Nonfiction – Page 6 – The Word Worker

Important

The world is full of wars, conflicts, political arguments, societal inequities, and many other unpleasant things we humans deem important. We fixate on everything that is wrong, twisting ourselves into knots trying to figure out who we are supposed to hate, who or what is the enemy. We bury our noses in news, gossip, and arguments while life goes on around us. This week has brought a particularly negative onslaught, but as loud as it has been, it’s really a very small part of life around the globe. Many seemingly tiny, insignificant events occurred to bring joy.

My last baby turned six years old. As mommy, every birthday observed is a little bittersweet, as pieces of myself grow to be more and more independent of me. For my big girl, every birthday is exhilarating. It means she is one year older, with new privileges and skills on the horizon. It means cake and decorations that she has chosen to reflect who she is in this moment. It means people she loves gathered around her focused entirely on her for at least a little while, a privilege often craved by a child in a large and busy family. For my little diva, one short party is just not enough, she’d like a few days! It means presents, all of which from ponytail holders and handmade pictures to a new doll are equally delightful. Because of all the joy it brings, my baby turning six was one of the most important events happening in the world.

My ten year old son lost his first molar. The tooth fairy has not had occasion to visit our house in some time, although several teeth are being subtly encouraged to invite her, so this was quite an event. We had to take pictures and make sure every family member knew about this momentous milestone. Notes had to be written with dubious spelling but painstaking care so that the tooth fairy would leave the tooth for the treasure box that every little boy stashes somewhere. The prize left alongside the hoarded tooth, a simple rubber chicken target game, brought hours of side-splitting entertainment for every kid in the house, since the chicken darts managed to stick and dangle from the oddest places though never from the intended target. Because of all its simple joy, my son’s lost tooth was one of the most important events happening in the world.

We live in the country and rarely mow our yard until well into spring. Every year it becomes a carpet and then a prairie of wild-growing things filled with happy pollinators. This year the clover has been especially abundant, and my little Irish-blooded crew loves to hunt treasure in the leaves. The finding of three four-leaf clovers in the space of half an hour caused an uproar to rival election day victory. These precious gems were displayed with aplomb and recorded on screen for the benefit of anyone not immediately present. All three have been carefully pressed in the big dictionary for posterity, in case such a rare find is never repeated, while the heralded searchers rest on their laurels. Because of the innocent joy it inspired, finding clover treasure was one of the most important events happening in the world.

These critical events of my everyday life leaves little room for me to worry about the hazards of politics and war. They leave me with little desire to fight over disagreements and hate my fellowman. I pity any who cannot bring their focus to even the simplest of blessings or appreciate even the smallest of celebrations. Where else can we find a way up and out of misery? Where else can we find the ingredients of peace? What could possibly be more important?

Oh, My God

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I recently watched a TV show I enjoy in which one young character, upon finding out something she would have to do, exclaimed “oh, my God!” An older character rebuked her, told her not to take God’s name in vain. The young girl responded with great fervor that she hoped it wasn’t in vain, she was going to need all the help she could get.

That little scene stopped me in my tracks. All my life I was taught that using that particular phrase was taking God’s name in vain. All my life I was taught that any phrase using God’s name in conversation was treating it flippantly. As a result, reference to God was reduced to carefully organized and controlled settings. This restriction had the logical effect of limiting my understanding of God’s role in my life and limiting His effect on my heart. God was an intellectual concept I believed in, a set of laws to follow, nothing more.

“Lord my God, you are very great.” “My God, I am ashamed and embarrassed to life my face toward you.” “My God, we know you!” “Lord my God, I seek refuge in you.” “Pay attention to the sound of my cry, my Lord and my God.” “My God illuminates my darkness.” “Vindicate me, Lord my God.” “Deliver me, my God.” “Then you raised my life from the pit, Lord my God!” “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?”

