Just Thinking . . . a thought or two . . .

From My Point of View

When I was a little boy, my mother used to embroider a great deal. I would sit at her knee and look up from the floor at her handiwork. I would ask what she was doing and she would always give me that mother’s smile and the simple answer that she was embroidering. I would tell her that it sure looked like a mess from where I was. Because, from where I sat on the underside, I could only watch her work within the boundaries of the little round hoop that she held in her hand.  I would complain that it sure looked all jumbled and messy from “this side”.  Then, she would look down at me, smile, and gently say, “My son, you go about your playing for awhile, and when I am finished with my embroidering for the day, I’ll put you on my knee and let you see it from my side.”

As I would continue to watch from my lower perch, I would wonder why she was using different colors of thread. Dark colors with all the light ones just seemed like a jumble from my view. Time would pass, and then I would hear Mother’s voice invitingly say, “Son, come and sit on my knee.” When I did, I would see a beautiful flower or a sunset. I could not believe what I saw there because, from my previous point of view underneath the canvas, it looked so messy. Then Mother would smile again and say, “My son, from underneath it did look all jumbled and messy, but you didn’t realize that there was a pattern already drawn on top of the canvas. I was only following the design. Now you see what I am able to see from this side.” (Borrowed & Adapted)

Ever asked the question of God, “Father, what are you doing?!” No doubt you’ve looked at the “underside” of things and really wondered at what you could see. Looking at all the colors, the knots, and meandering threads that supposedly make up some work of art, you’ve challenged Him for some sort of insight or explanation. And then, maybe, you’ve seemingly heard Him tell you to wait a bit and then you’ll understand. Time goes on a bit more but you look up to see the same jumble and mess, only now it just seems to be getting worse . . . from your point of view.

But He keeps on working. The pattern is worked and filled in as it was always intended to be. You continue to look from the bottom up trying to perceive something in the mess that is within the boundaries that you can see. He seems to be telling us just to keeping on doing what we are doing and He’ll let us know when it’s done. And, when the pattern is complete and He has added all that He intends to add to His work of art, our jumbled, messy and seemingly tangled canvas will be finished. Then He will say, “My son, crawl up on my knee and let me show what I have done.” Then, perhaps for the first time, I’ll be able to see things from His point of view; a flower, a sunset, a life made better through the fires of time and testing. Look up!  Wait!  Don’t get too discouraged of all that you can see from your point of view.      Bk

What is it . . .Really?

As we begin the process of moving ouselves back to the states, my mind has wondered into the realm of difficult questions.

I've questioned going, questioned staying, questioned myself, questioned where I'm headed, where I've been,  and . . . well, there are so many other things that the list would be rather long. Let's just say that God and I have had a rather long and complex bit of dialog. And even after all this detailed conversation, I'm back where other wise men have been before me . . . understanding that some things are just not meant to be understood by mere mortals such as myself. My "job" is to follow His lead . . . where ever it takes me.

But, I have questioned and found an answer or two about "church". You might know the questions, "What is it, really?" "If I am leaving one and going to another, and what I am going to and leaving from are so vastly different from one another, which, if either, is the better answer to the question?" "What answer do I leave with the church family in Tartu who wonder how their 'church' is going to survive? What do I say to those who want to know why one 'church' can serve me now better than another? What IS 'church' anyway? 

Without any pride at all, here is what I've decided might be some small part of an appropriate answer . . . "What is it really?

Well, it's more than the generations old buildings that dot the Estonian countryside. It's more than the beautiful icons and guilded spires that glisten in the sunlight and catch your attention from literally miles away. It's not the utter quiet of the sanctuaries, or the emptiness of pews marked by long traditions, or even the longer lived brick, stone and morter that have survived the bombs, guns, wars, hatred, fear, and exiled men and women who stood up for their  faith and suffered. It is more than the supporters that are anxious for you, care for you, and who go out of thier way to keep you in thought and mind during prayer and converstaion back 'home'; who sacrifice for the sake of their missionaries and the church they have known about now for almost a decade. 'Church' goes far deeper still than any of these things.

