P.S. - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DANI!

Today is the birthday of someone very precious to me; my niece, Danielle. She is nearing the end of her twenties, yet my memories take me back to her childhood, to her "helping" me make cookies, and so many other precious memories. She has grown into a woman of great beauty, strength, and integrity...and most of all, into a devoted woman of God. In case I haven't said it lately, Dani dear, I'm very proud of you (uh-oh, I'm getting teary here)....and I consider it a blessing beyond words that I have been allowed to be your aunt. May this next year be one of many blessings for you...you are loved deeply...

-Aunt Neese

Only You, God...

I've been reading "The Pursuit of God," by A.W. Tozer...a classic book, yet one I had never read before. I've been over the first two chapters a couple of times now...and I'm drawn in by the truth I'm finding in those pages. Following are a few of the "nuggets" of truth I'm finding...

• We only seek after God because He seeks after us, and has been drawing us to Himself.
  
• In seeking after Him, I must "proceed in the way of simplicity." Seek after God Himself, laying aside any "religious" tenets or practices we have known. In prayer I need to practice "stripping down of everything, even of our theology." Tozer goes on to say, "The man who has God for his treasure has all things in One. Many ordinary treasures may be denied him, or if he is allowed to have them, the enjoyment of them will be so tempered that they will never be necessary to his happiness. Or if he must see them go, one after one, he will scarcely feel a sense of loss, for having the Source of all things he has in One all satisfaction, all pleasure, all delight. Whatever he may lose he has actually lost nothing, for he now has it all in One, and he has it purely, legitimately and forever."
  
• I have a new understanding of the meaning of the "poor in spirit," as mentioned in the Beatitudes ("blessed are the poor in spirit..." - Matthew 5). "Poor in spirit" would suggest a visual image of a poor, hunkered-down soul, someone who is waiting for others to walk over him. NO...the poor in spirit are those who have "rooted from their hearts all sense of possessing...no longer slaves to the tyranny of things. Though free from from all sense of possessing, they yet possess all things."
  
• OK...does this mean that I should not have possessions that I enjoy? Am I to sell all I have and follow hard after Christ? Tozer considers this question by reviewing the life of Abraham. In a nutshell, the fact that Abraham was excruciatingly willing to even give up his son if that is what God asked of him. In evaluating Abraham's surrender to God, Tozer says that Abraham was "a man wholly surrendered, a man utterly obedient, a man who possessed nothing." But wait...wasn't Abraham the guy with a bunch of tents and herds and servants and wealth? What do you mean, he possessed nothing? Tozer answers this question as well - "I have said that Abraham possessed nothing. Yet was not this poor man rich? Everything he had owned before was his still to enjoy: sheep, camels, herds, and goods of every sort. He had also his wife and his friends, and best of all he had his son Isaac safe by his side. He had everything, but he possessed nothing. There is the spiritual secret."

Wow...as these thoughts soaked into my psyche, I couldn't help but wonder what things I hold tightly. I know I am a hopeless collector/keeper of all things meaningful in life. I have several boxes of "scrapbook" stuff...things that I hope someday to put in some semblance of historic order. Old clippings, photos, things, stuffed animals, even precious kitchen utensils once held in the hand of my sweet mom. It is not wrong for me to love these things (nor is it a sin that they are in such disorder); however, do I simply enjoy these things, even treasure these things, or do I possess them?

Spiritually speaking, in my lifetime I have been exposed to many different schools of thought regarding the "spiritual life" and how it should be lived out. Do I take from those things what I feel is from God, or do I possess each idea as law for my life?

I can't help but get a mental image of a very small child desperately clinging to something he fervently desires but which is not good for him...and the adult who is trying equally as desperately to get this "thing" out of the child's clutches. I envision the white knuckles. I see needing to peel each finger off, one by one...I suspect any parent has had this experience.

What am I desperately clinging to? My love for my children/grandchildren/husband? My house? My attempts to achieve some level of financial security? Even my emotional baggage?

Am I willing to pray Tozer's prayer? - Father, I want to know Thee, but my coward heart fears to give up its toys. I cannot part with them without inward bleeding, and I do not try to hide from Thee the terror of the parting. I come trembling, but I do come. Please root from my heart all those things which I have cherished so long and which have become a very part of my living self, so that Thou mayest enter and dwell there without a rival. Then shalt Thou make the place of Thy feet glorious. Then shall my heart have no need of the sun to shine in it, for Thyself wilt be the light of it, and there shall be no night there. In Jesus' Name, Amen.

And then, finally, I read some of David's words from Psalm 31...

• I hate all this silly religion, but you, God, I trust.
• Love God, all you saints; God takes care of all who stay close to him.

More of you, Jesus...until the thing that matters supremely is you...

Where have I been?

OK...so maybe I'm not the most consistent blogger. I fear I have been waiting for some great "illumination" that will spur me on to profundity. But alas, my life is quite "daily." I mustn't look so hard for the profound that I miss out on the random kisses from God in my life.

Such as...

A week ago I had the extreme joy of having my 9-month-old granddaughter at my house for a sleep-over. As this is my first grandchild, I have been reveling in the sheer joy of her existence. And...it is simply icing on the cake that she loves her Gramma. The tender moments of holding her close, rocking her gently until she drifted off to sleep, touched a depth in my heart that I had long ago lost.

