From The Sheep Pen

“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Isaiah 55:1

On this Thanksgiving, I am especially grateful for one of God’s gifts to me. I am able to write again. The last months have been a long, frustrating season because of a chronic health problem I’ve been struggling with. Physically, I’ve often been too tired to do much more than what is necessary and concentrating, let alone writing anything of “good value”, was simply too difficult. At another time, I might share what the Lord has taught me through this trial, but today I am simply happy to pick up my pen (computer style) and go forward.

Today families and friends gather at the table to share a Thanksgiving meal. If your house is like mine, there are too many dishes to even fit on the table because everyone wants his or her own favorite traditional casserole or potato side. The piece de resistance, a perfectly roasted turkey, never even makes it to the table until it is deboned, sliced, and carved up. After dinner, after eating ourselves into an uncomfortable bloat, we might relax a bit until the next stage of the meal – the desserts – and find there is still enough room to taste a little from all four pies! Does this sound familiar?

Somewhere in all of this feasting, we remember why we’ve gathered: to thank God for all of His blessings. How can we not be grateful seated around the groaning table prepared before us? We remember our nation’s Pilgrim ancestors, why they came to America and their near starvation but for the generosity of native peoples who helped them through the first hard winters. We remember to also thank the hands that make possible the meal, from the planting of the field to the harvesting and processing of food now spread out on the table like a cornucopia. Today we consciously remember that we are a blessed people and gather in thanksgiving.

Today I think of another table which David describes in Psalm 23, verse 4:
You have prepared a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

How often have I heard the Twenty-third Psalm without really listening or understanding? In this beautiful psalm about the Shepherd and the sheep, it is the LORD who prepares the table. Imagine for a moment what a table that must be! What does God, the Almighty and Holy Creator, offer us upon this table? Is it set with silver and crystal, with precious china and costly linen? What abundance of riches does God prepare for His servant David on this mountain top feast? For you and for me?
But as it is written: “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, Nor have entered into the heart of man The things which God has prepared for those who love Him.” 1. Corinthians 2:9

The table of which I speak is the Table of Redemption, one’s acceptance of Jesus as Lord and Savior through which comes the invitation for healing, restoration and peace with God.
If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. Romans 10:9

It is the Table of Victory over death and the grave won by the Lord Jesus.
. …When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come to pass: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.” 55“Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting? 1. Corinthians 15:55.

It is the Table of Promise and Provision as God remind us of all that He has done and all that He will do.
I am the LORD your God, who brought you up out of Egypt. Open wide your mouth, and I will fill it. Psalm 81:10

It is the Table of Intimacy, a table prepared for just one person, you, the sheep of God’s pasture. The invitation from the Lord of Hosts is personal and individual. The setting is private and intimate wherein God decrees that your enemy, the devil, must watch from the other side, forever denied and forever vanquished.

It is the Table of Presence. God wants your undivided attention so He can bring His full Presence to the table for you.

It is the Table of the New and everlasting Covenant, prophesied in the Old Testament by David and renewed by Jesus at the Last Supper.
And He said to them, “This is My blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many. Mark 14:24.

It is the Table of Thanksgiving. I am happy to sit with my family today as we enjoy the meal which we prepared together, to say grace and remember our blessings. But I long to run to this other table with all my heart. The invitation is for everyone. If you are a sheep, you qualify. Allow God to prepare a table for two, just you and He together. Come just as you are; stay as long as you like, the Lord’s in no hurry. Come back as often as you want. Speak with Him intimately. Open your heart to His love and goodness. Raise the cup of salvation and be thankful. Receive everything beautiful He has prepared just for you.

Praise the Lord, O my soul!
While I live I will praise the Lord. Psalm 146:1

I just came back from an evening walk. It is a beautiful Sunday evening with the warmth of summer lingering on even as the days are getting shorter. Dusk comes much earlier and already at this hour darkness blankets the trees. It is a good evening for praise.

Our pastor gave a rousing message today on praising God as our worship. In his (Pastor’s) animated way, he challenged us to “Hallelujah” just as it is described and meant in the Bible , that is with total abandonment to the Lord and with the exuberance of a David. And charismatic believers! Admittedly, this is very difficult for me. By nature, I’m reserved and prone to introspection. Literally “Shouting to the Lord” is pretty far out of my comfort zone , but then again, since when is worshiping the universe’s Creator, the King of Kings and Lord of Hosts, the Alpha and Omega of all things, supposed to be cozy? I would like to get out of my comfy, super –stuffed- recliner-worship chair and throw all praise and worship inhibitions to the wind. I might even imagine myself dancing a little – (at least safely around my usual church seat). However, alas, it would not be me, but me imitating someone else.

But, I can bring to the Lord those gifts which He has blessed me with. And so with the inspiration of the Psalms, I offer this, my Sunday evening praise to God:

Praise the LORD! Praise Him in the highest. Praise God above all else in heaven or on earth. Praise Him who is above all princes and kings. Greater are you, Lord, than all together those who ever rose to the heights of power. Praise Him with crashing cymbals and with silent beating of your heart. Give praise to the Lord with songs for He is good and He is merciful forever. Praise God’s indescribable majesty and wondrous works. Praise the Lord of righteousness. Praise the Prince of Peace. Give praise to Holy Spirit, the Comforter and Counselor.

You are enthroned in beauty and wonder. How can I worship You enough? You are and were and always will be. The fear of You, Lord God, brings wisdom and humility. How vast and indescribable is Your love poured out on us in Your Son, Jesus. Your Spirit is the breath of my life. Your Word is my soul’s delight. You are more than my mind can fathom to even praise you enough.

Thank you for the gift of worshiping You, Oh God! How lovely it is to spend time with You in praise. Your praise is a joy to my soul. Let the stirrings of my heart and the words of my mouth be an evening song to You and bless Your Heart. I honor You, Father, and love You more than life. Thank you for all Your benefits to me. Thank you that You are full of compassion and great in mercy. Thank you for every blessing, for every mountain height and shadowed valley You have walked through with me. Great is Your faithfulness, Oh Lord. Great is Your Name. I will bless the Name of the Lord tonight and tomorrow morning and always. Hallelu-jah!

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.