Sacred Mundane: The Blog

Sometimes I feel like God has a funny relationship with me because He likes to ask me to do funny things, or at least what seem funny to me.  You see my husband is one of those who, when out walking, when he sees a piece of trash on the ground, he will stop, pick it up, and carry it with him to throw it away. He always does.  And of course I admire that about him, but I don’t always necessarily do the same.  I mean, I’ve got my kids, right? And who wants to pick up someone else’s garbage?

But sometimes I feel like God asks me to do something and, just like I do with Dutch, looks me in the eye sternly and challenges me: Will you obey me in all things?  About a month ago I had such an experience.  I was out doing my daily walk and right along Salamo Rd, there was a little blue garbage bag. Now Jeff and I often joke about West Linn and their little blue bags. Everyone has them. They are for picking up dog poop, and since everyone in West Linn seems to have a dog, and they all take them walking, they all carry around these little blue garbage bags which they use to pick up their poop, tie up, and carry with them on their walks. I always think it’s kind of funny to see people dressed to the nines and swinging their poop bags along as they walk their dogs.

So on my walk, there in the middle of the sidewalk was one of these poop bags–full.  Sick.  I veered around it, thinking, “Gross, who would leave their poop bag in the middle of the sidewalk.”  And immediately the thought entered my mind: “Pick it up.”  I shrugged it off. By now I was a ways past, and I didn’t want to turn around, march back along the busy road and scoop up the poop bag. Come on.  I kept walking.  After I got home I knew I’d disobeyed. It might sound silly but I knew that I’d missed an opportunity to obey God.  But I was home, I didn’t want to go back, so I figured that was that.

The next day I went for my daily walk.  To my amazement when I got to that spot, the poop bag was still there! I slowed down, and realized that God was probably giving me another chance to obey Him. But you know what? I’m ashamed to admit it but I didn’t pick it up.  By then it was smashed on the sidwalk (sick!) and it’s always easier to disobey God the second time than it is the first, so I left it.  The next time I went by it was gone, and I realized I really had missed a chance.  Someone else had done what I was too proud to do.

Yesterday as we gathered for our women’s ministry meeting one of our leaders and I were talking.  She said, “I have to show you this devotional I read the other day.”  I took it from her and read the brief devotional story:  A man was walking along the sidewalk just as an expensive flashy sports car was pulling up at a traffic light.  The man finished his soda and tossed the empty pop can out the window into the ditch.  The man walking, a Christian, continued walking across the street and thought to himself, “What kind of jerk throws his pop can out of the window?  That is what sin does!”  Immediately he sensed God’s voiced prodding his heart: “Sin throws out the pop can, but grace stoops down and picks it up.”

Grace picks it up.  You know it’s so easy as Christians to expect the people around us to live as if they were Christ-followers.  But why should they? How can people who are dead in sin be expected to live as if they are alive in Christ?  Why should we expect unbelievers to have prayer in school, to speak wholesomely, to remain faithful to their spouses, when they don’t have Christ’s new life living in them. They live as sinners. Our lives should then be a response of grace.

So today I went walking, and would you believe it, as I turned the corner onto Salamo road, there it was–a blue bag, full of dog poop.  I kept walking past, but only a few steps. Grace picks it up. I stopped.  I turned around the stroller and went back.  I was a little grossed out as I picked up the doggie defecation, but carried it home.  And as silly and small as it may be, I finally sensed God’s smile on me, I finally had obeyed.

Well the humorous part was that I refused to bring the poop inside our apartment and we are a long ways from the dumpster, so I just sat it on our front porch.  When Jeff came home from work he said, “Someone left their blue poop bag on our front porch!”

I smiled. “No hon. It was me.  I learned something today.  Grace picks up the poop.”

I’ve always loved the passage in 1 Kings 8 (and also in 2 Chronicles) where it says, ¹⁰ “And it came to pass, when the priests came out of the holy place, that the cloud filled the house of the LORD, ¹¹ so that the priests could not continue ministering because of the cloud; for the glory of the LORD filled the house of the LORD.”

Can you imagine? Can you imagine God’s glory coming down and showing up in such power that the priests couldn’t even minister?  They couldn’t even do their “religious work” because God showed up in such power that they were overwhelmed in every sense.

We are a very “in control” church. Things are done well. Organized.  Carried out with precision and excellence.  Transitions are carefully planned, words are carefully chosen.  And for the most part, that is great–it’s a strength. I love that the people who serve here take what they do very seriously and strive with every ounce of their being to do it as unto the Lord, with all their heart.

But sometime I long for God to show up and get out of control.  Sometimes I think of that 1 Kings passage and think, “Oh that You would do that here at our church!  Show up in such a way that we can’t even continue to carry on as usual.  Let Your glory fall!”  Along this same vein, Joy recently shared this quote from Tozer:

Current evangelicalism has laid the altar and divided the sacrifice into parts, but now seems satisfied to count the stones and rearrange the pieces with never a care that there is not a sign of fire upon the top of lofty Carmel. But God be thanked that there are a few who care. They are those who, while they love the altar and delight in the sacrifice, are yet unable to reconcile themselves to the continued absence of fire. They desire God above all.

