always stand by you

The past few months have been a rather difficult season in my life. It's been a time of discovering exactly who my true friends are... and it has had many surprising and painful results. And I admit, I've been wallowing a bit -- feeling sorry for ourselves comes so naturally, doesn' it? -- and moping that life isn't going my way and no one understands what I'm going through. I've tried talking to friends and coworkers in my usual way of sorting out my thoughts and feelings through lots and lots of words (verbal or written!), but it's not helping.

Well, as another timely reminder from the Lord this week (I love it when He does that!), the song "I Will Always Stand By You" by The Violet Burning just popped up on my iTunes shuffle. I frequently listen to music at work, just to fill the background of an otherwise monotonous, cubicle-clad day, and most of the time don't even pay attention to what's on. But when this song began, it was like the lyrics were being shouted in my ears:

Well I know, 'cause I've been there, too.

I instantly had a mental picture of the Garden of Gethsemane, when Jesus, too, had a moment of finding out exactly who His true friends were. He knows exactly what it feels like when someone you cared for and thought you knew turns their back on you and rejects you. The song continues:

I will always stand by you
I will always love you
So cry out to me
And I will run to thee
When the night comes down around you

I was instantly chastised. He is the one I need to turn to, vent to, pour out all of my words and thoughts and feelings to, because He is the Only One who truly loves, truly understands. And He doesn't just sit around waiting for me to turn to Him. He is not a passive listener. No, He runs to meet me!

Like the little child who wanders away from her parents at the playground, insisting she is enough of a "big girl" to play on the swings all on her own, I have tried to manage this challenging season of my life all by myself. And like that same little girl who inevitably falls off the swing and begins to cry, I've hit the ground and been hurt. And like the parent who instantly recognizes his child's cry and rushes to her aid, Jesus runs to find me, to meet me right where I'm at, to pick me up in His strong arms and comfort and heal me.

psalm 56

Every day I receive a devotional email from my beloved congregation back in Scotland. These "Lifelines" are always poignant and comforting, and it never ceases to amaze me how just the right one always arrives exactly when I need it. Today, it was Psalm 56:

Be merciful to me, O God, for men hotly pursue me;
all day long they press their attack.
My slanderers pursue me all day long;
many are attacking me in their pride.
When I am afraid,
I will trust in You.
In God, whose word I praise,
in God I trust; I will not be afraid.
What can mortal man do to me?
All day long they twist my words;
they are always plotting to harm me.
They conspire, they lurk,
they watch my steps,
eager to take my life.
On no account let them escape;
in your anger, O God, bring down the nations.
Record my lament;
list my tears on your scroll -
are they not in your record?
Then my enemies will turn back
when I call for help.
By this I will know that God is for me.
In God, whose word I praise,
in the LORD, whose word I praise -
in God I trust; I will not be afraid.
What can man do to me?
I am under vows to you, O God;
I will present my thank offerings to you.
For you have delivered me from death
and my feet from stumbling,
that I may walk before God
in the light of life.
(ESV)


"This Psalm refers to an event in David's life when he was drifting away from the Lord and pretending to be mad in order to escape from the Philistines (1 Samuel 21:10-15). The Lord sometimes lets us get into difficulties in order to bring us back to Himself. It certainly worked with David as this Psalm proves.

"The great sin in the human heart is pride and when people attack us or get angry with us it is often because their personal pride demands them to do so. Opposition of any kind can fill us with fear and foreboding. However, we are told here how to get rid of our fears. We are to trust in the Lord. Whatever people may do to us - and godly people down the ages have suffered vicious persecution and martyrdom - we need not be afraid of them as long as we put our whole trust in the loving God.

"In vv 7-8 David is not necessarily being vengeful but is calling on the Lord to bring evil people to judgment. God's Word tells us not to keep a record of evil. Yet we can be sure that the Lord keeps a record of every tear we shed. That is the measure of His love for us. If we trust Him, we will be given proof of His love for us because He answers our prayers.

"David reminds himself of the commitment he made to the Lord and that he was under a solemn covenant to live for the Lord. We are not very good at keeping the promises we make to the Lord. When we realize that He has delivered from whatever trouble we are facing, we need reminding that He has done this so that we 'may walk before God in the light of life.' When our daily lives are flooded with the light of life in God it goes a long way to banish our fears."

dear diary

My thoughts are provoked from some of the strangest places... most recently from an hilarious old move I just saw, The More the Merrier (1943) starring Jean Arthur and Charles Colbrun. Here's the scene that really got me thinking:



Mr. Dingle: Do you keep a diary, Miss Milligan?


Miss Milligan: (As she's writing her latest entry) No, of course I don't! (Pause.) Out of curiosity, why do you ask?


Mr. Dingle: There are two kinds of people -- those who don't do what they want to do, so they write down in a diary about what they haven't done; and those who are too busy to write about it because they're out doing it.



I found myself staring at my own diary on the nightstand that night, wondering which person I was... and which I wanted to be...

jimmy

I've always wanted a garden. I remember my great-grandmother grew all kinds of things in the back yard of her little northern California home, and how much fun it was to explore the plowed vegetable rows and help prune the rosebushes. Being the old-fashioned, sentimental, nostalgic person that I am, building and working a garden full of vegetables and herbs and flowers has been a life-long dream.

Problem is, I don't have a green thumb. My thumb has always been the farthest away from green one can possibly get. In fact, I can kill artificial plants. Seriously.

