Redeeming the Time

Today is the day I buckle down and resume a long-abandoned regular writing schedule.

Things haven’t gone quite the way I’d planned.

I woke up at 6:20 and declared it was too early to get up.

Pixie the cat has her own infallible internal clock. She worked on me again shortly after 7:00. Nibbling the edge of the lampshade by my bed usually does the trick. The combined crunch and wobble defy ignoring.

Not this time. Eventually, she retreated and I fell asleep again.

For a little while. I don’t remember how long.

Since today is Angie the dog’s twelfth birthday, I finally sat up, stretched, and wished her a happy (but low-key) birthday. Just how ironclad were yesterday’s promises of a long birthday walk in her favorite part of the neighborhood, anyway?

I checked on Penny, my sick little cat. Thank You, Lord, for her alert eyes, and not so much for the atypical messes she made in the living room. Angie the dog had contributed to the cleanup agenda, too. Break out broom and dustpan, squirter bottles of cleaner, mop and removable pads—then put them all back again. Keep Pixie out of the coat closet and hope Angie doesn’t think it’s time for a walk right now. You get the idea.

Check the thermometers on both sides of my fridge on the fritz. What does LL1 mean? Oh, well. Seems like it’s working better than yesterday.

Was it really around nine when I settled in for my breakfast and quiet time?

Of course, the use of time came up today in Ephesians 5:15-16. I will admit this has surfaced as a candidate for my “verse of the year” in the past. I’m the same gal who underlined proverbs about laziness in her Living Bible as a teen. Hmm…do we sense a theme here?

See then that ye walk circumspectly, not as fools, but as wise,

Redeeming the time, because the days are evil. (KJV)

The King James phrase, “redeeming the time, because the days are evil” is memorable and poetic, issuing a clear challenge to the Christian. Hear the sound of battle between good and evil in the background. Who is going to win control of my time? Although “making the most of every opportunity” (NIV) and “making the best use of the time” (ESV) don’t call us to charge onto the battlefield, these translations also warn of “evil days.” This is war.

Does our use of time really matter that much to the Lord?

What would I have made of my day if I had gotten up at 6:20?

Most of us waste time more often than we’d like to admit. As Christians, we might agree that technically, it’s not ours to waste. Still, we have our unconscious categories like “quiet time,” “going to church,” “serving,” “errands,” “housework,” “walking the dog”…and “me time.” It’s hard to acknowledge that God is in charge of and entitled to all of it.

“We’re on a battleship, not a cruise ship.”

True. We do have a job to do.

We are also God’s beloved children. He helps us redeem our time, even when it’s misspent or when we start our day off on the wrong foot.

When the clock is ticking and my thoughts were too muddled to write something weighty and inspirational, my Father said, “Don’t worry. The words will come. Just write. Pick an easy idea from your list—something you know a lot about.”

Aha. Like wasting time. Okay, Lord, I can do that.

I Love to Write!

A TRIBUTE

Happy I Love to Write Day!

Before I fully absorbed the fact that LMNOP wasn’t a letter in the alphabet, I longed to write. I wanted to play Scrabble with my mother. I associated “Scrabble” with “scribble,” and so I scribbled all over the board.

“Mommy, is CDBBBA a word? How about DDDDOIHHHI?”

What a patient mother I had! She interrupted her sewing again. “You can’t have three of the same letters in a row,” she explained.

Mother’s love of reading was subjugated to my own for years. During my monthly earache/strep throat episodes, we’d curl up together. “Read more, Mommy!”

She grew hoarse and I finally fell asleep.

She started with the Little Golden Books and didn’t finish until the last page of The Lord of the Rings.

My cousin Glendys was another willing reader. On a recent visit, I pulled down my old copy of Heidi, scribbled on with red Magic Marker. We enjoyed chatting about that wonderful book we’d shared. In the decades since, like Heidi, I learned to love goat cheese. Glendys confessed she hates it, just like Heidi’s boarding school classmates did.

