Category Archives: living God’s truth

lunch money

lunch money

“And my God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:19).


What do you do when your kids ask you for lunch money? When those slips of paper come home from school announcing the menu choices for the upcoming week, and you’re forced to make a decision as to which “days” merit your $3.50? Do you, like me, scramble for change all the while grumbling about inflated lunch prices and how your child will likely drink the chocolate milk and nothing else?

What do you do when your neighbor comes asking for lunch money? Literally.

Mine did today; not because he didn’t have money to purchase his own lunch, but rather because we insisted that he did … ask us for something.

You see, our neighbor is a mechanic who works exclusively on Nissan vehicles. When we moved into the parsonage six years ago and noticed that Dr. John’s Auto Clinic would be sharing a fence with us, we had no inclination of how this would prove providential and beneficial to us over the years. He’s been a “saving grace” for our vehicles. He was again this morning.

The car wouldn’t start, and Dr. John was called to the rescue. He arrived on the job early; around the fence he came, with tools in hand, knowing that our car wouldn’t budge from its current state of rest. We feared the worst. He warned us last evening of the most probable cause behind the car’s refusal to start… something about a hydraulic pump “something or something” and an uncooperative clutch.

But an hour later, our “something and something” was fixed by flushing out the old hydraulic fluid and replacing it with some new. Our neighbor asked for nothing in return. When my husband insisted, he simply requested lunch money. My husband handed him a twenty dollar bill, and Dr. John asked him if he wanted some change.

Can you even imagine?

Lunch money, friends, in exchange for the provision from God’s great storehouses of riches. It couldn’t have come at a better time; I am profoundly grateful for the gift and humbled by the ways in which God continually arrives on the scene of my life to remind me of his watchful care on my behalf.

Every day and in incalculable ways, our God shows up to show us his “God-ness”. We aren’t always privy to his arrival. In fact, most of us miss it. Why? Because we’re too busy scrambling for change in the crevices and hidden places of our daily life instead of looking up toward the open and spacious places best reserved for his sacred grandeur.

Wide and long and high and deep. That is exactly how far our Father travels to get our attention and to lavish his love upon us. To flush out our “old” and replace it with his “new”. The simplicity and the complexity of it all still stuns me and leaves me speechless. Well, almost.

Look up this day, my kindred pilgrims, and see his kingdom come. His will be done. On earth, even as it has so beautifully been done in heaven.

As always,

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PS: Another satisfied customer; he made me include this…

Growing up Solid

“We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.” (Hebrews 5:11-14).

The riding lawn mower quit working recently. Apparently, grounded tree limbs and freeway driving speeds over top of said tree limbs don’t make for a good mix. I’m not surprised by the breakdown. I’m only surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

After a few days at the shop and a costly repair, I informed the “lawn mowers” in my household that mowers and sticks don’t mix; they nodded their understanding. It didn’t sink in; not fully. For just the other day, the “lawn mower” man was at it again, driving like Mario Andretti, all the while crunching and munching the remnants from a recent storm beneath the blades of the newly renovated mower. When I confronted him about the issue, he looked at me with all sincerity and ease and simply replied…

“Mom, I don’t do sticks.”

My immediate response to him?

“Son, that is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You don’t do sticks? Are you kidding me? How old are you?

I’ll spare you the rest of the details. Your imagination is ample enough to create a fairly clear picture of just how it all went down.

I’ve raised two impatient sons as it pertains to the “doing” of the rudimentary tasks of daily living, which includes anything that doesn’t make their list of “how a young man should be spending his time.” And while they’ve always been willing to comply with these daily chores (and to their credit, with little grumbling alongside), the rules of engagement for accomplishing the tasks share one common denominator.

The faster the better. The sooner it’s done, the sooner the fun. Sometimes it works out that way; sometimes it doesn’t. They are both finding out via personal experience that faster isn’t always the best route for progress. That speeding through life sometimes presents them with a yield—a pause that forces them to grapple with their impatience and their choice to either “grow up” in this area or to keep returning to the bottle of their infancy.

As it goes with them, so it goes with me. There are seasons in my life when the pressure to mature burdens me with the responsibility of having to make a choice along those lines. In the days of my youth, I couldn’t wait to be older; at least then I would be in control of my decisions.

