket of grapes at the feet of Jesus (the vine) and/or of God (the vinedresser). Always the concept is thrown out there that I am producing fruit for Jesus. I’m working for him, I’m abiding for him, I’m an asset to him. God and/or Jesus are sitting on this big throne somewhere in the vineyard with basket loads of grapes, just sitting at their feet. We the branches are preening around waiting for a nod of approval, or a “well done”, all the time looking at everyone else’s baskets, and taking stock. The grapes are never used…just weighed.

Enter….a new thought. Whatif….the grapes are not for him at all, nor even for me, but rather for the world? Whatif…they never make it into a basket, but get eaten right off the vine? Whatif…this abundance of wonderful fruit is meant to feed a hungry world, a world that’s hungry for truth, for love, hungry for reality, for life, for peace?? Whatif…the fruit is not something to measure myself with? Big basket, small basket, empty, full…, all this talk of me producing for Jesus makes me feel so full of self. So empty. I have never heard that the “fruit” would feed a hungry world, that the world would pick it and squish it and ferment it and drink it and it would bring them joy, and life, and they would “taste” Jesus. (Except maybe just now, from Jesus…) Whatif...it's not for Him, or me, but for "them"??

un-cool

whatif...everybody in the world things you're oh, so cool...but the truth is that snowboard games on the X-box make you dizzy?? Does that make you un-cool??? That's why I'm in here blogging.

This one's for my dad

I sang in a choir last night. I love singing in a choir. My dad was the choir director. I love my dad. As long as I can remember my dad’s been a choir director. Actually, long before I can remember, my dad’s been a choir director. It’s in his blood, it’s who he is, it brings him alive.

When I was a little, little girl my dad directed a 100 (?) voice choir at a Bible school. It was a grand affair…huge Christmas concerts, Easter concerts, grad ceremonies, tours of western Canada in the spring, little quartets, octets, solos, you name it. I don’t remember a lot about those days except that when “daddy” went on tour he was gone a very, very long time. I never really knew what he was doing when he was gone…just that he was gone. I think he did that for about five years.

The last year I kind of remember. I think I must have been allowed to go to a few practices with dad and watch him direct. What an awesome atmosphere…all these voices…all this energy…all these funny little vocal excercises,…ho,ho,ho,…hee,hee,hee,…ha,ha,ha,…done as low as you could do them. Then the sirens, starting as low as you could go and gradually sliding up as high as you could go and back down, not fast, but slow, and very controlled. It was fascinating, awe inspiring, wonderful. Then they’d start singing. They’d sing the most wonderful songs, fun bouncy ones with super deep base and bits and parts all over the place, soft, slow, mesmerizing ones with close, perfect harmony. They’d stop mid-song, work on a section for a bit, then start again, then stop, then start. Never a dull moment (in my mind). I wonder how many practices I went to…probably only one…but I remember it.

When I was a teenager (I think I had to be 14) I got to join the church choir. It made me feel so grown up. My dad was the conductor for a while. Again, he was in his glory. We did all these amazing songs, many of which still come back to me after 24 years. This time it was me doing all the ho,ho,ho,…hee,hee,hee’s, the sirens, the breathing exercises. Sometimes we’d (my girlfriend and I) feel a little silly, and giggle and whisper amongst ourselves. Apparently this didn’t go over well with some of the more seasoned choir members (the all-hallowed former conductor would never have allowed it), but my dad was fine with it. Choir was meant to be fun, and it was!

I sang soprano at first, which was great. Easy…always sing the melody…no sweat! I sat next to a wonderful, slightly eccentric lady who would write letters to missionaries during choir and never know where we were supposed to be singing. Sometimes she’d darn socks and stuff, too. A few years later I thought I’d try alto…we were always short of alto’s. That was fun! Learning new parts, listening for the harmony, reading the notes. Wonderful stuff. We only had about ¼ of the people who could actually read music, the rest just sort of followed. Often there was no one in the base section who could read notes. So dad would teach the whole thing to them by ear. He’d have the whole choir sing the base line. Base is pretty boring to sing, but boy does it add a lot when they belt it out.

