Unveiling Hope

Approaching the King

An audience before royalty involves protocol. In the Book of Esther, we read of King Xerxes, “When he saw Queen Esther standing in the court, he was pleased with her and held out to her the gold scepter that was in his hand. So Esther approached and touched the tip of the scepter. Then the king asked, ‘what is it, Queen Esther? What is your request? Even up to half the kingdom, it will be given you.’” Esther 5:2-3.

The Old Testament speaks addresses the protocol required when approaching the Tabernacle. In fact, not just anyone could approach, regardless of their status or position in life. Only the priests were permitted entrance to the Tabernacle and even then, they had a set of regulations that had to be followed prior to their entrance. Even at that, only the High Priest could enter the Most Holy Place. There was no scepter. There was no chance God was going to allow anyone to approach without following His protocol, that’s how Holy He is.

The fact that God is Holy hasn’t changed. Because He is Perfect and Righteous and Just, He cannot break protocol. He still has to be revered as Holy; He cannot be in the presence of ungodliness. But imagine a King who loves and longs for intimacy with His love that He does what only He can do to make sure that access to Him is always available; Jesus is the Scepter that God holds out to us, the Scepter that cleanses us in order to permit us limitless – infinite – access to the King who offers more than half His Kingdom, He offers Himself.

“Who is he, this King of glory? The LORD Almighty – he is the King of glory. Selah,” Psalm 24:10.

The Wallflower

The music sounded familiar and soothing yet I knew I had never heard it before. It touched me; it had a presence – it was almost hypnotic. And the fragrance – oh, the fragrance – sweet and barely there. I found myself taking it in, breathing deeply, appreciating it. The hall was filled with more people than I had ever seen in one gathering; strangely there was ample room to move around. Some of them were dancing, some laughing – everyone seemed to be doing something as I looked on.

I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She was resplendent. Her complexion appeared dew-kissed, flawless, so soft. Her fragrance filled the air delighting every sense in me. Every word she spoke sounded like the harmonious strumming of a harp. The train of her gown floated as she moved. I knew she was looking for a particular place, a spot against the wall, a place where she could be inconspicuous. There would be no more of that. The gathering – this night – was a celebration in her honour and she had no idea. I had been waiting for her all her life.

I just wanted to do something, to be useful, to fade into the background and go unnoticed. These people, they were movers and shakers, they had accomplished important things. They were so beautiful, so, so everything I wasn’t. I kept asking myself the same question.Why had I accepted the invitation? And then I would remember that the invitation was addressed to me with my name engraved in gold! Who was I to be invited to such a place? Who was I to be included, to be chosen? I was afraid someone would figure out that I was an imposter – a fraud – masquerading around as someone who belonged. I clung to those gates. I wanted to stay, but I needed to leave . . . the wallflower needed to leave.

I read her every thought from afar. I was brought to tears knowing that she didn’t understand that I had orchestrated all of this for her. Sure, there were others there. Yes, I invited them, indeed! And I loved each and every one them - but her . . . I had loved her from afar for so very long. I knew her intimately before I had ever laid eyes on her. Her beauty was no comparison to the purity in her heart. Her heart gave me a reason to live, a reason to love as deeply as I did. Every choice I had ever made I had made with her in mind, knowing that one day I would make her mine in every way. We would become one - one heart.

My cowardice convinced me to leave, but my curiosity caught me off-guard. The music began to change, it slowed down. My feet couldn’t move. My legs couldn’t move. My heart began to beat a song that took my breathe away. The sea of people parted down the middle, leaving a straight, but narrow, path to – to – to Him. He was exquisite. He was magnificent. It was as if I could see His heart – and it was beating for me – it was beating for me. He put His hand out and in that exact second I knew . . . I knew Him. I had always known Him. He was the One I had always dreamed of and longed for. He knew me as no one else had. My eyes filled with tears, but I saw more clearly in that moment than I had ever seen in my life. Each beat of my heart brought me closer to Him until we touched. We became one. We became One. I had never been a wallflower in His eyes.

I Mean It ... This Time

How often do we say things having the best of intentions yet have no follow through, especially where raising children are concerned?

I’ve been threatening to stop cleaning my son’s room for about a year now. I think I followed through once. I understand the importance of teaching him how to be responsible and respectful of other people – especially those who serve him. Yet, I just can’t bear to watch the laundry piling up; I’m afraid it’s going to be recycled, or take on a life of its own, if you get my drift. I understand that I’m not doing him any favours by giving up – or giving in. My skills in this area of parenting are sorely lacking.