I was right; I’m now in control of my decisions, but there are times when the comfort of a little milk and a warm blanket are tempting. Times when I wish I could revert to the cradle and leave all the decisions up to someone else. Times when I, like my sons, say dumb things to others and to God, in hopes that my words make sense, but all the while knowing that they don’t. That they are offensive to the ears of those on the receiving end.

Unreasonable words. Thoughts based on emotion rather than truth. Casual statements issuing forth from a place of unbelief, fear, and selfishness. Justifications that aren’t thought out but, rather, are based on inconsistent sentiment that shrouds my flesh in self-interest.

I spoke as much to God this morning.

“Where are you God?”
“I think you’ve forgotten about me.”
“Could you just hurry up with the answer?”
“Is there really any point to this day?”
“I imagine that this is about as good as it’s going to get, so I’d better get up and get it over with.”

Yammering unbelief like that, on and on for a few moments, only to be quickly followed up by my confession.

“I’m sorry God. That was really a dumb thing to say.”

And then I laughed; and then he did. And thus, the conversation was opened up for a better word; a truer truth; a love and a grace that exceeds my stupidity to say,

“Now that we’ve cleared that up, elaine, let’s move on to some solid food.”

It’s time to move on with some solid food, my friends. Our maturing doesn’t happen overnight or with a quick ride around the lawn. Our “growing up” in the faith takes time … takes a willingness on our parts to bend to the menial tasks of picking up sticks and slowing our pace. Of entreating the pauses that find us, whether forced upon us by others or freely chosen by us because we’ve come to the conclusion that faster doesn’t always yield better. That solid food requires a longer chew.

And that chewing can, in fact, bring pleasure to the process of our becoming.

How about you? What excuses are you bringing to the table of grace today? What could you possibly offer up to our God as a justification for your staying as you are? What bottle of milk tastes better than a steak? What questions could you ask him that remain without answers? What elementary understanding stifles your “gettin’ on with the gettin’ on” as it pertains to your faith journey?

Can this mother’s heart be honest?

It’s time to grow up. Time to slow down and sit with Father God and listen to what he has to say. Why? Because if we don’t, we risk a lifetime of infancy, never tasting the freedom and joy that comes with moving onto our maturity in Christ. Jesus didn’t go all the way to the cross and back so that we could stay as we are; he made that journey so that we could become a living conduit of his kingdom and his grace.

And that kind of sacred consecration and calling, my friends, deserves more than our menial attempts at maturity. Kingdom bestowment deserves our unparalleled obedience and humble willingness to grow into our crowns and to be thankful for the grace it has taken to make them a worthy fit.

Leave the bottles for the infants and keep to the table of rich meats this week. I’ll meet you at the table of grace where the food is solid and the communion is ever sweet. As always,

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A Sacred Exchange

“Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.” (John 4:15).

Where is your “here”? The well you return to, time and again, in order to quench your insatiable thirst? What “deep and dark” cavernous hole beckons your ladle and, therefore, your strength with empty promises of lasting fulfillment?

These are the questions that linger in my heart this day. My friend, Lisa, has challenged me to visit them … to be a “lady on a mission from the inside-out: lay it down seven day challenge” (LOAM). Several of us have answered the call for intentional discipleship with the Lord; not with man, or in this case, with several women, but rather with him. On our faces, before his face, with his Word and the prayers of our heart as our guide.

Lisa is prompting the daily retreat by an offering of prayer and Scripture readings for reflection. This morning’s reading led me to few verses from John 4. I was compelled to read more. A familiar story about a Savior whose thirst led him to a well in Samaria and a woman whose thirst kept her there until understanding arrived and she presented, what I believe to be, one of the purest offerings we can make to our Lord.

An exchange.

Her ladle for God’s water. Her strength and daily “labor” for God’s strength and abundant overflow. Her sin for God’s grace. Her temporal for God’s eternal.

“Sir, give me this water so that I won’t get thirsty and have to keep coming here to draw water.”

And with that offering, Father God reaches down, deep down into his personal storehouse of eternal love and lavishly pours his own offering of excess into her empty cup.

Living water. A wellspring of holy consecration flowing in and out of her with headwaters issuing forth from the Spirit of the Living God who decided that she was an appropriate dwelling for his holy presence. He’s made the same offer to each one of us.

“Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John4:13).