This quote has virtully haunted my thoughts and fueled my prayers for several weeks now.  Oh Lord please don’t just let us busy ourselves like ants, counting the silly stones and rearranging the pieces on the altar but never noticing that YOU are not there, that Your fire has not fallen!  We want the fire!  The only reason we have the stone and pieces (ministry and church services) is because we want YOU.  YOU are what we want, God!  That has been my prayer.

And this past weekend, in a tiny measure I believe God gave us a taste of what that might look like.  Joel preached a sermon on baptism–informative, clear, de-mystifying the idea and addressing some common misconceptions.  Clear, to the point, no arm twisting, just teaching.  Then at the end, he invited anyone who wanted to to come forward and be baptized–right then, in their clothes.  There was no one ‘scheduled’ to be baptized. No one planning on it. And we knew there was a possibility that no one would come.  But we worshipped and waited.  As we sat there singing, this whole idea was bursting in my heart. “God let the fire come!” I prayed.  With everything in me I pleaded with Him, to come and mess up our lives a little, to let His glory fall, to do more than let us rearrange the sacrifices, but to really come and make His presence known.  And then, to our amazement and praise (tears streaming down my cheeks), TEN people went forward and got baptized.  Praise God!  I went home marveling at God’s power.  That night our Director of Operations, who was leaving on vacation early in the morning, text messaged Jeff and said: “Set out 20 towels for Sunday morning.  Hope that’s not enough.”  I agreed. First Sunday morning service, filled with mostly long-time church-goers, surprised us with another FOURTEEN people going forward, making bold declarations, full dressed and soaking wet, that they wanted to follow Christ for the rest of their days.  Second service, I didn’t know what to expect.  I continued to pray, as did everyone else. And as we began to wait (if you can even call it that), people began to stream forward.  I tried to count at first, but after a while I was crying watching person after person be baptized, and then I turned my head and my jaw dropped at the sight–people were lined up all the way across the front, along the wall, all the way to the back of the church, waiting to be baptized.  What was going on?  It looked like 1/2 the church was waiting in line!

Soon Joel, shaking his head in amazement, explained that people could go if they had to get their kids, but invited anyone who could to stay, since we would be there awhile!  The worship team finally quit playing and just joined in the clapping and cheering as each person made their stand or Christ. Then we soon realized–we were out of towels!  The floor was sopping wet, and line was still long, and we were out of towels. So next thing we knew people who lived nearby were running home and grabbing their bathtowels, happily giving them away to those choosing to follow Jesus that day.  It brings me to tears right now even, seeing the people coming in the front doors carrying towels.  Even the woman who was selling all her home-staging things (where I got to shop for things) went and brought a huge bag of her brand new towels. Soon we were mopping up the floor and continuing to happily embrace those who’d be immersed.

All in all 74 people were baptized this weekend.  God got out of control.  Church went late, I guess you could say.  People got wet. Outfits were ruined. Mascara ran.  And a few dozen people are probably short a few bath towels this week.  But you know what? That’s what made it that much more awesome.  The body rallied around those getting baptized, people freely gave, happily gave, joyfully gave.  Tears streamed down faces.  People stood and shook their heads in amazement.  God was glorified.

I know those experiences aren’t always going to happen. But can’t we pray? Can’t we pray that in whatever form or fashion, God would continue to be gracious to us by letting us have HIMSELF?  By letting His glory fall? By letting the fire come to consume the sacrifice? We don’t want to count the stones and rearrange the pieces. We want the fire.  And not just in radical baptism services, but in radically changed lives, marriages restored, addictions forsaken, people transformed from death to life.  I pray–will you pray?–that God would be gracious enough to give us Himself.  That He’d let His glory fall in such a way that business as usual cannot go on.  That He’d get a little out of control.  For His glory and for our good. Amen.

My hair is washed for the first time in a week.  I just washed my face with water for the first time in a week as well (had to just use astringent and cotton balls to keep my incision from getting wet). Nothing like a real shower (where you don’t have to wear shower shoes), clean dry hair, and clean clothes.  Camping was awesome, but home is bliss.   The washer and dryer are humming, the kids are napping, Jeff is gone to work, and I am happily sighing–there’s no place like home.  What a sweet, precious vacation we had.  FULL of friends, family, and memory-making.  Not very full of sleep, but that’s ok. 🙂  But while all of it was refreshing, fun, and so very needed, there’s no place like home.  I love home, even our little apartment. I love our beds–all of them, that beckon each of us to ease out of each day’s burdens and lose ourselves in God’s gift of sleep…sleep…sssslll…zzzzz…oops, sorry.   I love our WCC family and am so excited to worship with them tonight.  There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.  I love the people we serve alongside.  I love the hills of West Linn. I love the people.  So thankful to be home. There’s no place like it.  I bet it will be this same sweet feeling, except a million times greater, when we finally awake in glory.  A long wonderful but tiring journey behind us, and finally seeing the place we were created to enjoy.  Home is a glorious thing.  There’s no place like it.