Much of what we learn about writing–the love of words and the knack of transporting someone off the page to another world–comes from reading. My third-grade teacher, Laura Wright, helped me find books I could identify with while continuing to grow as a reader. Laura Ingalls Wilder filled my days: inside, I’d read; outside, my best friend, Christy, and I would play “Little House.” I was usually the teacher in the one-room schoolhouse. (Teaching in my own one-room school is one professional goal I have yet to fulfill.)

Mrs. Wright also encouraged my writing. My first “published” poem, posted on the bulletin board (probably along with several other students’ work) was The Hunter. I knew nothing about hunting–or deer (except wide-eyed Bambi). “Kindness came to him as his finger left the trigger” is the sole quotable line from this poem. Editor’s note: change “as” to “and.”

Living in Virginia destined me to love history. Mrs. Sally Alne had drafted me to write the history play Ghosts! Ghosts! Ghosts! in fifth grade, so George Washington was hardly a stranger. One Sunday when I was twelve, we set off for Pohick Church, one of several churches he frequented.

“Would you like to sit in George Washington’s pew?” asked the usher.

“Of course!”

What an honor! We settled into our first president’s box, surrounded like eggs in a very large carton by Episcopalians who knew their way around the prayer book and hymnal. All we could do was huddle low on the floor of our pew as we fumbled through the books, trying not to disturb the worshipers with our helpless giggles.

After the service and a stroll through the graveyard, I had enough material to fuel the historical novel I planned to write on our newly-acquired used typewriter.

Sadly, I didn’t learn to type until ninth grade.

I escaped having teachers who loved to bleed red ink on my writing. (I do regret the gallons of ink I spilled on my French students’ papers. The urge to encourage and the pursuit of perfection don’t mix.) Nothing can compare with the freedom to play with words and discover your own voice.

I thank God that I was in my thirties before I received a harsh critique from someone whose work I admired.

It only set me back a decade or two.

Now I am surrounded by encouragers and honest, helpful critics–fellow authors, critique partners, and editor.

Providentially, I have landed here, reminding myself yet again of my love, despite the battle to write.

Playing with my memories, and not too concerned that someone will miss seeing my tongue, deliberately planted in cheek.

Prayed for–eons ago by grandmothers and mother, and even now by faithful warriors.

Grateful for those who nurtured my love of words.

Wordstruck.

So thankful that God lets me write for Him.

On it!

Picture this. Your backseat cargo wobbles as you turn into the gravel lot of the huge barnlike structure serving as Ben’s workshop. You resist the umpteenth urge to throw your arm over the backseat to steady it and prevent further damage. Pretty soon, it’ll be Ben’s problem. He’ll fix everything.

The whine of a saw greets you as you step out of your car, followed by the heady scent of fresh wood. You wrestle the broken rocker out of the back, turn it upside down, and rest the seat on your shoulder. That oughta make you look at home in a place like this. You stride to the half-open king-size sliding shop door and enter Ben’s domain.

A helmeted head (likely Ben’s) bends in concetration and orange and yellow sparks fly as the creator welds metal together to form an object only he could identify. Chandelier? Table legs? Pipes for a giant sink? Given the loud sizzles emanating from the table, you tiptoe forward and have the common sense to keep a safe distance.

The welder lays his tool down and flips his helmet back, holding the creation up for inspection. “Oh, hey there! Didn’t hear you come in. You’re the lady with the rocker. Pam, right?” He sets the spidery metallic object down and pulls off his gloves.

“Right.” Suddenly shy, you glance briefly at the rocker, now sitting lopsided on the sawdust-covered floor, then at the burly guy clad in a blue flannel shirt and rubbery coveralls. Definitely Ben, king of restorations and wizard of furniture fixes.

Ben covers the distance between you in a couple of long lopes and sticks out his hand, then retracts it again. “Sorry. Old habits die hard. I’m Ben, by the way.” He tips his bearded head toward the rocker. “This the patient?”

You chuckle. “It’s on it’s last legs.”

He reaches out a hand and gives the rocker a push. “Or off its rocker.”