Then there were the tenors. Oh, my goodness! Tenors have crazy, crazy notes. All over the place. Full octave (and more) jumps! Runs all over the place, often totally different timing than the rest of the choir. Crazy stuff…and high! Yikes!! I loved when the tenors couldn’t get their lines (which was most of the time on a new song). The whole choir would sing them too! I’m sure we often spent nearly half our time learning the tenor lines. To this day I sing a combination of tenor and alto…whatever suits me. The poor guys singing tenor would sometimes feel bad, but they didn’t need to. And the whole choir would celebrate with them when they nailed a tough line. I loved the challenge of it! So did my dad. There would be the odd guy that would say “it’s too hard, we’ll never get it!” but we didn’t listen to him, and, we always got it. We pulled off some amazing pieces of music.

My dad was so much fun. He’d crack the lamest jokes when we got uptight. He’d make these crazy faces to get us to smile. (Sometimes we’d be so deep in concentration that we’d forget to smile.) He’d do crazy things with the timing, just to see who was watching and who wasn’t. He’d get us to pronounce things really funny, but then oddly enough, when we sang the words that way…it worked! Singing is different than speaking. We’d build up and quiet down, we’d “bounce” the words, we’d learn where to take a breath so we could make it through a section without a break. Everything we did, he showed us with his body. He’d get big, he’d get small, he’d “bounce”, he’d “roll”, he’d “THUNDER”, he’d “whisper”, he’d punch it, he’d slide it in….all with his body! It was the closest thing to dancing our poor little church had ever seen! If we watched him at all, we knew exactly what we were meant to do! Of course the “all-hallowed former” would never had done that. I’m sure that the “all-hallowed former” never had fun one day in his life, I’m sure he never understood that the fruit of the Spirit is JOY!!! And I’m sure his choir never sounded half so good either. We sounded good!

It was really too bad that my dad ever gave that up. I know there were a lot of complex factors involved in him giving it up, but I think a part of him died when he quit. After all, it was a part of him…of who he is at the core…it’s what makes him come alive. I saw that again last night. He took this ragtag bunch of “I can sing in the shower…surely I can sing in a choir too! How hard could it be??” type singers, and actually turned us into a choir. In four weeks we went from saying “alto? What’s that?” to sounding awesome! To pulling off a Christmas concert with full four part harmony! Not perfect by a long shot…but fun!! Best of all…I saw my dad come alive! I love you daddy! It was good to see you again!

Scream!

Do you ever just want to scream at the top of your lungs in the dark? Just go out in a dark alley all by yourself and let her rip? I used to do that, when I was young and crazy. I’d walk home from choir practice on a Thursday night, get out from under the streetlights in the alley on the way home and just scream, a horror movie kind of scream, a King Kong kind of scream, a right from the bottom of my feet, all the way through the whole body type of scream till I ran out of breath. Usually one scream would do it, but sometimes there were two. They had to come out…had to. I worried about poor little Mrs. Toews, it probably scared her to death, this deathly scream behind her house every few weeks, but it had to come out.

I felt like that last night. Everything in me just wanted to scream. I’m laying in bed at 1am, completely exhausted but unable to sleep, just wishing I could scream. Of course I’m much too practical now to do it. I would have had to get out of bed (which was very warm), put on 12 or so layers of clothes to go outside (which was very cold), deal with a very happy, very bouncy, very chew on your gloves wondering what the heck I’m doing outside in the middle of the night type dog. I’d have to walk very far out from the house so as not to wake anyone and scare the bedclothes off of them. The snow would be crunchy, the ‘yoties would be howling, and did I mention it was cold?? I didn’t do it.

So, what of this scream that has to come out?? Where does it go? It’s stuffed down inside somewhere, stirring up trouble, causing anxiety, restlessness, discontent, general frustration. Where does it come from?? I have no idea. When I was young there was no rhyme or reason for it. It wasn’t fear, anger, frustration or any other negative emotion. It wasn’t joy, or excitement really. In some sense I think it was simply an expression of life, a declaration that “There is life here!!” It was some sort of pent up energy that really had no other point of release. Like the sudden need to run as fast as you can, or gallop a horse. There’s no reason for it…it just has to be done. I don’t understand it.

