Where Jesus Had Church

Music from the Heart: The Heart of Worship by Matt Redman

Courtesy of an unusually crazy schedule the last few weeks, David and I have been missing each other like two ships passing in the night. So with today (Sunday) being the only day in several and in the foreseeable future that we were not going in separate directions, we decided to play hooky from church and invest in a little family time.

After going out for breakfast, he went to run an errand, then met me at the dog park, where I had already taken Sheba. While I was waiting for him, I found myself sitting on a bench under a shade tree by the pond. Sheba was happily playing in the water. I was savoring a few quiet moments with little more than the sound of the morning breeze dancing through the trees and the sloshing sound of Sheba moving through the water. That, and of course, the occasional roaring of a C-130 flying overhead as the boys at the nearby Air National Guard base ran Sunday morning flight maneuvers.

In between passing transport planes, I did manage to capture a few quiet moments to take in my surroundings. As I sat underneath huge shade trees and looked around at acres of an open, sloping, grassy field, one thought immediately came to my mind:

"This is the kind of place where Jesus had church."

Now, I enjoy a padded chair and air-conditioning as much as the next guy. But as I sat there imagining groups of people gathered together under a tree or along the banks of a river, listening to the gentle, strong voice of Jesus Himself, I could not help but long to have been there even for a moment, to witness first-hand these earliest days of New Testament gatherings.

I could just picture it: mothers holding babies in their laps and trying to keep small children occupied and quiet so they could hear Him; older kids and teens sitting close to their friends on the grass; men, some sitting with their families, others standing close by around the perimeter, keeping a protective eye on their loved ones; curious passersby pausing to listen to the life-transforming words before being on their way.

I've participated in outdoor worship gatherings, services, & prayer meetings, and I have to say that as a general rule, I prefer them over the confinement of the carpeted, padded-chaired, air-conditioned, mood lit four walls we call church - any day of the week. Yes, it gets hot out there (wear light clothing and bring a water bottle) and yes, you might have to sit on the ground or a hard concrete bench or at a splintered picnic table (or stand) and no, there is not a cry room or a nursery, or a bathroom with fruit-scented liquid soap, but there is something about the no walls, sky-is-the-ceiling, worshiping the God of creation surrounded by His creation experience that causes every other typical Sunday morning American church service to pale in comparison.

Jesus was a simple man. He lived a simple life. He set a simple example for us to follow: Love God, love others. Everything else is just stuff. But that's a message for another time.

"For the foolishness of God is wiser than man's wisdom ..."
1 Corinthians 1:25

Broken Things

Enjoying a rare long weekend together, David and I took Sheba out on a little "mini adventure" the other day. David had no sooner grabbed her leash than she was waiting at the door, wagging her tail and ready to go. That dog loves to ride in the car. It doesn't matter where she's going. She doesn't care. If she's in the car going somewhere, she's happy.

First stop, the dog park. For the first time, we were the only ones there, but that didn't stop our girl from heading straight for the pond for a quick little dip. Next, we went to the nature center, where the three of us meandered down one of the walking trails. Later that evening, I noticed Sheba was limping. At first I thought she had perhaps picked up a sticker or splinter or something. But closer inspection revealed something a little more serious. The pad on her right front paw was torn away in one spot. It was not a deep wound, but it was easy to see why it was tender. What was supposed to protect the flesh on her foot was no longer there.

She laid there patiently while we bandaged her up. It was like she was almost grateful to have the wound being tended to. For two days now, she has not fussed with the bandage, which is a far cry from the last time she got hurt. Last year she took a flying leap out of the back of David's truck and messed up all four of her feet. Since she wouldn't leave the bandages alone, she had to wear one of the big plastic collars that limited her movement. She did not appreciate that one bit, but it was necessary for her to let the wounds heal.

This time, though, she is leaving everything alone and letting the foot heal. By the next morning she was already walking much better, and the foot is healing nicely. I know she's "just a dog," but it's like she has learned the hard way that an unattended wound will not heal - something the rest of us would do well to remember.

