It Wasn't to Their Liking

While reading through the gospels, I am often struck with how people interacted with Jesus. These people were talking to, eating with, being touched by God Himself and yet many remained unchanged and unsatisfied or even became hostile toward Him.

This morning, Delaney and I read Luke 8 in which Jesus healed the demon possessed tomb dweller. Once kept under guard and bound with chains (verse 29), the man eventually broke free and ran off to live alone in the cold, dark tombs.

Jesus healed him. What was the response of the people?

"The whole multitude of the surrounding region of the Gadarenes asked Him to depart from them, for they were seized with great fear." (verse 37a)

They didn't rejoice with the healed man. They didn't seek to know better this powerful One. They feared God's blessing and asked Him to depart from them.

God was working and it wasn't to their liking.

One of the saddest stories in Matthew (in my opinion) is found in 12:9-14. A man with a withered hand was healed by Jesus in the synagogue. A new life had begun for this man. His handicap was gone.

So what's the sad part? Verse 14: "Then the Pharisees went out and plotted against Him how they might destroy Him."

They didn't rejoice over the healing, nor did they desire to know God better. Jesus' obvious spiritual and practical authority threatened the Pharisees' place in society. In fact, they sought to destroy Him.

Again, God was working and it wasn't to their liking.

So what about the good guys? John the Baptist was Jesus' partner in achieving God's will (Luke 7:27). He was dedicated and zealous for that cause and yet...Jesus didn't seem to be doing what John expected and wanted.

"And John, calling two of his disciples to him, sent them to Jesus, saying, 'Are You the Coming One or do we look for another?'" Luke 7:19

In other words, John was asking, "What's up, Jesus? I know there's something special about you, but you aren't doing what I would expect of the Messiah, so tell me...are you Him or not?"

God was working, but it wasn't to John's liking.

Christ graciously pointed John to what he did know: scripture. "Go and tell John the things you have seen and heard: that the blind see, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the gospel preached to them." (Luke 7:22b) These were all foretold proofs of the Messiah found in the Old Testament (which John knew well and valued highly).

Verse 23 is especially powerful: "And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me." I think Jesus was saying, "Yes, John, I know I'm not fulfilling your messianic expectations and hopes, but you will be blessed as you lay those aside and embrace Me--the actual Messiah."

Shall I share with you yet more evidence of my need for a savior? You know my commitment to keeping it real (just read my last post...ewwww): I see traces of all three of these examples in myself.

Do I always rejoice with people who experience a healing of sorts? If I was somehow comfortable with their affliction, then perhaps not.

If God's work in another's life "threatens" my social standing, then do I want to see that work continue? (Gulp...)

Do I at all times seek to embrace the actual Messiah even if He is not fulfilling my "messianic dreams"?

Somehow, we think the people in the gospels were so "lucky" because they had Jesus right in front of them. They heard His voice, perhaps touched His cloak, and yet for many of those people, it was just a brief encounter, soon just a memory. We have the privilege of reading the compilation of all these encounters and the Spirit-inspired insight of the apostles who knew Him well.

God was at work in those lives long ago just as He is at work in many lives today. Is it to our liking?

Blessed is he who is not offended because of Me...

More Things Vile and Uncouth

First off--Here, here, Micky! Your comment on my last post was right on. I am incredibly thankful for Jeff. I almost deleted that post because I saw that my gratitude didn't come across at all. His sweetness in saving up his "fun money" to spend on me and the kids is a testament to how wonderful of a husband and dad he is. He himself regrets the fondue excursion for the very reasons I shared with you all. Had he been pleased with it, it wouldn't have even occurred to me to type up a post snickering about it.

Now...on to yesterday: I went to see my doctor because my nasal spray prescription needed to be renewed. After the blood pressure test, etc., he noticed my foot's "sixth toe".

"What is that?" he asked

I glanced at his name tag to check for the letters M.D. and replied, "It's a wart."

"That's coming off," he announced and quickly exited the room. As the door closed behind him, I heard him holler out to one of the nurses, "Where's the gun?"

Uhh...gun? Maybe the wart's not...so...bad.

He soon returned with something that looked like a mini blow torch and proceeded to blast my foot with all the power of the arctic that was somehow trapped inside. Although the physical sensation was far less than pleasant, I mentioned to him that I also had some tiny warts on my hand.

As he frigidly banished those little guys, he schooled me on warts and how they spread. Perhaps he was a bit too "into" this impromptu lecture 'cause I think he overdid it on my hand. I can't quite bring myself to post the photos I took last night (once in cyberspace always in cyberspace), but trust me, I think he would have warned me if he expected it to turn into that freakish mass.

