Category: Nonfiction

Shepherd Authority

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The word “authority” is often brought up in certain religious circles, usually in context of arguing whether or not something is allowed or spiritually “legal.” Certainly the word is used prolifically in scripture, but when speaking of God’s authority over man, the Bible paints quite a special picture.

God is most often envisioned as a shepherd and humans as sheep. The shepherd has total authority over the flock, but he does not rule them with laws. Something far deeper and more abiding holds the sheep under his will, and it begins at the birth of a lamb.

A shepherd’s life is bound to his flock; he must keep eyes on every sheep at all hours, and know everything that happens among them, no matter how large the flock. When a lamb is born, he is there to warm it, ensure the mother feeds it, and guard against the predators that lurk for the one minute his back might turn. He cradles the lamb in his arms, whispering to it and carrying it to a safer place. The shepherd’s voice is known as soon as the ewe’s, and is immediately associated with comfort and safety. If the ewe rejects a lamb, the shepherd feeds it himself, adding recognition of the shepherd as the source of life.

Such a beginning establishes both a father’s affection and intimate knowledge of the lamb in the shepherd, and unbreakable trust of the shepherd in the lamb. This trust and affection mean that for the rest of its life the sheep will do anything for the shepherd, and the shepherd will do anything for the sheep. If the shepherd calls, the sheep will run to him immediately; he is the source of everything good in her life, and she wants whatever he has to offer. If the sheep becomes ill or injured, or is separated from the flock by distraction or hunting predators, the shepherd can instantly sense that something is wrong and will quickly find the sheep to fix the problem.

There is no need for the shepherd to beat or threaten the sheep; in fact, such treatment would only confuse and frighten the sheep. There are no rules or laws to be enforced, no “command structure” to keep organized. Sheep operate on instinct and have no need of such things. They follow the shepherd because he feeds them, protects them, heals them, rescues them. They follow wherever he calls, stop wherever he rests, eat whatever he provides, simply because he loves them and they trust him. They are connected to the shepherd as surely as if they were part of him, and cannot conceive of life without him.

This is the authority of God for His people. We allow Him to provide for us, to lead us, to protect us, because He loves us and we trust Him. When we struggle, we call for Him; when our souls are threatened, we run toward Him. When He calls, it doesn’t matter what we think or want; what He offers is better and we rush to receive it. He loves us with incomprehensible love, and knows every part of us even more deeply than we know ourselves. There is no need for laws or command structures, no possibility of quibbling over legalities. We are connected to Him, part of Him, and cannot exist otherwise.

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Water and Mud

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The images of flowing water and being washed clean dominate the scriptures, but one in particular is my favorite. Revelation paints a picture of a river rushing down from God’s throne through the roots of the tree of life to cleanse the world of a great curse. That image has always fired my imagination, and I sometimes can almost feel the water rushing through me carrying away every trace of unwanted filth.

There’s another image that often troubles me when I think of the great river, an ugly one not specifically painted in Revelation but one nevertheless seen in the behavior of mankind from the garden to now. It’s a person, unrecognizable under layers of grime, half buried in thick heavy clay. This person, upon seeing the flood coming, instead of rejoicing in the power that can free them from the mud and grime, begins to frantically use globs of their muddy trap to build a wall to block the water, growing dirtier and sinking deeper in the mire with every handful while salvation flows mere inches away.

In a way it’s an understandable reaction. We tend to be terrified of power held outside of ourselves, and our terror focuses our efforts on desperate self-preservation rather than reason. Perhaps, in the physical world, there is purpose in such a reaction, but spiritually it makes no sense. Christ’s sacrifice offers freedom from the mire of uncertainty and fear, a return to the purity of our origin and connection, peace unreachable from the muddy banks of human opinions and demands. Clinging to anything stemming from human concerns builds a wall between us and that cleansing, life-bringing flood.

Different Holes

Image from Canva

Most babies and toddlers are given toys involving various shapes that fit in specific holes. The purpose, of course, is to develop the reasoning skills to match like items. Usually young children are fascinated by this physical, concrete challenge and will try and try again until they master the toy.

Unfortunately, we do not often carry that same enthusiasm over to the more abstract challenges of human personalities and traits. We attempt to press all into the same hole, regardless of what shape each individual may take. Any sharp corners, any odd protrusions, are labeled with ominous sounding letters and either bullied or medicated into invisibility.

Our family happens to possess many such inconvenient differences, some shared and some unique to one or another. Those traits have exerted prominent influences on everyday life recently, causing enough difficulty that we have had to call attention to certain differences in efforts to overcome. A few days ago I overheard my children at the lunch table discussing their differences. “I’m OCD.” “I’m ADHD.” I’m Anxiety.”

