From The Sheep Pen

Today is Monday, Labor Day. For many people it signals the end of summer. Kids are back in school, family schedules become more normal and as the vacation season ends, resort towns like McCall and its neighbors Donnelly and New Meadows empty out as the tourists return to their life elsewhere. It’s been busier than I’ve seen in many years. Many locals exhale not so quiet sighs of relief that the summer traffic on the streets and crowds in shops and restaurants are less crazy making. One can make left hand turns from side streets again! In fact, that’s become a favorite local saying.

Labor Day is a federal holiday and the three day weekend is often celebrated with parades, “show and shine” classic car shows, craft fairs and of course, park barbecues, picnics and home made pie sales. Come through my town sometime this weekend for it’s a taste of Americana straight out of Norman Rockwell! However, there is more to this federal holiday than meets the eye. In fact, people might be surprised at its origin. Although I had an inkling about Labor Day’s origins, I did a little Internet research.

Labor Day arose out of the labor and union movements of the late 19th century. With the rise of industrialization and the increasing demands on the work force to work longer and longer, small independent unions formed to protect the rights of workers who often had to work 70-80 hours weeks under terrible conditions. However, there was no centralized organization or “union” for common goals. This period of unionization was a turbulent time often marked by violent demonstrations such as the “Haymarket Affair” in Chicago in 1894 in which Pinkerton agents and federal troops were sent against striking railways workers.

On September 5, 1882 an unauthorized meeting of the Knights of Labor met in New York’s Union Square, and a parade was held to bring various labor groups together and call the public’s attention to their goals. Some sources cite up to 25,000 marchers joined the parade through lower Manhattan for worker’s rights. It was also followed by family picnics and fireworks in the parks. These are the traditions which Americans still follow, especially in rural areas like ours. The first Monday in September was chosen as being halfway between July 4th and Thanksgiving, which were public holidays. In 1887 Oregon was the first state to officially recognize Labor Day as a holiday with 30 states following. However, the holiday only allowed federal workers to have the day off. It became a legal federal holiday on June 28, 1894 under Grover Cleveland in the middle of the Chicago demonstration so as not to lose the “workers’ votes. Labor Day is sometimes confused with May 1, “May Day,” the international workers holiday recognized in 66 countries. Early Labor Day supporters wanted to disassociate from the more anarchistic, radical methods of May Day, such as the bloody strike in Chicago.

Given the history of Labor Day, it’s more than a little ironic that so many people are not free to celebrate. I think of my daughter who works in a local restaurant for minimum wage as a cashier. It would be unthinkable for her not to show up to work. I think of her husband, a line cook at another restaurant who’s had to close the kitchen every night and doesn’t get home ‘till after midnight, often to be back at work in less than 8 hours. I think of my friend Paola and her team of pie makers at our senior center and all the work involved to bless the community. I think of all our local servers, housekeepers, maids, shop keepers and retail employees, police officers, first responders and hospital workers who are the backbone of resort communities – and keep on doing their jobs so that others can have a day to celebrate. We owe them a great big hug of gratitude. To all of them, thank you. May God bless the work of your hands!

O LORD, our Lord, How excellent is Your name in all the earth, Who have set Your glory above the heavens! Psalm 8:1

It’s a beautiful morning! The temperature is cool and the air crisp as new apples. I decided to go for a walk with my dog before I get involved in house or garden chores. This summer my mornings have slipped away far too quickly. Before I know it, it is afternoon, the temperature has climbed into the 80’s and it’s too hot to do much outside. While my dog is ever ready to run and play, my romping energy fades by supper time. When I complained to my doctor about the fact that I get more tired easily, he reminded me, not so tactfully, to check out my birth certificate!

I walked one of the loops in our subdivision, letting the dog sniff the shrubs and weeds along the road to do his business. The morning light played itself into countless patterns of shadow and light through the trees. Clouds pillowed themselves on the sky’s bed and diffused the sun’s usual high summer intensity. I paid more attention to the world I walked through. The vibrant greenery of spring growth is gone, but in its place dried weeds, golden brown as wheat, cover the hillsides. They sway gracefully in invisible breezes or perhaps they’re brushed by Someone’s feet passing through. I saw large swaths of still green grasses matted down like beds, perhaps for the deer to rest on during the night. Waxy snowberries grow in thickets. Wild roses still bear bright pink flowers. Some of the underbrush has turned orange and yellow as if Jack Frost has been here with his boxes of autumn paint to move us into the coming season. Soon the sumac and mountain ash will display themselves in brilliant colors.