Immediately after the treatment, it just looked a little splotchy, but over the next 6 hours, it turned bright red and swelled up like a balloon. I could literally feel my skin stretching as the area filled with liquid-nastiness. I feared it would burst while I was making dinner, splattering the chicken and veggies, rendering them inedible. (Sorry, I guess I should have typed up a disclaimer at the top of this page.)

"Are you really going to youth group tonight with your hand like that?" Jeff asked, dubiously.

"Sure," I said. "Maybe it'll help some awkward teen feel better about some embarrassing aspect of their own body."

Perhaps I'll never know if an adolescent now feels empowered to face the world after catching sight of my afflicted appendage, but...it was a good conversation piece.

He Meant Well

A couple of hours after writing the following post, I reread it and was struck by how snotty it sounded. I was going to delete it, but then I noticed that Brenda had left a comment. Hmm, I guess I'll just leave it and hope that you all will give me the benefit of the doubt in regards to my snottiness level. I really did appreciate that Jeff wanted to do something nice for us AND I asked him to preview and "okay" the post before I posted it. So here goes:

My dear, sweet, thoughtful husband wanted to surprise me and the kids recently. He had heard rave reviews about a restaurant and saved up his "allowance" to take us there. (Jeff and I both get a bit of money from his bimonthly paychecks to spend on whatever we want.)

Knowing that it was a pricey place and that he is married to a woman who still wears this watch

(it works, okay?), Jeff turned to me in the car as we pulled into the parking lot and asked, "Can you please just enjoy yourself and not think about how much this meal is costing me?"

I felt my upper lip involuntarily twitch as I promised that I would.

To avoid the certain lawsuits that would follow because of the vastness of this blog's readership (It has four followers. (Three of whom have only made one comment ever! (I hope they follow Jesus more closely than they follow As We Wend Our Way.))), I will wisely rename the restaurant as The Money Pot (ahem) instead of using its actual moniker.

Through the heavy front doors we walked and approached the smartly dressed host behind the reservation desk. None of us was dressed very nicely so I felt compelled to ask if we were breaking their dress code. (I have a vivid childhood memory of being expelled from a restaurant in New York because we were not suitably attired.) He smiled and assured me that our vestments were perfectly acceptable. (Apparently, money is money.)

We were quickly seated and the whole unusual eating process was explained to us. You see, this was a fondue restaurant and we (at that point) were fondue-newbies.

Wanting the whole experience, Jeff ordered appetizers, a main course and dessert. I did my best to keep my promise to simply enjoy myself, though I thought I'd need sutures to repair my bitten tongue while looking at the prices on the menu.

I won't bore you with a play by play of our three hour meal (it takes a while when you are cooking your own food, one little piece at a time).

After the bill was paid, I watched a little piece of Jeff's soul die when I mentioned, "You could have bought three video games instead of that one meal."

The good news is: we weren't that impressed and therefore will never be tempted to go back. The bad news is: Jeff was not able to just enjoy himself and not think about how much the meal was costing him.

To sum things up: Buy yourself a crockpot, google some fondue recipes and enjoy a much cheaper experience at home several times over. Sure, the food was fresh and good, but no meal is worth the cost of two weeks of groceries.

From Carless to Clueless

Two weeks ago, somebody in our family got into a fender bender, but that's enough about that. (He's rather embarrassed.) So now one of our cars is being repaired and Jeff is driving "my" car to work. That leaves me...carless.

My 97 year old grandma needed me to take her to a doctor's appointment today.


(Isn't she lovely?)

Now, if this was a dermatology or an optometry appointment, I'd just ask her to reschedule. However, last week she went to the ER with chest pain, so there was no way I was going to say, "Hey Grammy, why don't we do that whole doctor thing another time?"

What is a loving granddaughter to do? Why, rent a car of course!

The drive home from the rental place was rather amusing. Every car we've had for the past 16 years has had a stick shift and the rental is an automatic. My left foot kept pressing into the floorboard, rooting around for the clutch pedal. My right hand twitched continuously toward the center of the car and (to my chagrin) threw the car into park instead of the intended first gear at a four way stop.

I imagine I'd like driving an automatic if I didn't feel like such an imbecile doing so.