Church is really all about trusting . . . about a faith in God that understands He lives above and beyond the missionaries, preachers, or leaders that serve us, lead us, leave us, or disappoint us in some way. It is about trusting that people, all people whom God has chosen to make His personal treasure, are just like me . . . imperfect, needy, wanting to be better, and not always knowing how to do it. It is more than attendence to a social gathering of good people, or a fun group who entertain us or make us laugh when we are with them. It is trusting that where ever we are, what ever our need, how ever imperfect we might be, how alone we might feel . . . there is someone who is willing to call us "brother", "sister", or simply "friend". They do that not because they 'have to' or out of some poor definition of 'duty', but because they have decided to give back or give away something already offered them in Christ. It is trusting that anything short of the right thing done, or right things said, will be met with grace and mercy . . . because those involved have received it themselves. Church is trusting that God can do what we can't, knowing that He will act even when we don't understand why or how, and being absolutly sure that His best is going to be worked out through people and circumstances well beyond OUR control. Church is about trusting that God has called a very unique group of people to serve him in even more unique, numerous, and wonderful ways. It is seeing the least as a gift and the greatest as an opportunty to understand humility and the lack of pride. It is trusting that when all else fails, loving Him and loving others brings all of us closer together because HE said . . . "this is how you do it!" It is finding Him in the smile or tears of a young christian: one afraid, another hopeful, one abandoned, another blessed beyond measure, in any who find Him in the loss of life and the new birth of the Father's touch, the forgiveness in Christ's death, or the hope of change in the Spirit's presence.    

  What is it . . . really?  Well Father, the answer that you seem to have shown us is simple. . .church is trust in you, trust in others asking this question just like us, and trust in the promise of what You have said You have called us to . . . a relationship that no country, no building, no single person can take from any of us.  Church is sharing a love for You with those You have chosen to love yourself.

Father, in light of this answer . . . increase our faith! Increase our trust! Help us show others how "church" has always been really just about You.            

A Memorial Day Thought:

I've been reading about events that have touched the people of Estonia very deeply. Within the last 100 years the people of Estonia have watched on two different occasions as tens of thousands of their loved ones were sent into exile, to concentration camps, and relocated to places unknown. Many never returned home.

 Many of those being sent were not soldiers or warriors of any kind. They were teachers, artists, muscians, scientists, religious workers, or someone who had a voice when it was not appropriate to do so. They were all family members, leaving other family and friends behind to wonder whether or not they would be seen again.

If they were lucky enough to return home, many returned to what once was  their homes, only to find them taken over by others. Some found only bombed out, burned and scattered remains of what they had called home, security, safety, or the place where they had belonged and were happy at some time now too long ago in their pasts to remember, or to forget. Some found the families they left behind, some did not. They came back scarred, changed, and in some ways less, in some ways more than they had been.

The marks that were left on the Estonian people remain for you to see them , if you are looking. They are a proud people and and have learned to make those events a part of their identity and their heritage. Those who brought about those terrible events of the past had no idea how much they would change the people of Estonia, or the ways in which they would empower them, or give them the courage to move on and become so much more than they were.

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He wasn't sent away on a train with others headed toward exile. He didn't find himself in a death camp where the putrid smoke from the incinerators was a reminder that any day could be your last. He wasn't relocated, his land and posessions stripped from him, and sent away as a problem the authorities in power at the time didn't want to deal with. He went as a soldier. . . fighting for freedom and the life that was taken away from so many others.

He went, I know now, understanding all to well that he may not come home. He went knowing that what he left behind may not be the same, when or if he did return. He went knowing that what he would face would change him, mark him, make him into something he hoped would still be recognizable as a man. He went believing that his going would make a difference, that it would be a way for him to protect those he was leaving behind. That it would offer another people a chance at the freedoms he held so dear. He went hoping to make folks back home proud of what he had become.