Although it’s hard to avoid absorbing some of that attitude from society in general, we as a family do not approach differences in that way. We took the time that day to redirect our thinking. These letters are not who we are, they merely describe a small part of ourselves, a part that makes us unique. Because those corners don’t fit in the prescribed hole, others see them as weaknesses to be eliminated. Instead, when we find the correctly fitting hole, those assumed weaknesses become great strengths. The perfect circles can’t fit into our holes anymore than we can fit into the circular hole. We possess something others do not and must learn to use our unique traits for their unique purposes. Only when all the shapes in the puzzle find their matching hole can the puzzle be complete. Only when each individual embraces and directs uniqueness into a fitting pursuit can a society function as a whole.

Are You Entertained?

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Thunder rolled, a deep rumble that drew all eyes to the mountain. Clouds gathered to darken the peaks, lightning punctuating the unending noise. The glow of fire began to turn the roiling shadows red, flickering tongues of flame piercing the billowing waves of black. Invisible shofars reverberated in the air as the watchers clapped hands over ears in pain and terror. Men and women fell to their knees as the earth rocked beneath them. Then came the words, the unavoidable voice that held all rapt: I am the Lord your God.

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The walls rose white in the sun, reflecting its brilliance over the descending streets of the city. Gold crowns at pinnacle and gate held what seemed to be the pure flame of God Himself, drawing the notice of every citizen as they went about their daily business. Thin trails of smoke rose from the inner courtyard as the priests offered the daily love offerings of individuals seeking God’s presence. The sound of singing echoed from the inner walls of the outer court and drifted to the ears of passersby, drawing them in to join the celebration. The entrance bustled with activity, the lowing of cattle vying with the calls of shepherds as excited citizens prepared for the coming feast. Already pole frames were being erected, with piles of branches and rugs near each, ready for the week’s commemoration of the wilderness years. Levite servers bustled about, children racing through the streets stopped to stare at the gleaming temple in innocent awe, while their parents sang snatches of psalms and chattered about tales of days gone by. All eyes drifted often to the towering brilliance, and whispered prayers of thanksgiving accompanied joyous smiles.

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Stone by stone the great pillars rose overhead, soaring to the vaulting arches and crystal panes of the impossible ceiling. Light filled the space, reflecting from the polished buttresses as if they held the light of God within themselves. Standing on seamless stone tiles far beneath that glow one could imagine oneself within the walls of Heaven, breathing the breath of God. The voices lifted in song echoed from above, mimicking the heavenly choirs unheard by mortal ears. Eyes could not remain earthbound, but soared upward seeking communion with God Himself.

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The colors blended together, casting shadows from painted lanterns that seemed to hold light unbound by physics. The bowed head of a woman, cradling the linen ready for the coming of the child, carried the anticipation in the pains that already cramped her womb. The man, almost formless in her shadow, holds the pent-up breath of every passerby gazing on the image. The great empty road in front of her, lit by the lantern yet somehow sliding the eye back to her waiting figure, gleams of possibility. When will the Savior arrive? Will the couple, chosen to provide the simple human life He will lead, find shelter in time? Like the figures frozen in the painting, breath stops in every throat watching, waiting with them.

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Color washed across the sky, particles of light playing a silent symphony against the atmosphere. A ridge of white marked the edge of darkness as the last rays peeked above the banks of clouds. Below, a haze of yellow fire blazed like the glory of Heaven itself. Eyes and hands lifted in awed worship.

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Over and over God has focused His people. His inspired writers told how over and over He drew their minds and hearts back to Him using grand architecture, beautiful music, inspired artisanship, captivating stories, and shocking displays of power. Over and over those writers spoke of His intention for worship being an offering of man’s entire self, a connection with all that God is in order to lift mankind out of the physical realm into the spiritual one. Over and over He has entertained the souls of His people within Himself.

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Voices rise in stirring melody, singing words of praise to God. Sounds of music tremble in the air, quickening the heartbeat and wakening souls to touch the Father. Hands lift and heads bow as the weight of the Savior’s love crushes resistance.

Stories are told of hopelessness banished, lovelessness redeemed, helplessness relieved, or evil vanquished. Beautiful things, films about simple joyous themes, and music reflecting love and life wake souls to God’s presence and draw their eyes from the sorrow of darkness to the joy of His light. They entertain toward faithfulness.

The Breath in His Nostrils

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Genesis 2:7 (CSB): Then the Lord God formed the man out of the dust from the ground and breathed the breath of life into his nostrils, and the man became a living being.

