Getting to Know Him

Her heart beat faster with a desire to know more as she followed him through the old cottage, filled with comfortable, overstuffed furniture, and exquisitely real paintings of nature scenes covering the walls.  She glanced to her left and saw a big, long-haired dog curled up on the rug next to the chestnut-colored sofa.  The black and brown pup jumped off and bounded over to her, licking her hand as he rushed to greet her.  Mr. Love laughed, “Cherish, don’t overwhelm our guest with your enthusiasm.” 

Cherish sat down on the hardwood floor next to Fledgling and nuzzled her palm with his soft wet nose, trying to get her to pet him.  She was so drawn to this sweet dog that she knelt down and tenderly picked up his floppy ears.  She’d never had a pet and was actually a little scared of dogs.  But this one was so appealing; he wanted just to be friendly.  As she scratched behind his ear, he poked his nose at her cheek, then licked her.  She laughed, not in the least bit annoyed at his sloppy wet overture.

“Cherish came to me when he was a puppy.  I heard him crying outside the door and found him shivering, almost covered with snow in the middle of a blizzzard.  He’s been here ever since,” he explained softly, as that amazingly loving gaze fell over the happy, now well-fed and well-loved, very warm dog.

“My goodness,” Fledgling thought, “I’ve never been around so much affection!”  Her heart began to feel full in a way she’d never before experienced as she stood up to follow Mr. Love.

“Let’s go into my garden studio,” he encouraged, glancing back at her with those eyes overflowing with fondness for a complete stranger.

Ten steps later, she stopped in a doorway as he stood to the side, and gasped.  The room was filled with plants, some with gorgeous, colorful flowers and some with just bright-green and obviously healthy leaves climbing to the ceiling.  She didn’t see one dead leaf or flower anywhere—quite different from the wilting ones in her own home.  As she looked around the massive room, she began to see framed portraits.  Some were the size of a small book and others were as big as a dresser!  Even though the room was so huge, it was invisible from outside the front of the house because it jutted out at the back and was surrounded by forest—which gave the room an even more garden-feeling.  But even more than to the plants, Fledgling was drawn to the faces in the paintings.  There must have been hundreds of them in so many different sizes.  And they all had interesting expressions; some looked serious, some were laughing, some were just serenly smiling.  But all of them looked…what was it?  Hhhhmmm, the only word she could think of was content.  Wow, that was not a familiar feeling.

She walked over to one that especially caught her attention, and touched the frame with her small finger as she looked—mesmerized—at the face inside of it.  It was a young woman, quite beautiful, with a soft smile, olive-colored  eyes and curling tendrils of dark black curls framing her face.  “Who is this?” Fledgling’s voice was shaky—though she had no idea why—as she looked up at Mr. Love. 

He kneeled down on one knee next to her so he could be nearer to her line of sight—for Fledgling was quite short with a petite frame, much like her mother.  This giant of a man put a gentle hand on her shoulder.  She actually began to tremble with emotion as she felt his touch and looked more closely at the painting before her.  “What’s happening to me?” she wondered, dazed by everything she was feeling and seeing.

“That’s a young woman whom I see developing.  She’s actually not yet the age of the woman you see in the painting, much younger, in fact.  I just painted this from what I see she will become.”

Tears began to make little tracks down Fledgling’s cheeks.  “Why can’t I control these emotions—like I usually do?!”

Mr. Love’s hand felt so warm and comforting on her shoulder—much like she’d always thought her dad’s would feel—if he ever was around to embrace her or just sit with her.

Almost as if he was reading her mind, Mr. Love stood up and pointed to a mauve-colored rose-design chair.   “Would you like to sit down?” he asked tenderly.

Meeting the Artist

Now Fledgling’s family wasn’t very close; indeed, they had lots of problems.  Her mother worked very hard as a seamstress in a shop in the town center, while her dad fixed people’s plumbing problems all day and spent most evenings at the local tavern, laughing uproariously at his friends’ ribaldry as he downed his umpteenth pint of ale.   (Fledgling knew this because her mother had sent her to fetch something at the store one late summer afternoon and she passed by the tavern and heard her father’s voice.  She poked her head in the door, hoping to get her to come home with her.  But as soon as she saw him and what was happening, she scurried away, cheeks blazing red with embarrassment before anyone spotted her.)

No, her parents weren’t harsh, they just weren’t around much. And when they were, they were too tired and so obviously struggling with their own problems that they had no energy or desire to listen to her talk about her life.  Her brother, Spunk, was fun and carefree, but seemed far more drawn to his trouble-making friends than to his younger, shy sister.  