In our quest to avoid treating His name flippantly, we sometimes forget that we are indeed commanded to call upon His name. When we are in trouble, we call on Him for aid. When we have hurt Him, we cry His name in shame. When we come through the tough times we call on Him in thanks. Throughout scripture the faithful called His name in fear, pain, shame, joy, wonder, and gratitude. “My God” fills the pages of the inspired Word, and was wrenched from the throat of the sacrificial God Himself as He hung on the cross.

When I’m nervous about a test or an interview, oh, my God, be with me. When I am frightened by a bully, oh, my God, give me courage. When unfair words wound my heart and make me angry, oh, my God, give me humility and kindness. When money comes to pay a difficult bill, oh, my God, thank you! When a friend holds me close in a moment of grief, oh, my God, you have comforted me. When I read Your Word, oh, my God, how I love you. How amazing it is to have a God who is with me in every moment of my life! Oh, my God!

Blame Culture

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From the very beginning of the world, when Adam and Eve tried to deflect responsibility for their rebellion, humans have relied upon blame culture. Anything wrong is always someone or something else’s fault. Children do it to get out of trouble. Adults do it to avoid dealing with problems. Each generation blames whatever is unfamiliar or new for the failings of the next to avoid facing their own flaws.

Blame is easy. “It’s the company’s fault!” “It’s the phone’s fault!” “It’s my parent’s fault!” On and on it can go. I can’t be wrong because someone else did it. I can’t fix it because I didn’t do it. Why doesn’t someone fix the problem already?! You don’t understand my situation, which makes my problems your fault.

Sadly, blame culture creates side effects. Instead of looking for solutions, we begin looking for more problems. Instead of respecting innovation and hard work, we slaver for indifference or stagnation to feed our indignation. Instead of being strong we wallow in victimhood.

We are not and have never been victims of anything but our own selfishness and laziness. We scream about the dangers of and ban all use of technology that allows mass communication so that we never have to teach how to communicate properly. We bang our pitchforks against the doors of those with whom we disagree, ensuring that those doors remain barred, so that we never have to examine anyone’s motives or face disconcerting truths. We excoriate entire groups of people for the debauchery of our society so that we never have to sit down and answer our children’s hard questions. Despite having all the power and responsibility for change, we use it merely to bully others from a position of cowardice.

I refuse to participate in blame culture any longer. I refuse to leave my children vulnerable to victimhood by never teaching them how to rise. I refuse to consign my own or anyone else’s soul to eternal torment by avoiding the hard process of connection and understanding. God took responsibility for our salvation, knowing full well that we would never live up to His perfection, knowing that we would fight and rebel and take the easy way out over and over again. He placed His power in me and I am no victim; I have no one to blame but myself if I waste it, and neither does anyone else.

Forsaking Assembly

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“Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is”

“not abandoning our own meeting together, as is the habit of some people”

“not giving up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing”

“not neglecting to gather together, as some are in the habit of doing”

This passage may be one of the most memorized in scripture, at least among people I grew up listening to. It is whipped out like a hammer after a loose nail every time someone isn’t seen at the church building on a Sunday or Wednesday. “Don’t forsake the assembly!” is our usual misquote, with a capital A.

As the people of the Roman empire absorbed the implications of the death and resurrection of Jesus, they experienced a change so great within themselves that they could not identify with the lives they had previously led. They had been empty and became full. They had been meaningless and suddenly had a great purpose. They craved contact with those who shared the unfathomable joy of that revolution, and so they spent every possible moment in each other’s company.

Most of them worked long hours for a meager existence, and many had little to call their own, but what that had they shared. They spent the evening meal in each other’s homes, no matter how plain or poor the surroundings or the food. They socialized with each other on market days in the town square. They gathered informally in public forums or synagogues to read the scrolls available to them and help each other discover the identity of faith.