Thoughts on Trials

Why did God allow this? is an age-old question that has many seemingly unsatisfactory answers for its questioners. Well, here I offer you yet another:

When a Christian becomes a parent, she gains a whole new perspective on her relationship with God. For the past 14 years, I've understood what it is to love someone more than myself, even when that someone sometimes behaves like an ungrateful brat. (I'm thankful that those times are few and far between.) As I am to my children, God is to me. Likewise, as my children are to me, I am to God.

The comparisons between me and a sometimes ungrateful brat could fill a very long post, but I want to focus on just one. It all comes down to this: What is important to me is important to God, but He knows the grander scheme.

Take shots for example. When I took my kids to get inoculated, I knew they were horrified when the overly-cheerful nurse brandished her long sharp needle. My heart hurt with them as the reality sunk in that that needle was going to pierce their tender flesh. And yet, I didn't stop it from happening. (I hope I don't lose you non-immunizers on this one.) As a mom, I knew that their terror was genuine, yet I could see the bigger picture. Their moment of horror would result in protection from Mumps, Measles and Rubella.

Another example: when my kids were babies, I would sometimes let them cry in their cribs for awhile. The hope was (and the result was) that they would learn how to fall asleep on their own and if a few tears needed to fall, then I was willing to allow that. (Now, I don't want to digress into a debate on parenting techniques. If you are the type to pick up your baby at a mere whimper, then I won't admonish you for that. I just knew that that wasn't going to work for us.)

Was my decision based on cruelty and heartlessness? No. I loved my babies more than anyone and their sadness struck me deeply, but I truly believed that their momentary sadness and loneliness would result in the abilities to be comfortable in aloneness and to fall asleep independantly. I didn't sit outside the nursery door cursing them nor mocking them because of their cries. I was genuinely sad with them and yet I focused on the bigger picture, allowing that to affect my interference or non-interference.

I propose that when we adults face trials which set us atremble, it is essentially no different from when little children face inoculations or a lonely half hour in the crib. God is there, allowing it, but He believes and understands our authentic terror or sadness.

I feel a bit lame typing this since the trials I've faced in my life have been of a rather mild nature, but remember, I entitled this post "Thoughts on Trials", not "Facts on All Trials Everywhere".

For me there is great comfort supposing that my tribulations are perhaps not as dire in reality as they may seem to be in my own limited mind.

John 16:33
2 Corinthians 4:17

A Date With Dad

Every now and then, Jeff takes Delaney out on a date. Our hope is that she will not only have fun with her dad, but that she will see how dates can be and should be.

Last Saturday, Jeff and Delaney went ice-skating--


Yes, they "brown-bagged" it on their way to the rink, but I'm sure my husband wants you all to know that he's not a cheap date. (I'm the cheap-date-planner.)

Note how the gentleman opens the lady's car door for her--


Hopefully details such as these will stick in Delaney's mind so that if she ever finds herself on a date on which she is being treated less than excellently, she will quickly lose interest in the scoundrel, thinking, "I'd rather be out with my dad!"

Lessons for Living

A couple of summers ago, I determined that both our kids would learn some cooking skills by preparing dinner about once a week during their vacation from school (under my watchful eye, of course). I asked them what they wanted to make and helped them think through which side dishes would complement the main entrees. I wouldn't go so far as to say that they enjoyed it, but they learned some things.

Somehow, last summer I didn't have them do it once. I don't know how we went through 8 whole weeks without them cooking at least one meal apiece, so this Spring Break I was determined to get back into the swing of things.

Last Wednesday, Tobias elected to make Tortellini Soup and homemade rolls.

There was some vegetable chopping--


He did some roll baking. (It's easy with a bread machine that kneads and raises the dough.)--


He did some raw-pork-meatball-molding-soup-dropping--


And...voila! He ended up with a pretty tasty meal to serve to us all--


Good job, Sonny!

I assured him that his culinary skills will help get him a spot on the "Very Eligible Bachelor" list.

Delaney's Doppelganger

Most of the time, she is sweet, animal-loving, angelic Delaney--


But occasionally, (specifically on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights at 7:30 and Sunday afternoons at 3:30) she morphs into Edna, the Evil Butleress--


Ha! Opening night was last night and Delaney did fabulously. She is having the time of her life kidnapping Duchess and the kittens, dumping them in the French countryside and then being put into place by a hoard of cats, dogs, geese and even a mouse.

It's such a wonderful blessing that she ended up with this large role in Aristocats. At first she had an incredibly minor part because we signed her up late, but then a few people dropped out and she was thrust into a part with lots of lines and a few solo songs. She's handling it so well.

(I love her hair that way although it takes about fifteen minutes to braid and then pin on top of her head.)