Since the garden, humanity has continually rejected our origin. We seek to exalt ourselves, worshipping our own ideas and creations in twisted self-absorption. Isaiah condemned physical Israel for this very thing.

Isaiah 2:7–9 (CSB): Their land is full of silver and gold,
and there is no limit to their treasures;
their land is full of horses,
and there is no limit to their chariots.
8 Their land is full of worthless idols;
they worship the work of their hands,
what their fingers have made.
9 So humanity is brought low,
and each person is humbled.

Did you notice that he said Israel was brought down through being full of their physical lives? By worshipping what they perceived as their own accomplishments? They were God’s nation, they wore His name for the world to see. They were chosen to be full of God Himself, but they had forgotten Him. Oh, they carried out the temple rituals, never missed a festival, and knew the law well enough to weaponize it against each other, but they had forgotten Him. They were full of themselves instead.

We live in a time when human propensity for self-worship is on blatant display. Humans arrogantly hold patents on God-created organisms and promote their own derivitive and inferior work as the answer to all problems. We divide into parties and subparties based on opinions we uphold as fact, and bash our fellow humans about the head with principles we refuse to actually embody.

Self-worship is to be expected from those who reject God openly, and God spent time in scripture rebuking them, but most often His scathing words were directed at His own chosen nation. Unfortunately, though His nation is no longer physical, those who claim His name haven’t really changed. We say we trust Him, we say we’re devoted to Him, but when it comes down to a choice we choose humanity’s creation and ideals over God’s.

Isaiah’s words to Israel about this behavior were poignent. Isaiah 2:22 (CSB): Put no more trust in a mere human,
who has only the breath in his nostrils.
What is he really worth?

Remember Genesis 2? All we have really is the breath in our nostrils, and that is His as well. His breath is the sole reason for our existence. We accomplish nothing. He created everything. Without Him, we are worthless piles of dust. With Him, we are simply the breath in His nostrils.

Trash Day

There’s a running joke that the day after Christmas all the moms blow their stacks. Let’s face it, we all know the feeling of waking up to the piles of empty boxes, wrapping paper, and new toys that don’t fit anywhere. That’s why this year I can’t wait for Trash Day.

I don’t mean the day the trash can gets picked up, although that’s pretty important. Actual Trash Day requires an empty can ready to be filled. Before all the empty boxes get thrown out, the house gets purged of all the old clutter. The kids will sort through their rooms for unappreciated or broken toys and “treasures” that no longer hold value to them. Mom and Dad will declutter closets and corners that hold unnecessary collections.

This year the clutter seems worse than ever. Perhaps less space is available as the kids grow; clothes do take up more and more room. Perhaps we’ve simply hit several developmental leaps at once as we leave preschool for good, discover hidden talents, and surge inexorably toward adolescence. I’m leaning toward the latter, as most of the piles seem to be supplies for various growing interests.

As much attention as I am paying to physically cleaning out old things, the things represent something much more to me. The last few years have delivered many struggles along with the lessons to be learned from each. As a result our lives seem to be cramped and overflowing inside trappings and constructs that we have outgrown. As we physically fill our trash can with discarded things, we mentally shed our old selves in order to make room in our lives for new ideas and new beginnings.

Many people make New Year Resolutions in an effort to set their lives on track. Most find themselves unable to keep such contextless promises to themselves because they have no room. We make no special resolutions here; instead, in Trash Day we experience a completely fresh start.

The Self-Limited God

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The Everlasting. The Omnipotent. The I AM. The One without physical form, without physical space, without limits of any kind. This God, the Alpha and Omega, Creator of all things, took on the form of His creation. We repeat this often, and quote scriptures about it, but I wonder if we truly grasp the enormity of it.

Many religions have stories of deities who took on human form. These deities were either already limited in power and as flawed as humans, or they merely appeared human temporarily to deliver messages or enjoy themselves while retaining all of their power. Only this one is different.

He didn’t appear as an emperor or great warrior. He didn’t appear surrounded by prestige and wealth. He came as a baby. An actual baby, not the perverted vision of one. He arrived squalling and cold, blinded by even the dim light of a candle-lit clay-walled barn, flailing limbs not answering any but reflexive signals from the still-developing brain of a human infant. He could have exerted power to change that, but He didn’t.

He lived as a child, experiencing the bumps and bruises and frustrations of learning to accomplish tasks using human hands and feet. He submitted with respect and honor to the training given Him by human parents whose own understanding of His law was flawed and stumbling. He endured the privation that was part of the life of a poor working family, and faced the inevitable injuries and humiliations of apprenticeship in a manual trade. He could have exerted power to change all that, but He didn’t.