I see the same issue arise in my relationship with my Father. It would be a colossal waste of time attempting to count the number of times I intended to do something (this time it’s true) and either had no follow through or had follow through that lasted only a short time. It’s no different than a child committing to clean their room or do their laundry. I believe my son has every intention (??) of doing what he promises to do. I have to believe that because when I agree to address something in my life, that God has put His finger on, I truly have every good intention to do just that.

So, what’s the difference between my parenting and His? He doesn’t give up. He’ll do whatever He needs to do until I do what it is that He has asked me to do, or in some cases … not do. He loves me THAT much! He will follow through as a Parent should follow through. He will discipline, in love, when it’s required and say, “Well done,” when I do what is required. If I go off into a corner and sulk, He’ll let me. If I get angry, He doesn’t get angry back, but He doesn’t budge. He knows what’s best for me in every situation and He does not waiver even when I do.

I aspire to be a fraction of the Parent that He is; I mean it … this time!

“He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful,” John 15:2 NIV.

I'd Rather Fight than Switch

You’ve heard, no doubt, people use the phrase “I’m a survivor.” There was a period of time in my life when that’s how I thought of myself, a survivor. Many people define a survivor as an individual who lives through adverse circumstances. Yes, I was a survivor for years. I don’t necessarily count that as a good thing however. When I think how I lived through various situations, I have to admit that it wasn’t really living at all – it was more like hanging on by the skin of my teeth – there no “quality” of life; I wasn’t really living.

When a fighter can’t stick it out to the end of the fight his trainer throws in the towel. Throwing in the towel signifies that he has conceded – given up. He’s going to “survive” the fight (which of course is good), but he’s definitely not going to win; he forfeited his chances when the towel hit the mat. He fought toward victory and didn’t just lose the fight, he lost hope; he survived.

A champion, a prize fighter - a warrior – however fights from a different perspective. He’s got the belt. He’s got the title. He fights from a place of victory. The champ may one day meet his match; he may even lose the belt, but every fight – from the moment he took inherited his title – is fought from victory. Case in point: Mohammad Ali – people still refer to him as the champ, “The greatest.”

Today, I’m not a survivor. Today I’m a thriver. Today, I fight my battles from a place of victory – the victory I have in Jesus. The enemy meets me on the mat and tempts me to throw in the towel; he tries to convince me that I’m a loser, that I should switch teams. I’d rather fight than switch. Today, I’m a warrior; I am a champ. I have inherited a title: “Child of God.”

“But thanks be to God, Who in Christ always leads us in triumph [as trophies of Christ's victory] and through us spreads and makes evident the fragrance of the knowledge of God everywhere,” 2 Cor. 2:14 AMP.

Now is the Time and the Season

During my walk this past weekend, I saw a tree dawning a blanket of orange leaves; the ground beneath it was also wearing the same blanket. How can this be? It doesn’t seem to matter to nature that weather-wise, in Ottawa, summer has just begun – how can fall be approaching so soon? To top that off – stranger than strange – it was 42 degrees today with the humidex, (that’s 108 Fahrenheit)!

Any time soon, many will begin to mourn the passing of one season before it has even come to an end. Before fall officially starts, there are some of us who will already be dreading winter. Nature is busy preparing for the coming season, but not at the expense of the here and now. Stores are now displaying their fall and winter lines and it seems to me that only weeks ago I put my winter clothes in storage. If I would have put my winter clothes away before summer started, would I still be feeling as if it just started last week?

There is never a better time to do something than now – I know of what I speak. I’ve spent a great deal of my life putting off plans, hopes, dreams and responsibilities. My fears and ignorance have often inclined me to believe that there would always be a tomorrow – so what’s the rush? What I didn’t really comprehend was that none of us can ever be sure that tomorrow will come. And while it’s important to be prepared for tomorrow – we cannot forsake the day we are in – today – now is the time and the season.

Now is the time and the season for the harvest. Now is the time and the season for joy, for peace, to love with all your heart, to forge new relationships and cherish the old ones, to forgive, to ask the hard questions, seek the Truth, and to commit to whatever your fears encourage you to delay.

But of that [exact] day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Matt. 24:36 AMP.

Still Under Warranty

My car is two years old. In the past 7 months, I’ve returned to the dealership three times because every time I go over a speed bump or turn left I hear this crunching noise. It’s the same old story. “We fixed it.”

I thought “fixed” meant “forget about it, this won’t be an issue any longer.” Alas, how wrong was my thinking? Aside from the inconvenience however, I feel rather fortunate. My car is still under warranty.