I’ve never noticed the apple tree growing in one of my neighbor’s yards. It is tall, looks healthy and is filling in with small yellow apples. I am surprised that a fruit tree would do well given this altitude and mountain terrain and for some reason, its incongruity in the surrounding pine forest gladdens my heart. I shall look for other surprises whenever I walk, from the tiniest seed heads circling in perfect symmetry to the endless, vast and changing sky.

The writer Annie Dillard describes how to sharpen one’s observations by seeing through a “four inch square”, that is by focusing into a very small space and paying close attention to the details therein. Think about making a four inch square with your fingers over a sunflower or your child’s face. What marvels are then revealed! What if you enclosed a piece of the sky above between your hands? What might you then see and know? I’ve used that technique many times in the past, especially when I am dry, struggling to write anything at all. Lately, this has been the case. I’ve been too busy, busy, busy to write, but truthfully, I’ve not allowed myself to pay attention to those things which God uses to inspire me , gladden my heart and reveal mysteries.

I returned home with this thought. God created this amazingly beautiful planet for us. How many four inch squares can we frame to describe what is in just the limited view all around us? Is even “infinity” a large enough number concept? (And of course, there is all the rest of the world.) Such fullness boggles the mind. Such vast complexities lead me in faith to believe that,

When I behold Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You set in place—what is man that You are mindful of him, or the son of man that You care for him? Psalm 8:3-4

It’s been a prodigious huckleberry season. I’ve been out several times in the last weeks picking tiny berries which grow wild in this area. Much smaller than blueberries, more elusive to find and definitely more difficult to pick, they are slightly tart, have a unique flavor and can change ho hum pancakes into something Food Network chefs would drool over. Add a few cups to a peach pie, as my daughter did, and who needs to eat anything else? Except huckleberry ice cream. Right?

Huckleberries are part of this area’s cultural identity. The town of Donnelly named a festival for them, huckleberry flavors local ice cream and milk shakes and every shop has huckleberry jams, syrup and chocolates for tourists. It’s part of the barter system. One time a client owed my husband quite a lot for legal fees and offered his secret huckleberry picking spot in exchange for the payment. I presume my hubby was thrilled. Only your very best friends or members of your family, maybe, will share locations where they found a patch. While casually dropping the fact that they picked “tons or gallons” in an hour or two, when asked where, the answer will be something like “Oh, they’re everywhere in Ponderosa Park or “ Just go to Goose Creek.” Never mind that both places are acres in size or cover hillsides that only a goat can climb. Additionally, having some experience in berry picking over the years, the only way I might get a gallon in an hour or so is to drive north of Riggins to Fiddle Creek and buy some frozen!

All that said, finding a nice harvest of berries is very rewarding, but I do not go out just for that. Last Friday morning , Dan and I went to OUR favorite place. We had to climb a little but it didn’t take long to find countless bushes loaded with berries, more profuse than anyone could gather. Dan stayed in a lower spot to pick while I went uphill a little farther. The morning was warming up, the air was pristine and the sky above the canopy of trees shimmered a summer blue. Insects circled my head and I saw a butterfly flitting light as air onto shaded branches. The only sound was that of individual berries plunking into the bottom of my tin can. I sat down on a fallen log in a thicket amid the huckleberries and picked as far as I could reach.

Pretty soon the plinks turned more solid as the can very slowly filled up. It is definitely not quick or “easy pickins”. My mind stilled in the stillness. God was very nigh for I realized that I was silently praying. I had had a very troubling family situation earlier in the week and was seeking answers. They did come, but not all at once. Little by little, as I moved among the berry bushes, I heard God’s beautiful voice whispering His solutions into my heart. It wasn’t until I was done that the big picture of my situation unfolded. It came to me that perhaps, just perhaps, Almighty God intended the action of picking huckleberries to be slow and deliberate. As I focused on gathering, I was silently seeking Him in my troubles and tarried a while longer with Him in His garden of wild berries.