These transformed people were not a corporation with designated hours to assemble for work. They were a family, and they fed each other’s faith through their shared joy and unrelenting enthusiasm. Unfortunately, as the change they experienced shook the world around them, maintaining such intimate relationship became more and more difficult. Suspected of political revolution, some were imprisoned or killed. Religious jealousy impacted livelihoods and threatened the health and safety of the faithful. Fear began to taint the longing for fellowship, and some began to avoid what they had craved in hopes of escaping notice. The resulting loneliness only exacerbated their fears, putting faith itself in jeopardy.

The writer of the letter to some of the formerly Jewish Christians addresses this problem directly. He reminded them that they had entered a sacred space by becoming a part of God’s family. This sanctuary of the faithful was their protection against the hopelessness around them, the hopelessness and fear that caused others to torment them. If they abandoned that family relationship they became again what they had been before, and the conviction that had been safety within would become doom without.

As millennia have passed and some cultures have made the story of Jesus a familiar thing, we have forgotten the transformation that shook the entire world. Our familiarity has bred entitlement, arrogance, and indifference to the incredible gift our Savior bestowed. Rather than crave the company of like hearts, we relegate our contact to formal designated conferences, and suspiciously guard our inner selves from the knowledge of others. We are not family and our emotional ties are stunted because we either were never changed or drew back from the cost. We may show up when required without fail, but we have forsaken the assembly.

Hebrews 10:19–25 (CSB): Therefore, brothers and sisters, since we have boldness to enter the sanctuary through the blood of Jesus— he has inaugurated for us a new and living way through the curtain (that is, through his flesh)— and since we have a great high priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed in pure water. Let us hold on to the confession of our hope without wavering, since he who promised is faithful. And let us consider one another in order to provoke love and good works, not neglecting to gather together, as some are in the habit of doing, but encouraging each other, and all the more as you see the day approaching.

Seasons

As many of you many have noticed, the blog has been a little neglected of late. Life comes in seasons, and my family has been experiencing a mildly difficult season. We needed time to work out some instabilities, and that has made writing difficult to accomplish. It also proved to be a time of refocusing and reevaluating.

My children are growing older and maturing into new interests and abilities. My oldest rapidly approaches the teen years and leaves any lingering babyhood behind. My baby at five embodies Megamind and can’t decide whether she wants to be a child or attempt world domination. More and more often our quiet time together involves the great stories of the ages rather than the delightful picture books of childhood.

Economic instability has made the need for better financial planning abundantly clear. Work that is dependent upon the good graces of employers is no longer reliable, and chronic health conditions make meeting imposed hours and standards increasingly difficult. We have begun to take steps toward owning our own businesses and becoming more economically independent.

Our church family is undergoing a period of upheaval as well as the passage of time and evolving needs change the shape of our fellowship. Adjustments are painful and time-consuming, and much more of our time is devoted to helping each other through than had been enjoyed in each other’s company for some time. This also leads to sleepless nights, hours of extra study and prayer, and an inability to schedule.

Because of all these developments and evolutions, there will be changes made here as well. You may find shorter but more frequent snippets of fiction, more spiritual/life reflections, and fewer but more mature book recommendations. Some weeks may be filled with content while others may be silent, depending on the needs of the time. Most importantly, throughout all these changes I will be here, sharing and writing and connecting to the best of my ability. And with book two of the Magicborn series in the works behind the scenes, you really don’t want to miss any updates or teasers that might come this way!

The Purpose of the Pattern

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When I was a child my grandmother made many of my clothes and taught me to use a pattern. If you have never sewed anything or seen a dress pattern, you might have the idea that it looks like the end result and that it contains all the details needed to produce carbon copy replicas. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

You see, patterns actually tell very little about the end product, and while some details are included and necessary, those details are few and far between. In order to create a garment that will shape and drape properly around a three dimensional human being, many smaller, odd shaped pieces must be fitted together. Some larger pieces must be folded and sewn into even more odd shapes. The size of some pieces must change depending upon the size and shape of the person who will wear the garment. The pattern contains marks to ensure correct joining, measurements for correct adjustments, and marks for sufficient seam width for the garment to hold together. These marks are often not labeled with language, however, and the person using the pattern must learn which ones are which and how to apply them.