Things appear to be not much different in my spiritual life. Just when I think God has dealt with an issue in my life – it pops up again and again, just on another, deeper level. “Is she actually comparing God’s work to an auto service shop?” you may be asking yourself. Well, yes, kind of.

Until recently, I thought that when God “fixed” something in me that it was permanent. Don’t distress if you’re going through the same thing or having similar thoughts. What God has fixed – the change He’s made in me – is permanent . . . to the extent, or level, that He addressed the problem.

I drive a 2007 Aveo. Every year, they come out with a newer and better model; they see what “issues” have been coming up with the previous years models and address those issues, but guess what? That doesn’t mean they’ll ever produce a perfect model.

God prioritizes what needs attention first. Sometimes, He needs me back in the shop – I’m an older model, you know. He started by fixing one thing, like putting the brakes on some of my bad habits and attitudes. Some of those things ran pretty deep. He knew I wasn’t ready for an overhaul. He knows what’s best and His timing is perfect. As far as He’s concerned, I’m permanently under warranty.

"This is the way God works. Over and over again He pulls our souls back from certain destruction so we'll see the light—and live in the light!” Job 33:29 MSG.

Tele-pathetic

Telepathy, if you believe it’s possible, is the transference of thoughts from one person’s mind to another without the use of the senses. Individuals who claim they are able to perform this feat are known to be “telepathic.”

There are some of us however, not involved in the occult or psychic world, who believe that other people are receptors of our thoughts – not telepathically communicated but just plain pathetically communicated and sometimes not communicated at all. Just to be on the safe side, I’m not saying anyone is pathetic, only that our skills at communicating can be pitiful.

Has this been an issue since languages were invented? No. In fact, way, way back people were so adept at communicating that they began building a tower to celebrate themselves. Being of one mind didn’t mean they shared their communications telepathically.

In truth, if any of us claim to be of one mind, or even one heart, the communication lines should be open and effectively used.

Silence is not always golden; it’s often black or white and rarely gray.

A picture can paint a thousand words, but are both parties into impressionism?

I’m okay, you’re okay . . . unless you tell me differently. “Good” “Fine” “Okay” are we really?

Words used over the centuries . . . millennia - have taken on meanings that not everyone understands correctly. I was always taught that the word “anxious” was a synonym for “excited.” That was a great way to greet the new boss, “I’ve been anxious about meeting you.”

People offend easily. Cultural differences are not always the cause. For the most part, when we set out to offend, there’s usually no question it’s exactly what we meant to do so, if one party is unsure clarification should be sought. None of us are mind-readers. If we say, “it’s all good” it should all be good. A great danger however is not as much in the miscommunication or misunderstanding as it is in the failure to seek clarification before assuming the worse was meant.

I don’t know how many times I’ve walked away from a conversation with a lump in my throat because I incorrectly read “between the lines” when all there was in between them was an empty space. I can’t begin to count the times that I unnecessarily stewed in offense over words that I misunderstood because I didn’t take the time, or courage, to ask plainly, “what did you mean exactly?” In retrospect, it’s clear to me now that I have acted "fine” when I wasn’t; I have believed that those who really know me and care about me should know what I’m thinking or feeling – even when I confirm the exact opposite.

Listening Intently

When the out-of-town relatives would visit my family, anyone under the age of 25 was assigned special seating arrangements at dinner time at the famous “kiddie” table. I always thought there was some kind of covert family operation going at the “grown-up” table. The raised eyebrows, pursed lips, the head-cock, and the occasional glance at the kiddie table, were all evidence that something interesting was being said, something far too interesting for the kids to hear. Listening intently brought some success to my endeavours, but on occasion, I had to resort to more drastic measures.

Everybody knows that the dinner time conversation only gets better somewhere between the kid’s bedtime and the first cognac. As luck would have it, there was an air vent on the floor beside my bed. I spent many crawling beneath my blankets with the side of my face looking as if my face had been pressed in a waffle iron. Listening intently doesn’t begin to describe the efforts I made to hear every single word that was uttered. It was only a matter of time. . . and I had faith that my persistence would be rewarded.

The years have passed and it seems that my hearing has dulled, not so much in the natural sense as in the spiritual sense. I look back at those days gone by and think of the effort and patience I put in to listening and I ask myself, what’s happened? Why is it, when I wait for God to speak, I give up so easily; I fill those silent moments with the sound of my own voice – babbling on. Why don’t I wait until I have waffle iron face? Where’s my faith? Where’s my persistence? You’ll excuse me won’t you? I have some listening to do and it might take a while.

“Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know,” Jer. 33:3 NIV.