It is my Huckleberry Prayer .

Tomorrow I am going back out with two friends who haven’t found huckleberries before. Yes, I will share the spot – and probably make them pinky promise to keep it our secret!

For waters will gush forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert. 7 The parched ground will become a pool, the thirsty land springs of water. Isaiah 35:6-7

My friend Diane passed away last week. She’d been diagnosed with cancer last spring but that heartless disease spread through her quickly. For the last month she was on hospice at the care center where I visit residents so I had opportunity to become closer to her in the last weeks.

Diane and her husband Rich attended Mt. Life Church as do Dan and I. We were in the same weekly life group together for about two years when it met in Donnelly so I considered her one of my Christian sisters, one with unshakeable faith. That faith was so evident every time we visited. I never heard her complain, I never heard a cross word to anyone taking care of her. She was grateful and gracious to everyone. I witnessed the absolute blessing of peace which God gives to those who love Him as she did. It is a testimony that many of the long time residents stopped in to see her, prayed for her and grieve her now.

Sometimes as I sat holding her hand, quietly praying or talking, often not knowing what else to do, she indicated she was thirsty and asked for water. I’d help her hold a paper cup or bend the straw of a hospital “sippy cup” for a drink. Near the end even that became harder. The nurses and aids left sponge swabs to dip in water and place in the patients’ mouth to relieve dry mouth and thirst. It was a special privilege I had with Diane the day before she passed way.

Yes, I am sad. Grief is the ongoing result of too many friends who are dying from cancer or other diseases. This part of the journey seems littered with shrapnel. I often ask the Lord, “Why, God. Why is it so hard at the end? Isn’t there something more I could have done to make my friend’s passing easier?” I am looking to make to sense of what God wants of me through her death.

This week while closeted to pray, I was remembering visiting Diane and giving her water with the sponge. She needed that one small mercy. Then, I heard, “This is the most important thing of all. There’s nothing more important. “ It showed me God’s perspective. Those things which we consider as almost inconsequential, ordinary acts, God esteems very differently. In Matthew 25, Jesus warns that we will be judged, not by our words or works but that
…. I was thirsty and you gave me to drink

It is not the magnitude of what we do for Jesus that matters. It is about Him, the living water that quenches every thirst. As Jesus revealed to the Samaritan woman at the well,

… whoever drinks of the water that I will give him shall never thirst; but the water that I will give him will become in him a well of water springing up to eternal life.”John 4:14

One doesn’t have to be in a hospital setting to find the sick and dying. I see a barren world where people are spiritually starving to death and dying of thirst. They are lost and broken and afraid. The enemy has poisoned their souls with the bread of lies and slakes their thirst with fouled water. They don’t even know how they got so lost and as a result, desolation is becoming the normal. In such wilderness, people perish from thirst. You may be the only one who will offer them a cup of “water” which may not even be actual water. It may be the water of forgiveness, acceptance, love or mercy – all done in love in the Name of Jesus.

If my neighbor needs God’s living water for his soul’s salvation, nothing else matters. Additionally, what of my enemy who is even more thirsty than my friend? How large a cup of water does Jesus ask us to give to him?

…a large quantity and variety of something good

My gardens are doing great! Well, mostly that is, considering my domain is on top of a granite hillside and the 24 hour temperature can fluctuate almost 40 degrees AND I don’t have a greenhouse. It’s pretty remarkable that I can garden at all.

So what if the spinach is leggy or if so far the squash blossoms haven’t decided what to do. So what if the eggplants are stunted and the red cabbage looks like lacework. The pole beans are curling around the bamboo supports and setting blooms; beets are finally thriving and there’s more lettuce than we can eat. This year my two cherry tomatoes are taller than I am with hundreds of blooms trying to become sweet 100 tomatoes. I love dashing out the door to harvest something for the table. Gardens are simply miraculous.

If I compare results with friends whose thumbs are greener than mine, who have greenhouses or who generally sprout and produce everything effortlessly, I’d be terribly discouraged. The joy of gardening for me isn’t having bushels full of home grown produce for Dan and me. Frankly, it would be cheaper, easier and less time consuming to buy from local farmers’ markets for what we need. At night, I wouldn’t be groaning with a painful back ache from too much bending over into the dirt.