So again, I ask you the same question I’m asking of myself this day. Where is your “here”? Where does your thirst lead you? To a man-made well that is deep and dark, sapping your strength every time you notice your thirst? Or, to a God-made well that is amply filled to overflow so that strength can be given to you rather than taken in equal measure from you?

The journey to God’s well is a simple walk; it doesn’t require the heat of the day so as to hide you from the shame of your sin. You can make that pilgrimage in the quiet of your own room, in your own way where the only “eyes” on you are the ones belonging to your Savior. He’s been waiting for you and the refreshment you will bring him because of your obedience to come and sit with him.

Yes, our Father is refreshed by our presence. It’s part of the exchange.

Living water from the living Word … loving worship of the living God.

Sacred intimacy at the deepest level. May your heart know the value and the beauty of such a sacred exchange this day. As always…

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Walking My Way to Worship


“Thinking he was the gardener, she said, ‘Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will get him.’ Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’ She turned toward him and cried out in Aramaic, ‘Rabboni!’ (which means Teacher). Jesus said, ‘Do not hold on to me, for I have not yet returned o the Father.’” (John 20:15-17).

Tonight I walked my way to worship.

I could have run there, but if you lived where I live you’d understand the reasons behind my walking. It’s hot here. Finding an ounce of desire for the pavement beneath my feet in this type of inclement weather is a difficult obedience. But does that mean I shouldn’t try … shouldn’t step out into the day’s sweltering confinement in hopes of finding a few minutes of solitude with my King?

Not at all. If “heat” was an ample excuse for my not moving outside the comforts of my air-conditioned life, my flesh and my faith would have long since grown stale with neglect. Heat doesn’t warrant my complacency. Heat simply requires I step up my will in the matter. It means I choose to walk it through on days when I’d rather stay inside. Staying inside keeps me as I am. Moving beyond the parameters of my comfort forces the issue of my growth.

Thus, I laced up my shoes and headed outdoors this evening to walk with Jesus. He met me there. He always does. I don’t know why it’s easier for me to find him on the road rather than other places in my life. Perhaps because I’ve grown to expect him there. Perhaps because he’s grown to expect me. Either way, when my obedience melds with his presence, sacred ground is walked. It is the purest form of worship I know.

Worship. A big word; an even bigger endeavor. We make it so hard by turning it into a prescribed set of steps to get there when all we really need to make it happen is us and our Creator.

Worship is a mutual endeavor between two hearts—ours and God’s. It happens when he recognizes us by name, and we recognize him by his. When we stand face to face without the obstruction of the world’s distractions and connect with him as one. When we’re stripped naked of all pretense and aren’t ashamed of the glances he cast in our direction. When we look into his eyes and see the reflection of ourselves staring back. When understanding is clear and right and good, therefore casting all of our questions into the shadows of his illuminating truth.

That’s worship for me, and when it happens, I, like Mary, want to grab hold of my Savior and not let go. The hem of his garment is a sweet embrace and a good place to linger … especially in the heat.

If anyone understood the pressures of “heated obedience”, it was Mary–a woman in search of Jesus following his death on the cross. The last few days of her life offered her ample reason to stay inside. Three days earlier, the temperature in Jerusalem was exponentially elevated because of the crucifixion of her Lord. Her Teacher. Her Rabonni. She could have mourned him privately … could have stayed inside, salving her wounded heart with tears that rained diligently and painfully upon her grief. Instead, she chose the road to the tomb. To the one place she’d last seen him, and in doing so, received the revelation that would alter her forever.

“Mary.” …

“Rabboni.”

Mutual recognition between two hearts.

Pure, untainted worship between a sinner and her Savior.

For that kind of moment, friends, I’ll walk some “heat” … again and again and again because I know he’s waiting for me on the road as I am faithful to come. He’s waiting for you too. In fact, he’s summoned you by name. Are you willing, this day, to summon him by his?

Worship with him fearlessly. Worship with him passionately. Worship with him tenderly, knowing that your name is on his lips and that your life is engraved in the very palm of his hands.

As always,

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Stuff

Stuff

I laughed this morning, loudly to myself and with little regard to my surroundings. I suppose I needed it; the pressure and chaos in my life have been immense over the past several weeks. In the midst of the busiest season I have ever known, there have been few occasions that have afforded me the release that I experienced today through my uninhibited and unrestrained laughter. The culprit behind amusement?