Those who knew him say he changed them. He had marked so many in ways that even he had no idea were so very  important. While he was being funny, helping a friend, following orders with a smile, reaching out to the new guy, or the person who just needed a hand for the moment . . . he was leaving a bit of himself that would end up changing almost everyone he touched. It wasn't the plan, it just happened because of who he was. Oh, he wasn't perfect. He had a side that was a bit boyish and adventureous. He took some chances, and wasn't always all that he knew he should have been. He frustrated some, even angered one or two I suppose. He didn't really plan that either, it just happened because that was who he was.

When he went away, I thought that he would come home. I believed I would have another chance to walk and talk, to share with, and to be marked by him. I believed that his going was temporary, for a short time, and that our future held another day when we would see one another once again, on home soil. . . . where we would share in the possibilities of family and lives still yet to come. When he went, I had no idea just how much it would change me. I had no idea what his going would really cost, how much it would really mark me. I had no idea of how proud of him and so very empty that I would feel both at the same time.

He's not coming home. When I see him next, it will be in a whole new world, a whole new country. He will be there along with other heroes, welcoming those they all left behind . . . home.

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There are heroes in every culture. What makes them a hero is different perhaps, but they are heroes none the less. Those they leave behind, or those they simply touch along their way, are forever changed because of the things that they do, the trials that they face, or the memories that they leave tucked away in the minds and hearts of those nearby. How they become heroes to those of us left behind, is not nearly so important as the fact that they are in fact . . . heroes.

Real heroes have given much for those who have watched their going or their passing. Real heroes leave us changed forever because of what they have done, and because of who they have been. They instill in us something of themselves. They somehow empower us to find a way to move on. It's not their plan . . . it just happens because they are heroes.

For all of them, I am truly thankful!!

In memory of heroes around the world to many to mention.

In memory of Dustin, one hero who marked and changed me.

The Truth Is . . .

The Scriptures say, "God commanded light to shine in the dark." Now God is shining in our hearts to let you know that his glory is seen in Jesus Christ. We are like clay jars in which this treasure is stored. The real power comes from God and not from us. We often suffer, but we are never crushed. Even when we don't know what to do, we never give up. In times of trouble, God is with us, and when we are knocked down, we get up again. (2Co 4:6-9:CEV)

The truth is . . . it hurts!

Whether we are missionaries on a foreign field, students in some local college or school, retired in Texas, or struggling along at some other location and point in life, there are some things that simply hurt when we have to face them. No amount of faith, hope, assurance, trust or certainty will change that. The truth is . . . sometimes it hurts, and hurts deeply.

Paul recognized and shared an important truth in this second letter to the Corinthians. He didn’t say that he hadn’t suffered, faced frustration, or found himself face down in places he wish he hadn’t. Rather, the truth he shared was that sometimes the things he faced were beyond him. He did suffer! He did feel lost and without direction at times. Troubles came, and there were times when he had been knocked completely off his feet. But Paul had made a decision. In light of what he knew he could not do in the face of these things, he would let God be and do in him what only God could. He would let God show himself to be the source of strength Paul personally could not provide.

I don’t hear Paul saying that the struggles are any less real, or that they last any amount of time shorter than they might otherwise. He says only that when these difficult times came his way, the going on, getting up, and moving through to health and strength would be recognized in the end for what it was. . . not Paul, but God.

For now, I confess . . . it hurts. The deepness of it is amazing, unexpected, and teaching me so much of what Paul had already realized. It is beyond me. I’m not sure yet how far this particular journey will take me. I’m not sure yet what exactly I will face as each day and new circumstance confronts me. I only know that when I get to that place where I am finished and can go no further, there will be one who will be waiting and ready to provide the strength, the will to go on, the presence I need, and the ability to get up and take what ever the next step might be.

“Father, In the midst of this darkness, allow me to see the fingerprint of your presence, and what ever direction this journey may take, let the light of your glory be seen in the getting up and going on that will come only through you in the end. Because your son has shown us the way. . . to His glory, and in His name.”