The pattern itself cannot become a finished garment. Its purpose is to be applied to fabric with the appropriate markings for the individual transferred to that fabric, which will in turn be sewn together into the shape of the wearer. A pattern can be applied to any fabric, usually one reflecting the personality of the wearer. Different types of fabrics require different treatments; finer fabrics are more fragile, thicker fabrics can only be combined in certain ways, and still others stretch or slip easily so must be cut with great care to preserve the correct shape. The placement of designs within the fabric must be considered when a pattern is placed; the direction of the fabric weave must be carefully considered to avoid misshapen garments. Thread colors, trim styles, even fastener types can all be personalized to the needs or preferences of the wearer. The pattern itself doesn’t command any of this; the person using the pattern must take time to learn each person and each fabric before attempting to make the garment required.

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If the same pattern is used to make garments for three individual people, each of those three garments will also be individual. They will be similar, the same recognizable garment, but one might have more space in the hips while another is slimmer in the shoulder. One may be made of sturdy material with a more sober design, while another may be flamboyantly colored silk. One may zip and have no trim, while another may fasten with buttons and be trimmed with elegant embroidery.

My grandmother also taught me that our lives are to be made according to a pattern, the pieces of which can be found in the stories and lessons of scripture. As a child, still learning the basics of sewing, I didn’t understand what that meant, but as my faith has grown I have learned what a beautiful gift our pattern is. You see, God as Creator understands the incredible uniqueness of each individual human. He understands that with that individuality of nature comes difference in application. The pattern He has provided is minimal, with marks for connection and adjustment that we must learn to read as we learn ourselves, the fabric upon which the pattern is to be applied. Just as a garment sewn for a large person would not fit properly on a small person, or a silk garment would be inappropriate for a manual laborer, applying rules based on one person’s needs or preferences to someone with completely different spiritual requirements cannot work.

We all have the same pattern we are to follow. We are all different types of fabric, designs, and trim styles. We each have the responsibility to know both the pattern and ourselves in order to become a finished garment pleasing to God who created both.

Opportunity and Prejudice

Recently I posted a series of questions on social media. I wanted, and received, feedback revealing how we as a society understand certain concepts that are central to a civilization. Need, work, and identity are necessary in order for a culture to thrive, but perception of what constitutes those things varies widely. When those varying perceptions clash in a battle of wills, a civilization teeters on the brink of collapse. Differences of opinion don’t have to be a death knell, however; if considered carefully without prejudice, they can become a stronger, more stable framework that incorporates every possibility.

As evidenced by many of the answers given, we often get stuck in one pattern of thinking, a pattern that applied to a particular society with particular tools at a particular time. We look back with disdain on past eras, talk with pride about progress, celebrate increased opportunity for prosperity, while at the same time treating everything that led to our current situation with contempt. New ideas, different opportunities, can’t be good ones because our grandparents didn’t have them. New tools must be luxuries because our grandparents didn’t need them. Little consideration is given to how new ideas, new opportunities, and new tools changed the civilization in which we live.

As little as a hundred years ago, the automobile was unaffordable by all but the wealthiest. Roads were narrow and unpaved, traveled by pedestrians or horse-drawn vehicles. Some of the bigger cities might have the convenience of streetcars or elevated trains, and long distance travel relied on the railroads, but even those were recent developments. Communities were smaller and more self-sufficient; schools were smaller, with their primary focus teaching basic literacy skills, as children entered the workforce early to contribute to the family’s support. The children were educated in the factories, the fields, the construction sites, or if they were very lucky, behind the counter of a store. The arts were expensive pursuits that the common citizen could not afford to pursue and that the wealthy, although they enjoyed the entertainment gleaned from artistic production, considered demeaning. The wealthy, focused on increasing their wealth and status, pursued a classical higher education and built careers in business or politics. Information about the world outside one’s immediate community was limited to rumors or newspapers, and arrived slowly if at all. Telephones existed but were expensive and often communal.