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He became a nomad without home or income, endured starvation, thirst, exposure, and fatigue. He wept and raged, prayed and laughed. He expended all of the energy His human body could contain on others, teaching and comforting. What power He chose to access as a grown man was also directed solely into others, even when hardship brought him to the brink of His human mortality. He became the subject of taunts, the target of prideful rage, and the focus of selfish demands. He could have exerted power to change all that, but He didn’t.

He was dragged to trial for crimes He didn’t commit, beaten and humiliated and tortured as nothing more than a pawn in a political game. Railroad spikes were pounded through the nerve bundles in His wrists and ankles before He was left to hang from a beam for hours, every breath an agony, His life slowly dripping away in the blood that oozed from wounds not allowed to close. He could have exerted power to change all that, but He didn’t.

Can you imagine what it must have been like? Can you imagine being limitless and yet trapped inside human limitations? Can you imagine being in that situation by your own choice alone? Can you imagine choosing such humiliation to rescue your creation that had rejected you, that would despise you for the poverty-stricken and unimpressive position you had chosen, that would still somehow be unable to ignore your truth and would hate you so much for it they would destroy your human life?

His body was wrapped in linen and hastily placed in a donated tomb. Because the Passover Sabbath had begun, the usual burial rites involving fragrant oils to preserve the body were delayed until Sunday. On Sunday morning, after having been released from His self-imposed limitations, as His human body showed signs of decomposition and decay, He once again stepped into it and changed it irrevocably. By that unfathomable action, He freed all of humanity as well. What a wondrous, unimaginable, selfless, self-limiting, unfathomable God.

In Spirit and Truth

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The woman of Sychar belonged to a people with a cobbled together heritage. The poorest, least useful of the Israelite people were left in the war ravaged land to fend for themselves and eke out what existence they could along with floods of foreigners displaced from their rightful homes by their mutual conquerors. Never faithful to the Sinai covenant in independence, in captivity these castaways blended what little they remembered and treasured with bits and pieces of the many religions brought to the region by foreigners. Mt. Gerizim, where Jacob’s Well had been dug, became the center of their corrupted but unfailing worship to a God they never knew due to a faded memory of blessings pronounced there and a crumbling altar built by Moses.

The Jews in the Roman region of Palestine were a people of enduring heritage, a nation that had lost their way more often than not but that had retained overall allegiance to the letter of the Sinai covenant. They were a people divided into sects that squabbled over legalities, followed religious rites to the smallest detail, but treated the neediest of their people like scum and used God’s house as a marketplace for the sake of personal convenience. They abhorred and ostracized the corrupted remnants of Israel in the center of the region because that remnant had impure blood and rejected the temple, rather than seeking to redeem them.

When the woman of Sychar met Jesus at Jacob’s Well and questioned Him about the appropriate place of worship, she expected Him to say Jerusalem and harangue her as any “good” Jew would have done. Jesus had a far different answer. Instead, He told her that the time would come when none of the earthly trappings of religion would matter any longer. No longer would there be legally prescribed rituals, God-blessed temples, historical altars, ordained priesthoods, or blood sacrifice. Instead, those who KNEW God and gave their whole hearts over to Him would spend their lives in soul-sourced worship to Him alone. In other words, they would worship in spirit and in truth.

The woman, as ignorant as she was of God, recognized the fulfillment of prophecy when she saw it, and immediately accepted the Messiah and His words. Immediately she sought to know Him and bring others to know Him, and her focus on physical traditions and religious laws vanished. Unfortunately, it was a conversation Jesus, and the apostles and teachers after Him, would have to repeat many times.

Despite having two thousand years to sit with their message and reflect on it, we seem to have stopped short of the transformation seen in the woman of Sychar. Those who claim the name of Christ divide into sects based solely upon legalities in a system no longer defined by laws. Despite abundant scripture and evidence that God created everything about humanity for the express purpose of glorifying Him, each sect insists with great force that worship can only happen in specific places using specific rituals led by specific types of people. Perhaps one group requires great temples, special robes, and prescribed prayers. Perhaps another insists that only the human voice can be used to worship, that worship can only happen in an assigned building but that said building has to be as plain as possible, and that proper reverence excludes any expression of human emotion or any physical comfort. Both approaches, and any approach that seeks to set boxes around worship, reject the words of Jesus Himself.