You look way up into his friendly blue eyes. “Will it be too hard to fix? I mean, it has sentimental value, but is it worth it?”

He hefts it to his shoulder, just like I’d done earlier. What d’ya know! “Sure. Restoration. That’s what I do.”

With one gentle heft, he sets the chair on the counter behind his worktable, waves a dismissive hand, and begins to don his gloves. “On it!”

He flips his helmet down again and bends over his creation. Quirky xylophone?

But he’s working on the pot rack thingy again, not your rocker.

You forgot to tell him you wanted the worn design on the back restored.

You didn’t ask him when it would be done.

Yikes! you didn’t even ask him how much it would cost.

And you certainly didn’t try to tell him how to do his job.

He’s on it.

You’re outta there. Leaving my broken rocker behind. Not coming back till he calls to say the job is done.

Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:9 NIV

Tug of World

During the approximately 81 hours of pep rallies I experienced (translation: endured) during my high school teaching years, Tug o’ War between the classes was one of the most popular games played. The freshmen developed school spirit by competing against the sophomores. The seniors usually triumphed over the juniors, of course. What was up with that?

Even this non-athlete knows that Tug o’ War starts with each side determined to win, taking a firm, strong stance. In a good game, things appear equal on both sides as players flex muscles, lean back, and grit teeth. Slowly, the balance of power changes as one side gains the advantage. If it’s still a good game, the advantage might shift again. In a less-than-equal contest, one side wins suddenly with a mighty tug.

In yesterday’s sermon, our pastor tackled the subject of spiritual warfare, beginning a series entitled Winning: Put on the Full Armor of God. He’s dealt with this before, and one of the most useful aspects of his teaching was the technique of naming our spiritual battles. Earlier, I shared how I applied this technique in Battle of Loopy Lie Valley and The War for Independence. Once I identify what mind games the enemy is using in my spiritual battles, it’s harder to ignore them. Sometimes I’m in the middle of full-blown conflict without realizing it, and having a list of battles won previously with God’s help wakes me up and calls me back into the fight. It just occured to me that Could I Interest You in an Appetizer? grew out of my facing The Day of Distraction, another frequent battle.

So what is Tug o’ World and what do I do about it? At first, I’m standing firm, Kingdom priorities in order, viewing the world around me from a relatively mature believer’s perspective. I’m making an effort, with the Holy Spirit’s help, to stay on mission. “This world is not my home” is a growing reality in my life, not just a song.

And then I listen to the news just an hour more one day. And the next. The familiar voices and faces are comforting. And then I leave the television on as I do things around the house instead of listening to Christian music. The tug of the world is so subtle. I scroll mindlessly through Facebook, duped that something there will inspire me–still watching the news, of course. Gradually, my world is very different. If I’m not careful, I might find myself in the Skirmish of Imagination Inflation before I know it, worrying about being an invisible senior locked away forever “for my protection” or plotting a dystopian novel I do not intend to write.

A friend is having a new home built nearby. She’s immersed in design details and appliance purchases, and runs her ideas by me. Recently, I got my neighbors together to have our sad, sagging townhome fences replaced and I had my treacherous front steps rebuilt. Fun, positive conversations and projects providing a welcome distraction from current events. I watched HGTV instead of the news. But then I started salivating over appliances and flooring samples in Home Depot and dropped into bed still thinking about my next project. Tug o’ World had shifted from politics to material things, but I was still losing the battle.

Praise God that He does not leave us alone, wandering about the battlefield like soldiers with amnesia! Much more patient that a drill sergeant, He teaches the same lesson over and over in different ways, presenting me with weapons and showing me how to use them.

Here are a few of these scripture weapons:

Hebrews 12:1-3, in particular the command to “fix my eyes on Jesus” from verse 2. Sometimes a reminder is enough to prepare me for the next tug of the world. Way back when I was taking driver’s ed, one of the students in my car needed a constant reminder to “watch the road.” Scary! Those prompts kept us alive, though. Fixing my eyes on Jesus helps me win the battle.