Now, a century forward, our nation would be unrecognizable to the people of the past. Not only are automobiles so common that roads, communities, and cities are built around access by car, but the train has been made obsolete by air travel, a possibility barely even imagined at that time. Schools are not only available to the average citizen, but require attendance of every child under a certain age. Not only does every citizen have access to higher education, but lack of a college degree has become a barrier to employment or advancement. Not only are telephones common, but the invention and development of computer technology has turned phones into handheld instant access to information and long distance communication. Improvements in transportation and communication opened up the world beyond the community, allowing the average citizen access to opportunities impossible in small communities. Family businesses can now become large corporations with worldwide customer bases in a relatively short amount of time thanks to the ability to network and market via the internet. Creative pursuits are now not only possible for the average citizen but often extremely profitable, even independent of established circles.

The world has changed, and with it the definitions of concepts. Bare subsistence by the definitions of a hundred years ago is now considered a moral standard to be achieved, as if barely avoiding starvation and exposure in a world of plenty makes one virtuous. The opportunity of exercising one’s God created individuality by using one’s God-given abilities to support oneself has expanded the definition of work and jobs, yet we cling to the outdated insistence that only doing manual labor in the employment of another is “real work.” Intellectual pursuits, although glorified in the form of insistence on college attendance, are still despised as leaching off of the “real workers” of the world. Those same opportunities only exist using the great connective powers of modern technology, making technology a necessity in our culture, yet we call it a luxury and religiously advocate to prevent the pursuit of our God-created identities.

A hundred years ago these opportunities did not exist. People didn’t have a choice. The average able-bodied citizen was forced to ignore and repress individuality in order to survive. Life was hard and the people who endured it often equally so. Those who possessed physical or mental disabilities couldn’t conceive of even the limited opportunities available to the able-bodied and able-minded. Most were institutionalized, tortured with experimental treatments for conditions that no one understood, and often died young. Some few with undeniable gifts in the arts found patrons who allowed them a semblance of a normal life, but even they were often ostracized by society for “scandalous” behavior and ended up self-destructing. Their lives held no value to other humans because as far as society was concerned they could not contribute a fair share.

In our age of information, understanding, and opportunity, attitudes haven’t changed. Oh, we talk a good game, but we still insist that everyone meet the same standards, perform the same work in the same way, rise to the same challenges, produce the same outcomes. In an age where individuality is so obvious and tools are so readily available, we despise differences and try to force uniformity. In an age of plenty, we try to force poverty. In an age of information, we try to force ignorance. In an age of opportunity, we try to force disadvantage.

In this incredible time and place, we have the greatest of opportunities. We can choose to value every life, every contribution, every ability, every effort, and every challenge without prejudice. We can support the intellectual and the manual laborer with equal respect to the different types of effort required. We can accept the vast amount of time and skill required to produce an artistic endeavor and take time to enjoy the result with respect that the artist cared to bring joy into our lives in the form of entertainment. We can provide relief for our loved ones who suffer from visible or invisible differences in ability, and ensure them the opportunity to contribute in their own equally valuable way. We can recognize that need is as individual as individuals, and support each other without disdain or dismissal. We can break away from conformity made unnecessary by opportunity, and choose to celebrate the designed individuality of every member of God’s creation.

Reality and Proof

When Indiana Jones went to find the Grail, he had to cross a wide, deep chasm with no bridge in sight. His father told him the only way to cross was to take a step out over the chasm, a “leap of faith.” As soon as Indy stepped out as instructed, believing that somehow he would be able to cross, a bridge appeared beneath his feet. It had always been there, he just couldn’t see it until he used it.