On Sunday morning we actually got her...and us...ready in time for the early service at our church. In we marched to the nursery, only to find that nursery care isn't provided for that service. Gulp. With her being in a very animated, active portion of her babyhood, it was with a bit of trepidation that we made the decision to see how she would do in the church service. As we walked into the huge, old sanctuary, she became wide-eyed, soaking in every corner of the room. It was almost as if she could sense God's spirit touching hers. She was unusually calm, and interested in what was happening around her. Fortunately, her tummy was full of rice cereal and fruit...which left her rather lethargically satisfied. Even more fortunately, the first half of the service was almost entirely music. So there we sat, she taking in each note of the music, and I rocking her rhythmically back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Then something truly heavenly happened. During the last song, "Amazing Grace," I held her close and pressed her little cheek against mine...all the time rocking, rocking, rocking...and there she fell asleep. There could not be a more precious moment for a grandma than that. She continued to sleep through the rest of the service...much to the delight and adoration of those around her. So precious...

I might add, however, that Grandpa Eric was less than thrilled with this outcome. "Why," he queried, "does everyone think it is so cute when she sleeps during the sermon, when it's such an abomination when I miss a few words? It's just not fair..."

Get over it, Grandpa...

I "paws" to think...

Tonight I did the unimaginable...I stepped on her tail. Unintentional, yet firmly square upon her tail. She was just sitting there eating her dinner, minding her own business, and BAM...there it was, this humanoid firm-soled shoe compressing her tail into the kitchen floor. True animal lover that I am, I instinctively gasped and leapt back in horror, for a moment not remembering...

My kitty has been through much with her momma (that would be me). She came into my life several years ago when a stray kitty had the gall to walk into my family room (through the doggy door) and then into our game closet...where she proceeded to give birth to a rather large litter of kittens. We had no idea, until one evening we began hearing this unusual - though rather familiar - high-pitched squeaking noise emanating from the closet. My older daughter fell in love with one of these little kittens - the one with the large black splotch across half of her face - and appropriately named her "Spot." Hmmm...interesting choice of names...but it stuck. And after the girls were gone from the house, somehow Spotty remained.

After my marriage broke up and I found myself heading back to Newberg to a new job, Spotty came along. It was only right.

Of all the kitties I have owned through the years, Spotty was hands-down the bravest. Her valor in the face of possible adversity has been admirable. I suppose her most amazing strength of character is found in her love of dogs...not just your average mutt, but all the Great Danes and Rottweilers of the world. She truly loves them. We have enjoyed hours of entertainment (ok, I'm exaggerating just a bit) watching her interact with the dog across the street. He emerges from his front door periodically to...umm...get back to nature, and there goes Spotty, trotting across the street to spend a few precious moments leaning on him and rubbing against his coarse fur before he returns to the sanctuary of his living room.

But I digress...

Several months ago I was on my way to pick up my daughter at work. At that time she was working the late shift as a hotel desk clerk so there I was, crawling into my car at 11:00 pm to go get her. Wishing I was asleep, I hurridly slammed the car into reverse and backed out of the driveway. It was then that I heard it. It sounded oddly like the painful yowl of a kitty. Feeling just a bit queasy at the prospect, I looked around the car, thinking I had possibly committed the unimaginable. To my relief, I didn't see anything...and I went on my way.

Next morning: Hmmm...where's Spotty? That's not like her...she's always around...must be out "catting around" somewhere...

Long story short...the next afternoon my daughter found her. There she was, lying in a little painful heap in the bushes outside our front door. After an anxiety-ridden trip to the vet, it was determined that she had been laying under the car when I started it up. Unfortunately for her, her tail was in the path of the oncoming tire. Even more unfortunately for her, just as the tire was pinning her tail securely to the driveway she determined that it was the appropriate time to RUN FOR IT. The result, as seen in the remaining strip of fur in the driveway, was that when she ran she pulled her tail from under the tire...

Spotty now has a dead tail. It still has blood flow, so it wasn't truly dead, but it is devoid of all feeling and ability to move. Her once active, perky kitty tail has become this incredibly heavy object that drags behind her when she walks. The vet advised that we have it amputated...and you would NOT believe how much they want to do what any farmer could do in 2 seconds. Therefore, being the good financial stewards that we are, we opted to allow her to keep her little tail (dysfunctional as it is).

Thus explains my unneeded horror at stepping on her tonight. But old habits die hard.

I suppose there should be some sort of a good spiritual parallel here...but frankly, I'm all typed out. I welcome any suggestions.

G'night, Spotty...sleep well, my kitty...

Business meeting

My friend, Gregg, has posted a blog concerning a business meeting last Sunday evening at our church. I must respond. I had the immense pleasure of being in attendance at this meeting, and I went away with a huge sense of having just had a true worship experience. There was something very special in the room...perhaps the presence of Christ? And...I must admit...I found it discouraging that everyone didn't experience it the way I did. Why wasn't everyone feeling the air in the room like I was? Why were so many still engaged in idle chatter when Miriam's sweet voice began drawing us to God's heart? Why were some more concerned with grammatical issues surrounding the final official "minute" than with the content itself? Oh well, it is comforting to know that I was not alone in my perceptions. There were others who sensed what I did. I suppose the bottom line for me was the knowledge that yes, this decision truly was God's leading for NFC. What an awesome privilege to witness such clarity...and even more than that, what an amazing experience for me personally.

Now, don't get me wrong. I realize many of my above comments come off rather "holier than thou." No; I know that the people I mentioned above are committed to Christ and are far more advanced in their journey than I. I suppose, though, that I mention those things because they truly did flounder around in my brain. And...I think I was thrilled that God chose to allow me to sense all that I sensed. Why me? I have not always been in that place. Why God continues to shower down favor on my soul is nothing but pure grace and love.

I am hungry for more of Him.