So imagine my excitement -- and panic -- when my handbell choir kids gave me this geranium...

Was this my chance? Could I affirm those kids' beautiful, beaming smiles by keeping their precious little gift alive? Or would they realize that they'd just sentenced this little plant to a long, slow and very painful death from neglect and starvation in the home of the world's worst gardener? I vowed to do everything possible to cut off my black thumbs and keep this little guy alive.

First, it acquired a name -- Jimmy. Not because it bears any resemblance to one of my most beloved piping instructors, mind you... but rather, because I couldn't remember what species it was when asked one day. "It's a jimmy, germy, something-or-other," I explained to the friend doing the asking. And hence, the name Jimmy stuck.

Second, it came with a small tag that said "medium sun and water." Learning exactly what constitutes "medium sun and water" in a high, sunny altitude like Colorado Springs proved quite a challenge for this desert-bred gardening hopeful. (In southern Arizona, after all, gardening constitutes merely raking colored rocks and carefully removing wind-blown trash from cactus spines.)

Well, I am here to announce to the world today that Jimmy not only still lives... but he has survived living with me for ONE YEAR! That's right -- the handbell choir gave me this geranium last May, at a concert to mark the end of our ringing season. He survived a move, a freezing winter, weeks without water while I was on vacation, and many other hardships, yet he's still going strong, and even began to bloom again last weekend. To mark his first birthday last week, I bought Jimmy this adorable new teacup-shaped planter. Someday soon I'll even attempt to re-pot him so he can grow even more.

Now we're planning another end-of-the-season concert, and I think Jimmy just may have to come as the guest of honor. After all, I think a front-row seat is the least I can do for the little plant that has restored my gardening hopes and dreams! :-)

opening day

I wish I were in Phoenix today...

For the past three years, I have not been at work today. I've been in Denver, celebrating the beginning of another baseball season by watching my Arizona Diamondbacks take on the Colorado Rockies. The D'Backs have started the year on the road for the past three years, and I've been there every time.

But today, they get to start the season at home. In Phoenix. Far away Phoenix.

I'm bummed.

But I'm excited, too, as I watch the minutes tick past on the clock, every moment bringing me closer to the excitement... the military band parade around the warning track... the giant American flag unfurled across the entire outfield of the diamond... the tens of thousands of patriots and fans on their feet with hands over hearts... the glaring red rockets and fireworks bringing the national anthem to life... the Air Force jets buzzing the stadium as the multitude roars... the team in white exploding onto the field from the third-base dugout... the pitcher slowly striding to the center-stage mound, slowly wrapping his fingers around the bright red stitching on the brand-new ball... and then, at long last, two of the most magic words you could ever hear ring out over the loudspeaker...

"PLAY BALL!!!"

I'm stoked that Opening Day is here at last! I just wish I could be there to see it in person...

in with the old

It may not looking like I'm posting much here, but that's only because I'm still working on transcribing all of my old blog posts from MySpace into this new blog. Be sure to check the "archives" list on the side over there to see these "oldies but goodies" as I get them posted!

The old is still coming in... but there will be some new posts, too! So stay tuned!

wearin' o' the orange

As many friends and coworkers have chased me around the office this morning, trying to pinch me because I'm not wearing green, I offer this little history lesson:

Catholics wear green. Protestants wear orange.

In America, St. Patrick's Day is little more than an over-comercialized social event encouraged by alcohol manufacturers for the sole purpose of increasing consumption of their products and, thereby, increasing their profits. I've born witness to this phenomenon first-hand, as for most of the past 15 years I've spent every March 17th evening piping-for-hire in bars and taverns, where with every passing tune the drunks get drunker and the lewd get, well, "lewd-er." Everyone wears a "Kiss Me, I'm Irish for a Day" button, a plastic green derby, and consumes little gold-coin-wrapped chocolates from miniature pots of gold.

But in the lands of my ancestors -- Scotland, England, and Northern Ireland -- there is a much deeper significance to St. Patrick's Day. For centuries, there has been great social, political and religious strife in Ireland and Northern Ireland between the Roman Catholic majority and the Protestant minority. Ever since William III of England, Scotland and Ireland, a Protestant -- and better known to history as William of Orange -- defeated the Catholic King James II in the Battle of the Boyne (near Dublin) in 1690, the tension between Protestants and Catholics on the tiny island of Ireland has been fierce. Majority Catholics have fought in the highest halls of government to suppress the Protestant minority, and at times that Protestant minority has gained the upperhand and sought revenge. It is because of William of Orange (which actually refers to his home region in France) that the color orange came to represent the Protestants, and it continues to do so to this very day, right on the Irish flag.

I could write a lot more about the strife and tension between the Catholic and Protestant factions, but I really don't want to turn this blog into a history lecture. I would encourage those of you who want to know to search "St. Patrick's Day" through something like Wikipedia to read more about the history of the day, of the man himself, and of the centuries of conflict that have defined the tiny island nation of Ireland. You'll read about the green shamrock as a symbol of Catholic loyalty, and about the sectarianism of the "Orangemen." You'll see how both sides have their good points, their just causes, and their bad reputations. You'll understand that the times we live in may be less violent, but the tension is still real.

For my part, I'm not out to provoke anyone on either side of the issue -- on the contrary, I like to think that the white in the Irish flag symbolizes peace between the two factions. Rather, it is out of deference to my Protestant heritage and my Scottish ancestors who settled for a time in Northern Ireland that, on every March 17th, I wear orange.