I am realizing that the harvest from my gardening is quite different. When I imagine a beautiful cornucopia overflowing its bounty, I see:

The blessing of being outside in one of the most beautiful places on the planet where I breathe in clean, fresh air all day, where the sun is bright as gold, where fresh water is available at the turn of a faucet and where the gardens and forest are but hairsbreadth apart.
The exercise I get while gardening which actually keeps me limber and moving about.
The creative freedom to design, plant, replant, uproot as the season needs.
An unshakeable sense of belonging, place and history. All of my family, especially on my mother’s side, were natural gardeners. My grandfathers grew wine grapes, my mother’s hand could grow anything and I plant mountain tomatoes. My children have the same gifting. It is our heritage. In my gardens I am connected to my ancestors and descendants.
Responsibility to nurture what God’s uniquely given me to tend.
God’s presence with me. It is His garden after all. The prayers I pray here are different than the ones I pray in my prayer closet. Outside, I am a child going on a special outing with her Father.
Awareness of miracles. How can one see a seed sprouting in dirt becoming something to eat and not be awestruck? How can one see the patterns in leaves and intricate symmetry of every humble weed head and not worship the God of such perfect designs?
Perfect freedom because the Lord God has set me loose to wander from here to there, like a butterfly sipping nectar from different flowers.
Gratitude for this fruitful season of my life.

This is my “horn of plenty”: God’s abundance pouring out over my life, blessing upon blessing.

But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”…Luke 10:28

When my children were young, one of their favorite television shows was Mr. Rogers Neighborhood. Who can ever forget Fred Rogers, the kindly, cardigan-clad host of the show? He brought to children’s television a humble, healthy personality which simply embraced children to enter his world of ordinary people doing ordinary things in an ordinary neighborhood. He modeled kindness, love, tolerance and acceptance in a way which is sadly lacking in the darkened media world my grand children are now exposed to. (It comes as no surprise that Fred Rogers was also a Presbyterian minister.) He opened every show with a child-like song:

…I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you
I’ve always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you..
Won’t you please. Won’t you please,
Please won’t you be my neighbor…

In today’s vitriolic, divisive and virtue signaling climate, Mr. Rogers’ openness, love and lack of guile seems impossibly idealistic. If today he is an anachronism, we are the ones out of touch.

Jesus’ world was not much different than ours is. His radical gospel teaching about the kingdom of God was constantly challenged by the religious leaders whose narrow legalistic world excluded everyone not like them. In Luke 10:25 ff, Jesus is questioned by a lawyer who wants to trap Him. “What must I do,” he questions the Lord, “to inherit internal life?” It was a loaded question but Jesus turns the tables on him with another question. My paraphrase might be, “You’re the religious legal expert. What does the law say?” The lawyer answered by quoting the Two Great Commandments, given in Deuteronomy and Leviticus: love the Lord your God and love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus tells him he’s answered rightly. “Do this and you will live.”

Then the lawyer tries to justify himself. As a “righteous”, religious, law observant Jew and son of Abraham he assumed the right to inherit eternal life. The original question to Jesus was already settled in his mind. “Well,” he says trying a new tactic, “who is my neighbor? With that, his hardened heart is revealed. He fully understood that the law of Moses required him to love both God and man,to be holy even as God is holy. Scrutinized and caught in the shifting conversation with Jesus, he looked for a legal loophole. How can I tell which neighbor I am to love according to the law? Jesus answers him with the parable of the Good Samaritan wherein a traveler is robbed, beaten badly and left for dead on the road to Jericho. A priest and a Levite see the victim and pass him by, showing no mercy. A despised Samaritan comes, sees the half dead man and has compassion. He cares for him and then provides for him. In fact his care is lavish – treating his wounds with wine and oil, probably wrapping him up in a robe and placing him on his own donkey. He takes him to an inn for better care and pays the inn keeper an extravagant two denarii, the equivalent of two months’ wages. He promises to return and repay additional expenses. The contrast between the religious Jews and the Samaritan can’t be overstated.

Jesus continues probing the lawyer, “Who then is the neighbor to the one fallen among thieves?” I can only imagine the lawyer’s quandary. The answer is obvious and he is forced to admit: “He who showed mercy on him.” Jesus’ parable convicts the man but the Lord offers mercy not condemnation. Go and do likewise, he commands.