Fledgling just wanted one friend who understood her and accepted her for who she was.  So, in spite of the warnings from her schoolmates that the old artist was a fuddy-duddy and would talk her out of any fun she might hope to have in life, she decided one day to take a chance and go see him.  She knew two others at school who regularly went to his house and they actually seemed more content and less wild than everyone else she knew.  And her favorite teacher, the Greek one, also visited Mr. Love occasionally.  When she asked questions, they almost glowed when they discussed him.

So, overwhelmed by the harsh remark, she tucked her fear away and slowly tread the narrow, uphill, dirt road to his house.  (Everyone knew where it was, so it wasn’t hard to find, just an arduous journey for anyone who didn’t live nearby—and few did.) When she finally got there, she timidly grasped the heavy brass knocker in her small, pale hand and let it go once.  She didn’t hear anything, so tried holding the T-shaped knocker—unlike any she’d seen before—tapping it lightly on the brass plate behind it.  Then she heard footsteps inside.

Suddenly, nervousness gripped her heart and she was tempted to run.  But before she could, the door opened, and the tall, strong shoulders she looked up at bent over and she could see his eyes.  The depth inside of them overwhelmed her, but even moreso, she could see in his gaze a kindness she’d never before encountered.  It was like liquid gold.

“Good afternoon.  Did you come to see my artwork?” he asked.  His voice was like sunshine; it made her heart feel warmed and she was so drawn to Mr. Love, she couldn’t say anything, but just nodded “yes.”

He opened the door wider, and proclaimed, “You are welcome; come in!”

Still none-too-sure of herself, but deeply hoping he was as nice as the others told her, she stepped forward, one foot at a time.  And that’s when she saw another smaller man walk by the doorway.  She could feel his presence better than she even could see him as he quickly made his way to another room in the house. 

Watching her gaze, Mr. Love said, “Oh, that’s my brother, Comfort.  He lives here with my son, Victor, and I.  They’re really wonderful, and hopefully, you’ll be able to meet them sometime!”  She could actually feel the pure, but intense love he had for these two men in his voice, and it almost made her cry.  She’d never felt a love like that in her entire life.

Something New

During a time of quiet meditation, a story unexpectedly began to form in my head.  It quickly began to take shape as soon as I started writing, so I decided to post it in segments here.  I’m not sure how it’s going to develop, but you can help be part of the experiment!  I’d love your feedback in the comments section, but please remember, it’s a work in progress.  Herewith:

The Artist:  Introduction

There was once an ancient man in a small town some of us might recognize.  Everyone had heard about him, but very few actually knew him well.  Those who did were the ones who knew that he was caring and listened when they came to him to talk about their troubles and joyful events.  He was kind and had the warmest, deep brown eyes that it seemed you could swim in when you gazed into them.  Those eyes captivated everyone who came to visit.  They beamed bigger than his lips when he smiled and shone brightly when he looked at one of his visitors, intensely focused on them.

The funny thing was that he was always welcoming, so those who knew and loved him always wondered why everyone didn’t want to get to know Him.  But the rest of the town was kind of afraid of him because he seemed to just know too much about them…and they didn’t all lead good, clean lives.  Some were ashamed of things they did and others were just very wounded people who couldn’t see much hope in the road ahead.  Still others didn’t want anyone with whom to discuss their lives because they were living with complete.

abandonment, accountable to no one, running up huge debts they could never hope to repay, not taking life seriously—or the people with whom they shared it. They seemed to care about no one else, not even themselves.  And they certainly weren’t interested in any old artist living at the edge of town—because they didn’t have love in their lives and didn’t believe it even existed; in fact, they thought, “Who cares?”

Sometimes, one of the townspeople who knew him would tell someone they saw struggling that he was really easy to talk to and that he always seemed to have something wise to say after a long period of taking in whatever was being shared.  And he was always home; that in itself was remarkable!

“He’s really smart; not like you and me,” one visitor proclaimed.  “I mean, sometimes I can kind of figure out how to do something as I take one step, but even then I’m not sure.  But HE seems to understand things before they progress and can actually help me to see which step to take next.”

One young woman, Fledgling, visited the artist almost every day, whenever she’d finished school and all of her daily duties at home.  She skipped to his house most of the time, just so happy to have someone who really seemed to understand her and appreciated things about her that she didn’t even know existed until he pointed them out.

For her, it all started one day when she was troubled because someone at school told her she was stupid and an antique.  She wasn’t much of a fighter, but she quickly responded to her accuser, “I am neither of those.  I know much more than you think I do and just because I don’t want to do everything the ‘in’ people do, doesn’t mean I’m old-fashioned.  I simply don’t need to do things just to impress others.”  But internally, the words stung and she didn’t feel at all confident that what she’d just said was even true.  She began to feel stupid and backward.