Weird thing is…I sang in a choir last night…

Yesterday was a good day!!

Yesterday was a good day! A really good day!!

As you know, my family is part of a church that we love. A church that constantly tries to separate the TRUTH about Jesus from the traditions (both good and bad) of religion. A church that is constantly challenging what we’ve always thought to be true. A church that preaches (as best it knows how) GOOD NEWS!

As you know, hubby and I are part of a wonderful church “care group”…a small group of 12 people that meet every week to eat together, laugh together, share life together, and study the Bible together…because Jesus promised us abundant life, and we’re trying to figure out how that works.

Last week at “care group” we were talking about how we can come boldly into the “throne room” of God, without fear, with confidence based on the work that Jesus did when he came to this earth 2000 years ago. Based on His perfection, his holiness, his righteousness. Based on His death on the cross, and his resurrection. Based on Him living in us by way of his Holy Spirit.

As part of that discussion we brought up the subject of baptism. One of the traditions of the church I grew up in was, in essence, a proving period, a period of time in which one was meant to prove to themselves and to others that they really committed themselves to the cause of Christ. That they could actually “live the life”, that they were done with “back-sliding”…going through their “wild stage”, or whatever else you want to call it, before they would qualify for baptism. That from this day forward you’d be an asset to Jesus. Of course this was never taught from the pulpit. This was taught by clucking tongues, by disapproving glances, by conversations over coffee, by Sunday school teachers, by never feeling free to come out from behind the “little miss perfect” mask. This was taught by the need to have a series of four to six weeks of “baptismal classes”, which didn’t actually discuss “baptism”, but rather, denominational history, denominational statements of faith, and the responsibilities of church membership, oh yeah, and also how to write a good “testimony”. This was taught by traditions.

This was also “taught” by never ever hearing anything that disputed these more subversive forms of teaching, never hearing anything to counter this “righteousness based on self, based on good management, based on my own effort” kind of teaching. I never heard that I could come boldly to the “throne of God” based on the finished work of Jesus (except from my parents, who taught it to me by osmosis rather than words, by example, by praying for me in the privacy of their personal lives). I never, ever heard it in church. (that, by the way, doesn’t mean it was never said in church…it means I never “heard” it in church).

It’s a testimony to our own human pride that anyone would ever get baptized in an atmosphere like that. It says, “I’ve earned it, I’ve proven myself, I qualify:” On the other side…a “good” Christian was an obedient Christian, and baptism was a “step” of obedience. So how does one keep on the “good” Christian mask without being baptized? It’s a dilemma to be sure.

Anyway, at our care group we brought it up that our church (that we love) was planning to have a baptism the following Sunday morning. We began teaching that the “traditions of the church” are a little off in regard to baptism. That the “qualifications” for baptism are the same as those for “boldly entering the throne room of God”….the finished work of Jesus. The only qualification I need is to believe in Jesus Christ. I don’t need to prove myself…it’s not about me…it’s about Jesus. We discussed it for a while, got into all kinds of other things, like infant baptism, sprinkling, etc, etc. And then everyone went home.

Yesterday, I went to church, and our beloved pastor did what my other church never did. He countered all (well, not all...but a lot!) of the wrong beliefs with the TRUTH of Jesus Christ. He did what we always try to do…separated the TRUTH of Jesus Christ from the “traditions of religion”. Thank God!!! He didn’t speak for very long, but you could feel the energy in the room building. Like a whole whack of captives suddenly being set free! Shouts of joy, nods of approval, spontaneous applause…laughter! Then he did it…he opened the tank and invited anyone who wanted to to jump in….no classes, no proving ground, no masks, just faith in Jesus Christ. He invited them to ask someone they loved to come and dunk them under.

One woman from our care group came up and asked that hubby and I dunk her under. In we go, full of joy, dunk, hug and drip all over the floor. As I’m finding a towel to dry off, more and more people are coming up to the front, among them, our firstborn, more joy! We wait our turn then dunk, hug and….wait…what’s this?? Another woman from our care group…running up. Praise the Lord. More dunking, more hugging, more dripping all over the floor! What a priveledge, what a joy, what FREEDOM! Thank you Jesus!! Thank you pastor!! Thank you church!! We love you!!

