Spilling Sugar
This morning I read and studied a verse in Psalm. I LOVE how the Holy Spirit can take part of one verse, dissect it in my mind, bring to mind a song, then make a heart's prayer for the day...that then comes to life in the literal...
Psalm 68:9b "you refreshed your weary inheritance"
refreshed = filled up
weary = tired (and oh how I was at 6 in the morning...and it's not better at night either...after hours of homework with kids)
inheritance = children
As I probably say in any blog I post, I feel like I have little or no memory. That's why it's an act of God that I can read this
...then think of "spirit of the living God, fall fresh on me...melt me, mold me, fill me, use me"
...then think of "my cup runneth over" (Psalm 23 in KJV...because I was that little when I learned it)
...then pray "God, fill me with all I need for this day...and fill me so full that your love runneth over. Make me spill for you today."
On with the day I went. Tired during Bible study, but filled up and ready to take on what was ahead.
My prayer became literal...
...coffee usually necessary during work
...grabbed a cup and decided to pour a tiny bit of sugar into my coffee (even though I haven't been eating sugar)
...lid is unscrewed and a significantly more than tiny amount spilled out
...took a sip...tastes like syrup...yummy syrup flavored with a bit of coffee...would be such a waste to pitch it
...get high on sugar and coffee...the shakes possibly not worth it...and the mere fact that I could have danced on the ceiling at any moment (not a good thing for orientation...welcoming adult students to the Learn More Center on their first day...would be a bit scary)
...all worth what God said to me in it all
I AM FILLING YOU WITH SUGAR...SWEETNESS...KINDNESS. LET IT SPILL!
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Remember Your Baptism
Remember Your Baptism
I read a post today with that title. Reading a plethora of posts today. Never done that before. Feeling encouraged, inspired, moved, and convicted.
Encouraged at the similarly difficult stories of adoption, the angst of why there is suffering in the world, etc. Doesn't sound encouraging, but it is...to see how others process through these things...to see we're not alone in the wondering and wandering.
Inspired at lives that are changed, how God heals, how God loves, and that He offers it to everyone He has wonderfully created.
Moved to actually write something...because I only get to it every once in a GREAT while. How wonderful the written word is. It helps us remember. Have been enlightened recently in Jen Hatmaker's Bible study book that God wants us to write...that's evident in the writing of the Bible. He could have miraculously written the Bible on stone tablets, as He did the 10 Commandments, but He didn't. He chose the messy lives of people and their God-inspired written words to speak to us. We know and remember and can live accordingly because they wrote.
Convicted to remember my baptism. Oh, how my memory seems to be quickly failing. But it's NOT. I have memory. I just don't take the time to jog it. Literal jogging really hurts my knees....maybe I'm afraid that mental jogging will hurt my head...that I'll have to try to hard and end up with a piercing headache (hate those!). But as I let my mind go there, asking the Holy Spirit to remind me, I remember what I was wearing...dark brown polyester pants and a brown plaidish button-down shirt. I believe it was all under a white robe, but don't actually remember that for sure. I remember going to my knees in the water, kneeling on something that wasn't supposed to be there (piece of tree stump wood or something), going under "in the name of the Father" and losing my balance...trying to swim so that I didn't go under for the wrong reason...losing my balance (maybe I wasn't really thinking all that then...but it sounds good)...probably swimming out of sheer survival to save my life. The day was COLD. The water in the Eel River behind the German Baptist Church in N. Manchester was COLD. I remember Aunt Rosie being there afterward and giving me a Precious Moments book. I remember studying the Fruit of the Spirit with Pastor Archie Nevens before I ever got baptized. Appreciate the discipleship. So, I'm not sure that I remember much that's significant. I DO remember the moment I asked Jesus into my heart, declaring that I was a sinner in need of a Savior and I was ready to love Him deeper and live for Him. Camp Shipshewana, summer between 2nd and 3rd grade, sitting on my counselor's bed (Joni Robinson) in a circle with other wee girls. I'm sure it was a Thurs. night because that was "Salvation Night" back then...a compelling testimony at campfire and the movement of the Holy Spirit within the listeners. Truly, even though the night was "planned", the Holy Spirit showed up. I was captured by God's grace, movement, and love. Have been captured ever since. My baptism was the public display of that capture and commitment. I don't remember losing my breath that day (although I'm sure I did literally from the chill of the day) but I nearly lose my breath now, amazed that God got me at a young age, grateful for a journey with Him ever since, and awed by the ways He reminds me that I'm baptized...or IN HIM. Following are meaningful parts of the post I read this morning...just beautiful!
"I could not remember the bursting forth from the water, gasping for air, as I was raised to walk with newness of life, the grand moment of mirrored resurrection.