When Proverbs 3:5-6 “insisted” on becoming my 2020 verse of the year, I admit I was disappointed. Why this oldie instead of something new and challenging? Ha! I had no idea how pertinent this advice would be in 2020! I can’t pretend to understand what’s going on right now or know how it will play out, but God does, and I need a constant reminder to lean on Him. I need to submit to Him in everything–not an easy task, but so important for straight paths and winning my battles. (Preaching to myself again–I’ve forgotten this verse lately!)

The book of Revelation has encouraged me lately. In particular, Chuck Swindoll’s Living Insights Commentary has helped me see in more graphic ways the reality of what’s become a platitude: God is in control. Oh, how the enemy wants me to think I need to be in control, or certain politicians should or shouldn’t be in control! There are so many weapons here in skirmishes of Imagination Inflation that I had trouble choosing. Here’s a sample from page 107 in the application of Revelation 5:1-14:

The One who is worthy to exercise judgment and rule over the earth will accomplish His will through your life. Human history is littered with the wreckage of failed attempts to fix humanity’s problems, but we can turn to Christ, who has paid the price to bring about a glorious future. When we trust in Christ instead of ourselves, the evil and opposition of the world seems much less daunting. It’s all subject to Him! When we see His brilliant splendor looming on the horizon, we can endure this present darkness with ever-increasing hope.

Enough said!

Stay in the battle. Preaching to myself.

Could I Interest You in an Appetizer?

You smile and accept the menu, your mind on catching up with the friends you’ve joined for dinner. The server hovers. “Can I get you started with an appetizer tonight?”

Since you’re with a group, you might settle on something to share and the server hurries off. He returns just as you’ve caught up on your friend’s latest news and begin to hear the rumbling of your stomach.

By the time you’ve polished off the appetizer and your meal arrives, your appetite has diminished. You groan as the server sets a huge feast before you. What possessed you to snack on hot, buttered bread in between bites of steamed mussels or spicy grilled shrimp? How will you ever do justice to your steak and baked potato or your Italian feast?

How did “appetizers” get their name, anyway? Mom was right that eating between meals spoiled your appetite!

If you’re still with me and you haven’t run to the fridge for a snack, you probably want to know what this has to do with our spiritual life, right?

Spiritual appetizers aren’t like restaurant appetizers.

During the early days of the pandemic, the days often dragged. Like everyone, I missed my daily routine. My house and my entire neighborhood were quiet. (Hard to believe if your entire family was suddenly at home together 24 hours a day looking for a tranquil corner, but I didn’t have that problem.) As she stared at the occasional preoccupied passer-by during our walks, I knew even Angie the dog missed people and fellow canines.

I started to create a new routine centered around time with the Lord and virtual connections centered on spiritual things. A podcast during our morning walk. Noon prayer with one or more churches. A weekly online Bible study. My own worship service on Sunday, followed by others that I might want to visit as well. This became the new normal and was a helpful way to stay connected with God and with fellow believers.

My appetite and need for spiritual sustenance were strong.

Slowly, days have become fuller and noisier. I’ve ventured out a bit. Now the virus wasn’t the only news on TV, and I “had” to stay informed. I tackled some big projects around the house. I had to rush to get up and over to the dog sitter’s so I’d arrive at an appointment on time. The “old normal” tried to reassert itself.

A vague sense of disquiet marred the tranquility I’d cultivated earlier.

I skipped the opportunity to turn on the Christian radio station and allow some music to shape my thoughts.

“I should probably settle down and pray or do my Bible study. I’d feel better,” I would tell myself.

Sometimes, an insidious voice would whisper, “That’s silly. You were really overdoing it before.”

My heart says of you, “Seek his face!”

Your face, LORD, I will seek.

Psalm 27:8 NIV

Strangely, when I managed to silence the deceptive voice and sample the appetizer, I wanted more. Spiritual appetizers helped me crave more spiritual food, not less.

And that’s a good thing!

When the Spirit’s voice tries to interest you in an appetizer, say yes!