Things I want to do today

• do yesterdays dishes
• bake banana muffins (with poppy seeds...mmm..)
• run out to the shop and get some more paint
• paint something...the countertop (temporary, until I can get arborite and tile for the whole kitchen), the bathroom cabinet, baseboards, and door...
• put the door knobs back on the doors I finally finished painting yesterday... I must be the worlds worst painter...that's why I put it off for so long. It took me three coats of white paint to cover an already white (primed) door. Brush strokes..always the brush strokes. I finally broke down and got out a roller....why didn't I start with a roller???
• bake Christmas cookies of some sort, or squares...those shortbread ones with caramel and chocolate...or a white chocolate raspberry square that I can't find the recipe for.
• fill the portable air compressor with air so I can put enough air in the truck tire to drive it to the barn so I can fill it all the way full of air so I can load the truck with garbage so I can take it to the dump so the cats don't shred the bags anymore. How's that for a run on sentence??
• have a shower
• have coffee with at least three wonderful people
• that's all I can think of for now...oh yeah, I should probably run to the city and do some Christmas shopping as well.
• What??? Don't I look like Superwoman??? Maybe the Proverbs 31 woman???

Six Person Limit

Whatif....there were only six people in my life that I loved....do you think I could keep up with them??

It's my humble opinion that there are just simply too many wonderful people in this little corner of the world. There are so many people that I want to spend time with, drink coffee with, eat lobster (which I tasted for the first time ever last Saturday, and would eat every day from this day forward if the opportunity should present itself) with, go to the movies with, discuss life, and love, and dreams and theology with. There are so many people that I love, but almost never see.

Would it be better if nearly all people were insufferable boorish jerks? Then I'd be glad I didn't have time to be with them....but no...they're wonderful...they're fascinating...they're fun...and I'm constantly saying "I'm sorry...I don't have time for you..." I hate saying that. It's not that I say it to their faces, but, I see them in town or somewhere and I think "I'd love to go for coffee with you", but, the reason I'm in town is cause I've got things to do, places to go, people (other people) to see. So I say nothing...or I say "we should get together some time...", which we both know will be never, and go our way.

There's the girl that befriended me when I first moved to Linden in Grade 5. We were best friends. I loved her. In grade six she changed to a private school a mile out of town. She lived on a farm, I lived in town. Our parents didn't know each other. I never saw her again until we were both married and I had little, little girls. I still loved her...but, I was busy. Every time I see her I long for relationship...but the little recording goes on "i'm sorry...I don't have time for you"

There's a girl at the church I used to go to, that I used to teach girls club with, go for lunch with when we both worked in Acme, that I see once a year on our annual bike trip in June...that I love. She lives six miles away. I never see her. Her dad in law is really sick in hospital with cancer. I hope she knows I love her.

There's the sister in law...that I could never seem to get through to...that never lets me in...that closes herself off...that I love, and never see. She lives an hour away. I see her at Christmas, and Easter, mother's day...and the odd birthday...that's it.

There's a mother of three little, little ones. She's so full of life, so much fun, so zany... when she's not completely worn out from being a mother of three. I pray for her. I long to "be there" for her....but... hmmm,,,I may have to make some changes to the recording..

There's the guy that built our house, that we had in for lunch every day for four or five months. A really humble, gentle guy. He's the guy that introduced me to the ALPHA Course. What a wonderful course that was. Now both the course, and the house are done...and I never see him either anymore. He lives four miles away.

There's my mom in law, 1/2 mile away... I say "hi" to her once a week in church. I haven't had coffee with her for nearly 3 months. I LOVE her...why can't I find time to see her??

There's my Mom, my Dad, my sisters, my other sister in law, my aunts, my uncles, my Grandparents....I love them all!!

There's the countless people I've fallen in love with in "small groups" like ALPHA, like youth group, like worship bands, like care groups, in prayer groups. I could go on and on. I wish I could solve this problem. I don't know how...but I do know this. I am eternally grateful for the opportunity to see the beauty in so many different people...to have a life so full that my cup litterally "runneth over". I'm trying to catch it all, but it keeps pouring out. I'm glad that people are wonderful!!