What has happened in this story? How did the conversation get away from this knowledgeable, intelligent legal expert who must have left with his head spinning, wondering how he, not Jesus ended up being tested? For the question at the end of the dialogue was not “Who is my neighbor?”, but “What kind of neighbor are you.?” Do you love your neighbor as yourself?

This is how. Be a neighbor just like this Samaritan whom you despise. Open your eyes to see. Go to the one who is sick, dying, hurt, in trouble and needs you. Have compassion. Get personally involved. Offer hope. Heal his wounds and bring him to more help. Check back with him. Don’t treat someone cheaply with band aids, but lavish care even when it costs you time, finances, and tests your ways of thinking. Do not judge. Love God. Love your neighbor. Every person, especially your enemies. All the time. In every place and situation.

Welcome to Jesus’ neighborhood!

My summer garden is one of my greatest joys. The hot weather finally came to wake up the veggies and to flourish. In one raised bed the strawberries stand almost a foot high, thanks to the special fertilizer my friend Benny recommended. I’ve never seen them with more blooms and I can’t wait for them to ripen. Red, sweet, naturally ripe berries can’t be surpassed for flavor. But alas, just as they mature and ripen – the enemy sneaks in and takes one little bite out of each berry and ruins them all. I’m talking about “not so cute” little chipmunks, those pesky critters which manage to squeeze through every cover or net protection I’ve devised for the strawberries.

This year I was not going to lose the battle to the invaders so I decided to build a wire mesh cage to cover the raised bed. There were lots of photos and instructions via Google to go by. How hard could it be? After all, my father was a very gifted woodworker and if he never actually taught me his craft, well, I knew some paternal sawdust must have rubbed off on me. I enlisted my faithful, if reluctant garden companion Dan, to help me with the project. We bought wood, varnish and special screws. We bought a lot of hardware cloth. Dan, the lawyer, had all the power tools for cutting, drilling and setting screws for the frame while I, ever the teacher, stood nearby with lots of ready advice. It took both of us to wrestle the nasty edged wire cloth onto the frame without slicing our skin and staple it on. Roll number one covered less than ½ the frame so it was back to the store for more. Roll number two didn’t quite make it either and left one side of the cube exposed. Now C&M Lumber Co. has become my favorite place to shop but I just refused to go back again. These were going to be very expensive strawberries. Nor would I admit that perhaps I should have used some high school geometry to figure out the area of this five sided cube and thus, buy the right amount.

Not to worry, my hubby said. We’ll piece it from the mesh scraps we cut off. And piece it he did with exactly the right amount of mesh to finish the cage. However, there was a problem: the piecing left overlapping spaces large enough for any determined rodent to get through. Dan came up with an elaborate solution of more wood bracing under the mesh and lots more staples, but after three days of this project, he was tired of messing around. We’ll finish tomorrow, he promised. Uh, Uh, I thought so close to victory. I found a box of plastic zip ties, threaded a dozen of them through the overlapping mesh and zipped the spaces shut. It was done. It fits almost perfectly onto the raised bed with no gaps or holes . It isn’t pretty or professional with all those white plastic nubbies sticking out, but I do believe I am now smarter than a chipmunk. Well, we’ll at least test that premise as the strawberries come on.

As in the natural so in the spiritual. There is a lesson here. How often do we come to the Lord with our problems asking Him for help but limiting His power in us. We know He is more than able to supply us with every need. He is the Source and He is the Solution but then we stick our hands into our own messes. We’re like unfinished cubes which God is creating. We need His covering and protection from the elements, from enemies great and small. But too often we ask God for barely enough. We want to see His work in us through our eyes, our materials, our workmanship, not His. Worse, we take over the crisis or problem or sickness and, thus, never even ask what greater measure God has for us to to finish well. We keep having to go back over and over to the Christ’s “Heavenly Hardware Supplies” for just one more thing, barely enough for the quick fix and forget that God offers infinitely more than enough. When we try to piece ourselves together from life’s scraps and leftovers, we’re left with zip tie solutions.

We do not serve a Zip Tie God! We serve a God of infinite resources, limitless power, perfect plan and unquenchable love. Wouldn’t it be simpler to allow God to finish His perfect work perfectly in us?