I’ve mentioned that we are presently enjoying a week of vacation, traveling around Oregon visiting friends and family.  What I haven’t mentioned is what happened the day before we left on vacation.  I wish I’d gotten a picture in order to prove how awful it was…but Jeff, my parents, and Joy and Joel are my witnesses that I’m not exaggerating.

I mentioned before that I had this strange cyst that developed when I was pregnant with Dutch.  Now, three years later, they finally decided to remove it.  In the last few weeks it had actually improved somewhat so by the time I went in for the surgical procedure I was feeling pretty good.  It was probably a centimeter in diameter, not too bad. I figured they’d carefully slice it open, remove whatever, put in a stitch or two (or maybe I wouldn’t even need stitches? I was optimistic), and then I’d be on my merry way.  Sure I’d probably have a little slice mark but we were leaving on vacation the next day and I was sure by the time we got back it’d be gone.  Even asI type this I’m laughing to myself and shaking my head.

Oh was I wrong.  When I went in, the surgeon proceeded to tell me that because of the way it sat the had to make a 2-inch long diamond shaped cut and remove a huge chunk of my face (that was my translation) so that as she sewed it back together it wouldn’t bunch up (so my face wouldn’t look like an old pair of nylons).  Now I have given birth to two children.  I am not squeamish in the least.  I don’t mind needles, shots are fine.  But as she described this and then proceeded pull out a needle and dig it around in my face pumping me full of anasthetic until my eyeball started twitching, I got so light-headed I just sat there and prayed in my head, over and over, “Please Jesus don’t let me pass out. Please don’t let me pass out.”  Then, as the room spun, they led me to another room, where she covered my eyes and said, “You’re going to feel a lot of pulling and tugging.”  Oh dear Jesus, please let me not pass out.  Call me a wimp, but I would rather push a baby out than go through that again–trying to make polite conversation as I can hear and feel the snipping of scissors as she cuts up my face.

So when she finally finished the inevitable moment of truth came and the nurse handed me a mirror.  They both looked at my with pity, then the doctor said, “You’re still beautiful.”  It was kind of her yes, because what I saw was scary.  I’m a wimp, but it was startling to see my face with a huge two-inch slice, purple and blue with bruise, with ten big fat stitches squeezing together the bulging edges of my incision.  Wow.  When Jeff picked me up he looked scared.  Joy was sweet at punch, but Joel’s face gave it all away–I’ve never seen his eyes that big. 🙂  He gets squeamish just watching people cut vegetables so I didn’t share any gory details. My dad goes, “Oh my gosh!”  And Dutch ran over to me as I walked in the door, then stopped and looked concerned and said, “Mommy got owie!”

So you can imagine how excited I was to go to Corvallis and see people we haven’t seen in years then go to Jeff’s family reunion, and give an explanation 150 times, at least, that no I hadn’t gotten in a bar fight or a car accident…

But all in all that was no big deal.  People were polite, no children ran away in horror, and the worst part was just that it hurt to smile and whenever the wind blew my hair would get stuck inthe ointment or the stitches and then I’d have to excuse myself and pull my hair out of my face. 🙂

But when we got to Bend I realized the bummer part–we are on vacation and my incision can’t be in the sun–at all.  No water, no sunshine.  So much for waterskiing, swimming in the lake, or basking in the sun.   Yesterday I savored a day in the shade, watching the boys playing out in the wading pool.  Then today I thought about the rest of the summer–how would I play with the kids, sit at softball games, enjoy the last summer barbecues.  Then I remembered something I heard while in Corvallis.

Some dear friends of ours who are going through an extremely heart-breaking trial, responded to the question “How are you doing?” in this way:  God’s not taking us out of this storm, but He’s teaching us to dance in the rain. Now a silly little surgery on my face is NOTHING compared to what they are going through. But I love the lesson.  Dance in the rain.  I knew that had application for my silly little trial.

So I bought a hat.

Not just any hat.  Jeff took me to Ross and I bought the most humongous, wide-brimmed ridiculous sun hat you can imagine, the kind that necessitates wearing enormous sunglasses and sipping a tropical drink with a little umbrella.  In fact, if I put on bright lipstick and stand on my tip-toes and hold my arms at right-angles I look like a desperate attempt to be totally tropical Barbie.  So now, armed with my ridiculous hat, I can handle any angle of the sun.  And if it kills me I will don that silly thing with all the confidence in the world, grinning from ear to ear–well, maybe not that big because it still hurts to smile… but you get the idea.

So now I must go.  My little hat story may be silly, but I pray for the grace to apply the lesson even when the trail isn’t trivial, when it takes all the faith in the world to dance in the rain.  I’m thankful for my friends who show me how it’s to be done.