Speaking of Nice Guys

Speaking of nice guys…there are also the ones that make you laugh, make you glad you came to work that day, who let you know you’re appreciated. We have a guy like that at work. He comes in a couple of times a month…always got something on the go, always on the fly…comes in drops stuff off…asks if you could “all at once” do this and this for him while he goes for coffee, and then just sneak back in and pick it up. He calls his wife from the office and asks if she could “all at once” just come into town and sign some documents. I always laugh when he says that. She should come “all at once”…she shouldn’t – say – leave her feet behind…she should come “ALL at once”… Hee, hee, hee. He doesn’t really get it when I tease him about that. He always forgets to come back after coffee, so three days later he comes back, still on the fly, still smiling, still bringing sunshine with him, and, promising donuts for all the trouble he causes. Then he mentions the donuts the next four or five times he comes in…and then…he actually brings the donuts!! Lots of them!! More than we can eat! Mmmm…donuts!!

I love days like that! He’s one of my favorite customers, one of the reasons that I love my job, one of the reasons that I love people.

The interesting thing is…that he represents a people group that gets a lot of prejudicial flack around here. It’s so sad, when we can’t accept people on an individual basis…we have to lump them into groups. We have an issue with “the group”, and so associate everyone in the group with “the issue”. We can’t respect them… they’re with “the group”. We can’t learn from them…they’re with “the group”. We can’t love them, or have compassion on them…they’re with “the group”.
I know a guy who literally hates this particular group of people. His blood pressure soars, his heart races, he gets headaches. He is genuinely killing himself with bitterness, anger, and unforgiveness toward this group of people. Granted…he’s seen some pretty nasty stuff come out of this group…the issues are for real. It’s the lump I have a problem with, the painting them all with the same brush…hating “the group” for what certain individuals within the group did. Anytime he hears something negative it adds fuel to the fire, it “proves” his point. Anytime someone else has a similar experience, they feed each other’s hatred. But anytime something wonderful happens…someone brings sunshine in with him, tells us “Don’t ever think I don’t appreciate you guys”, says “it’s wonderful to be able to come in here and get everything you need”, makes us laugh and brings us donuts…does it douse the fire? Does it sooth the wounds? Does it soften the heart? Does it reflect well on “the group”?? No. It goes unnoticed for the most part. “well, that was nice of him…” and go on with the day, with the anger, with the hatred…till it kills you. That’s the thing with hatred, with bitterness, with anger, with prejudice…it kills you. It steals from you… your joy, your peace, your energy, your rational mind, your health, your life. The “thief” comes to steal, to kill, and to destroy…does the thief masquerade as prejudice?? Has he stolen from you lately???

Mr. Nice Guy

I love my job. I love serving the “public”. There are just so many kinds of people. Most people are just sort of ordinary (thus the term ordinary), some are a little odd, some are kind of scary, and some just come in and make your day. A guy came in today and made my day (kinda). Living in a small town it seems like you know everybody’s name, and you know everybody’s face…but lots of times you don’t know which name goes with which face, so you just kinda muddle through looking for clues so you don’t have to ask what name goes with the face you’re looking at. Anyway…that’s kinda irrelevant (I’ve used the word kinda four times now…did you notice??)

This guy came in today. I have never seen this guy before (although I had heard his name), but he talked as if we were old, old friends. Probably the friendliest stranger I’ve ever met. He asked me if my kids had been sick. Apparently he had called a few days earlier (or come in) and found no one able to help him on the registry side of the business. I only work three days a week, and my co-worker was home with sick kids. My boss must have informed him about the sick kids, I said no, that would have been my co-worker. He looked over at her and asked with absolute genuineness if her kids were better, it’s just awful to have sick kids. It’s so much better when they’re healthy. She said yes, they are all fine now, but it was quite a run, and he said he was so glad to hear that…as if he were their grandpa or something.

When he left, my co-worker asked who on earth that was?? I read his name off the paperwork in front of me, she asked, do you know him?? I said, never seen him before…and we both went: Hmmm, nice guy…

It made me hope that I’m that nice and that friendly to total strangers…thanks guy!