Hot Stuff. The smash hit made popular by Donna Summer in 1979 when I was but a young thirteen. Thirty years down the road, I’m less young, but somehow the song still manages to find its way into radio play. It did so this morning in the dentist office while I was awaiting my semi-annual clean. At age thirteen, I knew little about looking for some hot stuff. At forty-three, I’m content to drop the hot and simply stick with stuff … less of it!

Stuff.

My life’s been filled to the brim and then some with its consumption. I imagine you could voice the same. I’ll spare you most of the details. After all, stuff is stuff. It packs heavy in every household. Yours probably doesn’t look like mine, but I bet it sometimes feels like mine.

Full;
Unwanted;
Too much;
Too detailed;
Hard;
Chaotic;
Stressful;
Burdensome.
_____________.

Stuff does that. It weighs us down and keeps us from a single-minded focus, at least it does for me. I like the neatly defined parameters I’ve created for my life. When an abundance of stuff threatens to overflow those self-imposed boundaries, my inclination is to shut down. I don’t always manage the “excess” of stuff very well. It effects every area of my life (physically, mentally, emotionally, socially, spiritually … have I covered all the “ally’s”?).

I don’t eat right, think right, feel right, act right, pray right. Instead, I default to mediocrity—to just barely getting by with the hope that tomorrow will birth less stuff and more peace. And while the current stuff in my life will lessen with the passage of time, I imagine future stuff will soon arrive to fill any void.

We can’t help but live with our stuff. It finds us regardless of our striving toward keeping it at bay. Stuff barks loudly, refusing hiddenness. We can ignore it for a season, but eventually it catches up with us until we can no longer refuse its insistence. We simply must collect the strength and grace to deal with it.

God is the true source behind that strength. Regardless of my desire to shut down, God’s desire is to see me through my times of stress-filled stuff. He understands a crowded agenda. I can’t begin to understand the “stuff” he’s dealing with on an everlasting basis. Can you?

I know what you’re thinking. He’s God. He can handle it. But friends, God intends for us to handle our stuff in accordance with his will. His Word tells us that we’ve been given everything we need to lead a godly and holy life. That we have been endowed with the mind of Christ (1 Cor. 2:16), the Spirit of Christ (John 14:16-17), the power of Christ (Eph. 1:18-20). God means for us to manage our stuff with his management staff in tow. Then and only then, will any of it be done with a measure of success and, ultimately, to the glory of his kingdom.

This morning, I packed the book bags of my two young kids and sent them off to their first day of school. This weekend, I’ll help two more with their packing. Not book bags, but rather with the packing of their cars as they make preparations to return to college, one a junior and the other a freshman. The amount of stuff we’ve got to do between now and then is large and overwhelming. I’m not sure I’m up for the task.

Still and yet, it’s my stuff to carry. I want to do it well, with efficiency, with patience, and with a heart that is willing to bend to imperfection even though the perfectionist in me is desperately trying to state her case. I want to get to the end of my current stuff with my sanity in tact and with my faith all the more. I’m not sure how God is going to work it all out in me and, therefore, through me, but I am willing to offer up all of me for the process.

It’s a hard surrender, but one of the benefits that comes because of my exhaustion is that I’m finally willing to concede my flesh and inabilities into the hands of God’s capability. He, alone, can turn my stuff into something.

I don’t know what stuff you’re carrying this day. If your plate, like mine, is full and overflowing with deadlines, my heart is with you. You are not alone in your struggle. We journey this road together with God, and if my confession about my “stuff” can buoy your spirit along these same lines, then these few moments before the screen have been a worthy pause in my life this day.

May God’s good favor, heavenly understanding, abundant patience, calm assurance, and grace-filled reminders be your portion at every turn as you walk your week. Stay close to Jesus no matter the stuff that’s warring its insistence into your life. Whatever you have to do to get to Jesus … do it. Don’t wait until your inclinations carry you to a place of despair. Instead, bolster your busyness with the truth and power of God’s help.

It’s ours for the asking. Ask boldly. Ask with confidence. Ask a lot. Ask today. As always,

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PS: If you have a specific prayer concern you’d like for me to pray over, please indicate in the comment section or feel free to e-mail me. Adding your “stuff” to mine is a privilege, not a problem. Shalom.

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