The above story is obviously fictional, but it reflects a Biblical truth. The author of the letter to the Hebrew Christians wrote that faith is the reality of hope and the evidence of the unseen. In other words, in order to see what God has in store we have to step out like Indy, knowing that something is there. After we are willing to do that, after we can allow ourselves to know that truth transcends our limited sight, He allows us to see Him.

Enoch lived in the millennia before the flood reset the earth, in a time when men lived for hundreds of years and had opportunity to explore every possible imagination, good or evil. When most others pursued their own ends and lost favor with their Creator, Enoch lived his life in harmony with the God he could not see. As a reward, he was given a gift of eternal life without death, his body changed to walk in the physical presence of God. He saw God more completely than any other before or since.

Moses, though raised with every opportunity to pursue physical wealth and power, chose the life of a nomad chieftain in order to be close to God. He sought to know God, and submitted his will to loneliness, struggle, and abuse from the people he was tasked to lead. His anger was never roused so greatly as when he saw God disrespected, and when given the opportunity asked to see his protector. He didn’t want proof, only deeper connection, just as you or I would seek to look at and touch someone we love. Because Moses knew God so intimately as to crave such a thing, God allowed the privilege to the point that Moses himself carried so much of God’s glory that other humans could not physically look at him without pain.

Elijah stood almost alone in a nation that hated God. Without divine help his life would have been forfeit many times for his persistence in declaring God’s warnings to people who wanted nothing to do with God. As a reward for a lifetime of faithful service, God gave him Enoch’s gift, and carried him to eternity without death in a fiery chariot of honor.

When Elijah’s protégé, Elisha, was called to God’s service from his life as a wealthy farmer in that same rebellious nation, he not only obeyed, but quite literally burned the trappings of his old life as a sacrifice. He removed his own incentive to ever turn back. He knew God without seeing any evidence of His existence in the land. As a result he was allowed to see Elijah’s divine chariot, and it seems that he was given an even greater gift. Many years later when enemies surrounded his home, death seemed certain, and a fearful servant cried to him, Elisha asked God to show the servant what Elisha himself could apparently already see: an angel host greater than any human army standing ready to defend them. Because Elisha believed in what was invisible, God made it visible to Him.

Daniel and his friends faced immersion in an alien, pagan culture as boys. Despite what seemed to the rest of the Jewish people as visible signs of God’s desertion, the boys trusted that He was still there protecting them and held firmly to a life that honored Him. As a result, God Himself walked with three of them in human form in fires that should have vaporized them and brought them through alive. Daniel’s faith was so strong that in spite of all odds against him that faith gained respect from one godless king after another. Because he knew without seeing that God was with him, God walked with him in human form and told him the history of the next millennium in detail before any of it happened.

When Stephen was arrested for persisting in teaching and working when opposed by the Jewish counsel, his faith shone so brightly in him that even his accusers compared him to an angel of God. He faced what he knew would be at least great pain, if not death, and told a roomful of men who hated him about the power of God. When they predictably sentenced him to a brutal death, God allowed his physical eyes to see the spiritual world he entered by the blows of his enemies’ stones. Stephen saw the glory of God and Christ ruling over all because he had believed it without sight.

I can’t say that I have heard of anyone in our own age experiencing such a gift. Even in ages past it was a rare thing, but in two thousand years not a reference has been recorded. It’s a sobering thought to consider our own faith in light of that which resulted in such intimacy. Perhaps God doesn’t give such obvious boons anymore since He lived and died and rose as a human, but what if He would and our faith isn’t strong enough? Do we have the surety of God to do right while surrounded by doubt and evil? Do we have the surety of God to actively look for glimpses of His glory, to beg for a glance at even the smallest part of Him? Do we have the surety of God to walk away from everything we are and become something else when service to Him requires it? Do we have the surety of God to continue a godly life in the face of abuse and death? Do we have the surety of God to step out over the abyss and find the bridge under our feet, or will we huddle forever whimpering on the ledge while the bridge remains forever invisible?