Hiding from the broken places in our lives and pretending they are not there only moves us farther away from wholeness. We limp through life, trying to ignore the hurt in our heart, while it is blatantly obvious to everyone around us that we are hurting. We need the Healer to tend to our wounds.

First He cleanses the wounds, washing away all the debris that surrounds and causes infection. Next, He applies a healing ointment, a soothing balm that brings comfort. This is followed by a covering, which protects and allows the healing to begin. Many people want to stop here in the healing process. But there is another step that must be taken for the healing to be complete. When the wound is ready, the covering is removed so that air can reach it. This results in the restoration of the outer layers of skin, which provide natural protection. A scar is left, a reminder of what was, but the healing and restoration are complete.

There are things in my own heart that are in this final restorative phase of the healing process. While still unpleasant at times, I have no doubt that this is for my good, and that it is necessary if I am to walk in wholeness. Yes, the air on a not-quite-healed wound stings a little from time to time, but I can handle it. As it heals, it itches occasionally, and I want to scratch it, but this would only reopen the wound, slowing down the healing. I don't want to go there. I like it here and I like what lies in front of me.

The Healer is monitoring my progress. Broken things are being restored. Placing my heart in His hands was the first step. It can be for you, too.

"Nevertheless, I will bring health and healing to it;
I will heal my people and will let them enjoy
abundant peace and security."
Jeremiah 33:6

Stay Close to Me

Tonight's Music from the Heart: Selah - O, Draw Me Lord

It's late in the evening, and I've been sitting at the computer for a while now, catching up on some work that I brought home from the office. As usual when I am sitting here, Sheba is stretched out next to my chair.

Even though she's a dog, this canine friend teaches me little life lessons whenever I'll take the time to listen. Tonight's lesson is about closeness.

Sheba is all about attention and affection, and she is never happier than when she is either touching or being touched by David or myself. She will approach me when I'm working and nudge my arm to let me know she needs some attention, then once she has been sufficiently petted, she lies down contentedly at my feet.

When she wants to go outside, she doesn't bark or fuss. She simply comes up to where I'm sitting and stands in front of me looking straight into my eyes with a look of expectancy, wagging her tail the entire time. She knows that I know what she wants.

One of my favorite things she does is to walk up to me and lean into me, bowing her head slightly, just getting in as close as she can. She knows I can't resist loving on her when she does this.

So here I am, being reminded again, that my Father desires the same from me - for me to want to be near Him and to press in as close to Him as I can. He knows me well, and all I have to do is gaze into His face with expectancy, knowing that He knows my heart's desire and delights in giving good gifts to His children.

Why, then, do I tend to make things so much more complicated than that? It seems that no matter what is going on in my life, when I find myself at the end of myself crumbling at His feet in desperation, asking for some kind of solution to whatever quandry I have found myself in, the answer is almost always the same. "Stay close to Me."

I know this. I really know this. But I don't always do it. I want to be of such a simple, childlike faith that His lap is the first place I run to out of a deep desire to be close to Him, not the last place I end up when I've exhausted all other possibilities.

Sheba's fast asleep, actually snoring now. When I finish here and toddle off to bed, she'll get up and follow me, making sure not to let me get too far away from her. When I move, she moves, but that's a lesson for another time.

Precious Father, my prayer tonight is simple.
Teach me to stay close to You at all times,
in all things, and in every way.
I need Your constant touch.
Hold me, as I lean wholly on You.
Amen.

How Smart Am I?

Our dog, Sheba, is recovering from a flying leap she took from the back of my husband's truck a few weeks ago. Her injuries, while not critical, were somewhat serious, requiring all four feet to be bandaged while the resulting wounds are healing - I'll spare you the gory details.

On her first trip home from the vet, she was fitted with a soft satellite collar, made of a somewhat flexible but stiff fabric designed to keep her from disturbing the bandages on her feet. The vet's assistant said she looked like a little sunflower. Sheba was not amused.