Bananas & Babies

During worship (at church), I wanted to focus on the Lord more than on the song, so I sat down and told Him that I just wanted to meet with Him. Then I saw a “picture” in my mind’s eye (i.e., spirit)—a banana peel laying on the ground—and wondered what it represented. I “heard” the Lord speak inside of me, saying, “What is that?”

I kind of laughed, and said, “Well, Lord, it’s a banana peel.”

“What good is it?” He replied.

“Well, it covers the banana and protects the fruit inside.”

“You can’t eat it,” was His comeback.

I was stymied. Huh? “But Lord, without the skin, the fruit can’t ripen and isn’t protected. It would be no good at all, if there was no skin on the outside to help it ripen and to be safe from things that could harm it.”

“If the skin was bumped, what would happen?”

“Well, if it wasn’t too bad a bump, the skin would absorb it and be bruised, but the banana inside would still be safe.”

“What if it was nicked with something sharp?”

“Well—same thing, Lord; as long as the nick wasn’t too deep, the inside would still be okay.”

“What if it was cut deeply?”

“Well, then the banana inside would be cut, too, and would quickly be inedible.”

Then the picture changed, and I saw a baby inside a womb…really! I was looking at it, enthralled, when the Lord spoke again.

“If that baby feels too cramped in there, can it get out?”

“Well, Father, it can only get out when it’s Your timing for it to be born.”

“What if the parents are tired of it being inside the mother and want it to be born?”

“Well, Lord, that wouldn’t be good because only You know when that baby is ready to be born. If it’s too soon, it will be underdeveloped and will either be very sickly or will die.”

He spoke again. “That’s exactly what happens to each of you when you try to do things before you’re ready. Only I know when the earth is ready for a wave of My glory to sweep over it. Only I know when each of you is ready to launch into something new. I know the process you must go through and how long it must take, depending on your responses to the trials and circumstances in which you are living.

“If someone tears a banana off its tree before it’s ripe, it will be inedible; if they pick it and don’t eat it, it will eventually rot or be banged up and become rotten. If a baby is born before it’s due, it will have lots of problems. And so it is with each of you. You must wait for My timing to do the things I call you to do. You must be ready when I’m ready to use you. But you can only do that if you abide in Me and wait for My timing.”

“Wait for the LORD; be strong and take heart and wait for the LORD.” (Psalm 27:14)

Words of Life

“The words I have spoken to you are spirit and they are life.” (John 6:62-64)

I have a friend who struggles with a debilitating illness that has become progressively worse. We were chatting a few days ago and she cried, saying she had come to the end of her rope with this sickness and just wanted a way out. Her words became progressively darker and I could almost see a cloud of oppression forming over her head. Since I don’t have perfect health (who does?!) either, I sympathized with my friend’s position. However, I also recognized a familiar thread in her words. When struggling with an ongoing problem, be it an illness, a relationship heading south, financial woes, or any other of sundry things, we tend to get mesmerized by the difficulty, rather than the Solution.

Having just recently emerged from such a battle, the pattern—and the way out—are familiar. Struggling with an ongoing situation for many months, I felt absolutely weary—in every way. All I could seem to think about was this quandary for which there appeared to be no solution. While out hiking one day, I heard a voice say to me, “I have given you the mind of Christ.” That seemed really good. But the next words thoroughly shook me: “Why don’t you use it?”

I stopped in my tracks, and said, “But Lord, what do You mean? I thought that I am using it!” Then I asked Him another question, “What do you mean by the ‘mind of Christ’?”

I’ll never forget His reply: “Think upon whatever is lovely, whatever is noble, whatever is true, whatever is pure, whatever is commendable.” And the next line of Philippians 4:8 says, “If there is any excellence, anything worthy of praise, think about these things.”

I was trapped. I suddenly realized thenegative path I’d been on for months, wrapped up in my world of problems and anxiety. I had lost sight of the purpose for which I live, “To know and to make Him known.” And as I know Him, the only thing I can do is to worship Him, because He is so amazing, so profoundly wonderful, beyond anything we could ever know on earth. And as only He can do, the Lord somehow “zapped me” and all the negativity I’d been feeling for months simply vanished!

As I turned to my friend, I said, “Do you worship our Lord in the midst of the pain and illness?” Our thoughts can adore Him even when we can’t speak. We can worship Him while in a coma, as I discovered in a book about a boy who was comatose for months. We don’t have to be fully conscious, on our feet or knees. We can worship Him anywhere and anytime. For, as His Word says so eloquently, if we don’t, even the rocks will cry out (Luke 19:40). I don’t know about you, but I’m not too excited about competing with—and losing to—a rock! If I can’t praise Him more than a rock, something is terribly wrong.