Remember your baptism. I couldn’t.
But then, I still don’t, of course, even though I am twice-dunked. I forget my baptism all the time, when I extend selfishness instead of the gift of presence, when I turn a sharp word against my neighbor instead of a loving gesture (or worse), when I deny Christ before even the first rooster-crow, when I am convinced that death will overtake me and will triumph over everything else, too.
I (along with others) wonder if remember your baptism is more about remembering you are baptized, than recalling the sprinkling on your head or your white robe sticking to your swimsuit. Maybe we must undergo conversion, baptism, resurrection every day. Every. Day. We must remind ourselves what it means to live as a baptized person. There may be no priest or pastor or river or swimming pool or font, and on mornings when I’m running late for the bus, there might not even be water.
But we are undone and remade, again and again, small and slow–without the satisfaction of grandeur." by Antonia Terrazas
I read a post today with that title. Reading a plethora of posts today. Never done that before. Feeling encouraged, inspired, moved, and convicted.
Encouraged at the similarly difficult stories of adoption, the angst of why there is suffering in the world, etc. Doesn't sound encouraging, but it is...to see how others process through these things...to see we're not alone in the wondering and wandering.
Inspired at lives that are changed, how God heals, how God loves, and that He offers it to everyone He has wonderfully created.
Moved to actually write something...because I only get to it every once in a GREAT while. How wonderful the written word is. It helps us remember. Have been enlightened recently in Jen Hatmaker's Bible study book that God wants us to write...that's evident in the writing of the Bible. He could have miraculously written the Bible on stone tablets, as He did the 10 Commandments, but He didn't. He chose the messy lives of people and their God-inspired written words to speak to us. We know and remember and can live accordingly because they wrote.
Convicted to remember my baptism. Oh, how my memory seems to be quickly failing. But it's NOT. I have memory. I just don't take the time to jog it. Literal jogging really hurts my knees....maybe I'm afraid that mental jogging will hurt my head...that I'll have to try to hard and end up with a piercing headache (hate those!). But as I let my mind go there, asking the Holy Spirit to remind me, I remember what I was wearing...dark brown polyester pants and a brown plaidish button-down shirt. I believe it was all under a white robe, but don't actually remember that for sure. I remember going to my knees in the water, kneeling on something that wasn't supposed to be there (piece of tree stump wood or something), going under "in the name of the Father" and losing my balance...trying to swim so that I didn't go under for the wrong reason...losing my balance (maybe I wasn't really thinking all that then...but it sounds good)...probably swimming out of sheer survival to save my life. The day was COLD. The water in the Eel River behind the German Baptist Church in N. Manchester was COLD. I remember Aunt Rosie being there afterward and giving me a Precious Moments book. I remember studying the Fruit of the Spirit with Pastor Archie Nevens before I ever got baptized. Appreciate the discipleship. So, I'm not sure that I remember much that's significant. I DO remember the moment I asked Jesus into my heart, declaring that I was a sinner in need of a Savior and I was ready to love Him deeper and live for Him. Camp Shipshewana, summer between 2nd and 3rd grade, sitting on my counselor's bed (Joni Robinson) in a circle with other wee girls. I'm sure it was a Thurs. night because that was "Salvation Night" back then...a compelling testimony at campfire and the movement of the Holy Spirit within the listeners. Truly, even though the night was "planned", the Holy Spirit showed up. I was captured by God's grace, movement, and love. Have been captured ever since. My baptism was the public display of that capture and commitment. I don't remember losing my breath that day (although I'm sure I did literally from the chill of the day) but I nearly lose my breath now, amazed that God got me at a young age, grateful for a journey with Him ever since, and awed by the ways He reminds me that I'm baptized...or IN HIM. Following are meaningful parts of the post I read this morning...just beautiful!
"I could not remember the bursting forth from the water, gasping for air, as I was raised to walk with newness of life, the grand moment of mirrored resurrection.
Remember your baptism. I couldn’t.
But then, I still don’t, of course, even though I am twice-dunked. I forget my baptism all the time, when I extend selfishness instead of the gift of presence, when I turn a sharp word against my neighbor instead of a loving gesture (or worse), when I deny Christ before even the first rooster-crow, when I am convinced that death will overtake me and will triumph over everything else, too.
I (along with others) wonder if remember your baptism is more about remembering you are baptized, than recalling the sprinkling on your head or your white robe sticking to your swimsuit. Maybe we must undergo conversion, baptism, resurrection every day. Every. Day. We must remind ourselves what it means to live as a baptized person. There may be no priest or pastor or river or swimming pool or font, and on mornings when I’m running late for the bus, there might not even be water.
But we are undone and remade, again and again, small and slow–without the satisfaction of grandeur." by Antonia Terrazas
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