Galatians 5:1 For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.

A few days ago we Americans celebrated Independence Day, our country’s 243rd birthday. Nationally, in Washington D.C. President Trump officiated at a not- to- be -missed Celebration of America in front of the Lincoln Memorial and honored this country’s history and its military sacrifices for our freedom. A crowd of thousands overflowed both sides of the National Mall’s Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool from the Washington Monument to the President’s platform. I admit to choking up more than once at the patriotic display because I felt deep gratitude for all the freedoms I am blessed with. As for all the grumpy pants naysayers whose cold hearts found nothing to celebrate on this Fourth of July, I ask, “Have you not read in that Declaration of Independence that “we hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, that among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Do you not know the freedoms you twist and mock were given not by human authority, but ordained by Divine Providence? “

More and more, we see our American freedoms being challenged and threatened. The good news is that Christian life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness is not dependent on any declaration of man. As messengers of the Gospel we are grounded entirely and only in Christ, in Biblical truths. The inalienable rights of Christians for Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness are ours only in so far as we’re surrendered to Jesus. As such, they are radically different from the world’s viewpoint.

LIFE: Life for the Christian is not found through political constructs, philosophies or principles. Life for the Christian is in a Person who is Jesus Christ. If you want to know what that life can be like, listen to the Lord’s instructions.

It is a blessed life of truth, direction, blessedness and purpose. He said that I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. He also said in John 10:10 “the thief comes to steal, kill and destroy but I have come to that they may have life abundantly.”

It is a life of dependence, not independence. John 15:5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.

It is a life of faith in Christ and not our own efforts. Ephesians 2:8-9 For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.

It is a life of rest, not toil. Matthew 11:28 Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from Me; for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your souls.

It is a life freely submitted under God’s authority. It is a Life of relationship with God, seeking, asking and finding Him, the One Who is waiting to be found. Jeremiah 29:13 You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

It is an eternal life in the Spirit as adopted children of God. Romans 8:15 For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!”

It is a life as citizens of heaven ruled by the One to whom every knee will bow and declare Jesus as Lord.
Philippians 3:20 20-21 But our citizenship is in heaven, and we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables Him to subject all things to Himself, will transform our lowly bodies to be like His glorious body.…
Philippians 2:10 …at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth,

The blessing of natural life set forth in the Declaration of Independence are extraordinary gifts, but as clay compared to the glorious gold of Christ’s life in us. There is no life on earth greater than the life of Christ we receive when we are reborn in Him.

Oh, give thanks to the Lord for He is good! For His mercy endures forever. Psalm 136:1

How amazingly God chooses to speak to us! Often a single word or phrase in the Bible is repeated in different contexts, drawing attention to itself. I call it “the Holy Ghost highlighter.” Recently, such was the word endure or endurance. It is the Greek hupomeno which means to “abide, remain or await under another, not with resignation but with strength and hope.”

I have had to wrestle with Psalm 136 which praises God’s enduring mercy while at the same time describing God’s destruction of Israel’s enemies. The psalmist calls Israel to remember God’s goodness 26 specific times in its historical relationship with God, each time acknowledging that “His mercy endures forever.” Some texts change mercy to “ love, goodness, loving kindness, faithful love and steadfastness.” It raised for me the question non believers ask. How can God be loving and merciful while also showing His wrath and judgment? Thankfully, I learned that the translation, “mercy” is far from complete. The original Hebrew word for our English mercy is chesed which describes God’s covenant relationship with Israel for mercy, protection and provision. It describes the covenant nature and character of God which is far greater, more inclusive and inexplicable in mercy, love, faithfulness, gracious kindness and steadfastness than the translations express. God’s divine chesed is not constrained in any way, but endures (abides) everlastingly and eternally. The Aramaic Bible version says it so well.

“Give thanks to Lord Jehova because he is good and his mercies are to eternity.”

To better understand how God’s chesed endures, consider the layered meanings of endure. The first is “to last indefinitely, to go on existing.” For example, we can say Christian civilization has endured (or lasted) for 2,000 years. In that sense God’s mercy endures forever because God is not constrained by human time. He is the same yesterday today and tomorrow and He does not change. Therefore, His chesed as well as every other divine attribute has and will endure to the end and beyond our world. In this sense, God’s mercy to Israel – and ultimately to us – will never cease, if we remain in His covenant. The promise of enduring chesed is received only through agreement with God’s terms – which are obedience and love.