Like both the corrupted remnant of Israel and the Jewish people, we do not know God. We have replaced Him with our own ideas and preferences and selfishly called those by His name. We cannot truly worship someone that we do not know, no matter how sincerely we may try. If we focus on physical trappings of religion our spirit, our heart, is excluded. Neither the Jews who revered themselves nor the corrupted remnant who lacked information had it right. Neither were prepared for the heart and truth that Jesus revealed through his human life, brutal death, and impossible resurrection. We have had two thousand years of reflection upon their failures. It’s time to accept the truth of freedom in Christ and pour our whole hearts into a life of unending, unselfish worship to our Lord.

December 1st

It’s the countdown to Christmas. Time to decorate the house, finish all the gifts, watch all the movies, listen to all the music, and cook all the food. At least, that’s the plan.

The Christmas tub was stored on the porch through all weathers this year instead of making it back to storage where it belonged. A snowglobe exploded inside it, mildewing all the stockings and the cardboard box of ornaments. A good long soak in the washer saves the stockings, and most of the ornaments escaped damage, so after a few hours that crisis is averted.

The tree skirt finally bit the dust after twelve years of use, so a new one must be selected and ordered. I would make one, but my make list is already daunting. I suppose if the new one doesn’t make it on time we’ll just hide the lack with presents.

The lights wouldn’t fit in the tub last year, and no one can find them. Anywhere. We have exactly three short strands that I bought as emergency backup at the dollar store a week ago. Last year we had an entire flat. And I have sticker shock from a quick online search for replacements.

Every year we go as a family to pick out a live tree. It’s the most important tradition of our season. OCD has decided it doesn’t want to go this year, the rest of us should just go. We have until Friday to work that hiccup out. After which we still won’t have lights to put on it.

All the things will work themselves out. Adventures will be had in the solving of some of them. Children will go insane with excitement, parents will take many breaks outside in the cold to ensure they don’t lose their holiday joy, cookies and treats will fill the house with good cheer, and Christmas morning will arrive with all its usual magic and fanfare, just like every year before. And we will forget December 1st until it arrives once more to remind us that we are the magic.

A Sneak Peek and a Sale

_United_, Book 2 of Magicborn, is officially in progress. Because you are my most loyal supporters, I am giving you a rare sneak peek into the first draft of my process. Very few people get to see anything this early, partly because it is mostly bare bones of story waiting to be fleshed out and polished in later drafts, and partly because my stories tend to change as they grow and I often rewrite the early chapters completely a few times. So, enjoy the exerpt below and consider yourself privileged to see Seline as I see her at this point in her story.

— Several minutes passed and nothing happened. Finally Narrayssi trudged back over to us, her forehead wrinkled and her arms crossed over her chest. “I can feel the dragon when I reach for it but I can’t draw it out. The magic here is – different. Weaker, I suppose.”

— Dagda shifted where he leaned against an oak but said nothing. He had managed with some effort to create a small kettle for cooking what food we had scavenged over the past two days, but all efforts to shape the trees or the land into even a crude shelter had failed. As a result we had shivered an entire night away in an October rainstorm. Dagda’s blankets hadn’t done much good soaked in cold water.

— I sighed, rubbing my temples with chilly fingertips. “I guess that just leaves me.” I paced, thinking. “I still think you have the best chance of connecting with the Atlanteans. If I can change, I want you to fly with me. We can link and maybe between the two of us the magic will be strong enough.”

— When she agreed, I rubbed my arms vigorously and strode off to the center of the clearing. I stood still, my arms loose at my sides and my eyes closed. The magic was still there inside me, but using it felt like pulling my feet out of the mud on the trail in Fae. Where it had flowed through me without effort in Fae, now it settled and waited for me to draw it out. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to transform or to hold onto the great power of the dragon when I had, but I had to try.

— I reached for the part of me that had awoken in Fae. It stirred, much more slowly than before, as if a great beast disturbed in hibernation uncoiled itself with much stretching and grumbling. I closed my eyes, a wrinkle forming above my nose from my effort to concentrate solely on the dragon within. As if angered by the break in its slumber, it rushed upward, its roar blasting fire into the sky as black wings filled the clearing and scraped trees with their tips. I revelled in it, even as it drained the magic from my blood.

All of you lovely readers here have been so supportive, helping me to grow this little corner of the universe. Without you I’d still be sending my stories into empty air! In the spirit of the season of gratitude and giving, I am drastically reducing the price of _Chosen_, Book 1 of Magicborn for one day only.

As a specific thank you for all of your support, I am making a small token of my appreciation available just for my blog followers. Comment below during the month of December, tell something from the book that made you smile, frown, laugh, or cry, and include your mailing address, and I will send you a signed bookplate for the inside cover. I’m so excited to hear your reactions and talk about the story with you!