She proved to be a little smarter than what she was wearing and managed to find a way to lay down where she could still reach her feet, and so after her next trip to the vet, she was sent home with a clear plastic "Elizabethan" collar. This one, as you can imagine by its name, is more restrictive, and she is even less amused when she has to wear it, which is while we are at work and while we sleep at night - and any other time we catch her fiddling with her bandages. This she does at every opportunity.

I observed her the other day as she watched David leave the room, and the second he was out of sight and she thought no one was watching, she commenced to chewing on the bandages. She was quickly reprimanded, of course, simply because her feet need to heal, and in order for this happen, the she must learn to stop disturbing the bandages, no matter how uncomfortable they may be.

Hence the object lesson. How many times have I found myself in a position where God is trying to accomplish a specific work in me, and all I want to do is wiggle and squirm and try to find a way out of it? The healing process is never comfortable, rarely easy, and often painful in itself. Our need for healing may stem from some kind of abuse or trauma, or it could be the result of our own bad decisions. Most often it is some combination of these things. Whatever caused our spirits, emotions, and hearts to become wounded, the Healer is capable and ready to employ all of His healing power to restore that which was lost and renew that which has been broken.

The x-factor in the equation is our willingness to submit to the process. Sheba has continued to somehow find a way to remove the bandage from one of her front feet, and we cannot figure out how she is accessing the foot with this plastic collar in place. Every time she removes the bandage, it has to be replaced, which is an unpleasant process for both her and me, but I am determined that her feet will heal and not become infected in the process.

If only my determination were so strong regarding my own healing.

Lord, I know that Your plans for me are good, and that Your desire is for me to be completely whole in every way. Help me to rest in You and completely trust You to complete the good work You have begun in me, to quiet my spirit and submit to Your strong and gentle hand as You restore my soul. Help me to not become so "smart" that I continue to find a way out of what You are doing in me. May I simply place my bandaged heart into Your hands and let You do Your beautiful healing work in me. Amen.

Who Let the Dog Out?

Sheba is our dog. Her lineage is unknown, and there has been much debate as to her breed. We believe her to be part lab, but the other part(s) are the greatest subject of debate. We have been told that she carries the bloodline of everything from border collie (which I tend to lean toward), to great pyranees to Australian shepherd. She has long, thick hair, intelligent brown eyes, and a plumey (is that even a word?) tail that resembles a flag waving when she wags it, which is most of the time. She’s smart, sweet, and perhaps a little spoiled. We love having her around.

We got Sheba when she was four months old in May of 2003. She was part of a litter of puppies that had been left in a box in a dumpster. A friend of ours found the pups, took them home and adopted them out, and we ended up with her. While we lived in Fort Smith, our backyard was a favorite stop in the rounds of a couple of neighborhood Romeos, and being the gracious hostess that she is, Sheba entertained her male guests, and then presented us with three litters of adorable little furballs before we finally had her tendency to be a little too “hospitable” permanently deterred.

She loves to ride in the car, doesn’t care for fireworks, and knows she’s not supposed to wander too far down our driveway toward the road, which is why she has been observed slowly and casually making her way down there with the occasional glance back toward the house to see if anyone’s watching. Hmmm.

This human-like trait of testing the limits is a bit curious to see in a dog, but it does remind me of how we are all tempted to see how much we can get away with, especially when no one is looking. While our flesh tries to lure us down the driveway toward the road, so to speak, the Spirit of God within us is calling us back up the hill toward home. Sheba’s not being allowed down by the road has only one motive behind it – I don’t want her to get run over by a passing car.

Similarly, the boundaries God places for us in His Word are placed there simply because He loves us too much to sit back and watch us wander aimlessly toward our own destruction.

The next time you find yourself about to do something, and you find yourself wanting to make sure no one is looking, stop. Just stop. Turn around and run back up the hill toward home. If you look up on the front porch, you’ll see the face of Someone who loves you watching you, waiting for you to come home.