One meaning speaks directly about God’s merciful endurance. It is to tolerate. Do we not all know people we endure and tolerate for one reason or another? Perhaps a plainly weird relative whom we have to put up with? A loved one with contrary world views. A ministry co-laborer who drives us crazy, but since he’s a brother and she’s a sister, we patiently endure because of love?

God repeatedly showed this kind of endurance to Israel. Each time they rebelled, went after idols or succumbed to the pagan cultures they lived in, “His mercy endured (them) forever.” God never gave up on His chosen people. The essence of the psalm is to remind Israel of God’s goodness in the past and His mercy which does not run out on His children. He eternally endures us exactly because we can never fully endure (bear) the weight of His Holiness.

Another meaning of endure is associated with pain, suffering and trials. The original Greek root word was to bear up under a weight and be strengthened and thus, implies patience, forebearance and not giving up under pressure. It’s more than mere coping. If we know someone who suffers from cancer that kind of endurance is often what we remember most. Jesus taught his disciples that they must endure all manner of trials and persecutions. Likewise, we are not to give up under pressure and in fact are perfected by endurance.

But the person who endures to the end will be saved. Matthew: 23:13
… And let endurance have its perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1:4

In this age of prophesied persecutions, trials and even physical suffering, we’re being called to a higher standard of both mercy and endurance which is possible only through Jesus. It is under His new covenant that we must faithfully abide. It is through the Cross alone that we receive the Father’s chesed. It is through the Holy Spirit that we are

… strengthened with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness; Colossians 1:11

… Blessed is a man who perseveres under trial; for once he has been approved, he will receive the crown of life which the Lord has promised to those who love Him. James 1:12

What then is the Psalm we sing to Christ who restored us to the Father’s mercy and who endured all for our eternal salvation? Oh, give thanks to the Lord of lords, for His mercy endures forever!

May we never lose our wonder!

The sunset was spectacular! A series of mini thunderstorms rolled northward as we drove from Weiser and Midvale, so the sky was swollen with fat, shifting clouds. Then as the sun began its descent, the hillsides surrounding the valleys became swathed in shades of purple, rose pink, and pale lavender. I thought of the line from America the Beautiful , “Oh, purple mountains majesty, above the fruited plain.” It was on display right before me. The skyscape changed very quickly. A last burst of sunlight spread through the clouds like a river of molten gold. I couldn’t quit gawking out the window, trying to hold on to the spectacle all around us. And then it changed again . The sun dropped down behind the hills and set the clouds and sky and far hills on fire: flame red, orange streaked with teal, yellow and deepening blue. “Awesome,” I thought. Wunderbar! I felt overwhelmed because I don’t have enough words for “exquisite.”I wanted to paint.

Once when my parents were here to visit, Dan brought my mother outside on the driveway on a clear summer night to see the stars. Mom lived in New York, on Long Island where the sky is obscured by smog, power lines, trees, building and roof tops. She stood outside in the dark with Dan and me in awe of the countless stars canopied above her. “I never knew… so many stars,” she said.

It seems that in this time and culture we’ve forgotten how to be awed by beauty. When was the last time that you could not speak because something beyond BIG took your breath away? When was the last time I really noticed all the shades of green in the forest outside my windows? When was the last time we realized, “I never knew… so much …” We who live surrounded by majestic purple mountains and clear rivers and skies so clear they catch the fire of the sun should never become jaded by taking things for granted. The danger of “ho hum, just another day” is that pretty soon we’re blind or worse, we no longer care. If the billions of stars on a summer night don’t stir up awe in our souls and a longing to thank, praise and worship God, we may as well live shut up in a concrete bunker or be like ostriches seeing only piles of sand.

I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? Psalm 121:1

The psalmist is describing pilgrims heading toward Jerusalem for worship. We also need to literally look up to the hills where all our help comes from. It comes from the Lord, the Creator of all things beautiful in the heavens and on earth – and of us. He created us in beauty, for beauty to draw us to Himself, full of wonder and awe!