Hard

We like to think that hard only happens in stories, that hard is a thing of the past. But it isn’t. We like to think that the ultimate achievement would be to eradicate hard from our memory. But it wouldn’t.

A young woman breathes deeply through the pain of her muscles contracting. Her skin stretches to its limit as a tiny head presents itself to the world. She collapses in exhaustion, sore and weak, but lifts her arms to receive a screaming, wiggling new life. Her breasts ache with pressure of milk flowing, and she winces at the tug of her baby’s eager tongue. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A toddler struggles to his feet, swaying a little on unaccustomed legs. He reaches for support, but it’s just too far away. Slowly he leans forward and shifts one foot slightly. He falls forward but catches himself with his hands and struggles upright again. Undaunted, he lifts his foot again and manages to move it two inches before he sways and nearly falls again. Encouraged, he tries the other foot. This time he does fall forward, but his daddy’s hand that he reached for from the beginning is there and he has taken his first steps. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A mom of five lies awake long after her family is asleep, her mind churning. One of her children has challenged her will, determined already at five years old to plot her own course regardless of destruction. Another struggles with an alien within that tries to destroy him against his own will. Another blossoms rapidly into womanhood, her gentle innocence challenged by changes she does not yet understand. The mom weeps alone, praying for the wisdom and strength to face another day trying to fulfill all the needs. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A man, his hair prematurely gray, fills the fuel tank of his old truck with grim resignation. He has been near broken so many times he lost count long ago. This latest seems beyond his power, and he prays for resolution. War looms, the meager contents of his wallet stretch thin, and he can’t seem to collect resources quickly enough to ward against what threatens. He didn’t want this; someone far away with more power than is healthy chose their own temporary gain over true good. He counts through a mental budget yet again, trying to balance his family’s needs against ever shrinking ability. Hard. Necessary. Beautiful.

A soldier shivers with pain, tears burning paths in his cheeks. All he wanted to do was respect the country he loves, and make his family proud. He never expected to fight a war, to stare down the barrel of a weapon at living people he was tasked to kill. He never expected to purge himself over mutilated remains beneath rubble, or to have his gut ripped open with shrapnel from a carelessly launched missile. He never expected to be lying in his own blood on foreign soil, wondering if that would be the last thing he ever saw. Hard. Necessary. Anything but beautiful.

Hard makes us who we are. The specific hard we endure makes us individual, whether it’s the hard of providing for a family, the hard of dealing with illness, or the hard of facing pain and death. Hard is meaning and purpose; hard is the reason the human race still exists. Hard is necessary. Usually, hard is beautiful.

Lifted Hands

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” Lift up your hands in the holy place and bless the Lord.” Ps. 134:2

“So I will bless you as long as I live; at your name I will lift up my hands.” Ps. 63:4

“I spread out my hands to you; I am like parched land before you.” Ps. 143:6

When a small child wants anything from his parent, he runs to them and reaches both hands up as far as he can reach, fingers spread wide with urgency. It’s an instinct born of need to reach out to the one who can fill that need. When that same child receives what is desired or needed, he raises his hands again, this time in celebration.

In Bible accounts of God’s people approaching Him in prayer, they spread their hands out to Him in a gesture of appeal, much like that of a child. They instinctively reached for the One who could fill every need. When they sang songs of praise they lifted hands high in celebration of His glory and provision. They worshipped Him.

“Therefore, I want the men in every place to pray, lifting up holy hands without anger or argument.” 1 Tim. 2:8

When we as God’s people approach Him today we must still have this attitude of child-like trust and appeal. We must come to Him without reservation, knowing without possibility of being dissuaded that He will hear and respond. When we offer gratitude, it must be more than just empty words; it must be drawn from deep within us, so joyful that it cannot be buried or contained. We must worship, our hands and our souls spread high before Him.