So, my friend and I concluded that it’s better to speak words of life—which seem always to lead to worship—than to speak negative words about sickness or unpleasant and unfair situations. I truly do find that the more positive things I say, the more I want to praise the One Who’s responsible for making things that are wonderful, holy, pure and glorious. I want to dwell in the “mind of Christ,” rather than in the mind of the flesh because the latter was made to help me function in this strange land—the one that’s not yet my home—but the former is what I will use for eternity.

Hearing in Our Heart's Language from One Who's Multilingual

As I visited my original homeland, I was all smiles; everything was pretty simple and straightforward—much moreso now that I live where I don’t fully grasp every word that’s spoken or can’t always find the right words for what I want to say—which knits my eyebrows together in intense concentration and the smile disappears!

All of that is a sweet reminder for those who live in “strange lands”—there’s “another” place called home apart from where we actually live! And when visiting that place, there is solace in speaking our heart language and spending time with those who’ve known us for many, many years. There’s a common history and bond there that is irreplaceable—and that also makes “goodbyes” bittersweet.

But to me, the most important part of this earthly life isn’t just comfort and familiarity—as wonderful as those things are—but obedience to the God Who adored me enough to create me, then made a way for me to come to Him to dwell in a perfect homeland surrounded by His glory forever! Sometimes, that’s what drives the ability to take the next step, going to strange places and mostly feeling like a fish out of water—except during those indescribable moments when His presence floods the person I’m ministering with/to and me! Those times make being a stranger in a strange land worth it all. Knowing that so few people in the places I go ever experience the peace and love of God gives me a heart for them to know this as I do. To believe with certainty that there’s a Creator Who absolutely and unequivocally adores us completely changes life on earth, doesn’t it? It makes it possible to spend much more time living selflessly, rather than just for me. And because He ministers to my heart when it feels empty and I feel alone, I know He’s always with me and always for me. That incredible knowledge is worth sharing, isn’t it?

While visiting my homeland, I spent a precious few days just being still with God—and discovered something I already knew in my head, but needed to have penetrate my heart—what it means to deal with others in love, and why it matters. The Lord spoke to me in a way that actually changed something inside of me. He explained that when I speak to someone about an issue that disturbs me, if I start with a heart of love, the words I say will have impact and come from His heart. But if I’m angry, hurt and trying to get justice, what I say will likely be judgmental and harsh—and ill-received (understandably). Some of you may already know this, but for me, it penetrated the core of my being, and has been making a difference in how I think, as well as how I speak. Only a supreme God could make such an extraordinary difference in one of His children’s mindsets, I’m sure. This is that revelation knowledge talked about in Ephesians 1:17-23—and I prayed those scriptures over myself and others for a number of years—so it’s just dawning on me that this is actually an answer to my own prayer. Isn’t our God amazing?

So I pray the same thing for you (and me): “I keep asking that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the glorious Father, may give us the Spirit of wisdom and revelation, so that we may know Him better. I pray also that the eyes of our hearts may be enlightened in order that we may know the hope to which He has called us, the riches of His glorious inheritance in the saints, and His incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of His mighty strength, which He exerted in Christ when He raised Him from the dead and seated Him at his right hand in the heavenly realms far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every title that can be given, not only in the present age but also in the one to come. And God placed all things under His feet and appointed Him to be head over everything for the church, which is His body, the fullness of Him who fills everything in every way.“

May He fill you in every way!

Good Intentions:  Falling or Climbing?

Well, after issuing what seemed like an encouraging and appealing challenge, I find myself fumbling it!   As I began to feel successful at praying daily for those with whom I have less than a stellar relationship, I started to slack off—and things began to spiral.  New situations developed, and once again, I was faced with the decision to criticize and judge—or intercede.   Along with that choice, I also found that pit where my own heart began to beat against me, and I, too, was subject to the same dance.  Am I so unable to be positive, even about those whom I see very little to be positive about?  

I recently read somewhere that someone who was facing the same challenges decided to begin to thank God for the circumstances and for the people involved in them.  She began to speak gratitude to God even for the negative things as well as the positive ones.  Now that’s not a unique idea, having seen a number of references to the same topic in our most-loved Book.  However, it’s altogether different reading about someone else doing it and embarking on the same journey in this day and age when most of us just complain and give up, walking away from anyone who ruffles our feathers.  

But today, I was inspired by that writer to enumerate positive things regarding an individual with whom I’m extremely myopic when it comes to virtues.  After several minutes, I was able to come up with six, but also wrote down six negative things, so I’m not sure if that counts!  However, I was pretty happy about being able to recognize six good things!  And I’m realizing that the other six are for prayer—if I can only climb that mountain once again.  I’m most grateful that our God shared with us that He picks us up when we stumble and keeps us from falling (Psalm 145).  So up I climb, hanging onto His strong and kind hand, grateful that He can even find six things about me that He loves!